Some Things Just Never Make Sense
Warning: This posting contains graphic images that may not be suitable for all ages.
Today I feel like crap. I have a bit of a cold, but that's not the reason for my ickyiness.
Yesterday I took the train from Tarsus to Adana. It's a short ride of about 40 minutes between the two cities. I was lucky and there was a train coming just a few moments after I got my ticket. This made me happy because I was going to be meeting Adam who was already there and had been hiking around a lake birding that morning. He wanted to go to the fabric store with me and check things out.
I was also lucky to get a seat on a train that ended up having many standing passengers for the trip. I am not always so lucky, and standing on the swaying train is not really that fun. People look at you weird when you stand and read a book in this country. As far as I can tell, if you read anything in public other than a trash newspaper, you get looked at funny, but standing and reading a novel wins you even more lookie-loos.
The trip was going fast. I was absorbed in my book. Then the train stopped. I thought we were at a station and would be on our way shortly. Looking out the window I could see that we were not at a station with proper buildings, but that means little here. There are random stopping points for the "slow" train, so I settled in for a longer ride.
Man, the book must have been good, because I noticed we hadn't moved when people were asked to unload the train. Logical thought: mechanical issues. I got off like all the other passengers, we were moved off the main tracks to an area with secondary rails, and the waiting began.
What was the issue? I started looking. There were Turkish police on scene, easilly spotted due to the machine guns they carry. There was some effort made to keep people away from the train. I kept looking.
It wasn't obvious. Behind the train there were some things that looked like packages laying next to the tracks. There was one policeman on the far side of the train who never moved. I could only see his legs dressed in fatigues. It was a crime scene, but what was the crime?
Then I saw something under the train, caught in the machinery of the wheels. It was the majority of an arm. The shoulder was lodged in the piece that ties the wheels together and makes them turn. The hand was eerily clear in the darkness of the undercarriage. The police officer on the far side of the train was standing next to the remains of the body. Their were officers sweeping the field next to the tracks, presumably for the other disembodied bits.
Was no one else seeing this? I looked at the faces of the other passengers. Not one expressed shock, like I'm sure mine did as I realized what was going on. Was it just that they hadn't noticed what was going on? Was it that it was such a normal event, someone committing suicide by train, that no one bothered to get upset? Was I imagining things?
I looked again. I looked carefully, trying to talk myself out of what I was seeing. It was real.
In this time, two trains had passed us going back toward Tarsus. Did these other passengers think there was just some mechanical issue? Two trains, full and with many standing in the aisle, passed us going to Adana. There was no room to take us on. It was getting cold. The area was unprotected and there was a wind moving from the mountains with a cold bite.
Some one with the train company walked by. He tried to say something to me, but I don't know what, or maybe I was too dazed to figure it out.
People began moving back to the train. I climbed on too, glad to have a seat and be out of the wind. Most people with phones were sending texts or chatting. Others were talking in a cherry way with those around them.
Was this just so normal, were these people unable to see past an assumption of "mechanical trouble", or was the scope of their feeling so shallow that as long as it did not inconvenience them any longer, they were ready to get back to where ever they were going?
I know that is selling some people short. I could not have been the only passenger that noticed what the policeman was guarding. I could not have been the only one who was upset by the event.
What motivates this sort of thing? Depression? Failure? Honor? Shame? All of these things? None of these things?
The poor driver of the train. The man who stopped the train after watching someone lay purposely in front of a moving train. Whoever that driver is, I feel bad for him.
I don't know what your views on suicide are. That's not really the discussion. But why involve other people? Why choose a public method that exposes people to something out of their control?
I keep thinking about it. Even when I'm not thinking about it, I'm thinking about it.
The hand.
I feel like crap today.
Today I feel like crap. I have a bit of a cold, but that's not the reason for my ickyiness.
Yesterday I took the train from Tarsus to Adana. It's a short ride of about 40 minutes between the two cities. I was lucky and there was a train coming just a few moments after I got my ticket. This made me happy because I was going to be meeting Adam who was already there and had been hiking around a lake birding that morning. He wanted to go to the fabric store with me and check things out.
I was also lucky to get a seat on a train that ended up having many standing passengers for the trip. I am not always so lucky, and standing on the swaying train is not really that fun. People look at you weird when you stand and read a book in this country. As far as I can tell, if you read anything in public other than a trash newspaper, you get looked at funny, but standing and reading a novel wins you even more lookie-loos.
The trip was going fast. I was absorbed in my book. Then the train stopped. I thought we were at a station and would be on our way shortly. Looking out the window I could see that we were not at a station with proper buildings, but that means little here. There are random stopping points for the "slow" train, so I settled in for a longer ride.
Man, the book must have been good, because I noticed we hadn't moved when people were asked to unload the train. Logical thought: mechanical issues. I got off like all the other passengers, we were moved off the main tracks to an area with secondary rails, and the waiting began.
What was the issue? I started looking. There were Turkish police on scene, easilly spotted due to the machine guns they carry. There was some effort made to keep people away from the train. I kept looking.
It wasn't obvious. Behind the train there were some things that looked like packages laying next to the tracks. There was one policeman on the far side of the train who never moved. I could only see his legs dressed in fatigues. It was a crime scene, but what was the crime?
Then I saw something under the train, caught in the machinery of the wheels. It was the majority of an arm. The shoulder was lodged in the piece that ties the wheels together and makes them turn. The hand was eerily clear in the darkness of the undercarriage. The police officer on the far side of the train was standing next to the remains of the body. Their were officers sweeping the field next to the tracks, presumably for the other disembodied bits.
Was no one else seeing this? I looked at the faces of the other passengers. Not one expressed shock, like I'm sure mine did as I realized what was going on. Was it just that they hadn't noticed what was going on? Was it that it was such a normal event, someone committing suicide by train, that no one bothered to get upset? Was I imagining things?
I looked again. I looked carefully, trying to talk myself out of what I was seeing. It was real.
In this time, two trains had passed us going back toward Tarsus. Did these other passengers think there was just some mechanical issue? Two trains, full and with many standing in the aisle, passed us going to Adana. There was no room to take us on. It was getting cold. The area was unprotected and there was a wind moving from the mountains with a cold bite.
Some one with the train company walked by. He tried to say something to me, but I don't know what, or maybe I was too dazed to figure it out.
People began moving back to the train. I climbed on too, glad to have a seat and be out of the wind. Most people with phones were sending texts or chatting. Others were talking in a cherry way with those around them.
Was this just so normal, were these people unable to see past an assumption of "mechanical trouble", or was the scope of their feeling so shallow that as long as it did not inconvenience them any longer, they were ready to get back to where ever they were going?
I know that is selling some people short. I could not have been the only passenger that noticed what the policeman was guarding. I could not have been the only one who was upset by the event.
What motivates this sort of thing? Depression? Failure? Honor? Shame? All of these things? None of these things?
The poor driver of the train. The man who stopped the train after watching someone lay purposely in front of a moving train. Whoever that driver is, I feel bad for him.
I don't know what your views on suicide are. That's not really the discussion. But why involve other people? Why choose a public method that exposes people to something out of their control?
I keep thinking about it. Even when I'm not thinking about it, I'm thinking about it.
The hand.
I feel like crap today.
Yuck. That's awful.. I'm sorry you had to see that.
ReplyDeleteOh god, that's awful - you poor thing!
ReplyDeleteI read somewhere that the reason people commit suicide by jumping in front of trains is that it is harder to change your mind. One step and all your worries, all your fears are gone.
Startling and haunting story!
ReplyDelete