A NIGHT VISITOR - NOT AMAHL

Brothers+

Duke the Beagle often dreams.  His rapid eye movements when in deep sleep, running paws, and occasional whimpers or yelps, tells me he is hunting.

As my hearing decreases, I don't know whether Duke's occasional dreams are prompted by some sound or odor external to the house; or as Shakespeare's Hamlet surmised about his encounter with the Ghost of his father, that the vision was a result of some undigested bit of meat.

It is 1:45 A.M.  Duke the Beagle, Virginia and I soundly sleep.  I had retired shortly after 10:00pm, worn out by the day’s activities and the long drive to Indianapolis and back.   Duke began making his siren like sound, the one only a hound makes when he is alerting other dogs that he has found something.  

My first thought was that Duke was having one of his occasional night visitors and that he would soon stop.  He didn't.  In fact his baying grew louder, more insistent.  When he hears a sound in the night, he sometimes races to the patio door, wanting to be let out to chase a cat or squirrel from the back yard.  He remained close to us in the bedroom.

Semi awake, I decided to let Duke out and to get a drink of water.  I called him.  He remained by Virginia.  I made my way to the kitchen and found Shirley, an aged neighbor, sitting in the darkened room.  

Shirley complained that Clyde Gray (a local news personality) was dead in her house, and that she was afraid to be there.  Last year, in late summer, Shirley had an incident where she was found atop her house expecting Clyde Gray to come for her in a helicopter. Are News People with helicopters a symbol to her of the rapture?  I'm not sure.  There are some interesting aspects to her story.  She is an elderly white and racially prejudiced woman. Clyde Gray is a near middle aged, rather good looking black man who anchors one of the nightly news shows.

Shirley has lived alone for about a dozen years following her husband's death.  They had occasionally attended a local Franciscan Church, but she apparently had made no friends there as no one visits now except volunteers from the local Senior Citizens Center bringing food.  

Shirley was hospitalized for a couple of weeks last year, and released with medication.  In recent weeks she has wakened other of my neighbors in the middle of the night and insisted they check her house to assure no one has intruded.  She is very alone and very frightened.  I normally wake at 5:30, and often see her walking the streets, a sign that she is not taking her meds.

Two weeks ago, after a neighbor told me of her coming to their home in the middle of the night, I called the Sheriff and asked that as they make rounds of the neighborhood, that they check on her occasionally.  The nights are cold and she wanders about with no coat.  I fear she may fall in the darkness and die of exposure.

She became irate with me after the police had visited and she remained at home, seldom emerging for several days.  I did go to her door once, and she assured me she would begin taking her medication again, thanked me for being concerned but indicated she didn't want the whole neighborhood to know her business.  Two days ago she resumed her walking.  Tonight, I found her in my kitchen.

I wakened Virginia.  She talked quietly with Shirley while I went to her front door, peered in and saw that the TV was on and her dog was there awaiting her return.  I came back to my house and assured Shirley that there was no body in her house, neither Clyde Gray's nor any other.   She asked if the sheriff had taken his body out on a gurney, and assured me that if they had, he had not been her lover.  I coaxed her to our door, offered her my arm as we stepped off the front stoop and walked toward her house.   The ground is wet underfoot, and a little slippery from melting patches of snow.  The night is warm.  Her arm is thin and frail as a sparrow's wing.  She barely moves her feet.  Is her shuffling gait an indication of fear or of malnutrition?

Poor Shirley.  In her best days, she was an angry, feisty, hardworking, critical nag, and a bit of a gossip.  Though she was loveable as a porcupine, she used to dress neatly and showed some vanity by coloring her hair and was an interesting neighborhood character.  Her conversation, spiced with epithets was colorful and often offensive.   As far as I can determine, she has no relatives living in Ohio.  My only recourse is to turn to Council of the Aging, a Senior Protective Agency and the local sheriff, to find someone to look after her since Virginia and I will be soon moving to Indianapolis and the other neighbors really don't want to be bothered. 

After reading some prayers for those, like myself, in mental darkness, and writing this piece, it is now 3:17 a.m.  My eyelids are heavy.  Virginia, after commenting that we would have to start locking our doors, drifted off to sleep.  Duke, having done his duty, is also snoring.  He has a bit of asthma this time of year, and wheezes, snores and occasionally snorts.

In about two hours we begin a new day.  If we have night visitors again tonight, odds are it won't be Gabriel, Santa or Amahl.

A humorous after-thought came to me as a possible explanation of the event.  What prompted this night’s ramblings?  Shirley had asked Virginia for a cigarette.  “Nicotine withdrawal”, I thought and chuckled.  “Too bad we didn’t have a sleeping pill to offer her with tea”, I said to Virginia as she returned to bed. Even people whose mental processes are suspect, act out of motivation.  All of that for a smoke;  miles of walking for a camel?

Charles+