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The Anna Karenin Syndrome

In one of the final scenes in Tolstoy's Anna Karenin, Anna is sitting on a train, staring at her fellow passengers. In the various movie adaptations, the camera pans the carriage, stopping on each unhappy person. Their faces seem to represent humanity at its worst. They are ugly, depressed and reflect the world of misery as experienced by Anna in her final hours.

Second Avenue and 96th Street

I was reminded of this scene last Friday. The occasion was my commute to work on the Second Avenue bus. It had been a stressful week. And on this last day of the working week, the weather was freezing, wet and extremely windy. The bus had been late and we were all chilled to the bone. I sat down, leaving an empty seat between myself and another woman. At first glance she looked normal enough, brown coat, scarf, hat, handbag. Not a street person. Well-heeled. Late thirties.

She was fishing about in her handbag, grumbling to herself. Pretty normal New York behaviour. But the grumbling went on just a bit too long, was a bit too loud. I glanced at her face. It looked slightly deranged. A mellow version of Edvard Munch's Scream.

The rummaging increased and became more frantic. "What's the time?" she shouted, too loudly even for a New Yorker. Someone answered. More rummaging. Clearly she was one of many of New York's nutcases. I was glad that I wasn't sitting next to her.

Photo by Stewart Mullin 2004 Dame Edna in Scream Attire

The bus was filling up, and a genteel-looking senior citizen, elegantly dressed sat between us. She'd spotted the seat in a rare interval of the Scream woman's silence. Then Scream started up again. Grumblings and rummaging. And again, "What's the time?" My genteel neighbour answered her.

A pattern was emerging. Rummage, grumble and "What's the time?" Every time she asked her question, there'd be an audible silence, and then a different passenger would answer. It is not wise to disrupt the behavioral patterns of the deranged.

It was becoming like a game. It was like those awful meetings where you have to stand up and introduce yourself to the group. You wait to get your turn over with, so you can relax and actually listen to the others speak. But I decided that no way was I going to tell the Scream the time.

The bus lurched its way south, stopping every few blocks to pick up its assortment of humanity. I looked around at the other passengers. Unlike Anna's in her final journey in this world, they were all pretty normal-looking, except for Scream. But it was as if everyone's neuroses had been absorbed into this one poor creature. The Scream definitely belonged in Anna's carriage.

Children on their way to school, rugged up for winter, looking like little munchkins were filling up the aisle, holding tightly onto parents' hands with their little mittened ones.

Although happy to take their turns telling Scream the time, the passengers were clearly keeping their distance; avoiding eye contact and staring at the overhead notices warning us about AIDs and inviting us to take a trip to the Bronx Zoo. Why travel to the zoo I was thinking, we are already in one, when the Scream started jerking around and speaking even more shrilly than before.

The bus stopped. A mother and her little girl were making their way down the aisle. The girl was about three. Suddenly she let go of her mother's hand and walked straight up to Scream. She stared right into her face, which was level with hers. The bus became quiet. Eyes swiveled from the AIDs and zoo advertisements. How embarrassing.

"Good morning," said the little munchkin to the Scream, and she gave a wide and friendly smile. "I'm going to school today".

The deranged look slid from Scream's face. And no, she didn't ask her the time, but said, "Are you! How nice! And how old are you?" The little one held up a mittened hand and stared puzzled at the wool hiding her fingers. "Are you three?" asked Scream. The little girl nodded and said yes and that she had to go, but goodbye. The bus laughed.

Overcome with the effect of her conversation the child stopped at every person on her way out, and said goodbye.

A little piece of humanity in a New York moment. My depressed mood lifted. I might even tell Scream the time when she asks again, I thought.

But she didn't.

Kate Juliff
New York
January 2005