The Day of the Pelican by Katherine Paterson Page A

everywhere, even in the schools. It was a strangely beautiful, dangerous land, and this is where Baba was determined to take them all—to keep them safe! But how could Baba be sure that they would be safe in America? Safer than in Kosovo? She supposed he reckoned that America was far from the threat of those Mehmet had learned so well how to hate. Hatred and the ancient thirst for revenge: that was what Baba feared most.
I'll never tell him how I feel,
she determined.
He mustn't know how much I've come to hate the Serbs.
    To her surprise, Mehmet was not opposed to the idea of America. "I'm going to go to America and get rich. Then I'll come back and fight for independence. Maybe I'll see Bill Clinton. Thank him for the bombs."
    They knew that the legendary American president and his wife had come to Macedonia and visited the camp at Stenkovic. Mehmet felt cheated that he had missed seeing his current hero. "He should have come to our camp to see us," he said.
    "But you weren't even here. You were home when he was at Stenkovic," Meli said.
    "I'll see him someday."
    Someday.
All of them, even Meli, frightened as she was by the whole idea of America, were anxious for that "someday" when the word would come and their names would appear on the list of those to leave the camp. The papers had all been filled out. Now they must wait, Baba said, for a sponsor in America: someone who would help them settle into their new country.
But even in a country as rich as America, who would want responsibility for a family with five children,
Meli wondered,
a family in which no one can speak English?
    A few days later Mehmet said that one of the American volunteers had offered to teach English to those who had applied to go to America. Baba was pleased. He insisted that Mehmet and Meli attend. "You should go, too, Baba," Meli said.
    Mama agreed. "It is a good example," she said quietly, pointing her chin toward Mehmet. So Baba went with them, but it was a trial for him, Meli saw. Mehmet was so much quicker than their father.
He shouldn't act so smug—just because he's more clever than we are.
She did her best to pretend that she was having just as hard a time as Baba was, though in truth she was catching on much faster than her father.
    "Can you tell me the way to the supermarket?" the young volunteer teacher said, and the little class of refugees young and old echoed the alien sounds, all but Baba.
    "What does it mean, 'soopera mekit'?" he whispered loudly enough to make several people turn around and stare at him.
    "Hush," Mehmet said. "Just repeat."
    Baba's sun-browned face couldn't hide the red flush in his cheeks.
When had his mustache turned white? When had so much gray appeared on his head of thick black hair?
Meli bit her lip and fixed her eyes on the instructor.
    Meantime, Baba and Uncle Fadil had located a distant relative in Skopje. The Macedonian cousin came to the camp, bringing a gift of money and the loan of an ancient Mercedes. The family that had clung together for so long was about to be torn apart—maybe forever.
    "It's time for us to leave," Uncle Fadil said. "Granny is strong enough to travel, and we have the use of this car. I'll stop by and see you when I come back to return it."
    Meli held each twin so close they wriggled out of her arms. She hugged Granny and Nexima and dear Auntie Burbuqe, who was sobbing right out loud. They all, except Mehmet—who seemed to think himself too manly to cry—were wiping their eyes when the final good-byes were said. Uncle Fadil shook hands gravely all around. When he got to Mehmet he put his left hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Be a man," he said.
    "I'm a man and a half," Mehmet said, and grinned to soften the boast. Uncle Fadil smiled and got in behind the wheel. He looked about, as though he needed to make sure all his passengers were safely in place before starting the engine.
    "May your life be lengthened, brother," Baba said, sticking his head in the window of the