The Chanting Man, II

Several weeks after I encountered the chanting man, I was headed home on the last train with a friend of mine who shall be known as Polly. Polly and I rarely see each other, even though at the time we lived barely a block apart, so we were fairly engrossed in talking to one another. Most of the way home, I notice a faint chanting sound. I look around, and there behind me is the chanting man himself! I didn't mention him to Polly at the time, but I really wanted to see where he went.

He got off the train first, and we followed him up the stairs. He walked out of the station in the same direction we were going. By the time we got to the doors, however, he was gone. And there aren't any places on that street he could have gotten inside before we got there.

So I turned to Polly and said, That man, the dark skinned, black haired guy who was singing, did you see him?

And she said, I did! Where'd he go?

So I told her the story of the chanting man, part I. I have never seen him since.

The Chanting Man

One day, back when I had regular work hours and commuted back and forth just slightly off of rush hour, I found myself on a crowded train. Shocking, I'm sure.

As I stood there, facing out into the blackness of the subway tunnel over the heads of some anonymous ants, I heard a chanting voice, dark and deep, coming from behind me. I turned to look. A very out-of-place looking man, red skinned and black haired, was sitting on the other side of the car, eyes closed, singing in no language I recognized (and I recognize a good few). I smiled and went back to my book.

After a few stations, I realized that the chanting hadn't ceased, even when the doors opened, and I hadn't heard the chanting when I got onto the train. I turned again to look, and this time his eyes were open- and he was staring straight at me. His eyes were the same black as his hair. The chant changed slightly as I looked at him, then returned as I managed to look away.

Normally when something odd happens on a train, people will look, acknowledge, and then NOT-look, which isn't the same as ignoring. But no one else seemed to notice the man, no matter how loud he chanted. Even the people sitting right next to him didn't seem to notice. But I noticed, and he was looking at me.

This could have been creepy... maybe it should have been. But all I felt the entire time was a sense of content and purposefulness. As if this were something beneficial and directed at me.

Eventually, we got to my stop, and I exited the train. I noticed that the chanting stopped, turned slightly, and saw that the man had come off the train here, as well. Aha, I thought, maybe if I slow down, he will pass me and I can see where he goes.

But when I turned again a few steps later, he had vanished. There was no one remotely like him on the entire platform.

Worst Couple Ever

The other night, I happened to wind up on the last subway train home. Just before the busiest stop on my ride, the train stopped, mid-tunnel. This is not hugely unusual, and I was prepared for it, so I just kept reading my book.

Unfortunately for me, the people across from me on this relatively uncrowded train were not so prepared, and were evidently not having a great evening anyways.

They were a hetero couple, a standard looking blonde woman and a slightly metro man, late twenties or early thirties. The woman was holding a bouquet of flowers, mostly lilies, to which I happen to be terribly allergic. Since they sat down, the woman had been whining about what a horrible evening it was, and the man had been getting progressively more terse in his attempts to quiet her. I wasn't listening too closely, but at one point, I heard the woman say, "Fine. If you want to pay for it, open the doors and I will get out here." That's right, in the middle of the tunnel. The man replied, "Will it shut you up?" At this point, I was finally curious enough to look at them again, and was deeply perturbed to see the two of them, miserable expressions and all, snuggled up like the closest of lovers.

I looked up, sneezed, looked down, sneezed, and buried myself in my book until they got off at the next station.