No one knew how he had managed to get inside, let alone how long he had been in there. Though it was a busy subway station, that particular entrance had been closed off for decades, the stairwell shrouded by a metal cage at the platform level and shuttered from the world outside by a padlocked trapdoor. The grime of abandonment had accumulated in the area under the stairs, with food wrappers and newspapers strewn about and rats occasionally scurrying between them. It was not surprising then that most people jumped with fright when they realized that deep in the shadow of that cage there sat a man in peaceful repose, thick black hair covering his face, a black trench coat a few sizes too big draped over his frail frame and surprisingly shiny black boots covering his feet - an altogether perfect camouflage.
Though most passerby were afraid to look for too long, the more curious could be seen walking around the enclosed staircase in search of a door or gate that might explain how the man entered his cage. The gate at the foot of the stairs was bound up by an enormous chain and lock, covered with the same thick black paint the city had used year after year on all its metal surfaces so that whatever was painted became an engorged statue of itself. The incredulous observer might then squint up into the darkness at the end of the stairs in search of whatever entrance or exit must exist there, but by this point the next train came by or the girl playing the accordion started her next song or an unintelligible announcement was made over the intercom system and the curious observer shook his head and walked away. At some point someone became curious enough to call the local police precinct, but a homeless guy in the subway station doing nothing in particular, no matter how strange his specific location may seem, doesn’t raise much alarm from an officer answering phones in New York City. When those patrolling the station finally noticed him they figured he was better off in there, separated from commuters by metal bars, than if he were occupying one of the few available benches, or, maybe worse, living with the mole people in the tunnels where every once in a while they’d be surprised by a train and stop traffic for hours. A mess to clean up. He kept to himself, tucked away in his little corner of the world. Anyone who dared speak to him received only silence in return.
The real trouble started when a group of bees decided to make his little corner theirs too. Not that they disturbed him at all. He showed no signs of being bothered by them, and in fact seemed to barely notice them. They flew around him in the darkness, landed on his face and probed around his nostrils, strolled on his eyelids when he closed his eyes, even buzzed around inside his ears. Occasionally he might gently swat away at one of the more pesky guests, but mostly seemed nonplussed by their presence, perhaps grateful for their company.
The problem was not with him, and the commuters might not have noticed the new addition to the cage either, except that these were no ordinary bees. From this crevice in the crust of the city wherein a mysterious man languished in public imprisonment, the hum of the subway system was now accompanied by the high-pitch buzz of bees that were so red in color they seemed to have feasted on the blood of some unfortunate creature in the world up above. When illuminated by the brief light of passing trains the bees that lingered in the not-so-dark places appeared fluorescent. They were beautiful and mystifying, and after about a week their presence brought enough attention to that secluded corner of the bustling city to expose the lonely man’s hideout.
At any given moment a crowd of people gathered around the bars to get a closer look at the man and his strange insects. They could no longer look past the man sitting in the darkness amongst them. Some took out their cameras or cell-phones to snap a picture of the odd exhibit, blinding the man with their flashes and forcing him to squint his tired eyes. Still he barely moved, and as the pictures and stories made their rounds on the internet more and more people came to gawk. Rumors quickly spread that the man was a performance artist from London who had quietly set up the exhibit over several months, though many insisted they had seen him under those stairs for over a year. Some guessed that he was trapped, probably mentally challenged and surely in desperate need of assistance. Day after day visitors came and left food, flowers, notes, toys, books, prayers, candles, and other assorted offerings inside and around the cage. More than one underground busker wrote lyrics in honor of the man and the bees, performing songs throughout the subway system that invited commuters to come witness the rare display. After a week of this commotion the police were instructed to prevent large crowds from gathering. However, due to the incredible increase in revenue at that particular station they were not to disturb the man or his bees until further notice from the MTA.
Then on a particularly crowded day one of the visiting commuters was stung by one of the bees and fell from the platform onto the train tracks. The crowd was too busy staring into the cage to notice. An incoming train’s rumble grew louder. A homeless man sitting on a nearby bench sprung to his feet. The conductor hit his emergency brakes and the deafening screech of metal filled the station. Everyone turned their attention to the track and time seemed to slow down. The homeless man reacted quickly and jumped onto the tracks. Just before the train reached them, the homeless man pulled the fallen woman out of harms way into the space underneath the platform. For the first time in days not a soul in the station was looking at the man in the cage.
The incident caused an immediate uproar demanding that the gates be pried open to remove the dangerous man and his bees. It was suggested that he was angry with the crowds and had trained the bees to follow his commands and enact revenge on those who disturbed his peace. People spat on the man and hurled insults into the shadows. Someone threw a bottle into the cage and just barely missed the man’s head.
The man looked more like a trapped animal than ever before.
Police were barely able to contain the angry crowd. They were forced to close down the station in order to figure out how to extract the man from the cage. A negotiator was brought in to try to talk him out peacefully, but still silence was his only response. Finally the mayor made the decision to have the gates cut open and the man removed by force before dawn so as to not disturb morning rush hour. A special operations crew was summoned for the job and the police stood outside to prevent anyone from entering before it arrived. A crowd grew thick in anticipation, the bright lights of news crews spotlighting the cordoned off entrance. Fans and critics held up signs with hand scribbled slogans and shouted chants in support or protest of the man beneath them. The buzz of the red bees was no longer audible amidst the chaos aboveground.
A group of officers wielding heavy machinery eventually arrived and descended into the station escorted by armed guards. The crowd outside quieted down as the machines were put to work and the sound of screeching metal once again overtook the station. Suddenly the swarm of red bees rushed up onto the street, exiting from seemingly every hole in the ground. Part of the crowd dispersed in a hurry, running wildly and screaming in fear, but the bees didn’t want anything to do with them, and as quickly as they came they were gone, their red bellies invisible in the night sky. Most of those who ran soon returned, simply unable to stay away. The men and their machines below stopped and for what seemed like minutes everyone remained in silence. Even the officers blocking the entrance were looking down into the station in curiosity, their backs turned to the crowd that had become entranced by the suspense.
The yellow hardhats emerged slowly up the stairs. The entire crowd pushed and shoved, standing on their tiptoes to get a better look. The first officer out slowly wiped his brow, looked around and declared, “He’s gone. There’s no one down there.”
