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Tue | April 04, 2006

A Disturbing Event

It was a drizzly night, and the dampness seeped into the subway station. There, below the ground, a few people waited in the grime for the train. The sound of roaring trains passing on other tracks filled the tunnels.

Anthony, an artist, kicked the vertical metal beam. Under layers of threadbare clothing, his last reserves of fat burned away. He had gone to a party simply to eat their snacks for dinner. He had even eaten the leftover crusts of a girl's pizza. He had eaten around the bite marks until he could not tell which were his and which were hers. To hell with it, he thought, and ate it all.

Now he was hungry again, as he was always hungry, in the middle of the night. As an assistant in an office, he made barely enough to pay the rent. He bought only enough food to stay alive; he spent the rest of his income on art supplies. He thought of his latest project, an industrial sculpture of torn paper, burnt metal, and cracked glass.

A large man sat on the bench. He filled the middle seat and overflowed on either side, so that no one could sit there. Anthony looked at the large man, and how his head sank into his neck, which flowed into his torso.

The man got up to look for the train. He was drunk, and so fat he did not see his own feet; he overstepped the yellow line. He fell with a sudden wail into the pit.

For a second Anthony did not believe what he saw. He looked around to see the reactions of others around him. A young woman with sleek hair remained impassive. A salty old black man had paused and resumed his pacing. A woman with tattered hair twitched her mouth.

"Ooof," the voice of the man came up from below, and Anthony saw him get up confusedly. The man turned about, evidently disoriented.

"Over here," Anthony called. The man hobbled over and stretched his arms up to the edge. Although his head rose above the level of the platform, it was clear he would not be able to pull himself up.

Anthony didn't feel capable of lifting the large man out of the tracks, yet he did not want to see a train collide with this corpulent body. He went over to the man. He hoped to hear someone say, "you cannot lift him," or even better, offer to help. No one moved.

As he arrived at the edge, it occurred to him that he could be dragged into the pit. He hesitated in his mind at this thought of his own death and yet there was no disruption in his motion as he instinctively met the hand that reached for his.

One pudgy hand grasped Anthony's bony fingers and the other grasped his forearm. Every muscle and bone in Anthony's body suddenly tensed and strained to prevent himself from being pulled in. He let go of the hand and pried his arm loose, falling back.

He had lifted the man up a few inches so that the man had gotten his elbows on the platform and was now struggling to pull himself further up.

"I see a light," someone said. It was the salty black man.

"Help me pull him up," Anthony said to him.

The black man leaned over, looked at the conductor inside the oncoming train, and made a stopping motion with his hand. He made that motion with one hand and pointed down at the man with the other and shook his head.

The train stopped.

The conductor got out. The large man had fallen, and stumbled, in the commotion, and stood just under the platform.

"There's someone on the tracks," the black man said.

"I saw em," the conductor said. "Where is he now?" Seeing the motion below, he called out, "Stay right there. You hear me?"

"Yes," said the large man.

"Stay coo, stay coo," the conductor said. "Watch out for that metal track."

The conductor directed the man to the end of the platform where there were a few steps. In a few minutes the man was on the platform. His shirt was drenched with sweat. He struggled to breathe.

"Thank you sir," he exhaled at the conductor between breaths. "You saved my life. Thank you," he said, nodding to Anthony.

"Thank him also," said Anthony, gesturing at the black man. "He stopped the train."

"Thank you," said the man.

The conductor went back to the train and the people got on. As Anthony sat on the plastic seat he noticed the people inside the train who had stood indifferently on the platform. "What if it were you that were down there?" he wanted to say.

"I would have been able to pull myself back up," the svelte woman would say.

"I have a mind to shove you onto the tracks! See how you like it!"

"It's not my business. And he was a pig," another might say.

"So you wouldn't care if he were hit by a train? You could stand there and watch him get run over?"

They sat on the train in silence.

"I don't see why you're so upset." the woman with the matted hair would say in a hoarse voice. "The train stopped; he was saved."

Another would add, "he is not the type of person to help others. He would not have moved a muscle to save you."

The woman who had posed indifferently got off at Spring Street. Anthony looked at her as she walked away: artfully dressed, exposing toned arms and gams, all for nothing but show.

"And you are rich, and I have no money!"

As Anthony walked away from the station he had to deliberately command his legs to move. At home he lay in his bed and stared through the darkness at the bolted door. He thought that if a burgular were to come through that door, there would be no reasoning with him.

He felt sick, and his teeth chattered. In a cold fever, he fell asleep.

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