I
flailed about (happy, in retrospect, that I did not really panic, though I
thought I might get knifed or have a hand go through my pockets for money-- I
had a lot, fresh from the ATM). A few
seconds later, he was off. I walked,
stumbled out into the street. I turned
around. He looked at me and gave me a
grunt, like "Take that, you asshole!" and walked away. The entire encounter must have not been not
more than 30 seconds.
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| The Scene of the Crime the Next Day |
How
strange! 5:30 in the afternoon, close
to church, cars going by off and on in the street, a block away from the hotel
and the Royal Mile. Then the traffic
stopped - a lull, perhaps a red light.
My attacker came, then went. The
traffic resumed. I staggered, then
walked along the street, turned right again and walked, then jogged up the hill
(Blackfriars Road) toward our hotel.
I
have a couple of good knots on my head ("goose eggs," Cathy
says). I think he kicked me as well,
because the back of my calf hurts. I
don't think he had a weapon. I'd say he
was 6 foot, possibly a couple of inches taller.
When I saw him, the two of us alone on the street, I think I had my
American instinctive fear of race, perhaps it showed on my face for a second,
though we were then at some distance.
My
guess is the guy was just angry. Was it
the world or me or rich people? Do I
look rich or soft? Hard to know what
impression I convey. I had just looked
at the mass schedule, 9 and 11, I think, and was pleased with myself at
planning a good Sunday: 11 o'clock mass, breakfast at the place up the road
that has American pancakes on the menu. I
wonder if I had a smile on my face? Or
perhaps I looked lost, though normally I am an intent and determined walker:
head slightly bowed, eyes down, steady stride.
I
have to say that I wished my attacker well.
What could so trouble a person to do such a thing?!
This
was my second attack. The first was
verbal only, but scary! This time an
octopus around my head, something I could fight back against and less time for
fear to take hold. Look out for the
third time!
*
* *
We
are in the old section of Edinburgh and took the walking tour of the Royal Mile
today. I've never seen so many nooks and
crannies ("closes"), ideal places for creepy things at night. The city itself is quite beautiful, lying in
the middle of so many hills and valleys.
What
will I think of Edinburgh in the future?
I don't think this will spoil my appreciation of the city. Will I have nightmares? I think not, judging from the verbal assault that
night the crazy fellow calmly approached me that evening on Strong in Las Vegas,
coolly promising mayhem and the Book of Daniel.
I was merely a bit jumpy for a few days, thinking I might have been
followed. Here there is greater comfort
in people, but we will definitely use chains on the door!
Really,
though, to realize that one's life can be worth so little to someone else is
reason to stop and think. What kind of a
world do we live in? Yet, I'm the first
to admit that a big city is a big city and these things happen in big cities.
Sunday
5 January. 12:25 a.m. After dinner.
The unpleasantness is almost gone.
My experience is fading into memory of unpleasant things: thoughts, not
feelings, though, when I think of the labels, "mugging" or
"assault," and feel the goose eggs, a little bit of the reality of
the negative feelings and bad vibrations and hate and all the wrong things come
to mind and make their presence, their reality, felt.
Came
back this evening and watched a playoff game with Robert. Denver beat Houston. Robert said, "I hope your head feels
better." Cathy said that when the
guy said he would cut me up with razors in Las Vegas I came back white as a
ghost. Not this time. I'm now an old pro at assaults. It's definitely more run of the mill, less me
personally and more the time and place in which we live, though I can't divorce
the attack from me personally. There
must have been something in the way I looked that passed between us.
I
was interviewed by the police. In
Scotland two witnesses are required in order to file a complaint. They'll call me if . . . . Obviously that's not something I'm really
concerned about. I looked at mug shots,
couldn't ID anyone. They have five PCs
(police constables) on duty in Edinburgh tonight! The PC said no problem to walk to dinner.
Again,
again, was it me? I'm sorry the way I
looked, I hope my companion has better days.
What troubles! I'm glad I got
angry and silently flailed away. Rest
easier, my friend, we're all headed the same way. Is it really worth it?
8:45
a.m. Idea this a.m.: Story or beginning a la Proust: my room in
Malibu all by myself (a room of one's own in a big family). The radio, the picture, my bottle cap
collection, that little toilet, wayout fear (talking to mother, FDR fear
speech), privacy, solitude, etc.
Elaborate all re Malibu and growing up and religious influence.
8:30
p.m. Back of my head hurts all
over. Sore or aches when I touch the
area (push against it, like muscle soreness).
Still can't believe it! Weird!
9:40
p.m. Watching television: "ABC
Murders" by Agatha Christie, staring Hercule Poirot. The crazy man did not do it, the murders were
done by the fellow with a motive.
Thinking of last night: it's much easier to understand motives than
craziness. Last night was I a robbery
victim or a symbol of richness or whiteness or just someone in the wrong place
at the wrong time?
What
was going through my attacker's mind as we passed? Was I a victim all along? (The PC said that the area was around where
the vagrants hang out, and that there are not that many colored people in
town.) I don't think I was strong enough
to take the fellow on, but enough, I suppose, to make it last more than a few
seconds on a street with at least some traffic.
Did anyone see?
The
fellow never said anything (neither did I), other than a grunt as he turned and
walked away. (Did he even speak
English?) If he was intent on robbing
me, wouldn't he have said something or tried to stick his hands into my
pockets? I wonder what was going through
his head. What was going through my
head? Why attack my head? Attack the thoughts I was thinking? It was a surrounding head attack, he must
have been much taller than my 5'11" to swarm over my head like that. My vision was blocked with his arms. He must have seethed as he walked by.
Thomas
had a great conversation with the priest at St. Patrick's today. Las Vegas boy, knew where he was from
(America) and his age (3 1/2). Where in
America? Las Vegas.
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| On the Walking Tour |
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| Cold and a Little Creepy |
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| Priceless |
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