They Called Me Warthog

by Donna Poole

I tried to keep my gnarled hands from trembling when I heard them coming and quickly hid my new MacBook under my sheets.

“It’s G and M,” I whispered to Beth. “Pretend you’re sleeping. I won’t let them hurt you.”

I didn’t feel a bit guilty about calling those night shift nurses Godzilla and Minion. They were monsters, and I had the bruises to prove it. Of course, I kept the marks well hidden from my children. I was relieved G and M had left Beth alone so far. Non-verbal, and paralyzed from the waist down, Beth was far more vulnerable than even I. I weighed only ninety pounds and was helpless myself against the “fun” G and M liked to have with me.

“You should be sleeping, honey,” Godzilla said to me, in a voice silky sweet. “Let me pull you up onto your pillow.”

She grabbed me under my arms and squeezed where she knew it would bruise but not show. She held her grip for a long time, watching my face for a tear I refused to give her, while her minion giggled.

“What have we here?” She yanked my laptop from under the sheets. “I bet your adoring children gave you this for Valentine’s Day. It’s a lot nicer than your old one!”

I clung to the MacBook with every ounce of strength I had.

G sent a smirk M’s way. “We must remember we’re in the presence of a published author. Maybe she’ll even write about us someday.

I might just do that.

“She wouldn’t dare,” Minion said. “She knows what you’d do to her.”

“She won’t write about us because she’s too ashamed of her nickname. Besides, she won’t have a computer to write on. She’s giving me a little gift for Valentine’s Day, aren’t you Warthog?”

That time I couldn’t hide the pain in my eyes. Godzilla had probed out all my weak points soon after she’d come to work at the care home. Sociopaths are geniuses at that. At my age there weren’t many things that troubled me about my personal appearance, but my warts did. I’d long been sensitive about them, especially the one on my nose. When I’d been a teen, my mother had tried to comfort me by telling me that even important people had warts; Oliver Cromwell had a huge one on his large very red nose. Her pep talk hadn’t helped my feelings.

“Thanks, Mom,” I’d said. “We just learned in history that Oliver Cromwell died in 1658, and people are still talking about his red nose and his warts? I really don’t want these stupid warts to be part of my legacy!”

Well, I’m not dead yet, but I’m eighty and people are still mocking my warts. At least Godzilla is. She’s right; I’m ashamed of that nickname, and I do hope no one ever finds out.

Godzilla snatched the MacBook from my hands. “Oh, thank you, Warthog. I knew you loved me. I’ll remember this gift forever.”

“Give it back. You’re not getting it.”

She dropped the computer on my toes, leaned over me, gripped my arms just above my elbows and squeezed. A tiny moan escaped.

“I don’t care what you do to me. You’re not getting my MacBook. You’re right; t’s a gift from my children. And let go of me, or I’ll tell.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard nastier laughs than came from G and M.

“And just who you gonna tell, Warthog?” Godzilla jeered. “You gonna tell your kids? They’d yank you out of here so fast you wouldn’t have time to say no. And I know you don’t want to live with them.”

She was right. She knew too much about me. I didn’t want to live with my children because I loved them. I’d cared for my own mother and had loved doing it, but the strain on my family had been tough. I didn’t want to add to my kids’ burdens. People told me I was robbing them of a blessing. Maybe so, but I can be stubborn, and I wasn’t giving in on this.  

Godzilla let go of me and my skinny arms dropped to the bed. I wanted to slap her, but I was too weak to raise a hand, and I didn’t want to sink to her level. I prayed for her instead. She studied me, thinking.

Then she headed for Beth. “She never has any family who visits, does she?” she asked Minion. “If I’m careful where I bruise her, the bath aides will never notice, or they’ll think they did it themselves lifting her.”

“No!” My voice could have been heard rooms away.

“Shut the door.” Godzilla said to Minion.

She came back to me, a crafty look on her face. “Now, if you were to give me the gift you know I want….”

I sighed, more tired than I’d ever been. “How much time would it buy Beth?”

“Oh, I’d never touch her, unless you happen to get another gift you might need to be persuaded to give me, you know, because you appreciate me so much.”

I opened the MacBook to delete my files.

“Oh no you don’t.” Godzilla yanked it from my hands. “It’s slow tonight. The two of us need something to laugh at to keep us from dying of boredom. Your stories might amuse us, Warthog. What’s your password?”

They left the room, laughing.

Beth looked at me, tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes saying all she couldn’t.

I eased myself out of bed and wiped her face with a tissue. “It’s okay, Beth. Sleep now. I promise, I’ll never let them hurt you. Don’t be sad; it was only a laptop.”

But Beth was sad. She knew what that laptop had meant to me. Writing was what kept me sane in this place.

A few days later Lacey was our day nurse. When she came in the room she went straight to Beth’s bed. It was the first smile I’d seen on Beth’s face since the night G and M had taken my laptop. I smiled too. We residents called Lacey an earth angel. When she walked in a door, it was as though God came with her.

Beth signaled for Lacey to raise her bed to a sitting position. Sadly, no one had ever taught Beth ASL, or she could have had a way to communicate. Beth held one hand flat like a piece of paper and pretended she was writing on it with a pen.

“Do you want to write me a note, Beth?” Beth nodded vigorously.

“I didn’t know you could communicate that way!”

Lacey looked at me. “Do you have any paper?”

“I have about ten yellow legal tablets in the top drawer there. I use them to outline my stories.”

“Hey, why aren’t you hard at work on your new MacBook?”

Oh boy, here it came. What was I going to tell her? And what story could I make up that my kids would buy the next weekend when they came to visit? Maybe I’d die before then. I half wished I would.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to answer Lacey’s question. She was distracted by Beth’s scribbling. Lacey waited several minutes. She chuckled. “I see this is going to take a while. I’ll go help a few other patients and come back, is that okay, Beth?”

Beth nodded without looking up.

When Lacey returned a half hour later, Beth had filled a few pages. Lacey read them, her face growing red, then a tear ran down one cheek.

I was puzzled. What had Beth written?

Lacey turned to me. “Is this true, dear? Why in heaven’s name didn’t you tell me this has been happening? There are laws to protect you! Elder abuse isn’t tolerated in this home, or this state. Those two will be going to prison!”

She handed me what Beth had written. Beth must have a near perfect memory. She’d written down every instance of my abuse, even ones I’d forgotten. She’d recorded the verbal abuse and the nickname of “Warthog.” She’d told about the theft of my new computer.

Lacey hugged me. “I wondered about that MacBook on the shelf in the nurses station. I didn’t open it because I thought it was none of my business, but it is now.”

In a few minutes Lacey returned. “Is this yours?”

I typed in my password and all my files were still there.

I tried to thank Lacey but couldn’t get the words out.

“It’s okay, honey. I know what it means to you. And my supervisor called the police. They’ll be in to talk to both of you later. Do you want to go down for breakfast?”

Beth nodded. I shook my head.

“I have something I want to write.”

Why had I let this happen to me without speaking up? What if I hadn’t been here to protect Beth? And how many others had G and M hurt? Were there people like them at other homes? Were there patients like me who weren’t being honest with their families and so enabling the abusers to keep hurting others?

Soon the room was quiet, and the only sound was my favorite one, fingers tapping the keyboard. I typed the title of my story, “They Called Me Warthog.”