“TELL ME THE STORY AGAIN,” I’D WHISPER.
This was the best time, the time when all our squabbles melted away: after my bath, in the safety of my brother’s room, certain that the comings and goings of Uncle Christopher and Aunt Evelyn no longer required our attention. My still-wet hair dampened the flannel on the shoulders of my red plaid nightgown. Paul ran a comb through my snarled mane, spraying detangling mist on the knottiest parts.
“Once upon a time,” he would say, but I would always stop him.
“No,” I said. “Start with the other part. About our father.”
He put the comb away and settled back against his pillow. He began again.
“At night when I was little, and when you were too young to remember, our father read us the story about the great Dragon of Bosnia, Husein-kapetan Gradaščević.”
The long name rolling off my brother’s tongue felt familiar, like a lullaby.
“How did he tell us?” I wanted Paul to include every detail.
“He set me on his knee. And he held you in the crook of one arm. He read to us from a book of stories that had smooth pages and giant full-color drawings.”
I had no memory of our birth father. Paul recalled a rough moustache, a mole on his neck, and his scent of stale cigarette smoke mixed with a warm spice like nutmeg but not quite nutmeg—a spice he could never find here in Minnesota.
I sighed with pleasure at Paul’s revised opening. “Okay, now start back with the ‘once upon a time’ part. And tell it exactly like he did.”
Paul still needed me to need him back then. Take care of your sister, the air around him whispered in our parents’ voices. We heard it, in languages both spoken and forgotten.
“Once upon a time,” he continued with infinite patience, “more than a hundred years ago, a boy was born to a wealthy and noble family in the north of Bosnia. His family was the ruling class, but they were kind, and this boy, Husein, was the kindest of them all. Compassion flowed from his fingertips when he wrote letters to serfs to thank them for their work. It shone from his eyes when he rode his horse to look out over the city of Gradačac. He was so intelligent that his teachers could no longer teach him anything new by the time he was ten years old. They recommended an education no one had ever had before—apprenticeships with the elders of every religion in the city. Husein was Bosniak, like us, and he studied at the Husejnija Mosque, but also with the Christians, both the Catholics and the Orthodox. And even with the Dervishes, who schooled almost no one from the outside in their mystical ways. But Husein was so kind and smart that everyone trusted him with their secrets and their heritage. He learned the ways of the world from every religion that practiced in Gradačac, and he learned the ways of the heart from his mother, who loved him very much.”
I knew the part that came next.
“And our father would tell us that our mother loves us very much too, just like Husein’s!” I shouted.
“Shh,” Paul said. “Yes, he did.”
“And then he said that we will be a family forever,” I whispered. “Even later when we were living in a tent with our majka. Even now.”
My brother’s eyes darkened. “Don’t think about all that, Andela. This story is about Husein.”
I mimicked locking my mouth shut and throwing away the key, a gesture Aunt Evelyn taught me and Izzy and Harrison when we were being too whispery in church. Paul was never whispery with us. He was very adult and sat straight and quiet while the three of us squirmed.
“Husein helped everyone in the city, so when the Turks closed in and the war began, Gradačac united across all the religions to support him. He was eighteen years old now, and a captain in the Bosnian army. His older brother was killed, so Husein became the leader of Gradačac even though he was still a young man. Husein fought for the freedom of all people, no matter what religion they practiced. He was famous for saying ‘In Bosnia, the sound of church bells never bothered the call to prayer of the muezzin.’”
I whispered Husein’s quote silently to myself along with Paul when he said it in the sing-songy way of ancient truth.
“Soon Husein became the head of all the Bosnian rebel forces. Christians across the country heard of the Muslim who respected them too, so they marched behind him to save Bosnia and rise up to defeat the Turks! Husein was given the honorary title of the Dragon of Bosnia and became the civilian leader. He created unity and peace across all religions. In Sarajevo there were Muslims and Christians and Jews worshipping in different places on the same street. Then they would all come out to the market and drink coffee together.”
Tugging on Paul’s collar, I asked, “What did our father say then?”
Paul looked out into the dark of his bedroom as if looking up into our father’s eyes. “He said, ‘The Dragon of Bosnia would have compassion for us becoming Christians in order to survive. He loved all religions the same, and freedom most of all.’”
PAUL GREW UP TO LOVE FREEDOM MOST OF ALL.
And his love of that freedom took him away. From me.