The other week, when it was still freezing, a tall, gaunt man walked onto the packed subway car at 42nd Street with no shoes or socks on his feet. He had black curly hair like Jesus that fell in long tendrils around the stiff upturned collar of his dirty green puffy jacket. His face was not unlike Jesus's either. In a tired-sounding, yet unwavering voice, the man said that he had AIDS and no where to go. His feet were long and skinny, flat and olive in tone in the middle and chapped and shiny around the edges. I felt those around me shift as they turned to look as well. We'd been packed like sardines since Wall Street, enough time to have already burned through the initial hatreds that spring up between strangers crowded on top of one another.
As the man spoke the motor rattled like it was going to break apart and two babies screamed relentlessly.
When he finished he held out his can and started walking down the aisle, at which point something happened and the feeling in the car changed. What it was exactly I don't know--but you could feel it radiating up and down the rows of people. It was a mix of happiness and relief, like we were letting loose and celebrating some one's life after a long hard day spent at their funeral. Suddenly everyone was reaching over one another with wadded up bills...the sight of the green was surprising and seemed somehow fake at first--dollar after dollar being stuffed into his can, "God Bless You, God Bless You!" the man was saying, over and over in stunned amazement.
I've never seen such a response to a pan handler. The compulsion to give to him was overwhelming, and the instant I handed bills over to him all the rest of my money become meaningless tissue, as did all of the things it could buy.
He stumbled off the train at 59th street--had he stayed much longer and there would have been a pile of iPods and shopping bags and credit cards at his bare feet.
The doors opened at 86th Street and I wanted for nothing.
7 comments:
No way
Way.
Excuse my ignorance, but I'm not getting the connection between your very well written entry and the images you posted. Or is there one?
At any rate, thanks for sharing and take care.
hi cathartica
there is but it's rather obtuse. not one of my better image text pairings, but there's something about the pix going together that i like--Hopper in Easy Rider=tragedy of late 60s counter culture being squashed with Heath Ledger in Batman-tragedy of our overly sick and medicated now.
I typed a bunch of crap in this box (or one that looked just like it) about repulsion repression theory and manson/jesus hopper parallelograms, spiced with something about traipsing through a field of heroin needles with barefeet, but blogger ate it...
anyway, nice post...
"Then I saw politicians trotting God out on a leash, like a racehorse they wanted to hop on and ride to the finish-line. But if they lost, it would be GOD's fault, and God would be the donkey they'd pin their problems on, and that was very nice of God, to be both a racehorse and a donkey".
- from Foxhole Manifesto, Jeffrey McDaniels
Truth and love is regarding the invisible and meeting his need as best you can, even if you are in a bad spot yourself. I've never seen what you described before in my life. I don't know...your post gave me some hope in these troubled times. Thank you.
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