America under attack...and not only America...

   
     That night Dad woke them up with urgent shouting: "America is under attack!"
Saranda wriggled in her bed and half conscously she could recognize Victor's crying and Dardon's
quick footsteps along the corridor approaching her bedroom.

    "Hey, wake up!" Dardon shook her arms, but she only muttered to him to get lost. It took many persistent shakes, but finally she opened her eyes and sat up glaring at him.

    "What's up?" Saranda finally asked him, while rubbing at her eye.

    "There is a war, in America," he answered before running out leaving the door opened.

    "Look at those skyscrapers falling apart like paper boxes..." she could hear his exciting shouting from the living room.

Entering the room she found her all family frozen in front of the TV.

    "How terrible, all these terrified people running for their lives...may God help them," her Mum muttered watching the images of New York straight after the bombing of the Twin towers. Victor sobbed
and Mum covered his eyes protectively with her hand.

There was a silence disturbed only by the screaming of injured people on TV. Saranda stayed behind
their backs, unnoticed, glaring at the screen. She was afraid that if she moved the images would come
alive and she would feel the real pain and horror just like once before.

    Finally Dad said: "Remember this day, the world will never be the same again after September 11!"

Soon they would all realise just how true this statement would become.

     Next morning on their way to school Saranda could hear people's laments on the bus stop.
One old lady was crying as her son was in New York at the time and she didn't know what's happened
to him. Dardon met a friend from his soccer team and they started loudly describe the image of falling
of Twin towers.

Saranda was happy when their bus finally came and she pushed him inside. People at the bus were unusually quiet, their grim faces reflected the mixed emotions after seeing the disturbing images of
the previous night.
Suddenly a group of men in dark suits started loudly discuss the terrorist attack and Muslims. One of them stood up and turned to his companions: "Trust me guys, all Muslims are terrorists." He left on the next bus stop but the statement stayed hanging in the air. The atmosphere in the bus felt oppressive.
Saranda touched her scarf and felt like choking.

   Dardon looked at Saranda quizzically: "Are we terrorists?"

   "You'd better ask Dad about that, but I for one don't feel like one," she found an empty seat and sat down.

   "That's sort of cool, you know..."

   "Cut it out, Dardon," she turned her face to a window. She could feel an elderly lady sitting opposite starring at her.

   "Poor Americans, so many live lost and what will happen to us now?" The lady murmured under her
breath. Saranda looked up at her and smiled sadly as she was not sure if the question was addressed to her. The lady met her eyes and leaned forward: "I am old, born not far from this intersection, you know, but what about you lot, migrating to this country in thousands with your peculiar customs..."

Saranda got up suddenly realising that the bus stopped in front of Dardon't Muslim college. He had already disappeared among the crowd rushing to the front door. She quickly followed him. The lady
watched her to leave. A sour smile came across her lips.
Saranda rushed to catch up with Dardon. He stepped on the busy road without looking around and some drivers honked at him. Saranda finally caught up with him near the school entrance. The loud whole school morning pray reminded Dardon that he was again late for assembly. The boys in their praying hats stood in perfect row on the right and the girls on the left, together preparing Arabic words after their Deputy principal. The Religion teacher moved from row to row watching closely the children's behaviour and attention to praying. She looked Dardon up and down when he quickly joined his class, taking out his praying hat from his pocket. Saranda shrugged, it looked like the routine would be the same like everyday. She quickly turned around and ran along the street to her College. On the way she met with Doha, who looked upset.

    "Someone draw rude pictures on the wall of Mosque, with the words that we are ones to blame for the attack," she hastily explained to her while entering the gate.

    "I've heard morning that stones were thrown at mosques." Saranda nodded.

 Doha stopped suddenly in front of their PC room, her face twisted with a hidden pain: "Thank God you will live in a free country, where no one will persecute you for your beliefs," she looked up at Saranda with tears in her eyes: "My Father said this to me before he drowned on this shore." She spread her arms in an attempt to cover whole space and then she let them fall in a deep sorrow.

Saranda felt that there was nothing she could say so she just gently squizzed Doha's hand and then quietly entered their Religious room. The lesson had already started so they quickly found empty seats to avoid their teacher attention. Fortunately she was busy talking to a Muslim lady at the front.

    "We have a visitor," a girl from the front turned to them.

    "Who is she?" Saranda asked observing the visitor's rich red Muslim dress with a shawl loosely held over her long black hair: "She is cool, look, she doesn't care if you can see her hair." Saranda added admiringly.

    "I know her," Doha suddenly whispered into her ear: "She has visited the Abuh Ahmed's house a few times, she is a teacher and a writer, I think."

Saranda wanted to ask more but the lady turned to the class smiling kindly: "Dear girls, let me introduce myself, my name is Nagasful Zahedan and my grandfather came to Australia from Afghanistan in the
late 19th century. My father was a devout Muslim and I am..." She looked around the attentive faces: "I am Muslim of the heart."

    "What does that mean?" Saranda blurted out without thinking.

    "Saranda," the teacher looked at her crossly from the corner: "It is extremely rude to..."

    "It is allright," the lady smiled at Saranda: "Being a Muslim is part of my identity."

Saranda thanked her for the answer and the lady continued in her talk. Her face was expressionless only her kind smile enlightened it from time to time. She spoke quietly, trying to convince: "I am sure
you have already met people who blame or your parents for what happened in America," the lady looked around the classroom on the nodding heads. Her thin golden earrings tinkled in agreement: "It's
tragic and sad, but I want you to know that they are not bad people, people just don't understand what is happening..."

    "I like her," Saranda whispered into Doha's ear: "Once I will be like her, a Muslim of the heart."

    "She is right," Doha added: "Getting worried doesn't help us."

    "And what will?" Saranda asked, but Doha was already lost in her pray.

Australian Citizenship Ceremony with a taste of tragedy (September 2001)

One day Dad called them to his Study and presented proudly a letter with Australian emblem. Saranda
looked at the letter an drecognied the heading: 'Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs.'
She vaguely remembered a time when a similar letter arrived at the Barracks and they had been allowed to stay in Australia.

    "What's this all about?" Mum asked nervously holding the vigorous Victor by his hand. He looked around the room he was not allowed to enter and was keen to explore it with all his senses.

    "I will miss my soccer, Dad, is it important?" Dardon asked impatiently.

    "Very important," Dad said shaking the letter in his hand: "We finally become rightful citizens of this country," he stopped for a while: "And there is a part I want you to learn by heart by next Saturday," he looked from one to another: "All of you you!"

    "I see Victor learning it," chuckled Dardon to himself, but Dad walking behind him squeezed his arm
so painfully that he jumped up saying: "Don't be cheecky, Dardon, you are not a little boy any more, it is time for you to grow up, sooner you learnt that, better for you."

Then he turned to Saranda, who followed him out of the room: "Here you are, help your Mum to understand it," handing her the letter he noticed Victor, finally freeing himself from Mum, starting to explore enthusiastically Dad's table full of papers.

He beckoned to Mum to take him and leave. Dardon didn't miss opportunity and rushed out of the door to catch up with his training. Mum quickly grabbed Victor who loudly protested and left the room in a tick. Only Saranda moved slowly to the door reading loudly: "From this time forward, under God, I pledge my loyalty to Australia and its people..." She suddenly stopped and turned back: "Why do we have to learn this?"

Dad has already returned back to his table and carefully ordered back the papers Victor touched, without taking eyes of it, he murmured under his breath: "Just keep reading, you will understand."

Saranda looked back at the page: "...whose democratic beliefs I share, whose rights and liberties I respect, and whose laws I will uphold and obey." She finished reading and stared at him for a while.

He stopped ordering his papers and looked at her annoyed: "This is the pledge, Saranda, we are very lucky people, you know, we have the country of our origin and also a new country, which we are becoming part of..." He stopped for a while and stared out of the window at the sun lit lawn surrounded by colourful hedges of native flowers.

She wanted to say something but then she notice his moistured eyes and knew he is thinking about home. That was not the time to disturb him so she tiptoed back to the door,

    "The least we can do is promise to respect and obey its lows." She heard his last words before closing the door quietly behind her.

     And so they did in the big hall of their Thornlie Council, Mum and Dad stood with others in front of the Mayor while Saranda, Victor and Dardon sat with the audience in the first row. Dad was standing proud repeating the pledge while Mum stood nervously besides him, hiding behind her scarf.

    "Stop wriggling, you little monkey," Saranda whispered in Victor's ear.

He was sitting on her knees. Saranda wished for a quick end as he was turning around and shouting excitedly towards Mum. She imagined the flash of disapproval in Dad's eyes, if he noticed them. It was so embarrassing she quickly turned around to see reaction of the people around them. Jack and George waved to her from the fourth row. Jack had decided to come back hom, which made George extremely hapy. She could see him now putting his arm around Jacks' shoulders and holding him tightly as to make sure he would never run away again. The annoyed look on Jack's face worried her.
She smiled at him encouragingly and turning back she noticed Doha standing near the entrance with some flowers in her hands peeping from her scarf. Suddenly a dark arm wearing shinning bracelets appeared from the last row and waved to Doha. Saranda looked closely to recognize Mrs Hysa sitting there holding Joyce on her knees.

    "Ouch," She was forced to turn back as Victor found another pastime activity, pulling her hair out of her scarf: "Stop it, Victor," she was furious with him and Dardon, who had started to laugh like crazy. She dropped Victor on the floor so she could arrange her scarf. He screamed joyfully and ran straight to his Mum, who was standing shaking hands with the Mayor. Victor stopped behind him, suddenly shy and the surprised Mayor nearly collapsed on top of him, while turning to shake hands with another new citizen.

   "Hello little 'fella', you want to be first to congratulate your Mum, don't you?" He smiled broadly and moved out of Victor's way.

The people in audience laughed, but Mum quickly grabbed Victor's hand and looked sheepishly at Dad, who gave Saranda a grave look. The one she didn't imagine, it was real. Dardon couldn't stop laughing. She clutched her stomach a in sudden pain and get up to leave the hall in a hurry.

It was dark outside and quiet. Saranda breathed with a sudden relief when a dark figure leapt from the bushes in front of her. She jumped from fear and was ready to run back inside, when the familiar hand touched her arm:

    "Saranda, it's me Kathy," Kathy's white teeth shone in the dark and her curls bounced on her head like always when she was laughing.

    "Kathy, what are you doing here?" Saranda observed her dear friend's dirty shirt and jeans and moved out little as the foul breath made her sick. She could smell alcohol and something else, she couldn't recognise.

    "Jack told me," She winked at Saranda and produced a branch from a flowering bottle-brush tree: "Welcome, 'Sar' among 'the bloody Aussies', couldn't you find someone better to belong to?"

Saranda looked at her in surprise when Kathy handed her spiky red bush flowers.

    "I am just joking, anyway I couldn't any poshy flowers around here, anyway these ones are like me, native, ha,ha.." She laughed so loudly nearly loosing her balance.

   "Kathy, are you all right?" Saranda got hold of her arm as she was now laughing hysterically.

Some older couple walking near the entrance looked at them strangely. Kathy noticed them and made a rude sign in their direction: "What are you looking at, f..k off!"

Saranda turned her back to the horrified couple and led Kathy back to the darkness of the bushes where she had appeared before. She had a strange feeling, that this was not her friend, but someone else in her skin.

    "Kathy, what's wrong?" She pleaded with her, but Kathy shook her arm free. Before she disappeared in the bushes, she turned one more time and smiled at Saranda:

    "It's good that Jack is back home, you know, he never was the sort of guy to live on a street."

And she was gone. Saranda smelled the spiky bush flowers and went back inside.

The ceremony was over and people mingled around the tables with refreshments. She spotted her family, who were taking picture with the Mayor under the Australian flag. She was on her way to join them when someone touched her shoulder:

    "I was looking for you, Saranda," Doha smiled at her shyly: "Congratulation on becoming an Australian, my cousin would do anything to be one." She handed her three elegant white orchids tied up with a white ribbon.

Saranda touched gently a white petal, when Doha whispered in her ear: "I like these flowers, they are Australian ones, but they look so strangely mysterious in the bush, like they don't belong there," she smiled sadly at Saranda: "Just like us, don't you think?"

Before she could answer Doha was gone. Saranda quickly joined her family for the last picture under the Australian flag, holding two very different flowers. She had a strong urge of mixing them together. Is it possible?

Doha from Baghdad

The next day Saranda put the note from the ponytail girl next to her treasured letter from her dead cousins and sighed deeply. She felt extremely lonely on this windy Monday morning. Foundation Day, ste repeated quietly for herself. In spite of her knowing what that day meant for Western Australia, she didn't really feel part of it. She was too new to this country to think about its history, a history she and her family were not part ot. Passing the kitchen Saranda peeped inside to see Mum and Mrs Hysa filling a pita bread with all taht yammy stuff Joyce and Victor fought over. They supposed to hand it to them, but kids are kids even in the strict Muslim families. Piece of cheese felt on the floor and Victor grabbed it.

   "Yak, Victor, it's dirty," but before Mum could finish, Victor put it into his mouth.

    "Don't worry, I've washed the floor yesterday, anyway germs are good for him," Mrs Hysa laughed cutting a piece of cooked chicken.

    "Let me to do it, let meee..." Joyce started to scream from the bottom of her small lungs.

Saranda quietly passed the kitchen before they noticed her. She went out and looked at the cloudy sky.
Without looking back she rushed down the street, when she suddenly stopped. There was no point going to Fremantle, Jack was on the trip. She looked desperately around at some houses close by. Sudden gust of wind and first drops of rain hurried her up the road. Kathy was for sure at Uncle Toby's house surrounded by her kin. And waht had happened to her? Why did she still feel like running away? From whom and what? She pondered at these questions for a while when suddenly she caught a sight of a white house right next to their Mosque. That's the house where Doha lived with her foster parents.
Without further thinking she ran toward its gate and entered the front yard with its immaculate lawn.
She looked up at the majestic white stairs and suddenly compared this huge vila to their small house. While was standing there unable to decide what to do, she was caught in the downpour of rain. The side window squeaked and the girlish voice informed her in Arabic:

   "The Mosque is closed today, but you are welcome to pray in this house, God is great."

Saranda looked up and recognised Doha in her usual head cover. She smiled hastily and waved.

    "Saranda, is that you?" But Saranda had no time to reply as the window banged and the covered girlish figure opened the front door in a hurry: "Come in or you are going to get soaked."

When Saranda entered, her wet sneakers made squeaking sound on the polished timber floor. Doha quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her to the left. They passed the long corridor full of oriental mosaics and rags. Finally Doha opened the door on the end and beckoned Saranda to enter nervously looking around for the sign of movement. Saranda stopped in the doorway as the luxurious spacey girlish bedroom took her breath away.

   "It's not mine," Doha smiled apologetically and pointed on the picture showing a girl in a white head cover with some flowers: "Zaliah, the eldest daughter of my saviours, uncle Abuh Ahmed adn his wife, may God protect them, she studies in America."

Saranda nodded and walked around the room touching the exotic model of ancient building. 'The Babylonian ziggurat of Ur-nammu,' she spelled slowly the golden letters underneath. Her eyes suddenly caught an ancient wall map showing Mesopotamia between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. Doha followed her gaze and smiled enthusiastically:

    "People settled along these rivers as early as 7000 BC and Mesopotamia flourished until the 500 BC, with Babylon as its capital. Have you heard about King Nebuchadnezzar and the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?"

   "Nebu...what?" Saranda looked puzzled but Doha didn't seem notice lost in her world.

   "Baghdad," Doha gently touched the golden star on the old map representing the capital: "In 762, Baghdad became the new capital and for centuries was the centre of learning, science, philosophy and poetry in the golden age of Islam." She looked up and met the blank Saranda's face: "I was born there and lived there happily for nearly twelve years until..."

Saranda waited but Doha just covered her ace and turned to the window, when the noise inside the house reminded them of their inhabitants. Doha quickly walked across the room to the dressing corner.

Saranda only now realized that she was wet and shivered touching her damp hair. Silky cushions had been arranged around the corners so she slowly moved to drop among them as to find something to cover herself up.

    "Here you are, it's yours anyway," Doha handed to the surprised Saranda the black long shirt with the Aboriginal painting of footprints and hadprints making pattern of sun. "Do you remember our trip to the museum?"

    "Yeah, but..."

   "I thought this picture will suit you the best, I mean you always wear that little golden sun of yours," Doha smiled secretly and moved her head scarf to reveal her golden chain with the moon crescent surrounded by some little stars: "My Mum gave it to me, before she died to remember the people I belong to, Turkmen."

   "The sun and the moon," Saranda looked at their golden chains shaking her head in a surprise: "But I can't take it," she looked at the shirt that dropped from her hands.

   "Of course you can, go and change in that dressing corner, " Doha pointed to the place, where she looked for the shirt: "Then I will do your scarf as Abuh Ahmed's wife doesn't like modern ways," she sighed and waved at Saranda with a white scarf.

   "It's fit perfectly, how did you know and where did you get the money for it?" Saranda twirled around in her new black shirt until Doha beckoned her to sit down and bent her head for the headscarf.

   "I saved some money from my sewing," Doha murmured under her breath: "This one is made especially for you." She looked at Saranda and smiled.

   "I didn't know you like sewing."

   "I sometimes help Abuh Ahmed's wife, she sews girls school scarfs and boys religious hats," Doha murmured under her breath:"You know, I thought, I would save some money for my cousin, when they release him from Detention Centre, but..."

The call for praying stopped their discussion and Doha quickly tied Saranda's scarf: "Let's go to join them for the pray time," she beckoned Saranda to join her.

   "I think, I would better go back home..." Saranda picked up her wet shirt from the chair.

   "Look at the mirror, Saranda, now you look like real Australian Muslim girl, " Doha laughed pointing at her reflection behind the chair: "See ya and drop in any time you like."

When she was gone, Saranda curiously looked at herself. The white scarf contrasted with the black long sleeve shirt and blue jeans. Her clothes represented the state of her mind, she kept looking back where she came from, struggling to understand the religion of her Grandmother and looking forward to be part of her new home. Who was she?

"There is nothing we can do about it, my girl."

    Saranda looked at it in a shock. She was scared to open it, fearing of bad news about more deaths of people she knew.

    Mrs Hysa put the arm around her shoulders: "Take a time to read it and be happy for yourself that you escaped that life." Then she quickly opened the door and shouted to Mum: "We're coming, I thought I had some more photos of my son, but I left them at home." Mrs Hysa hurried to join Mum in the kitchen and gestured Saranda to follow her.

Saranda walked slowly back holding the note closely to her heart.

She could hear Mrs Hysa's loud voice beaming from the kitchen: "What were we talking about?"

    "That there is only one God," Saranda heard Mum's gentle voice.

    "You know, that's right, there is only one God but too many religions to fight for him. He has nothing to do with it all, in the end." Mrs Hysa replied and smiled sadly at Saranda who joined them back at the table, with the note safely in her pocket.

The telephone rang but Mum and Mrs Hysa ignored it, lost in their thoughts. Saranda slowly raised to pick it up: "Hello," suddenly her voice gained all its lost excitement:

    "Hello, George, we're fine, how is Jack?"

    That night she slowly opened the piece of paper torn from an old school book:

"Dear Saranda, I don't know if you remember me, it's been so long since we left Australia, I don't even remember any more what it look's like there. Autumn is approaching and we don't know, where to settle down. Our home was destroyed and our whole village is one big mess. Few people have returned, not enough to repair everything. My Dad and uncles went to look for work. Mum decided to take us to Bosnia, where her sister lives, she said there is no chance for us to survive the winter here. It's pity because they've promised to open our school soon. I went through my old school books, which I found in the ruins. They are a little bit dirty but still good to use. We can still hear gunfire especially during the nights, everyone has told us to have a gun to protect our home. But Mum answered that no one will attack a woman with daughters living under a broken wall. She prays a lot…"

Saranda suddenly stopped reading and jumped out of her bed. She entered Mrs Hysa's bedroom without knocking.

    "Oh, Saranda, what's wrong?" Mrs Hysa looked up from her bed and then turned anxiously to see if Joyce had woken up: "Keep quiet, I gave her some Panadol only few minutes ago, she had a terrible headache."

   "Sorry, Mrs Hysa, I didn't realise," Saranda whispered looking at the letter in her hands: "I have just thought you would know how to to help them, " she looked up back at Mrs Hysa: " We have to help them, we have to…"

Joyce coughed noisily and turned on the other side. Mrs Hysa put her hand on Joyce's forehead and sighed with a relief: "It's going down."

Saranda kept standing there, in the middle of the room looking expectantly on Mrs Hysa: "Mrs Hysa, you always know what to do, you work in our Albanian Club here, maybe they can help, we can send food and blankets and…"

    "Dear Saranda, I wish it could be as simple as you see it," Mrs Hysa shook her head: "We have already sent a few convoys of things you have mentioned with the help of some Australian Charity organisations but…"

    "But we have to send more, I am going to find some spare jumpers and…"

    "Saranda, these things haven't reached the needy they had been aimed for…"

     "Why?"

    "Our convoys have been robbed and all goods sold on the black market," Mrs Hysa stopped and looked at Saranda's reaction: " You see, saran, a few goods, which have been successful to reach desired destination couldn't find the recipients any more, but still there were other people more that happy to take it…"

    "I know where the girl with a ponytail is, look it's written here…" Saranda laid the note in front of Mrs Hysa.

    "From the latest news we have from home, she moved on to Bosnia," Mrs Hysa took the note and folded it back neatly: "Don't worry, Saranda, she'll be alright, it always takes time to restore order in a country, sometimes it takes longer than we want to believe…and anyway you should be proud of your Father, him and some others from our Muslim community send a regular monthly payments to the new appointed government to build up a better school system there." She nodded and turned around to levee the room. After a few steps an idea struck her: "Why would Serbians rob it, I thought, they wre not our enemies any more, the war is over, isn't it?"

   "Who said Serbians did it? It is hard to explain, you know, if there is no order in one country, all the customs and beliefs are falling apart and people don't know what to believe in, they tend to turn against each other in an attempt just to survive another day." Mrs Hysa stood up and embraced Saranda: "There is nothing we can do about it, my girl."

We can't question God, or can we?

   

   Saranda was relieved that Mrs Hysa had decided to stay with them until George, Dad Dardon come back. Mum seemed to be better with her around.

   "Mum, could I go on Dad's computer to do my homework?" she enquired in the living room, where Mum was fussing around a sick Joyce. She hadn't given up teaching her Albanian and now she was able to understand almost anything.
Unfortunately Mum's progress in English was much slower. Now Joyce was showing her some photographs and 'Father' in English.

   "Is this your Dad, 'Fa-ter'?" Mum tried to pronounce English word pointing at a man on the picture.

   "Yep,' laughed Joyce, but it sounds silly when you said that: "Fa-ther."

   "Fine, fine, I don't say anything, anymore in your English, better you talk Albanian."

   "MUUM!" Saranda shouted behind her back asking for attention: "Can I use the computer in Dad's room?"

   "Now, in your holiday?" Mum turned around and looked at her quizzically.

   "Let her go," they could hear Mrs Hysa's voice from the kitchen, where she was baking a cake.
Her covered head appeared in the doorway: "Information technology is everything today, you know, it took me ages to learn how to use it...I own a simple cleaning business, but you can't do it without a computer."

Saranda didn't wait fro more and rand Dad's study room. They had the Internet now as Dad needed it for his studies and she loved to go online and talk to her email buddy. Now she laughed at times, when she couldn't use it. They had 'Apples' at school and she looked forward to every IT lesson. They had their Muslim's friends from different countries and Saranda had found it fascinated to have a friend from Indonesia.
Dad seemed to be pleased enough that she had a Muslim girl to correspond with and gave her set times every day to use the Internet at home, but he checked the website, in order to protect her from unsuitable images.
Tri was her name and she longed to come and live in Australia, she had four sisters and a dream to be an airline stewardess, which her family apparently discouraged her to follow. Saranda found amusing to find out that their problems were often similar, although written in funny English and from exotic country. Most of all Tri was two years older.
Saranda found herself spilling her heart to this girl, she had never met and found close bond with her. To her own surprise she found herself to write her about Jack.

    "Saranda, are you still alive?" Mrs Hysa called from the door and Saranda blanked out the screen in panic. She smelt the cake behind her back and soon the tray was put in front of her: "Have some nice tea and cake, which we have made with Victor."

   "Thank you, Mrs Hysa," She smiled guiltily, she had forgotten all about her home duties.

   "It's all right, but you're better to be off, George promised to call us tonight, to let us know how the boys' ride is going."

When she entered the kitchen, Mum and Mrs Hysa were engaged in some serious discussion. Mum stopped abruptly in half of the sentence and looked at her.

    "Where are the kids?" Saranda asked.

    "Watching cartoons." Mum replied and looked from Saranda to Mrs Hysa.

Always beaming Mrs Hysa looked somehow shrunk and worried: "Let her stay, it can happen to her too in the close future, especially here, you know," she had somehow cheered up and winked at Saranda.

   "Not to her, her Father wants her to marry a proper Muslim."

   "What you talking about Mum, I will never marry..." Saranda objected and took another piece of cake. Then she looked at Mrs Hysa: "What is this all about?"

   "I was talking about my son," Mrs Hysa sighed.

   "Son?" Saranda nearly dropped her cake in a surprise.

   "He lives with his father in Sydney, the man I divorced five years ago," Mrs Hysa sighed again: "It was a big mistake, my Musim-Christian marriage..."

   "That's not true," Mum patted her hand gently: "I was a catholic once too, you know, no religion should be preferred, it alone is the one true religion."

   "But you are Muslim now, Mum, are you?" Mum snapped at her angrily and Mrs Hysa looked up at her in surprise. Saranda blushed fiercely. She couldn't explain her adversity against Mum's passivity; she thought if she would stay Catholic maybe she could stand up for herself. Saranda expected another lecture from Mrs Hysa but fortunately she was lost in her own thoughts.

  "I let him go with his father, you know, he would be an outcast among Muslims here, but I thought he could find a place in his Father's Catholic community, " she smiled painfully: "despite her mother being Muslim."

   "And what about your girl, is this man her Father too?" Saranda asked enthusiastically.

   "Of course, he is," Mum looked at her disapprovingly and then turn back to Mrs Hysa lost in her dark thoughts: "You've done a right thing and you still have your girl, as Saranda said."
Saranda made a grimace and finished her second piece of cake. Mrs Hysa was an expert in baking. There was a silence for a while. Finally, Mrs Hysa continued.

    "Do you remember, when I went to Sydney to celebrate two days of Eid there?"

    "You came back very upset, I remember, I was thinking, it would have been much better for you to stay with us to celebrate the end of Ramadan." Mum shook her head.

    "I visited hime there," Mrs Hysa whispered: "I wanted him to meet his sister and celebrate with us, but..." she stopped and breathed heavily: "He wasn't interested in Ramadan. His sister and him, they had nothing in common, except their looks."

    "They are siblings, they are not supposed to have anything in common, look at me and Dardon," Saranda pointed out, but Mrs Hysa took no notice.

    "I sometimes wonder if we didn't misunderstand the real purpose of religion here, today."

    "You see, Mrs Hysa, I was right, we can ask God if women still have to wear head covers," Saranda pointed on her scarf: "I just prefer not too."

    "You can't question God, Saranda," Mum looked at her crossly, then she looked up and said: "There is only one God..."

    "But you can look for him for the answers, can't you?" Saranda replied quickly.

    "Yes, you certainly can Saranda, but the answer is not simple as that, the head cover is merely a custom, some Kosovo Muslim's girls don't wear it at all, do you remember the girl with a ponytail from barracks, what was her name?" Mrs Hysa suddenly cheered up.

    "I know who you mean, but I don't remember her name either," Saranda now seldom thought about their first home in Australia.

    "Oh, I nearly forgot," Mrs Hysa stood up suddenly and grabbed Saranda's arm: : "Let's get something from my room." She dragged surprised saranda behind her and quietly closed the door behind them.

    "I don't want mention Kosovo in front of you Mum, it always upsets her," Mrs Hysa whispered rummaging through her bag: "The Albanian Association received a letter from some of the Kosovo families, who had been living with you in the barracks, you know..." She finally found a piece of paper: "There was a note for you inside, from that girl with a ponytail."

"IF YOU WOULD BE A GIRL, YOU WILL GO NOWHERE..."

 

     The first light had barely brightened the window of their bedroom. It seemed to Saranda that she had
only just fallen asleep when the noise outside her window woke her. She waved Jack through the window and sleepily put her long gown on.

    "Come on, you lazy bones, times for a trip..." he shouted and threw another stone on the glass.

    "Jack, shut your mouth," she nervously peeped outside through the curtains: "I'll be there in a sec."
She quickly pulled on her jeans and long jumper, leaving the scarf behind. After a second thought she tied her long hair in a bun.

     "Kathy forgot to wash my favourite shirt," Jack mumbled, when she met him outside.

     "It's all right," she reassured him: "It's too dark to notice it anyway." He jerked and when she looked up at him, his eyes glowed strangely.

    "Kathy said, no point to dress up," he smiled to himself: "She is right, you know, my Dad can see the piece of shit I am." Jack suddenly lost his balance and she steadied him in a last minute.

     "I am perfectly fine," he noticed her quizzical look: "It's only little bit of dope to help me go."

They could hear some noise from inside the house.

    "Hurry up," she grabbed his hand and hurried through the front gate: "Better meet him on the road."

     "So 'cuuute' these little houses and perfectly cut lawns and perfectly happy families inside..." Jack grimaced when they slowly walked through her street.


Everything was dark, sleepy and cold. She shivered in the frosty morning. She couldn't use to this funny weather pattern, freezing nights and hot middays. She secretly peeped at Jack, he seemed to be warm enough in his surf shorts and sleeveless shirt. At first she could not see anything clearly in the gloom. It was not until the very last minute that they noticed approaching car. Jack had turned pale and was nervously looking around.

    "It will be all right," Saranda said reassuringly and both stopped in the middle of the road.

The car suddenly stopped using brakes heavily. "What's going on here?" George pushed his door open and stepped out.

Saranda pulled Jack's shirt and they approached the car. "Hi, Dad."

Saranda looked up at Jack surprised at the gloomy tone in his voice. But George was impressed, a tear trembled on his eyelid: "JACK." He put his arms around his son.

There was a silence for a while.

    "I thought, I never see you again, fearing every night..." George gulped: "Every time I have been asked to identify a body of a junkie, I was relieved it was not you..."

    "I didn't come for that," Jack freed from George's tight embrace: "I just want see the oldies at York.." He stood woodenly, gazing at the path.

    "Of course," George laughed wholeheartedly: "No worries!" Saranda stole a glance at her swimming instructor, trying to judge his mood. She liked him more and more. George opened the back door and gestured at them to come in: "You're bound to survive this weekend with me, I should say."


In the car Saranda glanced at Jack. Sometimes he seemed to be both sad and funny at the same time. Strange as it seemed, she imagined that Jack would grow up to be the same kind of man as his Dad. Approaching the house they saw Dardon to meet them.

    "Saranda," he shouted noticing her inside. Suddenly he tore along the path, skidded and went flat.
George stopped the car and stepped outside laughing. Dardon forced himself to laugh as well as he trudged over to join him.

    "Never mind, mate, it can happen to anyone," George stopped laughing and patted him on the back.

    "It can happen only to HIM," Saranda laughed winding her window down.

     Dardon sighed peeping inside the car: "What are you doing there, sister?"

     Saranda stepped outside to reply, when she noticed Dad standing at the front porch. She felt naked under his icy look and she quickly touched her uncovered hair.

    "Saranda, back in house!" His voice hammered over her and she ran as fast as she could, passing him in a sudden fright. She nearly felt over Victor near the front door. Victor screamed and grabbed her hand pointing on the car: "Car, 'brrm', trip."

    "Yes, Victor, let's go inside."

    "No, " he suddenly let go her hand shooting to Dad skidding next to his feet. He pulled himself up again holding onto Dad's pants and peeped curiously behind his back on the car.

Closing the door she looked back at Jack. He looked out at her through the open window with a mix of shock and curiousity. She quickly closed the door and ran to her room. She gasped meeting Mum in the dark corridor. She looked like stone statue, cold and so lifeless.

    "Where have you been again?"

Saranda turned around to answer but the noise outside made her curious and she quickly reached her window to look out.
Dardon joined Jack at her spot on the back. George was talking to Dad in front of the car. Suddenly she felt Mum's hands on her head. It felt so good. Saranda tried to feel them and touched the scarf.

    "No," she screamed and threw it on the floor without looking at Mum.

She couldn't hear but felt that Mum left the room. Suddenly she saw Dad entering the car with George and they took off. Passing her window George blowed her kiss from the front seat and Jack looked at her...somehow differently.
Victor was left on the porch crying loudly until Mum reached him. They both stood there waving in the car's direction until it disappeared behind the gate. Mum's grey long dress contrasted with the shiny green vegetation outside. Saranda joined them and dried out Victor's tears from his face.

    "I go trip," he wiped his nose.

    "Few more years and you will join them." Mum smiled at him and took his hand to take him inside.

    "Not, now," he freed his hand and stomped his little foot.

    "Come on, don't be baby, Victor," Saranda picked him and twirled him around: "If you would be a girl, you will go nowhere, you see, you are lucky Victor."

    "They are places you bound to go," Mum said watching them. When Saranda stopped with question in her eyes she continued firmly: "Mrs Hysa's daughter is sick so she couldn't go with George, but she will be at Mosque this morning  and I expect you to join us."

     "Why?" Saranda asked but Mum's icy look stopped her prepared objection.

Saranda touched gently the faded carpet under her legs. Suddenly, there was silence after long periods of prayers. She breathed deeply edging closer to the fat Mrs Hysa's body next to her. For a second she dreamed that it was Granny praying there. Saranda looked desperately around. One of the covered girls in front row turned quickly back to smile at her encouragingly. It was Doha. Saranda lifted her chin and tried to grin back. The prayers started again. The strangeness descended all over her again hearing these words, which have not meaning for her.

PART THREE: STATEMENT OF FAITH 2001

    The next day Saranda had no chance to sneak out. Dad didn't allow her to leave the house because of her disobedience. She moved aimlessly around the kitchen putting dry dishes away. Victor followed her closely everywhere on his wobbly legs, what he had always done when Mum got sick. Saranda looked out of the window and caught the sight of Dardon talking to a kid from the neighbourhood.
Dardon was so excited about tomorrow's trip with George that he kept boasting to everyone about it. Saranda felt awful. Victor kept taking out all the dishes she put back.

    "Victor, stop making a mess," she angrily grabbed the big pot from his hands: "Go and see Mum."

    "Mum sick." Victor looked at her with his big brown eyes.

    "Go to see if she is better, go!" She waved here hand and he ran through the corridor, but skidded on the rolled carpet and started to cry. When no one took notice of him, he stood up again on his wobbly legs and shoot straight into Mum's bedroom.
Saranda sighed with a relief and started to cut some vegetables when Dardon came in looking sweaty and hot.

    "View!"He said: "It's old in here." Then he added: "Are you really not going tomorrow?"

    "No, and you know why?" She hissed from her spot.

It was mystery to Dardon why Saranda looked so surprisingly unconcerned about missing the trip. But he knew there was no point to ask. After the conversation with Mrs Hysa she refused to take him anywhere. He felt hurt and left out and decided to watch her every step. Anyway, Dad said it is his responsibility to watch her. It doesn't matter that she is older than him. She was a GIRL.
There was a silence and Saranda watched Dardon suspiciously as he picked his drink from the fridge.

    " No, why?" He finally asked.

    "Because you are a little kid," she pointed at him with a carrot: "you can't hold your mouth shut."

Suddenly they could hear Victor's cry from the Mum's bedroom. Dardon quickly disappeared in there. Soon he was back, followed by Victor, who skidded in the corridor, got up and they ended up playing tumble game on the kitchen floor. Victor accidentally hit the chair and started to cry loudly banging Dardon with his both little fists. Dardon laughingly pretended to be hurt.

     "Stop you two or Dad will come!" Saranda shouted but they couldn't hear her. lost in their shouting. Dad informed them last Sunday that he had started Islamic Studies University course by correspondence.  He spent holiday's mornings locked in his Study and on the slightest noise he came out shouting at them. Saranda left the kitchen and burst into her Mum's bedroom.

    "Mum, come and do something, they are wild again, " she suddenly stopped and looked at the pale statue sitting at the corner of the bed: "Mum, come to cook something, it's nearly lunchtime." Saranda pushed the heavy curtains to let some light inside.

    "Leave the curtains and go away." Suddenly Mum opened her eyes and said almost savagely: "Did you hear me, leave me in peace."

Saranda turned around and opened her mouth, when suddenly she noticed the pile of cut out newspapers' articles in front of Mum. She slowly picked up one and started to read the headline:
600 FOUND IN MORINA GRAVE
Nick Hawton
Kosovo
Up to 600 Kosovo Muslims are thought to have been buried in the largest mass grave found in Kosovo.
The grave holds victims of the Morina massacre, and if the estimate is correct it would be twice as large as any grave found so far...


   Saranda put it slowly back, hesitated for a while and then went out quietly closing door behind her. The house was quiet. Apparently the boys went outside or been told off by Dad. Waling through the corridor she could hear dad greeting someone at the front: "Salama lejkum, Doctor Polkin, welcome in our humble home..."
Saranda rushed to the door to greet her new teacher of Science. Although he was not a Muslim but a Christian, he was well known and respected for his good humour and kindness among his students. Most surprisingly the Muslim teachers respected him too, for he was not only experienced scientist but also famous follower of Dr Pokinghornes' religious theory.

    "Saranda, nice to see you," he squizzed her hand and winked at her: "my best science student..."

    "She is very stubborn and free-minded," sighed her Dad and Saranda blushed.

    "That's what you need in science, don't you agree my friend?" Dr Polkin replied laughingly.

   "Let's go to my Study to discuss all the College matters," Dad beamed and showed the way. Saranda watched the way. Saranda watched him in amazement. He was so proud of his Deputy's position, his Islamic studies achievements, was he still proud of them too? And what about Mum? Oh, Mum, suddenly she realised that she forgot to tell him.

    "Dad!" She caught the door before he could close behind them: "Mum is...,she is not right again..."

    "Hush, not now Saranda," he whispered and closed the door. Saranda turned back when she heard the  door again: "Saranda, bring us some coffee and some halal food," he turned back to see if Dr Polkin is not listening: "Better you tell Mum to get up and tell her we have a visitor staying for a lunch."

Saranda went back to kitchen and had found Mum already there.

    "I've heard, " she muttered and wiped her tears: :Take this coffee there and come back to help with cuisine," Mum passed her the tray piled with food without looking at her.

Leaving Saranda heard her praying: "Oh God, there is no God except you, please help me to get through another day."

Entering the Study she accidentally dropped the sugar bowl. She watched desperately how it hit the floor with big bang and broke into pieces, sugar spilling everywhere reaching the colourful rug where Dad and Dr Polkin were sitting. Holding the heavy tray tightly she approached them and put it on the small table in front of them. She was relieved that they hadn't noticed her at all apparently enaged in some religious argument.
Dr Polkins' voice hammered across the room: "The world is not, as your religion would have us believe," he pointed his finger at Dad, "all just and illusion."

    "How can you prove the existence of God, as a scientist?"

    "You can't prove the existence or non-existence of God, " Dr Polkin scratched his forehead thinking and continued: "the idea of existence of God in an insight, not a proof."

    "What you can't prove stays always an illusion..or the proof for non-believers..."

    "It is an insight which explain a lot more about the things are that atheism can do."

    "How can you explain the connection between religion, not only Islamic but also Christian religion and science?"

    "Religion, I believe, gives a much broader and deeper view of reality than science can do on its own."

There was a long silence as the both men were lost in their own thought. Saranda tiptoed from the room but before she reached the door, Dad waved at her:

    "Saranda tell Dardon to come here, it's time for him to learn something more about Islam."

    "Dardoon!" She was looking around the house, skidding on some spilled marbles. The house was white against the midday blue sky. It was really hot. Shielding her eyes she looked through the kitchen's window inside.

Mum was looking at her, but her eyes couldn't see hers. Holding the wooden spoon half ways in the air she was looking at something beyond, something very far from them all.
Suddenly Dad's Call to Midday Prayer entered the air outside:
God is most great. God is most great. I testify that there is no God except God. Come to prayer! Come to success in this life and the hereafter...
Saranda suddenly wished so much that Granny's God could help them, it didn't really mattered to her if he was only an illusion or a real one, only if he could help her family to find their bond and love, which was lost somewhere on their way to the freedom.