It's an eight block walk to the nearest subway station, but Gabriel doesn't mind. His shop is in Brooklyn, but his apartment is in Queens, and even though he could easily find a place closer to work, he relishes the commute. He likes the way the people stand shoulder to shoulder, pretending they're alone, because that way he can let his arm press unnoticed against someone's side, or let his hand softly graze against a stranger's fingers. During the train ride, he'll watch the doors slide open and the people peeling away to their stops, feeling completely at home amidst the sweating bodies and the vacant eyes staring sightlessly in front of them. It's the only time he can feel not quite like an outsider.
It's starting to snow now, and Gabriel lingers a moment. The sky is black and orange lights bounce off low-lying clouds, and something in his memory stirs, a fragment from his choirboy youth: O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte. O ye who pass by my way, look and see if there is sorrow like my sorrow. He exhales slowly, watching the white plume of his breath swirl and disappear into the cold air. It'll be New Year's soon, he realizes. The year is dying. He wonders briefly where the time went.
Someone cries out. Gabriel whirls around and sees a little girl crying and clutching her ankle. She had slipped on a patch of ice, and the contents of her backpack had spilled everywhere.
Gabriel rushes toward her. "You okay?" he asks. He kneels down beside her. "Let me see your ankle." He pulls up the girl's pantleg and pushes down her sock. Her ankle is angry and swollen. "Where's your mom?" Gabriel asks, but the girl starts to cry again.
"Okay, it's okay, we'll take you to my shop. We'll fix this up, I promise." He stoops over and picks her up. She feels feather-light in his arms.
"Do you like watches?" he asks.
She shakes her head and buries her face against his chest, her little arms wrapping around his neck. Gabriel smiles and nuzzles into her hair.
"That's okay," he says. "Not very many people do."
"Maria!" He turns and sees a woman frantically chasing him down. "Maria!"
The woman lurches toward him, violently grabbing the girl by the legs.
"You're trying to steal my baby!" the woman shrieks.
"Wait, I can explain," Gabriel says.
"Put her down!" she says, and she yanks the little girl from him. The little girl starts screaming, holding tightly onto Gabriel's neck.
"Help!" she says. "Someone help me!"
"Her ankle is broken, you're hurting her!" Gabriel says.
The little girl screams louder, kicking her legs and violently whipping her body against him.
Cops from across the street rush over toward them. "Hey, what's going on?" they ask. Hands and arms reach in-between them and pull them apart. Gabriel stumbles backward and one cop yanks the woman back by her shoulder. The woman wrenches the little girl away.
"He was trying to take my baby," the woman says. She starts to cry. "She wanted to play in the snow, so I let her. And then when I looked out again she was gone!"
"I saw her fall," Gabriel says. "I swear to God, I wasn't going to kidnap her, I asked her where her mother was, and when she didn't answer I was going to take her to my shop."
"Where's your shop?" the policeman asks.
"I own the watch shop just a couple blocks down," Gabriel says. "She fell down and I think she broke her ankle. She only started screaming after her mom grabbed her leg."
"It's true," the other policeman says. "I was standing over there when it happened."
"Okay, okay, clearly this is some kind of misunderstanding," the first policeman says. "Ma'am, you want us to take you to the ER and check out your daughter's ankle? Because we can do that while we're here."
"You're just gonna let him go?" the woman asks, incredulous. "He was going to rape my baby! And you're just going to let him leave?"
"I wasn't going to rape her!" Gabriel says.
"I saw you!" she screams. "I saw you sniffing her hair! You were going to kidnap her!"
The policeman sighs and rolls his eyes at his partner. "Ma'am, are you going to be okay?" he asks.
The woman is sobbing and doesn't answer.
"Ma'am? Ma'am, would you like an escort to the hospital?" The police officer takes her arm. "Ma'am?"
The woman mumbles incoherently and presses against him. They start to walk away.
It's growing dark and Gabriel is alone, breathing hard and staring angrily at the ground. Behind him he can hear the policemen talking to the woman, their voices hushed in the crisp air. More than anything he wants to run up to the woman and bash her head in, wants to punch her and kick her and watch her blood run into the snow...
He looks up and sees the little girl staring straight at him, slung over the policeman's shoulder. Her wide eyes meet his gaze, and suddenly he feels ashamed. He might as well be a pervert, going to the subway, touching people when they didn't know. And it was as if the mother had seen inside him, knew how he felt the moment he picked up her daughter and held her to his chest. He liked the way she felt, the comforting weight in his arms. He wasn't a pedophile, but he was disturbingly close: New Year's with no one to kiss; an empty shop and an even emptier home.
His mind whispers the antiphon, the choral plea echoing in his head, O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, attendite et videte...
"Fuck," he says, and he tries hard not to cry.