STORY SO FAR: The months go by slowly at the KLA camp, but finally Meli’s father returns and they pack up what few belongings they have and head for Uncle Fadil’s farm. The only reluctant traveler is Mehmet, who feels he’s old enough to join the KLA.

CHAPTER TEN
Life at Uncle Fadil’s

It was late when we reached Uncle Fadil’s, but everyone was up and waiting except the grandchildren. While we were on the mountain, our cousin Nexima had come home with her three-year-old son and twin infants, a boy and a girl. Her husband was not with them, and no one spoke of himwhich meant to me that he was not among the disappeared, but more likely KLA. I had come to realize on the mountain that if a man had disappeared, he was talked about and wondered about. But if he was KLA, no one breathed a word.

Nexima gave her bed in Granny’s room to Mama and Papa and brought her children into the small parlor to sleep with us five Lleshi children. We completely covered the floor. Papa took one look and laughed. “I’ve seen orange sections with more room to sleep than this,” he said. It was nice to laugh for a change, and actually it was no more crowded than the tent and a lot warmer. Even though the floor was hard, there were no rocks poking into your back. So I was soon sound asleep.

The next morning the household was stirring by the time the first rooster crowed. Uncle Fadil and Papa were like generals in a little army. Everyone except Nexima’s little ones had orders to carry out. I was in charge of the water brigade. Uncle Fadil didn’t have running water in the farmhouse, but why should that bother us? A backyard pump and a proper outhouse seemed luxurious after only a stream and trench latrines at our mountain camp.

The first day as sergeant of the water detail, I was so excited about my job that I had the little boys and Vlora help me fill with water every pot we could lay our hands on. Aunt Burbuqe threw up her hands in amazement. “Ah, Meli, you are such a marvelous water carrier, you have left us nothing to cook in! Oh, well, fill up the tub, we’ll be bathing babies before the day is done, I’m sure.”

Papa and Uncle Fadil had brought in most of the crops while we were waiting on the mountaina farmer can’t leave in the middle of the harvest seasonbut there were still potatoes to be dug and wood to be chopped in preparation for the winter.

Between chores, Mehmet and I held school for Isuf and Adil. Vlora was always jumping up and down, demanding attention, so in the end we gave up and let her come as well. The house was too small for an indoor school, so we wore our coats and had our lessons outdoors.

Despite the crowding, I look back on that time as one of the happiest of my life. Even Mehmet seemed more content than he had since the spring before. Papa and Uncle Fadil took care to treat him as one of the men. And when news from the outside world reached the farm, Mehmet was told first, even before the women.

So it was Mehmet who told me that NATO was threatening to bomb Serbian military targets, forcing Milosevic to withdraw thousands of his troops from Kosovo.

“Now it will be safe for everyone to leave the mountains,” I said.

“Not everyone will want to,” said Mehmet. “We must be prepared. Milosevic is a snake. Only a fool would trust him. We’ll be back at war in no time, you’ll see.”

And we were. The KLA may have started it. They attacked four policemen in Racak, and the Serbian security forces retaliated by killing forty-five Albanians, then, not two weeks later, twenty-four more. NATO demanded that both sides, Albanian and Serbian, meet in a peace conference. But Milosevic refused to attend. . . .

“Didn’t I tell you?” Mehmet said. “That old snake Milosevic wouldn’t come to the talks. He just sent some flunky. It’ll be war by spring!” He was smiling as he said it.

How could he smile at the thought of more killing and misery? I felt sick inside.

But Mehmet was right. The peace talks failed. Once more Serb troops poured over the border into Kosovo. NATO planes pounded them from the air, but that didn’t stop the Serbs on the ground. If the KLA made a raid and killed one Serb policeman, several dozen Albanians were sure to die. The NATO powers threatened and lectured, but Milosevic paid no heed.

But there on Uncle Fadil’s farm, life went on as it had for several months. We had our chores to do. Mehmet and I conducted our little school. The twins grew fat and funny. We were all well and happy until the night when I, who was sleeping close to the front door, heard a quiet rapping.

I sat up and listened. Should I answer? I was the closest, but I guess I am at heart a coward. I decided to go and wake Papa. I made my way carefully around the sleeping bodies on the floor of the parlor, but before I could get to Papa, I met Uncle Fadil as he stumbled out of his room.

“I think there’s someone at the door,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, putting a finger to his lips. “I’ll take care of it. Go back to sleep.”

I followed him back into the parlor, both of us intent on keeping our feet from touching any of the children.

“Go back to sleep, Meli,” Uncle Fadil repeated in a whisper.

I lay down obediently, but how could I go back to sleep? Something was up.

(To be continued.)

Newspaper shall publish the following credit line in each installment of the work:

Text copyright 2005 by Katherine Paterson

Illustrations copyright 2005 by Emily Arnold McCully

Reprinted by permission of Breakfast Serials, Inc.

www.breakfastserials.com

As per your contract, please suppress content from electronic conversion of any kind.

Pronunciation of Albanian proper nouns:

Meli (Ml-lee)

Lleshi (L?y-sh?)

Fadil (F?-d?ll)

Nexima (N-gee-m?)

Vlora (Va-lra)

Mehmet (Mm-m?t)

Adil (?- d?ll)

Isuf (?-soof)

Racak (R?-chu?k)

Milosevic (Me-LOW-sheh-vih-ch)

Kosovo (KOH-so-vohSerbian pronunciation; Koh-SOH-vahAlbanian pronunciation)