Empathy by Sarah Schulman Page A

passengers wanted to buy it because savvy New Yorkers knew that it was a scam. It had no articles about the street. It was just a way for a publisher to sell his paper without having to pay minimum wage. Then another bunch of homeless came through selling copies of the Daily News , which had been on strike for months and months. The bosses, not being dumb, distributed the strike-breaking copies free to homeless people, who immediately tried to resell them, making themselves de facto scabs. Now, this situation really tested Doc’s sensibility. He had to decide which was more moral - buying a paper from a homeless person or not buying it.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen,” the man said, pointing to a knife scar on his chest. “I got this wound from a mortar shrapnel in a battle on
Christmas night, right outside of Kim Lee.”
    â€œWhat kind of Vietnamese name is Kim Lee?” Anna asked.
    â€œI think it’s a Chinese restaurant on Fourteenth Street,” Doc said.
    â€œAt Jack’s service this morning,” Anna continued, as though all of this was normal, “I realized that when I first comprehended the enormity of what was happening to my community, I only anticipated that I would lose many people. But, I did not understand that those of us who remain, that is to say, those of us who will continue to lose and lose, would also lose our ability to fully mourn. I feel that I have been dehumanized by the quantity of death, and that now I can no longer fully grieve each person. How much I loved them and how much I miss them. Doc, you know that expression Silence=Death?”
    â€œYeah,” Doc said.
    â€œI’m beginning to realize that at the same time that that is true, Voice does not necessarily equal Life.”
    By this time the beggar had finished up with their car, having collected about a dollar. He put his shirt back on, like he was backstage and preparing for his next entrance.
    â€œDo you ever think about leaving New York?” Anna asked.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Doc said.
    â€œOh,” Anna sighed. “You’re one of those.”
    Doc cleared his throat, trying not to pry.
    â€œDo you ever think about leaving New York, Anna?”
    â€œWell, there is always San Francisco. There are a lot of women there and my parents are here. I was visiting once and I went swimming in one of those great public pools they have there.”
    â€œPublic pools?” Doc asked, amazed. “That actually work?”
    â€œYeah, and locker rooms full of dykes. They are all there undressing and redressing very slowly in front of each other. I just sat down on a bench and watched this one. When she left she threw me a great smile. Gay people are normal there. There’s no shame.”

    â€œWhy don’t you move?” Doc asked.
    â€œWhat? And give up my shame? Don’t you think it would get boring?”
    â€œLook at that,” Doc said, pointing to a public service announcement hanging in the ad strip over the windows. “When I was a kid they told us not to cross in the middle of the block. Now it says DON’T SHARE NEEDLES.”
    But Anna sighed again.
    â€œLet’s chat,” he said, getting back to work. “Let’s chat before we reach our destination.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œTell me about…a different relationship. The one before this one. Tell me about someone before Miss Bitch. How about the one from the small town in Pennsylvania?”
    â€œNot that one, Doc, I wouldn’t know what to say.”
    â€œWell, how about the opera singer?”
    â€œToo painful.”
    â€œThe one from the Bronx?”
    â€œGod, you’re a great listener, Doc, to remember all those details.”
    â€œThanks. Let’s look at an old relationship so we can see if there are any patterns that you may want to look into on your own at some future time.”
    â€œIt’s a long story.”
    â€œWell, the train