STORY SO FAR: Meli’s brother Mehmet finally returns home after having disappeared for two months. He’s thin, he’s changed, and he tells his family that they are no longer safe at home; they must leave.

CHAPTER FIVE
Leaving Home

“We will talk about what we must do later,” said Papa. “First we must take care of you, my son.”

“You are so thin, Mehmet,” Mama said.

I watched Mehmet as he turned his attention to the soup. I felt as though all of us, including little Vlora, were holding our breath, not knowing what to say to this stranger who was our Mehmet.

Finally he finished the bowl. “Good soup, Mama,” he said.

Mama jumped for the bowl. “I’ll get you more.”

“Not yet,” Mehmet said. “First you must believe me. Terrible things are going to happen. We must leave here at once.”

Papa got up slowly. “I’ll call Uncle Fadil. Mama, get clothes together for the children.”

“We’ll need food as well,” Mama said.

Papa nodded. “Whatever will not spoil. Fadil’s refrigerator is so small. Meli, help your mother. Get whatever she says from the shop.”

Mehmet stood up. “I’ll help you, Meli.”

“No,” said Papa. “You go to your bed and rest, my son. We’ll need you strong in the days ahead.”

Uncle Fadil drove up that very afternoon. We were readyor as ready as we could beto leave the only home we children had ever known, with no idea of when we might see it again. Papa had called a cousin who lived in a nearby town to come look after the shop in our absence. Our cousin was overjoyed. He would come with his family the very next day. Maybe it was unreasonable, but I was angry. He was a lazy man who never in his life worked as hard as Papa did in a day. It wasn’t fair that he would have our nice apartment and all the food in the store for nothingeven if only for a few weeks.

“Wait,” said Mama as we were about to get into the loaded truck. “My wedding plate. I forgot my wedding plate.”

I took the key from Papa and ran back up the outside stairs. My hands were shaking as I took the plate down from its special place in the china cabinet. I mustn’t drop it, I told myself, stopping only long enough to wrap it in newspaper. Then, after locking the door behind me, I walked slowly down the stairs and back to the truck.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t even say good-bye to my old room, or the kitchen, or the parlor. I hadn’t said good-bye to my school or even to Zara, my best friend. But I refused to cry. We must all be brave, I kept telling myself.

Mama, Papa, and Vlora crowded into the cab of the truck with Uncle Fadil. Mehmet and I sat in the back with Isuf and Adil, our backs against the cab, surrounded by what was now our family’s belongings. We had left so much behind, but I was glad that at least Mama had her wedding plate. I had always dreamed that at my own wedding it would become mine.

There were many good-byes I failed to say that evening.I should have been looking from the back of the truck for my last sight of home in the fading light. It is a lovely place, an ancient town on the banks of the River Drim, nestled between the hills that divide our country right down the middle and the snowcapped Sharr Mountains. In the high pastures of those great mountains, wild horses run free. But I wasn’t thinking of the beauty of my home then, only of my fear.

At first I was afraid that we would be stopped by a police patrol, or worse, by the Serbian paramilitaries who acted as though they were more powerful than the police. If we were stopped, we would be searched. Not that we had any guns, but who knew what they might find suspicious? Or worse, suppose they just took Papa or Mehmet or Uncle Fadil away? Mehmet had disappeared once already. Maybe he was on some secret list of KLA or KLA sympathizers? I shuddered.

“If we’re stopped, Mehmet,” I whispered to him, so as not to wake up the little boys, who seemed to have fallen asleep, “you must hide.”

Mehmet gave a snort. “Where? Under a blanket?”

Yes, it would be foolish to try to hide. I fought to keep alert, to keep my eyes open for the first sign of danger. But I was tired.

The next thing I knew, the truck had stopped. I sat up quickly. Where were we? To my relief, I saw in the darkness the outline of Uncle Fadil’s house. Mehmet was still sitting up as straight as a board against the back of the cab, his eyes wide open. He hadn’t slept, I was sure of it.

The adults got out of the cab, Papa carrying a sleeping Vlora. Mehmet climbed over a box of canned goods and the side of the truck and jumped to the ground. I was about to wake the little boys when Aunt Burbuqe came hurrying out of the house.

Even in the pale light from the doorway, I could see how agitated she was. She said something to Uncle Fadil, who in turn said something to Papa. Papa shook his head. Then Mehmet said something to Papa. With Isuf and Adil leaning against me, I sat stone still for fear of waking them up. But I craned my neck, trying to figure out what was happening. Finally Uncle Fadil climbed back behind the wheel and Mama and Papa, still carrying Vlora, got back into the cab. Mehmet stepped on the wheel and swing himself back up into the truck bed.

“What is it?” I said. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s not safe here,” Mehmet said. “We have to go.”

(To be continued.)

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Text copyright 2005 by Katherine Paterson

Illustrations copyright 2005 by Emily Arnold McCully

Reprinted by permission of Breakfast Serials, Inc.

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Pronunciation of Albanian proper nouns:

Meli (Ml-lee)

Fadil (F?-d?ll)

Mehmet (Mm-m?t)

Vlora (Va-lra)

Adil (?- d?ll)

Isuf (?-soof)

Sharr (?h-?rr)

Burbuqe (Br-boo-ch)

Zara (Zr-?)

Drim (Dr?an)

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