2031 Shame

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

There are about 18 houses in our little neighborhood. Several of them are summer or weekend homes. There's very little visiting back and forth, mostly just next-door neighbors interaction.

One of the houses is occupied by a couple whom everyone avoids. He is big, vicious, violent, nasty, vindictive, and more than a bit crazy. She is older than he, from central Europe, and does not have the use of her left hand. He beats her. She doesn't drive, and he refuses to take her shopping. He leaves her alone all day with no transportation, but expects the larder to be full, and dinner on the table when he comes home.

So she rides her bicycle the two miles into the village to shop. There's a limit to how much food and household supplies she can carry home on the bike, so she has to go several times a week, no matter the weather.

I first met her one winter day two or three years ago when she appeared on my doorstep asking if she could have some of my firewood. A neighbor had called the police to one of those beatings, and she had a three-month order of protection against him, so he wasn't allowed to go to the house, and the furnace was broken, and she had no money to fix it, could I please give her some of my wood. I did.

Over the next few weeks and cups of tea, I offered her rides to town and to medical treatment, and talked with her about her life and her options. It turned out she had several friends in the area, and she had in the past gone to stay with them when things got really bad, but she always came back because she couldn't see any other choice, she has no money of her own and can't afford a lawyer, and now all those friends refuse to take her in any more because her husband always found her, and he's crazy and scares them, and she always went back to him anyway.

I started researching. Research is one thing I do well. I found her free legal assistance. I found her all kinds of aid and social services, including the battered women's shelters. And --- she refused to consider any of it. I soon discovered that all she really wanted was money, donations of food, rides, and someone to complain to. She didn't seem to really want to change anything.

Along about that time, another neighbor who lives across the street from them and had seen the guy in action, strongly advised me to get out of the situation. Do not attempt to help her. He also pointed out that she will gradually drain me of anything I can give her, but she won't make any changes. And, more importantly, if the husband gets the idea that I'm interfering, I could come out some morning to find both my vehicles keyed and all eight tires punctured, and I wouldn't be able to prove he did it.

I'd about reached that conclusion myself.

The next time she called, I told her that in finding the legal and social services, I'd done as much for her as I could, and that I can't do any more. If she needed a ride to any of those offices, she could call, but otherwise I have to stay out of her life. I didn't respond to her next few phone messages, and eventually they stopped.

I occasionally see her on the highway on her bicycle. I don't think she sees me. She always has her head down.

Today I went to the grocery store, and passed her, her gray head bent over the bars, her thin legs pedaling hard. I knew she would be heading for the grocery store, too. When I got to the store, I tore around filling the basket so that I'd be gone before she arrived. Then when I left, I turned south to the pharmacy, rather than pass her again.

And I feel so very guilty.
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