Mugged

This morning I helped an older Iranian woman who was mugged on Terrace Drive--just 20 feet up from the playground right outside my back door. She came to the playground staggering, clutching her chest (I thought she was having a heart attack). I ran to her to find out the problem. In limited English and desperate body language she conveyed that her bag and head scarf had been stolen by someone. At first I thought she meant by her son, but after I made the 9-1-1 call and got clearer with her, I figured out that by "son" she'd meant "boy" (which, of course, makes more sense). She was so upset, so shaken, pale with red around her eyes. I touched her shoulders, clumsily attempted to embrace her. As I spoke first on the phone with the state trooper response center and then with the Marin County sheriff, she sank to the ground holding her side. I still don't know if he'd hit her or knocked her over, or if this was just the natural response to fear and vulnerability.

The sheriff came five minutes later. He tried to phrase and re-phrase his questions patiently to get accurate answers. She hadn't seen the thief--she'd turned her head from him when he assaulted her. As she demonstrated this, I thought that seemed like a natural response: protect herself from physical harm and from knowing too much about her attacker.

In the end, another sheriff's car headed off in the direction that the thief had fled (a fruitless gesture I'm sure), and the assisting officer said I was free to go. He'd take her to her apartment--just a hundred yards up the hill to what we know of as the "projects"--to find a relative who might speak more English, to interpret her Farsi. But she had no keys, no ID, no money, no cell phone, etc. Yuck. This happened at 11 a.m. I wonder if it would be appropriate for me to call to find out if I can check up on her, even to ask her if she'd like me to walk with her on errands. She's got to feel vulnerable. We all like to think we're safe in broad daylight.