The Day of the Pelican (12 page)

N
EW YORK. WELL, SHE THOUGHT, AS SHE STAGGERED SLEEPILY
off the plane, they had nothing anyone would want to steal—that was a plus of sorts. Baba and Mehmet carried the plastic suitcases of hand-me-down clothes they had been given at the camp. They were so small that there had been no need to check them as luggage.

"Meli, watch out for your brothers," Baba said.

Mama had Vlora by the hand, and Meli reached out for Isuf and Adil. Isuf started to resist, but one look from Baba and he took Meli's hand. She held on to both boys as the whole family went down the endless corridor to the huge hall, where it looked as though hundreds of people were lined up, all waiting to be let into America. Vlora was so sleepy that she was falling down, so Baba gave the suitcase he was carrying to Mama and picked her up. She nestled against his neck, dead to the world.

More waiting, until at last they reached the white line painted on the floor and were waved over to a tall booth, behind which sat a grim, uniformed guard. They crowded around Baba as he handed over the papers he had been given at the camp. It took time, because the officer had to send for someone who could talk to Baba in Albanian. It seemed to Meli that it was taking far too much time. Maybe the papers were counterfeit and Baba would be thrown in jail and...

"Is something wrong, Meli?"

"No, Isuf," she said, breathing deeply to make herself calm. "These things always take time." Though how did she know? She hoped her brother wouldn't ask.

It seemed forever, but eventually they were all pointed toward the gigantic customs hall, where they didn't have to wait for luggage, as they had only their three tiny suitcases. They had nothing of worth to declare—Mehmet said that someone at the camp had told him to look for the Nothing to Declare sign. The two guards there were busy talking to each other, but one of them stopped long enough to glance at the family and nod toward the doorway. They were blinking like little moles in sunlight when they exited the hall and found themselves in the reception area, where hundreds of people were pressing against the ropes, all waiting for their family or friends to emerge.

"They told me at the camp that someone would meet us here," Baba said, worriedly scanning the people at the barrier who were waving and calling to other arrivals.

"Look!" said Isuf. They all turned and saw a woman standing near the rope with a piece of cardboard that said
LLESHI.
Still tightly bunched together, they moved down the ramp, around the barrier, and toward the sign. Baba bowed. "We are the Lleshi family," he said, and, miraculously, he was answered in Albanian by the woman holding the sign.

"I'm glad to see you," she said. "Did you have a good trip?"

"We had cola!" Adil said.

"Thank you," said Baba. "A very smooth trip."

"I'm sure you're tired," the woman said, "but we have to go to another terminal. Your plane for Vermont leaves in just over an hour, and if you miss it, it will be a very long wait for the next flight." She smiled at them. "So, are we ready to go?"

They were getting on a third plane? This was another endless journey—like fleeing the Serbs—only this time they could do it sitting down with food served on little trays.
What is it like in Vermont, Baba?
Meli wanted to ask, but she couldn't. They were walking too fast, and she had to be sure she stayed close and held on to Adil and Isuf. And then, of course, how could Baba know what Vermont was like?

They rode a moving staircase—the little boys loved that!—and took a bus to another building, where they came to a barrier. Their escort said something about Baba's papers to the woman in uniform who was checking tickets and identity cards. "I can't go past security with you," she said, "but wait here a minute. I'll get an airline representative to take you to the right gate."

"Hmmph," grunted Mehmet. "We can count, can't we? Surely we can find the gate."

"Hush," said Mama. "She only means to be kind."

But the airline person did treat them like children, Meli thought, herding them through the metal detector and to their new gate, finding them seats in the waiting area, motioning for them not to move until—she pointed at a person standing behind a high desk and mimed someone talking into a microphone. She raised her eyebrows in a question.

"Yes," said Mehmet in exaggerated English. "We un-der-stand. We will wait."

Her eyes widened a bit, but she didn't say anything, just gave a little wave and disappeared.

"They all think we're idiots," said Mehmet.

"We should have said 'Sank you,'" Meli said.

"It's 'Thhhh-anku you,'" Mehmet corrected.

"Come, come," said Baba. "Time to get on." Meli could see him counting heads, though they were all within inches of each other.

This was a much smaller plane, and they weren't all sitting in a row together. Meli was with Adil, Mehmet with Isuf, Mama with Vlora, and Baba was all alone way at the back. Meli found herself turning and looking down the aisle to make sure he was still there.

There was no real food on the trip from New York to Vermont. Adil was delighted to get cola and a little packet of salty bits. He finished his drink in a few gulps. Meli took sips of her cola, feeling both exhausted and jumpy. She was so tired of traveling, every minute taking her farther and farther from home.

"Can I have the rest?" Adil asked.

"What?"

"Your cola. If you don't want it, I do."

She pushed it over toward him. Her legs were longing for a bed—somewhere she could stretch out fully. Somewhere she could sleep for days.

Finally, they stumbled off the small plane and followed the crowd down the hall to the security barrier—no passports needed here, it seemed.

"Will there be welcomers?" Adil asked, gripping her hand so tightly that it hurt.

"I don't know," she said. "I hope so."

Outside the barrier there were four people waiting together in a little bunch, one of them holding a sign that read in Albanian
WELCOME TO THE LLESHI FAMILY.
She thought for one happy moment that the sign meant that Adil's "welcomers" could speak Albanian. Baba did, too, evidently, because he greeted them formally in Albanian and began to introduce the family.

"No! No!" they said, waving their hands in protest. And that was all the English Meli could understand, even though the welcomer holding the sign went on to say something very slowly and loudly, his mouth painfully cramped around every syllable.

Before Mehmet could mutter something sarcastic, Meli stepped forward. "Hello," she said in her best English. "I come from Kosovo. My name is Meli Lleshi. What, please, is your name?"

To her dismay, no one answered. They just kept shaking their heads and smiling. The man holding the sign kept looking toward the doors of the small airport.

"Ask them about the toilets," Mama whispered.

Mehmet tried, but the people just kept smiling and nodding.

"Idiots," said Mehmet. "Don't they understand their own language?"

Finally, the outside glass doors slid open, and a woman came running up to the group. She seemed to be apologizing to them. Then she turned to the family. "I'm sorry I'm late," she said in perfect Albanian. "I will translate for you."

"Where are the toilets?" Mama asked.

The translator guided Mama, Meli, and Vlora to the women's toilet. The man with the sign took Baba and the boys to the men's.

"No wonder I couldn't see them," Mehmet muttered to Meli when she rejoined the men. "They call them 'rest rooms,' as if you took a nap in there."

Two of the welcomers had disappeared. "They've gone to get the cars," said the translator, whose name was Adona. "I guess you have no other luggage."

Mehmet opened his mouth, but Baba grabbed his arm, so he shut it again. "We have a new life now," Baba said. "Everything will be new."

"Yes," said Adona. She may have sighed. Meli couldn't be sure.

The smiling, nodding Americans put Mama, Vlora, and Meli into the backseat of one large, silver car, and Baba, Mehmet, and the little boys into a green van. Adona climbed into the van as well. The welcomers split up, a man and a woman in each vehicle, and then they took off, pausing only to pay someone at the exit of the airport. There didn't seem to be any police on guard. There wasn't a soldier or a gun in sight.

Meli tried not to panic. She told herself it wasn't Kosovo—people didn't just disappear in America—but she kept turning to look out the back window to keep the van in sight, just in case.

Thankfully, the man and woman in the front seat didn't try to talk to them. Occasionally, they would say something quietly to each other. Once in a while the woman in the passenger seat would turn and smile at them. Mama and Meli would try to smile back.

Vlora, now wide awake, was staring out the window. "Look!" she cried. Meli looked and saw, to her astonishment, mountains. She felt a great wave of homesickness for her own Cursed Mountains and the Sharr range with its high pastures where horses ran free. Was the family free now? She looked at the backs of the welcomers' heads and wondered.

The car ride was nearly as long as the last plane ride had been. They left the broad highway and took a more winding road down a hill into a town. They turned off the street lined with shops onto another lined with large trees. The leaves were beginning to change color like the—no, not like the chestnuts in the hills.

At last the car—and then, thankfully, the van—pulled up in front of a huge house. As they got out of the car, Adona came over to explain that they would have an apartment in the house, not the whole house. Mama smiled and nodded. They walked up one flight of stairs behind the welcomers. Someone produced a key, opened the door, and then handed the key to Baba.

"Welcome home," he said, or at least that's what Meli thought he said. Adona didn't bother to translate it. The Lleshis took off their shoes and walked across the threshold. Adona said something to the welcomers, so they took off their shoes as well, looking a bit embarrassed as they stood there in their stocking feet.

For Meli the apartment lacked the welcoming feel of home, but it was far better than a tent. She meant to thank the big, smiling Americans, but she was too tired to make the effort of putting her tongue between her teeth to make the right sounds, and when Adona showed her the little room where she and Vlora were meant to sleep, she fell like a rock on the nearest bed and was asleep before the welcoming party left the apartment.

B
ABA COULDN'T HAVE REALIZED HOW TIRED THEY WERE, OR
he would never have made the children start school at once. Meli's head was still spinning from lack of sleep and the change in time, but even if she'd been rested and acclimated, the first days at the new school still would have been totally confusing.

One of the welcomers, as Adil had named the church people, drove Meli and Mehmet to the high school the second morning after they arrived. It helped that Adona went with them to fill out papers and answer questions and take home the things that their father was supposed to sign.

"It will be fine," she said as she started to leave. "You'll adjust in no time."

Meli watched her go. Now what was she supposed to do? The woman in the office motioned them to chairs and then went back to her desk, which was behind a high counter. Mehmet and Meli sat down and watched the big clock on the wall. It was about an hour before someone came into the office, spoke briefly to the woman behind the counter, and then turned to them.

Very slowly, in English they could almost understand, she said, "I am the English teacher for international students."

"Hello," said Mehmet, jumping to his feet and pumping her outstretched hand up and down. "I am Mehmet Lleshi. I come from Kosovo. I am Albanian."

"I am glad to meet you, Mehmet," the teacher said. "I am Missus———" But Meli couldn't understand the name.

"This girl is my sister. Her name is Meli. Also name is Lleshi," said Mehmet in English, and then under his breath in Albanian, "Stand up and shake hands."

Meli stood up.

"I am happy to meet you, Meli." The teacher held out her hand.

Meli shook it, her eyes on the new sneakers one of the welcomers had given her.

"Come with me."

At least that is what she seemed to be saying. They followed her down the hall and up two flights of stairs, then down another hall to a small room off what seemed to be a library. There was a cardboard sign on the door:
ESL.
The teacher pointed to the letters one by one. "E-S-L. English as a Second Language," she explained.

"Or third," muttered Mehmet. But since Meli hadn't understood the teacher, she didn't know what Mehmet meant, either.

The teacher pointed to the chairs around a table in the middle of the room and seemed to be inviting them to sit down. Mehmet did at once, so Meli sat as well, hoping she could stay awake. It would be terribly rude to fall asleep in front of a teacher on her first day.

They spent most of that day in the room with the ESL teacher. She gave them each a map of the enormous school—three floors of it, mostly classrooms, but also an auditorium, cafeteria, library, and two gymnasiums. Meli looked at the map. Who ever heard of a school so large that you needed a map to find your way around it? She thought longingly of the one room in the old house that had been school before, and of Zana sitting close beside her at their double desk.

"Pay attention," Mehmet said in her ear.

She shook off her thoughts and tried to listen to the teacher. The woman was taking their class schedules and writing down what time they were to go to each class and marking in red on the map the time they were to be in that particular place. Meli couldn't really follow what the teacher was saying, although the woman seemed to be trying hard to speak slowly and point out or act out—as in the case of the cafeteria and library and gymnasium—what they were to be doing in the various locations. All Meli wanted to do was take a nap, but Mehmet seemed to be following everything she said quite closely, nodding as though he understood every word.