World in Between

by Kenan Trebincevic

  It feels wonderful to be in a warm house filled with toys and food in a fridge with a light that works. Raza and Fadil set out a buffet of glittering dishes and platters.

  “Don’t eat too much too fast or your tummy will hurt,” Mom cautions.

  I’m too excited, though, and famished. I sit down on a stool at the counter and inhale the delicious food—beef salami on thick rye bread, fruit yogurt, and apple strudel—washing it down with a glass of milk. It’s been so long since I’ve tasted anything fresh and cold. I put a spoon in the mayo and eat it like ice cream.

  “Stop doing that. It’s disgusting,” Mom whispers. Enes cracks up.

  “But I haven’t had mayo in a year,” I tell her, and everybody else laughs too.

  “Why aren’t you eating?” Dad asks Mom.

  “I’m too tired,” she says. “I had the sandwich on the bus.”

  Dad pushes over a bunch of purple grapes, and she eats a few. She always ate like a bird, but the war has wrecked her appetite. I hope her hunger comes back soon.

  At last the doorbell rings, and Fadil says, “There’s Ahmet.”

  “Uncle!” I yell as he walks into the kitchen slowly, using crutches. I’d forgotten that his leg was shattered fighting in the war. I hate watching him limp, his face twisted in pain.

  But as soon as he sees me, he puts down the crutches, picks me up, and kisses my cheeks, which he’s never done. Then he scruffs up my hair. I grab on to his neck, ecstatic to be safe here, with him.

  “My leg’s one big toolbox, full of screws and bolts holding the bones together,” he jokes.

  “You look good,” Mom says, taking her turn to hold him close. Then he hugs Dad and Eldin.

  “We finally made it out,” my father tells him.

  “So what’d ya pay for the taxi ride?” Uncle Ahmet asks.

  “Two hundred of the schillings,” Dad says.

  “Jerk ripped you off.” My uncle shakes his head. “It should’ve cost half what he charged.”

  “He had a Serbian accent,” Eldin pipes up.

  “Figures.”

  Dad looks ashamed he’s been scammed. Being screwed over by another bad Serb pisses me off, even after the nice passengers on the bus.

  “Where’s Aunt Maksida and my cousins?” I ask. I’ve missed Minka, who is fourteen, and Almira, who’s ten, two years younger than me. This is the longest we’ve ever been apart.

  “You’ll see them in the morning,” Uncle Ahmet promises.

  “Have you spoken to Mom?” my mother asks him.

  “Yes. She’s fine. In the suburbs with Bisera. We just got a letter from her,” Ahmet says.

  I’m glad they’re safe, just an hour away from Brčko now.

  “Thank God,” Mom says, tearing up again. Over the past year, even with all we’ve been through, I’ve seen her cry only once or twice. But her eyes have been watery all day today. I guess she saved her tears until we were safe.

  “Everyone’s okay for now,” my uncle assures us, putting his hand on hers. “So tell me what happened.” He sits down at the kitchen table with my father and Fadil while my mother helps Raza take out more food. Eldin and I load up our plates with second and third helpings.

  “Miran threw us out of our own apartment,” Dad says angrily. “Then they put us in jail for two weeks.”

  “They killed thousands of civilians,” Mom says.

  “There are mass graves outside of town,” Dad adds.

  “Those bastards are war criminals who should all be shot,” my uncle mutters.

  Fadil nods sadly. “All the Bosnian refugees here have been filling us in on what’s happening.”

  After we finish eating, Raza tells Enes it’s late and he has to go to bed.

  “Gute Nacht, Kenan,” he says as his mom leads him upstairs.

  “Laku noč,” I tell him in Bosnian.

  * * *

  The rest of us move to the living room. It has beige leather couches, a huge television, and a fancy glass chandelier on the ceiling, with a lot of little bulbs. When I tell Fadil I’m not used to bright lights yet, he makes it darker with a dimmer switch. As everyone sits down on the couches and ottomans, I curl up in the corner of the sofa with a sudden terrible tummy ache.

  “When you’ve been starving, your stomach shrinks,” Uncle Ahmet tells me. “You have to take it easy with food.” He turns to Dad. “You lost too much weight, Keka. You should go weigh yourself on the bathroom scale.”

  Dad does. When he comes back, he looks alarmed. “I’m down fifty pounds. How do I regain it?”

  Mom bites her lip. We’ve seen Dad every day, so we didn’t notice how much he’d shrunk. “Well, I’m a fat pig now,” Uncle Ahmet jokes, “since I’ve been eating well for six months.” It’s true, he’s heavier now.

  “There was no running water in Brčko for nine months.” Dad fills everyone in on what we’ve endured. “We had to pour buckets of well water into the toilet to flush. Kenji had to go out to get us bread.”

  “You’re safe now,” my uncle reassures us again, then checks his watch. “But it’s past midnight. I have to go.”

  “Go where?” I ask.

  “We live twenty-five minutes away,” he tells me. “I’ll come get you guys tomorrow.”

  “Why not tonight?” I ask. My chest thumps. I’m confused—why doesn’t he live here with his sister-in-law and Fadil? I don’t want to lose my uncle again.

  “We’ve been staying with a Viennese family, the Raths. One in the morning is too late to move you all in. We don’t want to wake everyone up,” he explains, hugging me goodbye.

  “Why can’t we all be together here?” I ask quietly.

  “They only have two bedrooms, not enough to sleep eight more of us,” he says, scruffing up my hair one more time before he leaves.

  I wave from the front door as Fadil pulls two couches out into double beds. Raza comes back downstairs, holding sheets and pillows for us.

  After they go upstairs to sleep, I check out the bathroom on the main floor. There’s a big tub and two sinks. These past months, I’ve hated going to the bathroom in the dark, with only a candle. Now I keep flipping the light switch on and off.

  “Stop that. And don’t make a mess,” Mom says. “Take a shower, but be quick. Don’t use up too much hot water.”

  It’s the first shower I’ve had in close to a year, and I don’t want it to end. The water pressure tickles my skin. It feels so good to wash my hair with real shampoo instead of laundry detergent. My stomach is feeling better as I dry off in the big, fluffy white towel Raza left out, and I put on my sweats and T-shirt. I haven’t brushed my teeth with anything but baking soda for so long, the peppermint toothpaste stings my gums.

  “Go to the bathroom too,” Mom instructs. “I don’t want you making noise and disturbing the family by opening and closing the door in the middle of the night.”

  After I’m done, Eldin takes his turn, then Mom and Dad wash up.

  “Let’s sleep,” Mom finally says. I’m so tired. Eldin and Dad take one of the sofa beds, and I crawl into the other with Mom, asleep before my head hits the pillow.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Raza leaves for work, dropping Enes off at school on her way. I’m hungry again, so Mom makes us toast with strawberry jam, which I down with more fresh milk. Uncle Ahmet returns, and he and Fadil carry our bags outside, hailing two cabs for the six of us. I go with my uncle and Eldin. As we head down the road, I stare back, thinking of Fadil and Raza’s beautiful apartment, wishing we could stay.

  “Where are we going now?” I ask.

  “To the Raths, on Hauptstrasse, at the other end of town. They’re very nice philanthropists who Fadil knows from work,” Uncle Ahmet says. “They want to help refugees.”

  We all climb out, and Fadil pays for both taxis. Then he knocks on the door of a redbrick house. A smiling couple answers.

  “This is Mr. Raimond and Agnes Rath,” Fadil says.

  Mr. Rath looks older than Agnes
, like my parents. But they seem richer and much better dressed. We shake hands and say “hallo” and “Danke,” speaking an awkward mix of English, Bosnian, and the broken German we’ve picked up, with Fadil helping to translate. What do you say to total strangers who are taking your family into their home?

  Fadil picks up Mom’s bag, and we follow as he takes it through the kitchen and down some stairs to the basement. There we find my Aunt Maksida, Minka, and Almira.

  “Auntie Ada! You’re here!” Minka says to my mom as we all hug.

  “You girls got so big and beautiful,” Mom says, kissing their heads. They do look taller, rested and happy, and they’re wearing pretty plaid outfits, earrings, and barrettes in their hair. I’m sure I look ratty in my worn-out T-shirt, sweats, and sneakers.

  “I can teach you German,” Minka offers in Bosnian to me and Eldin.

  “Let’s play Legos,” Almira tells me.

  We sit on the floor and build a castle together.

  After Fadil leaves, Ahmet says he’ll show us around town. He has to go pretty slowly on his crutches as we walk to the bottom of a hill to catch the trolley. He pays for our tickets and tells us where to stand. I can’t help but stare at all the clean Austrian people in their pea coats, matching hats, and gloves. They’re staring back at us. They can probably tell from our language and run-down clothes we don’t belong here.

  “Pull this wire when you want the bus to stop,” Uncle says when it’s time for us to get off. We’re in a bustling area of stores and restaurants.

  I’m delighted by how bright and shiny Vienna is, surrounded by snowy mountains, hills, and sculptures. “Eldin, that man on a horse is made of gold.” I point to a statue in the middle of a square that’s surrounded by regal estates that look like they’re from a fairy tale.

  Uncle Ahmet takes us to a toy store and buys me a miniature metal tank and two tiny green air force jets. They have no flags or insignia; they seem generic.

  “Hvala.” I thank him in Bosnian.

  “Don’t throw your money away,” Mom tells him.

  “What can I get for you?” my uncle asks Eldin.

  “I want a Bosnian newspaper,” Eldin answers.

  “Yes, let’s get a paper,” Dad says.

  Aunt Maksida picks out a paper doll cutout book and fashion magazine for Minka and Almira. When we leave, I take my presents out of the package and play “Dogfight,” with the planes.

  Strolling through the elaborate Viennese gardens, I breathe in the crisp air. Their churches and museums are taller than the ones back home, magical. We see a building that resembles a medieval castle, and I imagine a king and queen walking out, waving grandly. It’s all almost too much beauty to take in. Looking up at bronze eagles and plaster angels on the ornate buildings, I feel dizzy.

  As the sun goes down, we find a newsstand to buy the Bosnian paper Oslobodenje, then stop at an ice-cream parlor, where Uncle Ahmet treats us to rainbow gelato, tangy and delicious.

  “I’m tired. Why don’t we go home?” I ask Eldin, forgetting we don’t really have one.

  “I bet he doesn’t want us back at the Raths’ too soon, bothering the family,” my brother says.

  We wait another hour before we return to the Raths’ house. When we enter the kitchen, Agnes introduces us to their big, bubbly youngest daughter, Fani, who is fifteen. She has brown hair, cut in a bob with bangs, and she’s wearing a buttoned plaid skirt and white shirt with a collar.

  “Hallo. Wie geht’s dir?” she says. We smile and nod, assuming it’s some kind of greeting.

  Then Uncle Ahmet takes us back to the basement. Slowly I understand that all eight of us will be staying down here in one long, slender room. It has wall-to-wall brown carpeting and wooden walls, beds on both sides. The small windows don’t open, and you can see only the bottoms of trees. There’s no bathroom here.

  “Wait until Eldin has to go so both of you can sneak upstairs together,” Mom tells us right before bedtime. “Don’t disturb the family.”

  “I have to go now,” Eldin says. We tiptoe upstairs, trying not to impose. There’s no way I’m undressing in front of my girl cousins, so I bring my sweatpants and T-shirt with me to change.

  When we come back downstairs, I sit on a twin-size bed and scan the room. It’s dim and cramped, like a bomb shelter. Uncle Ahmet’s family will sleep on one side, and they’ve made room for us on the other. They give us the trundle bed, and Eldin, the tallest, gets the top. Mom and I share the pull-out mattress below, feet to head for more room.

  “Sorry you’re sleeping in tiny matchboxes,” my uncle jokes. “It’s just temporary.” But he seems embarrassed that all of us have to bunk in such tight quarters.

  Dad sleeps on a flimsy beach chair that keeps collapsing all night. I can’t fall asleep, so I hear him snoring. Then he twists around, getting stuck and snapping awake, muttering swear words while untangling himself. It’s pitch-dark, like it was in Brčko without electricity—but he doesn’t want to disturb anybody else by turning on the lights. At least we’re not afraid of being killed or taken to jail or a concentration camp. But I worry we’ll be homeless. How long can two families live in someone’s basement?

  “Eldin, are you up?” I whisper.

  “Shh, go back to sleep. You’ll wake everyone.”

  Ahmet is the one keeping me up, with his snoring like a buzz saw. “How long will we be here?” I ask.

  “Nobody knows,” my brother tells me.

  “Think we can play outside tomorrow?” I whisper.

  “We’ll ask Mom. But we don’t want to disturb the rich people.”

  * * *

  In the morning, we can hear the Rath family getting ready to leave the house. By nine a.m. they’re gone, and we go upstairs to their kitchen.

  “Auntie, when will you make me your apricot jam?” I ask Aunt Maksida. “When do we go home?”

  “I don’t know if we’ll ever go home,” she says sadly.

  I join my cousins outside in the yard to play tag and jump rope, trying not to think about that.

  In the evening, we go back downstairs to stay out of the Raths’ way. As we’re having beef salami sandwiches for dinner, there’s a knock on the basement door.

  “Wollt ihr rodeln gehen?” Fani Rath calls out. “Mit meinen Freunden.”

  “Since it’s snowing out, Fani wants you to come sledding with her friends,” Minka translates.

  “Can we, Mom?” I ask, excited to finally be able to play with a bunch of kids.

  Mom looks at Aunt Maksida, who nods yes. The girls put on snowsuits, boots, mittens, and winter hats. All Eldin has is his flimsy black flight jacket. I don’t have boots, so I put on extra socks, and I wear a sweater under my parka.

  Outside, Fani and four other teens, two boys and two girls, are waiting. They’re wearing warm down ski jackets with gloves and scarves. But they have the same type of wooden sleds we had in Brčko.

  We walk with Minka and Almira’s group a few blocks, past all the houses, to what seems like a huge public park, with the steepest hill I’ve ever seen. I’m out of breath as I climb up, grabbing on to Eldin to get my balance. Standing on top, we see how huge Vienna is, surrounded by mountains. We watch everyone winding down the slope with two or three kids on a sled, yelling and laughing.

  My brother, the tallest and oldest, keeps quiet. We don’t speak their language, so we stick together and share a ride, wind pushing against our faces.

  For hours, we keep running up and speeding down until we’re freezing and sopping wet. But it’s the best time we’ve had in what feels like forever.

  * * *

  Three weeks later, we relocate with Uncle Ahmet’s family to a two-bedroom on a street called Fleischmanngasse. The Raths own it, but they haven’t rented it out yet. We’re excited to have a place to ourselves, but we arrive to find no heat, no carpet, and little furniture. In the living room there’s a couch and two coffee tables. In the kitchen is a small table and a tub with a shower hose. There’s a bathr
oom out in the hallway, with just a tiny toilet, that we’ll have to share with the other tenants on our floor. The larger bedroom is at the back of the apartment, and you have to walk through the other bedroom to get to it.

  “We’ll take the smaller bedroom,” Mom says. “Your uncle needs more room to move around with his leg.”

  I nod. I’ve noticed that with his weight gain and injury, he’s having trouble getting around.

  Uncle Ahmet’s family moves into their room. It’s almost completely filled with one bed and a pull-out sofa. Our bedroom, the smaller and colder one, has only two pull-out couches.

  “Why is it all in a straight line?” I ask.

  “It’s called a railroad flat,” Mom replies.

  I think that’s weird, since there are no wheels or tracks. And if anyone wants to bathe, we’ll have to clear out of the kitchen, since there’s no curtain. It’s an awful setup, but we’ve heard thousands of other Bosnian refugees in camps here have it much worse. I don’t complain. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.

  When I heard that Uncle Ahmet had escaped to Vienna, I didn’t picture him, Aunt Maksida, Minka, and Almira all crammed into someone’s basement or sharing a bathroom with strangers. Back home, he owned a thriving TV repair business, a fancy house, and a big car. He had lots of money, often treating us to dinner and buying us presents. I was so proud when he joined the resistance forces.

  Now, Mom says, since he’s been wounded, he can’t work. Aunt Maksida is cleaning the houses of aristocrats in the area for cash under the table.

  I feel horrible adding to their burden. Because of us, they’re crammed into one room in this tiny apartment, Uncle Ahmet sleeping on the couch, his feet hanging over the armrest, while his wife and daughters have to share the bed. He has no car or job, hardly any money, and he can barely walk.

  My big, strong uncle is a nobody now, just like my dad.

  Fifteen

  February–May 1993

  One cold Wednesday in February, Uncle Ahmet wakes us, saying, “We have to apply for you to get temporary protected status today.”