Update: Aftershock

After the trauma of the break-in, I admit to finding it a little hard to concentrate. I have had a big clean-out of my email in-tray, for example, instead of working on my lecture for next week or the several other tasks at hand. But I was going ok, holding it all together to give Joel a sense of normality, until this afternoon, when I was in the supermarket. I'd left my trolley by the bananas, with my green recyclable shopping bags sitting on top, while I'd gone round to pick up some nectarines, and when I came back, I saw an old woman calmly taking one of my bags to put her grapes in.

I said, "Isn't that my bag?" and I swear she said, "I'm a beggar; I'm taking it, ok?" Of course I just shrugged ironically. Who is going to dispute ownership of a $1 bag with an old woman in her slippers? Not I. What am I going to do? I'm going to start collecting my own grapes and mushrooms, sobbing quietly into my hands. I have to keep going, because Joel is at his music lesson and I have to pick him up at 5.30, but I can't stop crying. No one comes to my aid. Clearly, if you run down the street in your socks yelling "stop thief" it's exciting and dramatic, but a middle-aged woman sobbing over the fruit and vegetables on a Friday night? Oh well, what would you expect?

I got as far as the check-out, still sobbing and shaking, clearly experiencing a delayed reaction of vulnerability and shock, and just wishing it would be one of those Fridays when I run into my friend Hannah at the supermarket. I looked up, and there she was, just exactly the right person to meet. I had had dinner with her the previous night, so she knew the whole story, and just hung on tight till I had stopped sobbing.

I'm ok now. Joel is at a friend's house; Paul is on his way home from the US; and everything's right with the world.

Oh. I do turn 50 tomorrow. Anyone else signing up for Earth Hour to help me celebrate? Because, truly, not everything is all right with the world...

Vigilantes R Us

Well, it was like this.

Yesterday evening I was out in the old studio in the back garden, helping Joel with his cello practice. As we came back into the house I heard a noise and headed down the corridor, and saw a man standing just inside the front door. The lights were off and it was still light outside so I couldn't get a good look at him. I said, with increasing volume, "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" whereupon he froze, then turned and ran. Without thinking, I set off after him (in my socks) screaming at the top of my voice, "Stop that man! Thief! Burglar! Stop him!" He was much younger and running much faster than I could, and he crossed the road in the middle of the traffic, and headed towards the city. I didn't see anyone rushing out of the cafés and take-away places to grab him, and almost gave up, but since I'd stopped outside the pizza place, I asked them to phone the police.

There are always a couple of Italian boys hanging around La Sera, and I think they must have headed off after him. I was still on the phone when someone came back to say the guy had been caught, so I told the police and then within 5 minutes I could see the flashing blue lights of the police car, several blocks down. They told me later there were 3 or 4 groups of people who had grabbed the guy and were just holding him till the police arrived, and who have made witness statements. The cops then came back to our place, and examined where he had just shouldered the old wooden door (there is a security door, but because we were "home" it was open). We then went down to Fitzroy and made a statement, and the man has been arrested and charged.

What went through my mind? Nothing. It was a case of sheer maternal protective instinct. My house and my child were at risk, and Paul wasn't home: if I didn't do anything, nothing would have been done. I don't know what I would have done if I had caught him, but I am really thrilled that people on the street (it is a main road) stepped up and helped me. I remembered a story my parents told me about being at Victoria market one day and hearing all the stall-holders yelling out in chorus "thief! thief! thief!" as a man ran down one of the aisles until someone grabbed him. Honestly, it felt downright neighbourly around our inner-urban neck of the woods last night.

When I was on the phone, the constable said repeatedly, "Don't put yourself in danger", but my heroics were over by then. And the senior constable, and the constable who took my statement both said they normally counsel you not to get involved, but in fact they said "well done!" and "good on you" and gave me the thumbs up, so I was very pleased. I was also pleased I was able to shout. It's always my fear that if I'm attacked I wouldn't be able to shout or scream, but I was so angry that it was easy.

Joel was quite rattled, though, and so was I. We called in on a family who live a block away from the police station, just to make contact with friends, with warmth and food and a cup of tea. Thanks D and S: you are life-savers!!

Of course, as a textual scholar, I was intrigued by the production of text. The constable sat in front of a computer and asked me questions, and typed up "my" statement. Reading it, you'd think I was a completely coherent subject, whereas in fact Joel and I were full of nervous asides and doubts as we were talking. (I could see how medieval inquisitorial testimonies might be produced.) She asked me to look it over — we'd already had the obligatory conversation about her English teacher — and it was really terrific. Oh dear, though: I did correct a "were" for a "where". Oh well. I made up for that today by going on line to the Victoria police website and registering a "compliment" to the cops.

I'm going to nip down to La Sera tonight and thank them, too. What do you take the owners of a pizza place to show your gratitude?