The Day of the Pelican by Katherine Paterson Page B

Mercedes.
    Uncle Fadil reached out and touched his older brother's face. "May we see one another well," he replied, his voice cracking before he finished the sentence. Then he revved up the motor of the big car, and they were off. Elez kept his nose to the back window, waving at his cousins, and they all waved back until the car was a dot on the dust of the road. Then, hardly looking at each other, they went back through the camp gate.
    "Nobody left but just us chickens," Mehmet said under his breath.
    ***
    Those still in the shrunken camp were all waiting, all wishing to be somewhere else, all checking the list every day to see if their names had magically appeared for transport to a new life. The children had outgrown their clothes, so they went to the designated tent and tried on new ones. Not really new, of course; they were used clothes sent to the camp from people in Western Europe or America. It was silly to hope that the two dresses she chose were stylish, Meli knew. No one would throw away a perfectly good dress if it were up-to-date. Mehmet was thrilled to find a pair of jeans that fit him—well, almost fit. The waist was a little large, but he kept them up with a length of cord. "Jeans," he said proudly. "Just like a Hollywood star."
    Fortunately, although July was hot, it was mostly clear. Then, when it did begin to rain, there was no way to keep things dry. The tent smelled of mildew, and the paths were muddy troughs. The family began going barefoot to spare their single pairs of new hand-me-down shoes. They tried to keep clean, but a weekly cold shower did nothing but take off the current layer of mud. As soon as they left the shower tent, they were dirty again. Meli tried not to remember the big enamel tub in the apartment or the luxury of hot water, big bars of soap and bleached white towels, clean underwear, and clothes that fit her body.
    By the end of July Baba had stopped going to the classes with them. At first he made excuses about having to check the lists or talk to some camp official about papers, but eventually he didn't bother with excuses. He just didn't go back to class. Meli was secretly relieved. How could she learn anything with Baba at her elbow feeling lost and hopeless and humiliated by his own children? Still, how were they to get along in America if their father couldn't even speak to people? It would be as though Mehmet had become head of the family, and Mehmet wasn't wise and caring like Baba. What would happen to them in that strange new land without him in charge? Why couldn't they just go home? Yes, the apartment would be crowded, though no more crowded than the farmhouse had been last winter. But Baba was adamant: They would wait for the papers and the promise of sponsorship that would let them emigrate to America.
    Letters from home, when they came, did not bring good news. Hamza was dead; they were sure of it now. The KLA had confirmed it. Granny stayed in bed all the time. Thank God there was a bed for her to lie in, Uncle Fadil said, for the barbarians had destroyed so much else. Relief teams had brought food, and the NATO troops were trying to keep order, but when the Jokics, their Serb neighbors, fled north, the KLA came and burned their house.
    "I asked them," Uncle Fadil wrote, "'Why do you burn a perfectly good house? My cousin and his family could live there when they come back.' But they wouldn't listen to me."
    "You see," Baba said when he read them the letter, "hate makes no sense."
Yes, it does, Baba, to everyone but you.
But the thought of the next-door neighbors turning into refugees did not satisfy any need for revenge. The Jokics had done no harm to the Lleshis, or to anyone else that she knew of. And Baba was right: burning a perfectly good house made no sense at all.
    Unlike many in the camp, they stayed well. "You see," Mehmet said, "the KLA camp made us strong. If it weren't for them, we'd be sniffling and croaking like these weaklings around here."
    "Hush,"