World in Between

by Kenan Trebincevic

  * * *

  The next day during math, the principal, Mr. Nikolić, walks in and says, “Kenan Trebinčević, come with me.”

  Everybody is watching, even Mr. Miran. I follow the principal with my eyes on the floor as I pass rows of desks and walk out of the classroom and down the hall. My palms are wet. My mind is shouting questions: Is this about the army stuff? What else could it be? What’s gonna happen to me? Will Mom freak? What if Lena finds out?

  Two military policemen stand in the principal’s office. Both Serbs, I figure. Ivan’s already in a chair across from Principal Nikolić’s desk. I swallow hard.

  I can’t figure out why Marko and Vik aren’t in trouble too. Are they taking me to jail? Could this ruin my chance of a fudbal career? Worse, will they beat me up like they did to those poor Croatians in the park?

  “Where were you last night, Kenan?” the tall soldier demands. His voice is rough, like sandpaper.

  “We were playing hide-and-seek,” Ivan jumps in.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d believe him. I’m awed by how easily he makes up stories. To him, lying comes as naturally as breathing. He slouches in his chair, not looking afraid at all. He’s been here before. Or maybe it’s because he’s a Serb too? I nod in agreement.

  The principal leaves, then returns with my classmate Aleks Vojnović. He has food stuck in his braces, as usual. What’s he doing here?

  “I overheard them talking about breaking into the base last night,” Aleks says proudly, like he’s some big hero for snitching.

  I’ve never liked him. My dad used to go skiing with his father, but now that Dr. Vojnović is president of our town’s Serb party, they aren’t friends anymore.

  “When this is over, I’ll get you,” Ivan hisses at Aleks, who looks terrified.

  Ivan spits at him, and the principal pulls Ivan out of the chair by his ears and slams his head to the desk. My mouth drops open. This is ugly. I’ve never been in trouble like this before.

  “You boys have ten minutes to bring everything back,” the officer says calmly, but his glare could cut through steel.

  The back of my neck drips with sweat. I was nine the last time I got scolded by the principal—for kicking a new kid who’d called me Bugs Bunny and making him cry. My parents made me apologize. If they hear about the robbery, they’ll ground me forever.

  Two more uniformed men appear in the hallway and escort me and Ivan out of the school and into a military jeep. “Where is the contraband?” one asks.

  We reveal where the spot along the fence is. They drive us there and wait in the jeep as we walk to the bush and dig up the stuff with our hands.

  “I bet they don’t know what we stole,” Ivan whispers in my ear. “They can’t see much from here. Let’s just give a few things back.”

  He has a point. I decide to keep the gas masks my family might need. And if I return everything and Ivan doesn’t, they’ll suspect something’s up.

  I don’t want to be a wimp. I decide to act chill so I’ll be asked to go on more secret missions with Vik.

  I lift out the shovel, flashlight, and backpack, but leave the bandages and masks behind, shoveling dirt back over them. Picturing the war movies I’ve seen with Dad, I worry that if there’s black smoke, fires, or fumes from rockets, my family won’t be able to breathe. I could save us.

  The soldiers take the loot and yell, “Get in the jeep!” We drive back in silence. They stop in the middle of the school’s courtyard, and we get out. My classmates are all staring down from the second-story windows. Shaking, I wipe my dirty hands on my jeans. My parents are going to kill me. Mr. Miran will never pick me for any of his teams again.

  “We are so screwed,” I tell Ivan.

  They put us in two separate small classrooms with no windows, like the cops on Law & Order do when they’re interrogating perps. There’s a rectangular table with chairs around it, and Milisav, a Serb friend of Dad’s, is standing there. They serve in the army reserves together every year. I’m relieved to see him.

  “Oh, it’s little Keka,” he says, but without his usual smile beneath his goofy mustache that hangs down to his chin. He’s not happy to see me. This is not good.

  I reach out to give him a handshake as I always do. He keeps his hands to himself.

  “I know his father,” he tells the two other soldiers who brought me in. “Sit down,” he commands.

  I obey, sitting on the edge of the leather chair, my feet barely touching the floor. I feel tiny as the tall men hover above me. “Did your dad put you up to this?” Milisav asks.

  “N-n-no,” I stutter. “We just thought it would be a neat game to see if we could sneak into the base.”

  Milisav shakes his finger in my face. “Wait until I tell him.”

  I can’t stop tears from pooling in my eyes.

  “Do you support the army?” his young comrade barks.

  I’m not sure what to say. “I love our country,” I tell him.

  “Are you a Bosnian, a Yugoslavian, or a Muslim?” Milisav asks.

  Is it a trick question? “My country is Yugoslavia. I’m from the Bosnian Republic. My religion is Muslim,” I say. I’m being honest. I think it’s a good answer that proves I’m not a traitor. But Milisav’s sour face tells me it’s not the response he wants.

  “Take him back to his class,” he orders the younger guy.

  In the classroom, Ivan isn’t there. Vik looks worried that I’ve been a tattletale. I raise my eyebrow, trying to signal that I didn’t give anything away.

  “What did you do?” Mr. Miran asks. I can tell he’s disappointed in me. He’s never scolded me before. I’m usually a good student who tries hard. He once said he expected a lot from me because he respected my dad so much.

  “I’m sorry, Teacher,” I tell him, embarrassed.

  “Now is not the time for apologies.” His teeth are clenched tight. At least he isn’t screaming like he sometimes does when other students screw up. I hope it’s a sign I might be forgiven.

  When Ivan comes back to class, he nods at me, then at Vik, making it clear I’m not a rat.

  After school, I straggle home, keeping my head to the ground. I’m too ashamed to look up. I don’t even want to think about my mother. I pray she doesn’t know.

  At my building, I lift my eyes to see Mom glaring at me from our balcony. “My hands will be around your throat!” she shouts down at me.

  They must have called her from school. I’ve never seen her this mad. I take a deep breath, then bolt upstairs to get it over with.

  Her face is red with rage. “I was at work and heard your name on the radio!” she yells. “They said you stole supplies from the army!”

  I was on the radio? For a minute I feel like I’m a famous crazy outlaw, like Billy the Kid in the Val Kilmer movie. It’s exciting—until I catch Mom’s puffy face and realize I’ve humili-ated her in public. Majka Emina always says the worst thing you can do in our culture is smear your family’s good name. My heart drops to the floor.

  I imagine that none of Dad’s friends will shake my hand anymore. The owners of the candy store won’t trust me—they’ll watch me like a hawk so I don’t steal, like Ivan does. My friends’ parents will whisper: Stay away from Kenan Trebinčević. No fudbal team will ever scout me as a player. Wherever Lena is, she’ll no longer like me.

  “I wasn’t the leader, Ivan was,” I try to explain as I enter our apartment. “I just took bandages and gas masks for us, in case anything happens.”

  She doesn’t hear a word. “Go to your room. You’re grounded forever! What are people at work going to think of my son the thief?” she shrieks, swatting at me.

  I race to the bedroom. Eldin and Dad aren’t home yet. I bet they’ll be angry at me and ashamed too. Everyone probably heard that radio broadcast. What will the people at Dad’s fitness center say?

  The minutes crawl by. I can hear my mother banging pots and pans in the kitchen. No music tonight. Finally I hear my father return from work. He
storms into my room without knocking.

  I freeze, sitting on the corner of the bed. Neither of my parents have ever hit me, but this time I’m in for it.

  “Why did you do this?” he hollers, hands on his hips.

  “Everyone says the war’s coming. I’m scared. I want us to be ready,” I tell him.

  “You do this by stealing?” he yells. “What did you take?”

  “A canteen, flashlight, bandages, shovel, and four gas masks, one for each of us. To keep us safe.” I need to prepare us for the war. My parents aren’t doing it. Somebody has to, I almost say.

  Dad doesn’t speak for a minute. Then he looks worried. “Listen, Kenji, that’s not your job,” he says in a quieter tone. He pats my head. “Don’t leave your room or make noise, or your mom will murder you.”

  I’m relieved he’s not that angry, but I’m still nervous about my mom and brother.

  Eldin drops his books on his desk when he gets home and stares at me. I’m waiting for him to punch my arm and tell me I’m an embarrassing idiot.

  “Hey, that was wild. Your name was really on the radio?” he asks. “How did you sneak in there?”

  Turns out I don’t need to worry about my brother after all. He’s impressed with my new tough guy rep!

  “Like Sylvester Stallone in Rambo III invading the Russian base in the dark,” I say, feeling taller. “But without any German shepherds.”

  “Get any guns?” he wants to know, like he’s sorry he wasn’t in on it too.

  “I wish,” I tell him. “There weren’t any. I checked.”

  Mom hasn’t changed her mind, though. For the first time ever, I’m not allowed to eat dinner with my family. I sit on the floor of my room like an outcast, starving. When I hear my uncle’s loud voice, I open my door. Mom’s bossy older brother Ahmet is my favorite. For my birthday he brings me miniature cars, plastic army men, and milk chocolate.

  “Can I please see my uncle?” I call from my room, hoping he’ll get her to forgive me.

  “No! You stay there, you thief!” Mom yells.

  “Get out here, Kenan!” Uncle Ahmet calls. He’s strong and always in charge, even at our place. Knowing she won’t argue with him, I slink to the kitchen, where they’re eating without me. I stare at Uncle Ahmet’s plate of chicken, okra, and rice, my stomach growling. “What did you do?” he demands.

  “I stole from the army,” I confess, head down. “Aleks Vojnović told on us.”

  “You know who Aleks’s father is?” Dad asks Uncle Ahmet, his voice filled with disgust. “The doctor who heads the Serb radical party.”

  “They’re the ones with the red flag with the double-headed eagle and cross,” I say.

  “That’s what you’re punishing him for? You’re not grounded anymore,” my uncle declares, magically pardoning me. “Let him steal from those unscrupulous bastards who keep attacking us with our own weapons.” He lights a cigarette and tells Mom to bring me food. I look at Dad, who nods his okay.

  Mom pushes a plate of okra and rice at me, scowling. “Here, eat, ti žvotinjo,” she says, rolling her eyes at her brother. She’s never called me an animal before. I feel dirty.

  “Bosnian workers haven’t been paid for months—teachers, lawyers, doctors, municipal employees,” Uncle Ahmet explains. “Those corrupt Serb bastards put the money they owe us into guns to kill us.”

  “Despicable murderers,” Dad spits out.

  I shovel food in my mouth fast, before Mom can change her mind. When I look up, Uncle Ahmet winks at me. Does that mean stealing back from the “corrupt Serb bastards” is allowed?

  * * *

  As soon as I walk into school the next day, I’m sent to the principal’s office a second time. None of the other boys are there. I sit on the bench in the hallway and miss my first class. Then Principal Nikolić opens the door and tells me to come inside. The wooden floor squeaks as I sit in the chair across from him.

  He leans forward and asks in a harsh voice, “Did your father get you to do this?”

  “No.” I shake my head violently. I can’t bear to cause problems for Dad. “I was just fooling around with my friends.”

  He phones my father to come get me. Twenty minutes later, Dad barges into the office. “Why do you keep interrogating my son?” he shouts, looking around. “What about the other boys?”

  Principal Nikolić seems embarrassed. “It’s standard procedure now.”

  “He keeps asking if you talked me into it,” I tell Dad, more confident now that he’s here to protect me. “Yesterday your friend Milisav wanted to know if I was a Yugoslavian, Bosnian, or Muslim.”

  Dad shakes his head. “What did you tell them?”

  “I said I’m all three.”

  “That’s right, you are,” Dad says. He turns to the principal. “Is that why he’s the only kid here? Because he’s Muslim?” I realize that Principal Nikolić is a Serb. “Don’t you dare call him into your office again!”

  Dad slams his fist on the desk, then takes me by the arm, and we march out. I hold my head high.

  At home, he grabs his army beret and captain’s uniform from the closet.

  After his mandatory army service at eighteen, Dad has kept volunteering to stay in the reserves. Every year he puts on the uniform and heads off for a whole month, promising to write. Every year when the month has passed, I wait downstairs for him to return. He looks powerful coming up the street in his green shirt and beret, with his pants tucked neatly into his boots. When I was a little kid, I’d jump into his arms and he’d put his cap on my head before carrying me upstairs.

  “You’re coming with me to the military base,” he tells me now, shoving his uniform into a bag. We walk there in silence. I glance up at him. He’s cursing under his breath, still furious.

  At the gate he announces, “Tell Milisav that Keka is here.”

  The guard does as he says, then lets us enter.

  In the one-story yellow brick building, Milisav leads Dad into his office and says, “Keka, we need to talk. This is not good for you.”

  “No, this is not good for you.” My father points his finger at his face. “You’re harassing my son because he’s Muslim? How long have we been friends? How long have I volunteered to serve in this army?” My father rips the red star from his beret. He forces it into Milisav’s hand. Then he gives him the rest of his army greens. “I don’t believe in this nationalistic nonsense. I resign.”

  This is upsetting. Dad has always told us to respect the military. Each spring my buddies and I wave at the new Yugoslavian recruits marching around the base. We even hand out candy to the young soldiers.

  “I thought I could count on you,” Milisav says.

  “It’s not my army anymore,” my father tells him, turning to leave.

  He doesn’t look back over his shoulder as we walk away, but I do. Milisav just stands there, stunned, holding Dad’s uniform and shaking his head.

  “I bet they didn’t ask Ivan what religion he was,” I tell Dad on our walk home.

  “It wasn’t that kid Aleks’s idea to snitch on you,” he says, like he’s thinking out loud. “It was his father’s dirty work.”

  I’m honored that my dad is standing up for me. But I hope this doesn’t get him into trouble too.

  * * *

  Ivan and I are famous now. At lunch the next day, people crowd around, firing questions.

  “Did you hide any of the guns?” a short kid wants to know.

  “How did you manage to sneak by the armed soldiers?” a tall blond girl shouts out.

  Even the teachers are curious. “When did you become a thief? Aren’t your parents beside themselves?” asks Mrs. Kusturica, the math instructor, clicking her tongue and staring at me, like she’s trying to solve the equation of how a good kid could go rotten so quickly. Overnight I’ve become a dangerous celebrity. Now I really wish Lena was still here.

  I kind of enjoy my new troublemaker status. But I keep thinking about what Dad and Uncle Ahmet said at dinner
. If the army hates Muslims and attacks innocent people, why aren’t they considered the bad guys? Nothing makes sense anymore.

  “You won’t need braces. I’ll fix your teeth for you,” Ivan hisses at Aleks the Rat right before he jumps him on the fudbal field after school. Marko and Ivan punch him. Aleks is a creep who was happy to tell on us, so he deserves it. I add a kick—just a light one on his arm, but still. It’s the first time I’ve ever been a bully.

  I get in trouble for that too, but I don’t mind, since we all get scolded.

  “We beat up Aleks for snitching,” I admit to Dad at dinner.

  “Good,” he says, and I smile, happy to please him.

  Five

  April 1992

  On Sunday night, the fathers from our building hold a meeting in the courtyard. I stand on the balcony, where I can hear every word.

  “We have to watch out for the Serbs running the army,” yells Hasan, my friend Huso’s dad.

  Our next door neighbor Obren shouts back, “We Serbs are peaceful people. It’s the damn Muslims and Catholics we need to protect ourselves from.”

  Hasan lunges at Obren. I stare, surprised. I’ve never seen well-dressed Professor Hasan fight with anyone. Dad jumps in between the two and pulls Hasan away, taking him off to a corner to talk him down.

  Why is Dad taking Obren’s side? Obren’s a Serb. He and his redheaded wife, Petra, aren’t very nice neighbors, barely speaking to us when we pass in the hall. They bang on the wall when Eldin and I are loud.

  “I’m sending Huso out of the country,” Hasan tells Dad. “You should send your kids away too.”

  “Stop overreacting,” Dad answers, patting his shoulder. “Showing your temper now can get you killed.”

  * * *

  On Monday morning, as we’re eating breakfast, the local radio station announces that school’s been canceled indefinitely. My parents exchange a look. Dad tells us, “It’s for security reasons.”

  “You boys won’t be going back for a while,” Mom says, nervously wiping the kitchen counter.