A Boy From Belgrade

Belgrade - 1992

Toma could tell that something was terribly wrong just by staring out his bedroom window. The gray sky was scarred by streaks of clouds contorted into nothing more than misty tendrils. Outside his mother was tending their small chicken coop in the patchwork of faded grass that constituted their yard.

A scratchy radio broadcast of a soccer game came from the kitchen. Dinamo and Partizan were playing a rugged match.

"I didn't know you cared about the game," Toma called out to his mother.

"I don't," she replied from the yard. "But I like being the one to tell your father the scores."

Toma turned his attention back to the radio as his mother continued her yardwork. Garden tools were propped up nearby that she normally worked until her hands were covered in sores. But this evening she would not have the misfortune of working to that point. Her workday was cut short by a knock at the door.

As his mother made her way to the door, Toma scrambled down the stairs to peer at the visitor from behind her. He could see a silhouette through the slatted door and immediately his heart dropped when he saw the outline of the military beret. He did not wait for his mother to open the door before he turned and ran away straight out of the back of the house. He did not need to hear his father's compatriot tell him of his death. He did not need to hear his mother weeping while he could do nothing to console her. He ran and ran through the town until he came to the music store his older brother worked at.

The store itself was not in great condition. Nothing in their neighborhood was. But it was the only place in a twenty kilometer radius where one could go to peruse a collection of cassette tapes and vinyl records both foreign and domestic. A close family friend had opened it, and many people had called him crazy when he did. He was, in a way, but the store was popular enough now that the town had debated landmarking it. That was, until the commissioner died of lead poisoning. Not much had been made on the landmark front since then.

"Where's Vlado?" Toma asked loudly as he burst into the shop. He ignored the psychedelic posters and colorful photographs that normally caught his attention. To his disappointment he could not see his older brother anywhere.

The owner was behind the counter and he saw the boy wandering around with tears streaming down his face.

"Vladimir heard the news. He told me he must go back home to talk to you," the older man said as he put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry. Your father was a good man. A brave man. We all admired how much he loved his family and his country."

"I don't want him to be gone," Toma said quietly as he wiped his eyes. His father had been away fighting for what seemed like ages now. It had been long enough that for Toma it had become usual. But there was no way to describe the feeling he had now.

"He wanted me to give you this for when... well, in case this happened," the shop owner said softly as he handed Toma a small cassette tape. "He wouldn't tell me what was on it, only that you should listen to it at the right time."

Toma looked at the tape and wondered what it was. A narration perhaps. His father never sang, so he doubted he wrote a song for him.

"Go in the back and take a listen," the shop owner urged.

Toma walked to the back of the store and went into a small room with a chair and cassette player that customers could go to to sample a tape before purchasing it. The box itself was blank, so it must have been something his father made instead of bought. He took a seat, pressed the play button, and waited.

A driving bassline started off followed by pulsing synths and orchestra hits. After several loops, a baritone, nonchalant voice began to sing over the track. After it ended, another similar song started playing. The same electronic bass, fast tempo, gliding synthesizers. The music was clearly made in the 80s when the Slavs tried their hand at the new wave techno sounds pioneered by the West. The lyrics were about life and romance in Yugoslavia.