A Son of Aran (33 page)

Saddened at the prospect of being deprived of Eileen's company, Seosamh set out on the long road home. Wrapt in deep emotions as he drove along, he failed to observe a delipadated wartime vehicle that followed close behind. Looking in the mirror, he noticed it was occupied by two burly figures with coat collars pulled high around their necks and hats drawn low over their faces.

‘Strange,' he thought, ‘that men should be wearing heavy attire at this time of year.' He had little time to ponder the question; the vehicle pulled abreast and proceeded to edge closer to him and push him closer to the verge. Next moment, with a surge of force, the Taurus was rammed heavily several times.

‘What's this about,' Seosamh thought to himself. ‘Are those fellows drunk?'

He steered hard against the impact and slowed as if to stop. The other vehicle slowed simuntanously and, with renewed force, pushed his car off the road into a deep gulley where it overturned, pinning him underneath. The offending vehicle continued on its way. Attempts to extricate himself from the wreckage were of no avail; he was caught between spars of metal; his body was numb; he was trapped and unable to move. He called for help as loudly as his voice would carry; nobody came to his assistance. He fainted and drifted into unconsciousness. He didn't know how long he lay there before he heard voices and a rasping sound as of somebody attempting to open the driver's door.

‘Not so good,' a female voice whispered, as she lifted his right arm and felt his pulse. ‘This man needs assistance as a matter of urgency. I'll remain with him while you alert a rescue team and an ambulance. He must be got to a hospital straight away.'

In his semi-comatose condition, Seosamh felt it reassuring to hear a friendly voice. The rescue team arrived; using cutting equipment, they relieved the pressure of metal members from his body, allowing the doctor to conduct a superficial examination.

‘Lift him gently,' he advised, ‘he may have spinal injuries—we'll not know the full story until he is examined in theatre.'

Deftly and quickly, Seosamh was placed on a stretcher. Accompanied by the woman who had first found him and was, he was later informed, a nurse, he was taken in the waiting ambulance to a hospital in Salamanca. Documents retrieved from his clothing and car identified his name and address. A telegram was sent to Estat de Tirelle to acquaint his family.

‘It never rain but it pours' Eileen exclaimed, when the news of Seosamh's accident was relayed to her gently by Peadar, ‘first, my mother, next you, Dad, then Philip, and now Seosamh! What have I done to deserve this litany of tragadies? Has the old Montmorency curse fallen on us? Is this a follow up to the threat of the coloured woman and her son who claimed his right to inherit Estat de Tirelle? I am beginning to wish I never got sight of the place.'

On her first visit to the hospital, Eileen threw her arms around Seosamh and cried bitterly. Smothering him with kisses, she called out in frustration, ‘Seosamh, Seosamh, what is going to become of us? I don't think I can endure any more of this trauma in our lives.'

Seosamh was pleased to have his wife and baby son close by. They visited him every day, bringing flowers and fruit. Eileen smoothed his hair and fixed his pillow to make him more comfortable. Out of Seosamh's hearing, she had a consultation with the doctor who tended him on first admission.

‘Señora, I will be frank with you. Fortunately, your husband was rescued before he lost too much blood. He incurred multible injuries which, in themselves, are not life threatening. More serious, however, is the damage to his spine and nervous system which has cost him the power of his legs. In my opinion, your husband will no longer be able to walk. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.'

Eileen was inconsolate as she relayed the doctor's diagnosis to Peadar. What are we going to do, Dad?' she wailed. ‘Why did we ever have to come to this evil place? It has brought us nothing but trouble.'

They went together to visit the patient. Try as she might, it was impossible for Eileen to conceal her disquiet.

‘Is something wrong, Eileen? Why are you in such low spirits? Praise the Lord, I am alive! Is everything all right with your pregnancy?'

‘I'm fine, Seosamh; the baby is fine too. It's you I'm worried about. Has the doctor mentioned your injuries to you? Has he told you that you have damage to your spine?'

‘The doctor didn't have to tell me, love. When I regained consciousness, I knew instinctively that my spine was injured. I couldn't move my legs or wriggle my toes. I reckon I'll not be able to walk; I may have to be in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I could have told you sooner, Eileen, but I didn't want to distress you.'

‘You're being very brave, Seosamh. Don't lose hope; we'll seek further medical opinion. All may not be lost.'

Peadar excused himself, while they sobbed and sobbed in one another's arms.

Days went by—long drawn out episodes of hospital visits, mutual consolations, light conversation, neither willing to bring forward the more serious question of where to next? Now that Seosamh's less serious injuries, broken ribs, skull fracture and superficial wounds, had received attention, the time had come for his discharge from hospital. Eileen procured a wheel chair and hired an ambulance to take him back to Estat de Tirelle. A ramp created at the rear door of the house leading to the tack room facilitated entry of the wheel chair. The room adjoined the drawing room on the ground floor; it was adapted as a temporary bedroom-cumsittingroom. Eileen pondered if they were wise in returning there at all in the light of what had happened but, for the present, it was their only home. Before leaving Salamanca she consulted Father Benedictus, explained their predicament and asked for his advice.

‘What should we do about the Estat? In view of Seosamh's incapacity, remaining there longterm does not appear to be an option. The greater area of the lands has already been assigned to you as trustee for the benefit of the smallholders. Should I offer the remaining fifty hectares and the mansion for sale? In view of the University's role in using the land as a research centre, would that institution be interested in purchasing the place outright or in taking a long lease on it?'

Father Benedictus was not in a position to make a commitment on behalf of his college. He promised to bring her proposal before the board of management.

‘Have we been wise in returning to Estat de Tirelle?' Eileen asked Peadar after they arrived and settled in for the night. ‘Will there be further attacks? Our personal safety is in question. We don't know who the perpetrators are—we have no way of determining to what lengths they will go in order to force us out.'

The shattered window had been restored; Santa Clara reported that there had been no further interference. As a precaution, Jago's father and some adjacent smallholders mounted a nightly guard on the place. The word was out on what had happened. They could only hope there would be no recurrence.

Consultation with an emminent physician in Madrid did nothing to relieve Eileen's anxiety. Lengthy examination of Seosamh's injuries and perusal of X-ray photographs, served only to confirm the first doctor's prognosis.

‘Short of a miracle,' the consultant said, ‘he will be unable to walk again.'

Looking after Seosamh presented a major problem. Eileen employed a nurse to assist with his physical needs; she herself spent as much time with him as her other duties allowed. Baby Carl had to be tended and fed. Her second pregnancy was nearing finality. She was compelled by doctor's orders to rest for some hours each day. Peadar tried to be helpful but, apart from wheeling Carl out in his buggy to allow the baby's mother to get some rest, there was a limit to what he could contribute. The future looked bleak—it was a worrying time for all.

‘Eileen, please don't be despondent' Seosamh said, as he looked at the anguish on her face. ‘Try to look on the bright side. I might have been killed in that accident. Although I am immobile, I can still do a lot for myself. I may be unable to walk, but most of my other faculties are unimpaired—I can think, I can speak, I can see, I can feed myself—I can bounce Carl on my lap and play with him, I can even fondle you in bed at night. Things could have been much worse.'

‘Thanks, Seosamh, for your words of consolation. ‘For your sake, for Carl, and for Peadar, I'll try to be brave. The trauma of the past weeks has been too much for me. I'll pull myself together and face up to what has happened. Thank God, I have you and my father to give me support. Together we'll work things out.'

‘Señora, we are sorry to trouble you. We understand that your husband has recently been involved in a motor accident in which he sustained serious injuries. From hospital records in Salamanca, we have been able to trace him. We would like to speak to him about the occurrence'—the Guardia Civil officers appeared sympathetic.

‘Can you tell us what happened?' they asked Seosamh.

He related the events that caused him to be pushed into a ditch by a heavy vehicle, his recollection of being rescued some hours later, and his eventual hospitalisation.

‘Do you know who pushed you off the road?' they asked.

‘I only know that the heavy vehicle in question was driven by two men whose faces I did not recognise.'

‘Do you wish to make a formal complaint in the matter,' they asked. ‘There is a question of prosecuting the individuals concerned if they can be identified, also the removal of your car from private property, and repair of attendant damage to the lands, for which you are held responsible.'

‘I prefer not to answer that question until I have access to legal opinion,' Seosamh replied. ‘May I ask if a charge has been brought against me by the landowner?'

‘Sorry, we are not permitted to divulge this information. We will give you the name of the person in question. You may negotiate with him privately if you so wish. That is all for the moment. We may need to ask further questions later.'

‘What do you make of that?' Peadar asked when the Guardia Civil officers had left. ‘Did you think the main purpose of their visit was to establish whether you knew the identity of those who were responsible for ramming you?'

‘In this country, it's hard to determine who is genuine and who is not,' Seosamh replied.

‘We'll only have to await developments. In the meantime, it might be well to talk with the landowner and settle for the damage incurred. Hopefully, our motor insurance policy will cover the cost of replacing the Taurus as well as paying compensation for my own injuries. We'll consult the solicitor who acted for Carlos—he will negotiate for us. Meanwhile, Eileen will have to purchase a replacement vehicle— with the baby due at any moment, she must have transport if she gets a sudden call. If she buys a car that is specially adapted for invalids, in the event of an emergency, I will be able to drive it. '

‘Don't you think of everything, Seosamh,' said Eileen, who heard his last remark, as she entered the room. ‘Put your mind at rest—I think I can handle that situation if it arises.'

‘I am Joseph Barlenda, of the Tenants Revolutionary League,' their visitor announced. ‘You, I believe, are Eileen O'Loinigh—this must be your husband, José. I come to tender my sympathy on his recent misfortunate accident. I am very much aware of exhaustive measures initiated by you both to improve the lifestyle of our members—I assure you that your benevolence in this regard is much appreciated. I understand that you come from Ireland—a country well known to my associates in the Basque region. I want you to know that, despite animosity shown to you in recent times by certain organisations and individuals, your occupancy of Estat de Tirelle is entirely acceptable to our members. I assure you that they are willing to defend your rights of accession to the property should these be questioned.

I have been asked by friends in Pais Basque to convey to you the sad news of the death of your Irish friend, Philip O'Donnell, who lost his life in an altercation with forces of the law while on a courtesy mission for ETA three years ago. His remains have been laid to rest in the cemetery at Ardigo, adjacent to the town of Espelette. If you wish to pay your respects by visiting his grave, Father Fariano of Ardigo Catholic Church, will facilitate you. He has in his possession some small personal items that belonged to Philip—a rosary beads, a wristlet watch, and the photograph of a young woman that he was known to treasure. Should you wish to have these, Father will be glad to release them to you. I regret that I am the bearer of what, for you, must be very painful news. By way of consolation to those who mourn for him, although Philip was identified with the Basque Freedom Movement for a brief time only, his memory is revered in our country.'

‘Seosamh, this is terrible news about Philip,' Eileen sobbed inconsolably. ‘Why did he have to come to Spain in the first place? Why did he become involved with the Basque revolutionaries? It looks like he had a death wish. How must his family back home be suffering in the knowledge that he is dead? Seosamh refrained from comment.

‘Eileen, what should I do with the spare time I will have from now on? I could continue to study agriculture but Spanish manuals are far too complex for me in the absence of a good knowledge of the language. For the same reason, I am unable to read books from the library. I like to listen to the radio but most broadcasts are in Spanish; I have failed to tune in any Irish station. Do you think it might be possible to get a set of uileann pipes? I could learn to play these. When I was young in Aran I had a desire to play the pipes but, at that time, I couldn't afford a set. When, eventually, I went to Galway and started to earn a few pounds, I was always on the look out. On one occasion the customs authorities had an auction of confiscated items—a set of uileann pipes was included. Excitedly, I went to the auction in the hope that nobody else was interested, and that I would get the pipes at my own offer. Tough luck; a buff with long hair down his back and rings in his ears outbid me—I couldn't reach the price he was prepared to pay; I didn't get the pipes. Maybe it was just as well—digs were not the most suitable place for practising a musical instrument—other occupants of the house would object to the unharmonious sounds emanating from a learner. Here in the tack room, there would be no interference—I could practice away to my heart's content. Wouldn't it be great if I was able to play? A swirl of pipes is great for lifting the spirits.'