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