Saving Anna Karenina
Part 15
Start with Part 1, and read a short synopsis of the the original book.
THE AL-ANON MEETING was in the basement of a tall building near the river that separated Brooklyn from New York. It was a gray day, with rain blowing at a brutal angle that defeated umbrellas. The wind howled, and the first of two doors crashed into her as she stepped inside. The dark basement smelled like feet.
A thick, old woman with white-hair sat knitting in a chair that faced rows of mostly empty chairs. A slim girl with long, greasy blond hair under a knit cap sat in a corner. She had taken off her shoes and socks and was picking skin off her feet. Her pants, though appearing to be made of jean fabric, had a slick, leathery quality. Several fat men sat on a bench pushed against the back wall. There were many tattered signs taped to the walls, one of which said, “The absence of profanity will offend no one!”
Anna trembled, wishing even for the discomfort of her boarding house over this place. But she was paralyzed — it would be rude to walk out. She sat down in the middle, near none of them. A few more souls drifted in, and mercifully, they were less desperate. The old woman with the knitting led the group in reciting a chant similar to the one from the alcoholics meeting. Then she read “rules,” which included no touching people, even if they wept.
“There are tissues on the table and members are free to hand them to a speaker,” she said, pointing wearily to a peeling wood table and a box of tissues.
A young man brought a chair up and sat to face the audience. He had curly, light brown hair and the blue in his eyes was like a lake after rain, before the water has time to sit and stagnate.
“I’ve been really glad to get to meetings lately,” he began. The old leader commenced to knit and nod. “I’m having a lot of problems with my girlfriend lately, who’s also al-anonic, and it’s triggering me. I keep thinking about my ex. We broke up over three years ago and the lead up to that was just — rough. After she died I went through a really bad period, I started using again, and I was isolating, and I wasn’t talking to my family. But I started to go to meetings after a while and built back my sobriety, and that was two years ago, but lately it has been feeling like it was really not very long ago.”
He reminded her of Vronsky in a way, with his youth, his improbability as a partner for her, the guilt provoked by her attraction to him. And this made her think of the time she first made love to him, the most improbable moment in her life up to that moment.
Anna paused her reverie to notice the two fat men erupting into laughter. At that moment, a very old, very ravaged woman shuffled in and sat down in front of her. Anna noticed that her feet were swelled like balloons, and flesh was bursting out of her shoes. It looked terribly painful. The woman was wearing an immense amount of makeup, and she smelled as though she hadn’t washed. She gesticulated as though she was smoking, smoking constantly. In her hand was the make believe pipe, her mouth blew out imaginary smoke. And the fat men laughed. Anna had no idea why, when there was nothing but sadness here. Other people in the audience sat up straighter, tensely. The young man took a break from his speech.
“She’s started to binge again, and just constantly re-hash every conflict we have, days and days after it’s over, and I think she needs to go back into her program.”
The old men made noises with their mouths like they were passing wind, and fell over themselves laughing, which drowned out the young man’s speech. The knitting woman stopped, looked up, and with a severe wave, sent the men from the room. One of them knocked down a bulletin board near the door as he fell into it.
“Please keep going,” she said, addressing the young man. But then the decrepit woman in front of Anna upped her antics, as if to compensate for the two departed clowns. She began reciting what sounded like a comedic or theatrical soliloquy.
The end of the young man’s speech was abrupt, with no conclusion. The knitter asked if anyone in the audience wanted to make “timed shares.” Anna certainly wouldn’t speak, not here.
A woman with a man’s hairstyle raised her hand. Her face was handsome, and she wore spectacles.
“My name is Paula,” she said. “I’d like to share about what’s going on with my husband. I’ve been with him for fifteen years, and the only reason we got married last year was because of insurance benefits. We already owned our co-op together and we’d been living together.”
She expressed information like a machine, in monotone. “I grew up with a father who was very abusive, very unpredictable, and I’m never going to be in a situation like that again. It’s just not going to happen ever again.” She paused here and took a deep, resolved breath. “So last weekend we got into an argument about something, and my husband just started to act very hostile, very quickly. He didn’t give any sign or warning, he just got very threatening, like he was going to do something. And at that moment, I wanted to burn the house down with my husband inside of it. And now, it’s going to end. I’m moving out of the house, and I’m divorcing him. So I haven’t been feeling very good this week.”
Paula’s face retained the same tense, automatic look it had as she spoke, and Anna couldn’t tell if she was finished. Then Paula rose abruptly and walked out of the room. At that, most of the other people got up and walked out of the room. Anna thought the meeting might be over. But the knitter didn’t rise. She looked up for a moment and went back to her knitting. The lady with the puffy ankles remained, smoking her imaginary pipe. The young man was still there. But Anna was glad for an excuse to leave the tragic ensemble; she hurried out on the tails of the others.
“That was a terrible meeting!” said a woman with very curly hair and pink trousers, standing on the sidewalk.
“I couldn’t stay in there,” said a man with grey hair.
“That share was not appropriate,” said a blond woman.
The women walked away and the man started to speak to Anna just as she was about to cross the street to find Diallo. He was dressed in laborer’s clothes, and had a pot belly and a mustache.
“I’m new at this,” he said, shrugging. “You go much?”
“This is my first time,” said Anna.
“The last girlfriend I had really took advantage of me,” the man said. “She got injured and she couldn’t work for a while, she got workman’s comp, but after it ended she didn’t go back to work. She stayed home and expected me to support her. I did, like an idiot. She spent almost all a my money. It took me three years to get rid of her! I haven’t had a lady since, ya know? I know the kind a guy I am, too nice. I let women take advantage of me. You know what? If you want someone to depend on you, why don’t ya get a little doggy or a little kitty cat? It’s a lot easier than an adult. A lot cheapa!”
This man had no appreciation for women. He should get a dog instead, or a horse. Anna thought of Gambetta, the horse Vronsky was selling when she last saw him. He always hurt his horses, even though he seemed to love them more than his family, or her. And each time he was devastated, as if it were a surprise that he should damage another horse. She thought of Frou Frou, whom he had destroyed on a risky jump, pushing her too hard in the race. The horse was so devoted that even when she should have paced herself in the footing before the jump, she had responded to his kick. Anna had watched, mesmerized, as the horse landed on her side and broke her back. It was this that made her weep that day in the stands, not Vronsky’s failure to win the competition. If only she could talk to him now, so she could understand. She knew if he would just explain why he did this, she could accept it, and in so doing, evoke his gratitude and surrender.
