No Man's Land

by Joseph McElroy

The little brother Ali was little enough but you didn't know what he would come up with, and they laughed when he told what his teacher had said, that we are all nomads.

His little sister laid the table, the mother from the kitchen calling Ali, the bread was waiting and the bowl of meat, and the very big brother Abbod tapped in a phone number while Ali's father and uncle, aware of Abbod because he's only just unexpectedly blown in from Canada, to say nothing of sleeping on the couch, were plotting a new business venture, eased by aromas of lamb and onion, herbs and crusty, paper-thin lavash just out of the oven—so no one asked at first why the 4th-grade teacher at Brooklyn public school had said what she did about nomad to Ali.

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