The wind kicked up on the apartment roof as Anna unclipped
the last of her laundry off the line. She glanced up to see nothing but
crawling gray swirls with darker ones in pursuit. A sigh slipped out as she
thought about tonight’s dinner and the ingredients she still had to buy.
Hefting the basket of clean linens, Anna decided it was time to give the boy
some more responsibilities.
“Lexie? Where are you, child?
Lexie!” She shook her head. He should have heard her coming down the stairs,
but that was a boy for you. “ALEXAN—”
“Yes,
Mama?” Alex said as he popped out of their doorway. “And call me Alex—that’s
what the other boys call me.”
“When
you stop scaring me like some baba yaha from
the shadows, then I will call you what you want. You almost made me drop the
laundry.” She glanced him over. He was only eight but already came up to her
shoulder. Soon he’d be eye to eye with her and then taller still, just like his
father. He had the same red hair, the same blue eyes, the same toothy smile—he
would someday become quite the man. Wiping the sprouting memories from her eyes
with a sniffle, she motioned with her head, and he followed.
She
set the laundry down with a thud on the kitchen table and looked at Lexie.
Puzzled, he stood there nervous, not sure what she had to say.
“Hands
over your eyes and turn around.”
He did as he was told. A few silent
seconds passed.
“Okay,
turn around. And uncover your eyes.” Anna was now holding a small wad of cash,
her grocery money. She had always seemed to make it magically appear before
they went shopping but he had no idea where she kept it. “I need potatoes,
onions, and sausage. Just tell Mr. Gozdenovich I said ‘the usual amount’ and
he’ll know how much you need.”
Alex
nodded as she handed him a bill. He wondered if money always felt this warm.
“If you bring me ALL of my change
and ALL of my groceries, THEN you can run back and get five cents worth of
candy.” He beamed at the thought of the possible combinations of penny candies
he could buy. “Well get going! It’s six blocks one way. And no turns! I could
watch the whole time if I wanted, but I won’t.” She cradled his cheeks in her
hands “And it’s because I trust you.” She released his face and simply stared
at him.
He snapped back to reality with
these final words. She ‘trust me’ he
thought. He paused, then grinned back at the large woman who beamed at him.
Since his father had disappeared two years ago his mother had
changed. The once boisterous woman now barely spoke to people when they went
out. Besides the grocer, the landlord, and Father Jankowich at church, he
couldn’t recall seeing his mother speak to any other adults. Maybe if they
visited his dad’s cousins in Chicago she might talk with them, but he only met
them once. They were the only other people at his father’s funeral. The cousins
had stayed for almost two weeks, but he barely remembered it now.
“Well do you want candy or not? I
can not cook what I do not have.”
“I’m going. Love you Mama!”
She went to call back, but he was
already out the door.
When it came to school, Alex liked
science and history but struggled with reading and arithmetic. He knew enough
though that one penny got you five penny candies and that a nickel was five
pennies. By his math that was… probably more candies than he could eat in a night.
Alex never figured out the math, but he didn’t really care. Mr. Goz had that
big cash register for adding and subtracting, so what was the point of him
taxing his brain?
Alex’s pondering of his future
fiscal endeavors were cut short as a strange sound caught his attention. Having
crossed the street he could clearly pick out the sound of a string instrument.
Its music was hauntingly simple yet sounded as complex as an ensemble. As he
passed by the subway entrance, he came upon the source of the music.
On the back side of the stairs,
next to the protective railing, sat the most peculiar man Alex had ever seen.
His hair was stark white and long, the tip almost touching the ground where he
sat. His beard and mustache were a match, reaching down past his lap. The shirt
he wore was made of large swaths of brightly colored fabrics. Some seemed shiny
and silky, while others velvety and soft. He wore a matching hat and funny,
puffy shorts to complete the ensemble. Alex was reminded of costumes he had
seen during the six grade play of Robin Hood, but only vaguely so. The old
man’s outfit definitely seemed like stage garb, but old and well-worn, like an
actor who was always performing. He sat on a short stool with odd-looking legs,
a half-rusted coffee can in front of him. The instrument he played sat on his
lap and reached up to his shoulder. It was wide and squat, with a short neck,
and dozens of strings.
The man’s fingers moved in bizarre
twisting patterns that produced a mellow and hypnotic sound. Alex’s mind was
flooded with his mother’s tales of her childhood home outside of Kiev. His
mother had called this instrument a kobza, and said that those who played them
were called kobzari. Anna told her son that a horrible man did horrible things
to all those who used to play the kobza. She said that the duma, the story
songs of the kobzari, were too beautiful. His mother said this beauty
frightened the horrible man, so he destroyed them all, and replaced them with
another instrument called a bandura. Anna thought that using the bandura to
play a duma was like using the moon to grow a flower. She said that those now
called kobzari were not bad men, but fakes put in place by the horrible man.
She told him the dumas they played now were also fake, and that the true dumas
had been lost with the kobza and kobzari, but perhaps they were still out there
somewhere, waiting to be found.
He knew their story well for he had
heard it countless times. Every night after dinner his mother would sit in her
room and stare at the same picture of his father. She would call Alex to her
and retell the story of the kobzari until tears filled her eyes. He would hold
her and they would sit, only the whimper of his mother breaking the silence of
their apartment. As he thought about his mother, the song came to an end, and
the man held up the old coffee can, no expression crossing his face.
Alex then realized the man’s eye
were still closed and had, in fact, been that way the whole time. His mother
had told him another fact as well.
“The blind kobzari sing the truest,
most precious dumas of them all,” Alex whispered to himself.
As the man put the can down a
large, snaggletoothed smile crossed his face. He opened his eyes to reveal two
completely white orbs. The old man opened his mouth and Alex half expected a
violent, sepulchral scream. When melodic laughter emerged the boy almost fell
over in surprise.
“So there are those who still know
of kobzari, da? And of the guild too I’m sure! And so young!” The voice bore a
thick Ukrainian accent like Alex’s mother’s yet had the comfort of a warm towel
after a cold shower. “Keep your money, I will treat you to a TRUE duma.” With
that the man started playing again, only the melody was completely different.
To Alex, it seemed simpler, more
hypnotic. Then the man began singing in a way that reminded Alex of the choir
in church. It was slow and passionate, sad yet hopeful. He couldn’t make out
most of the words but picked out the Ukrainian words for “road” and “towns”. He
also picked out the words “duma” and “kobzari” several times. It was beautiful
yet had undercurrents of sadness and longing. Alex wasn’t sure why he knew
this, but he felt that this was right, that he needed to hear this song. At
times the strings almost seemed to sparkle with a silvery light. Alex was
transfixed, unable to move or even think. As the last note faded the world
suddenly seemed more lively and fuller than a moment ago.
“You like it? Come tomorrow and I
will play another for you again. But don’t tell your mother, no need to ruin dinner,
da?”
Alex nodded excitedly, barely
listening after ‘Come tomorrow…’ He did a quick bow and turned toward the
market, running as fast as he could. As he ran, he heard a melody similar to
the first one trailing off in the distance. The man was gone on Alex’s way back
with groceries, and still missing on his way to and from getting candy.
He wasn’t there the next day either
as Alex headed for the market again, this time picking up vinegar and cabbage
for his mother. On his way back with the food however, Alex faintly heard music
coming from the subway entrance. As he made his way down the steps the music
steadily grew in loudness and clarity. It was the same tune he had heard the
very first time from the old man. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he saw the
man sitting at the far end of the platform, his back against a large green
door. Underneath him was the same odd-legged chair and in front was the same
half-rusted coffee can.
As the song ended the man looked up
at Alex and a large, snaggletoothed smile enveloped his face. “My young fan!
How pleased I am to see your return!”
“Why are you down here?”
His smile faded slightly at the
question, yet he didn’t hesitate. “I feel I will need to be moving on soon, we
kobzari are what you call ‘itinerant’. It is a fancy word for ‘moves around a
lot’. Enough of that now, let us hear another duma, da?”
And with that his fingers again
began conducting themselves in a strange, serpentine dance across the strings.
From his mouth came again that hauntingly sweet yet sorrowful tone. This time
Alex picked out the words “sleep” and “earth” but couldn’t make out much else.
Again too, he kept hearing the words “kobzari” and “duma” repeated throughout
the song. Despite the poor lighting Alex once again thought he could a see a
faint silvery shimmer from the strings of the kobza. Transfixed by the
instrument Alex failed to notice the golden hue the old man’s eyes took as they
blinked open only to turn back pale white as he blinked again. As the last note
echoed its way down the tunnels the world once again seemed to speed up for
Alex. Alex could now hear the noise of an approaching train.
“Come again tomorrow, child, and
another duma I will perform for you.”
Alex went to answer, but his reply
was quickly drowned out by the sound of brakes screeching. The man simply
smiled, nodded, and resumed his playing. As Alex approached the stairs, he
could faintly hear the sound of the kobza amidst the sounds of people and
trains. Halfway back to the surface he no longer heard the gentle tune. As he
stepped onto the sidewalk, he thought he heard a distant rumble of thunder.
Looking up at the roiling grey clouds overhead he wondered if rain might
finally come this evening. He heard a rumble again as he reached his stoop, but
again the clouds left the ground dry.
The following day brought even
darker skies and near constant gusts of wind. Sent on a mission to procure
borax for laundry, Alex was warned if he wanted to dawdle do it when he went
for candy, not for soap that could be ruined in a storm. Heeding his mothers
advice he swiftly made his way to and from the market. As he passed by the
subway, he paused to listen for the music, but heard only the faint noises of
people and trains. On his way to get candy he paused by the entrance and listened
again, but heard no music. He made his way down the stairs but still failed to
catch a note of the old man’s kobza.
Approaching the spot where the old
man had been yesterday Alex noticed the green door the man had been leaning
against was now ajar. Hesitating, then approaching cautiously, Alex reached for
the door. At the slightest touch it creaked open. He immediately heard the
faint sounds of the kobza.
Sparse light bulbs lit a vaulted
service corridor as Alex slowly advanced. Reaching a “T” intersection, he
stopped and listened in both directions. From the right came the distant sounds
of an approaching train, to the left came the familiar melody he had quickly
grown to love. He followed the passage left, hearing the music increase as he
descended a series of short steps. The music grew steadily louder as the smell
of wood burning filled his
nostrils. At the end were two alcoves to the left and right, and a chained-off
doorway straight ahead. About waist high on an adult, about chest level for
Alex, a large white sign with red lettering hung from a chain, but he didn’t
care about that now.
The large alcove to the right had a
small fire burning, a hole in the roof leading to some ventilation or drainage
systems acting as a chimney. A bedroll lay nearby with an old blanket crumpled
next to it. The man sat in the alcove to the left, sitting on the same
odd-legged chair, the same half-rusted coffee can in front of him.
As
his song ended he looked up and showed his broad, snaggletoothed grin. “Welcome my young friend! Are you
anxious to hear another duma, da?” He went to start his song but Alex quickly
stopped him.
“I
want to hear it, but first I got a question.”
The
old man held the kobza for a moment as a strange expression, almost a frown,
almost anger, crossed his face but was quickly replaced with the familiar
snaggletoothed grin. Afraid of the sudden silence Alex began nervously
chattering.
“Why
are you down here? There aren’t any people. How can you make any money if there
aren’t any people?” He suddenly hoped he hadn’t sounded insulting.
“Silly
child, those who want to hear my music will always find it when they seek it.
You yourself found me, so too will others as they have the need. Enough of this
silly talk, let us hear another duma, da?”
With that he began to play and sing.
Once
again Alex found himself ensnared in the complex web of the kobza’s sound and
the kobzari’s voice. He thought he heard the words for “grandmother” and
“woods” and again repeatedly heard mention of kobzari and duma. The faint light
of the corridor and dancing light of the fire made the man’s fingers seem to
come and go, almost seeming to disappear at times. This gave Alex the
impression that the strings, which faintly shimmered silver, were moving of
their own volition. As the song finally faded Alex was once again left with the
feeling of the world speeding up.
“Can
I come tomorrow as well? Will you be here or elsewhere?”
A
stern look crossed the old man’s face, then instantly softened to a smile.
“The
music is always there for you child. But a storm is coming and I have to be
moving on as is. But yes, you can come and seek me out to play for you tomorrow
as well. Now off with you.”
A stomach growl reminded Alex of
his awaiting candy. He gave a small bow, turned, and made his way back to the
surface. The music he heard as he was leaving was once again the original tune
he had first heard. By the time he reached the platform the only noises were of
trains and commuters.
The next day the clouds in the sky
took on a violent disposition. The wind to howled in pain as if to respond.
Alex did not bother looking up this day, nor did he notice the winds whipping
his face. His mother hadn’t needed anything from the store this day, she had
just rewarded him with another nickel just for being a good errand boy. She
said his timeliness had earned him an ‘incentive’. He wasn’t thinking about the
candy. The only thing ‘sweet’ Alex wanted was to hear the enchanting melody of
the kobza once again.
He wore the grin of an eager child on Christmas morning as he
approached the subway station. He took the terminal stairs three at a time
while holding the hand rail for support. By the time Alex made it to the
platform, he was giggling to himself. Quickly skipping his way to the door he failed
to notice how still the station was. He pushed the neglected service door open
and felt his pulse increase.
By the time he arrived at the “T”
intersection, Alex thought his head might explode from anticipation. A sudden
realization stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t hear any music yet. Slowly,
Alex made his way to where the old man’s camp was, pausing every few steps to
listen for the kobza. His spirits were nearly destroyed when he arrived at the
camp only to find it vacant. Just as the tendrils of despair were about to
entwine his heart, a faint noise brought a ray of hope to his darkening mood.
“Could it…” Alex whispered to
himself. He’d know soon enough.
As Alex approached the chest high
metal chain the sound steadily grew louder. Eager for a new, fresh duma he
lifted the sign and made his way deeper in. Even if he had bothered reading the
words “warning” and “storm drain basin ahead” Alex still would have followed
the music to its source. After a short curved hallway, and down several flights
of stairs, the passage finally opened up into a large, circular room. This
entire room was filled with the old man’s mysterious melody. In the middle of
the room the old man sat on his odd-legged chair, playing his silvery stringed
kobza. He stopped suddenly, looked up at Alex, and smiled.
“Now that I am having an audience
proper, let us begin our duma for today, da?”
And with that the performance
started. Alex nodded silently, his eyes already completely transfixed on the
kobza.
“This will be like none other you
have heard before, I promise” the man said as he blinked, his eyes turning
golden. But Alex was already lost in the serpentine dance of his fingers.
Mesmerized by the silver strings and entranced by the haunting melody, he had
no clue that a storm raged outside. The rest of the world became a blur—only
the duma existed now. Alex didn’t notice when water started coming into the
room. Nor did he notice his shoes getting wet. He failed to notice when the
water had risen to his knees, or to his waist, or even to his neck. All he
heard, all he could think of, was the music.
Alex also failed to notice changes in the old man. He failed
to notice the stool growing bigger and bigger. He missed when it grew a fourth
leg, all of which now resembled chicken feet. He missed when the strings grew
longer and thicker until they were one long silver rod, almost like a broom
handle. He never took note of when the man himself seemed to swell and pulse,
becoming a massive and hunched crone. The music was still in his ears as
darkness came over him and water filled the room.
Anna sat in the kitchen staring at
the clock. What was holding that boy up, she almost thought, but her ponderings
were cutoff. From the window, faintly audible over the rain and wind, she
thought she heard a kobza. A real
kobza. Outside, on the roof of the building across the alley, a strange old man
sat on an odd-legged chair, playing a silvery stringed kobza, and singing a
haunting tune.