t is, founded upon all my experience, that there is no-place on earth that has a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling countryside. There are laws in London whereby there is no street so dark or alleyway so vile that the thud of a drunkard's blow or the scream of a tortured child does not beget sympathy from some neighbour. But look at these lonely homesteads, each within their own grounds. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty that may go on year in and year out in such places, and no-one the wiser!"I live in the "smiling countryside" and for the most part my life is relatively peaceful. Oh, recently my faithful dog Buddy dragged up a couple of large deer forelegs that some unthinking hunter had cast off when he field-dressed the product of his hunt, but usually it is a fairly quiet life.
Last night I worked late on a project, and finally got to bed about 3:00 AM. My wife was working her normal 12-hour shift at the local hospital ICU. At precisely 6:50 AM I was wakened from a warm, comfortable sleep by someone pounding on my front door. Has Lara forgotten her keys? I wondered... then realized that without her keys, she never would have been able to drive home.
So, wearing very little I stumbled to the front door where I could observe a face trying to peer through the small frosted-glass pane there. "Who is it?" I yelled through the door. (Though it was raining, I'm not such a fool as to open the door to any stranger who comes pounding at odd times.)
"I'm hurt... oh god... I'm freezin' to death... muh shoulder..." was the reply.
I slipped on a pair of jeans and placed a loaded pistol in my pocket. (After having been threatened by drunks and fools on a few occasions, I don't take chances. Yes, I'm licensed to carry, and I do.)
Continuing to talk through the door, I tried to figure out what was going on. Without trying to relate a lot of the conversation here, as much of it from the other side was garbled and slurred because of the man's inebriated state, here's what happened.
It seems that he was visiting a girlfriend up the road from our house last night, and she "called the law" on him. He dashed into the woods in an attempt to evade contact with the local constabulary and became lost in the dark, wet woods. There are a couple of good-sized creeks that run near here, and they are swollen with the recent rains. Since he was unsteady from the alcohol as well as running through unknown woods, he took a tumble down a hillside and ended up in a creek. In the process, it looked like he dislocated his shoulder.
After opening the door and looking at this soaked, bedraggled specimen of injured and drunken humanity, I let him come in and sit down, and wrapped a blanket around him in an effort to stave off chills. He gave me a phone number of someone to call and come pick him up. They seemed none too concerned--I learned later this was his sister-in-law, and she probably had dealt with similar situations too many times before. The first call was at 7:00 am.
And yes, I was going to call 9-1-1, but the man begged me, literally, not to do so. Later it came out that he was (1) a mental patient who had not been taking his medication and (2) on probation.
The sister-in-law lived about three miles away. At 7:30, no one had yet arrived to pick up my 52-year-old foundling. He was sitting in my dining room, getting the carpet wet and slurping down hot, strong, sweet tea in an effort to get him warmed and more alert. I could tell he was hurting--I've dislocated a shoulder before and I know what it's like--but I have to admit I tired of his constant monologue about his pain, his evil girlfriend, how slow his brother was, how he was glad his mother couldn't see him now and so forth. I called the sister-in-law again, but got no answer.
About ten minutes later, I tried again on the phone and she answered, telling me that his OTHER brother was on the way and should be there shortly. He lived about four miles away.
At 7:55, still no chauffeur for my new houseguest. He was on his second cup of very strong tea and becoming somewhat more coherent. At first he was disoriented and had no idea of the time, so he said he must have been in the creek for an hour or so, as he could not remember anything... "I musta hit my head... prolly got a brain concussion or something..." I told him what time it was and he started to cry.
"I left her house at 9:00. I laid down there in that creek all night, then. Just my head was outta the water when I woke up... oh god this hurts.... God musta been taking care of me, right?" Considering the distance he had traveled, it appears he laid in a rain-swollen stream, unconscious, for at least seven or eight hours, perhaps longer. He was lucky that the weather is relatively mild--it didn't drop below 50 degrees last night. A couple of weeks ago, the nightly low was 18 degrees Fahrenheit. He'd have been dead if his little escapade had happened that night.
I agreed that someone must have been looking out for him, and went into the bathroom to secretly call 9-1-1. It was now 8:10 and my wife was due home from work soon. I didn't want her to have to deal with this guy sitting in the house while she tried to get to bed and sleep. I told the dispatcher the necessary information and she said someone would be sent out.
At about 8:15, my wife arrived home. Still no 9-1-1 responders, still no ride for the injured party. I told him that he needed to go to the emergency room and get treatment, but he was insistent that he couldn't go in his present state. His state was: muddy, wet and bedraggled. We didn't mention that my wife is a nurse--no need to create a scene.
At about 8:30 a car drove up in front of my house. It was a sister of the poor schmoe, wide-eyed and concerned. "What happened to you?" she asked him. He didn't want to talk about it right then and there. We managed to get him up from the chair and down the front steps, with much moaning and crying out in pain. His sister, behind his back, tapped her head and mouthed to me, "Mental patient--off his medication."
In a few minutes, peace was restored to our little home. My wife and I looked at each other, and a lot of the commentary was unspoken. She was an Emergency Room nurse for years, and has seen hundreds of these sort of people come in: drunk or high, out of their heads, not remembering where they were, who they were or how they got there.
"Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder." Proverbs 23: 29 - 32 (King James Version)
