The Last Kobzari Read online

The Last Kobzari

  Copyright 2013 Omar Drake

  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