A friend was in the Paris Metro when a disheveled man came onto the subway train (I have heard a similar story from more than one friend, so perhaps it is as an archetype of the Metro). The man seemed to be drunk or deeply disturbed; his shirt was off, he was bleeding, and perhaps had been beaten up. He was sweating, gesturing violently, and swearing at the young women in the car. As he spoke, saliva sprayed from his mouth. It was clear, my friend said, that he wanted something, but he was also a frightening apparition and the young people in the car made themselves small and pressed back against the sides of the car, hoping not to be noticed. My friend, who is Japanese and already small, was not sure she understood what was happening, so she followed their cue and shrank back with them.
However, as the man stumbled along the aisle, an old woman, whom nobody had noticed until that time, reached up and took his hand. She tugged gently. His body followed her hand down and he collapsed onto the seat beside her. As she held his head against her breast, he began sobbing. In this case. . . . a moment of fear and danger became an occasion for kindness. Such a transformation is one of the truly creative acts a person can bring about.
— John Tarrant, Bring Me the Rhinoceros