A Son of Aran (6 page)

At earliest light she walked the shore at low water, examining every accumulation of debris left behind by the outgoing tide. She scanned the horizon in the hope of seeing the hooker approach. She searched every nook and cranny along the cliff face and peered into every opening. She found no evidence that might throw light on what had become of the missing ones. Overcome by fatigue and hunger, she pursued her search until the incoming tide made further investigation impossible. Returning to the cottage to rest, she resolved that with the light of the moon she would search again.

‘There can be no let up,' she said to herself, ‘somewhere out there my nearest and dearest are in trouble. I will find them or die. I cannot go on living without them.'

In an eerie stillness, she stood at midnight on the deserted beach, listening to the surge of waves rolling towards the shore. Backed by a rising westerly wind, the tide rose to full. She shuddered: ‘Was that a human head that surfaced momentarily out at sea, only to disappear again in a matter of seconds?' Closer observation revealed it was a seal but the initial shock stayed with her. Among the flotsam and jetsam washed ashore was a collection of bottles, cans, sacking, and torn garments. None of these bore any resemblance to clothes worn by Peadar or Eileen. She waded knee-deep into the tide to grab a floating spar of timber—it didn't match any part of a hooker. The absence of evidence of a tragedy at sea consoled her. Nevertheless she continued to search with even greater intensity.

The west wind brought a drizzling rain that reduced visibility to a few hundred yards. Above the lapping of the tide, from beyond the mist there came a plaintive wail. Saureen stiffened; she couldn't reconcile the sound with any she had previously heard. Was it the cry of a seal or something more sinister? For several minutes she strained to listen. Although the sound was repeated, she couldn't make up her mind as to its origin.

‘Is it a human voice?' she asked herself, as she bent low to listen above the whine of the wind. ‘There it is again—it is somebody singing!'

The sound wafted and waned and began to recede. She froze. She tore at her hair.

‘There is no mistaking it; that is Peadar's voice. That's the song he used to sing to me during our courting days. He was always singing about this place that he called Hy Brasil.'

She listened again—faintly it reached her:

….. on the ……. of the ……. it lay

……. it …… like …….. away ….. away.

‘That surely is Peadar singing! Eileen and he are alive— they are out there.'

The wind dropped to a gentle whisper. The rain shower ceased. The light of a full moon breaking through drifting cloud, was reflected in the dark waters of the sea. It gave a clear view to the far horizon. There was no sign of a boat. The sound she had heard came and went until it gradually faded and died.

‘Peadar, Peadar, come back to me. I love you. I want you. I want to be with you,' she cried as, frantically, she waded still deeper into the tide.

‘Bring Eileen back. I know I've done wrong. I've been unfaithful. Please forgive me. I promise I'll never, never again deceive you. Come back to me and we'll live together here in Aran that you love so well. I'm pleading with you, Peadar. Listen to me. Please, please, don't go away. Wait for me, I'm coming to you,' she cried in panic.

‘I'll be your loving wife. I'll be a good mother to Eileen. I'll give you other children that are
ours,…
o
urs
, …..ou
rs, ………only
and we'll be together for
ever mo….. o…… o. o.……………r.'
A long-drawn smothered cry followed. Silence prevailed. Only the soft swish of the waves encroached on the eerie stillness.

‘E
ILEEN, STOW YOUR SCHOOL BAG AND YOUR THINGS AT
the prow of the boat. Put on your heavy coat and pull your knitted cap well down over your ears. When darkness approaches the sea gets cold—I don't want you getting a chill. We're not taking the direct route to Aran. I'm going to steer a course along the Connemara coast. To anybody out there in the bay we'll appear like inshore fishermen hunting a shoal or lifting lobster pots.'

‘When will mammy join us?' Eileen asked. ‘I'd like us all to be together in Aran. You and I will go out fishing— mammy will stay at home to mind the house and do the cooking—we'll all have great fun.'

‘I'm sure mammy will come when she's good and ready,' Peadar replied, ‘for now let us enjoy the trip and each other's company.'

As he sailed slowly west into the slanting sun, Peadar scanned the shipping lane to the south. He grew suddenly silent and morose as he caught sight of The Sansander ploughing its way outward between the Cliffs of Moher and the islands. He wiped a tear from his eye as he thought of the woman he loved spirited away to dine and wine at the captain's table. Wasn't he a fool not to have seen what was going on in her life during the years they had been together! He had one consolation—despite her falseness and the devious plans of her lover and herself, they hadn't succeeded in taking Eileen away from him.

‘Daddy, Daddy, see over here, the dolphins are jumping up and down in the water. One of them is so close to our boat I think he wants to talk to us.'

The sound of Eileen's voice awoke him from his reverie.

‘What am I thinking about?' he asked himself. ‘I have a job to do, sailing the hooker well clear of the rocky Connemara coast to ensure the safety of Eileen and myself?' Darkening clouds in the western sky and a rising wind told him that a storm was brewing.

‘It would be foolish to attempt crossing to Kilronan tonight; I will sail instead along the coast, and run for shelter into some cove if danger threatens. Eileen needs to get some sleep. It's a long journey to Aran in this small craft and we are in no particular hurry. Kilkieran is within reach—we will head in that direction and tie up there for tonight.'

Peadar was well acquainted with berthing the hooker in Kilkieran; he had been there in the Autumn with men from Aran, carrying turf from the mainland to the island. On previous occasions, he and Máirtín had landed catches of herring and mackerel so that they could return quickly to deep water while a shoal was running in order to take advantage of the opportunity presented. Peadar had many friends among the Kilkieran fishermen. The tide was filling fast—huge waves lashed the rocky foreshore as, deftly, he guided the hooker into the harbour and tied up along the quay wall. Tenderly taking Eileen's hand, he lifted her ashore and set out to find food and accommodation.

Tadhg Cloherty was glad to see them—it had been a long time since Peadar was in his house. Of course they could stay with him for the night.

‘Come in from the rising wind and rain,' he said.

A hearty meal of bruitín was soon on the table. After Eileen had gone to sleep, they sat by the hearth fire. Tadhg inquired after Peadar's health, asked him where he had been these past months, and what caused him to be on sea this stormy night. Without revealing the full story, Peadar told him he was on his way to Aran but thought to let the storm pass before attempting a crossing in the hooker without a helper.

‘Moladh le Dia
(praise to God),' exclaimed Tadhg, ‘this is an answer to my prayer. I want in the worst way to go to Aran. I haven't been feeling very well recently. I'm not fit to sail a boat on my own—it's the galar chroí that afflicts me. I haven't told anybody about it until now. If only I could get a handful of clay from my grandmother's grave, I'm convinced it would cure me. The Concannons, my mother's people, were known for their healing powers. My mother often told me that, during her lifetime, people came to her ancestors' grave to get a cure for their ills—cleithín, rheumatism, failing eyesight, and animal diseases like galar na gcat
,
sputhán, and red water. The cure was never known to fail. If I could get to the island, I'd take some of the clay back with me. I'll find a turf boat that will bring me home—nobody will be any wiser about the purpose of my visit.'

‘Tadhg, I'll be glad to take you with me to Aran and you can be assured I'll not disclose your illness to anybody.'

Between them they finished a bottle of poitín before turning in for the night.

‘Are you in a great hurry to get to Aran? ' Tadhg asked the following morning as they sat around the table to partake of a hearty breakfast of porridge and caiscín

‘Why don't you stay until the wind has blown itself out. The child could do with another night's sleep. You wouldn't want her to be sea sick on the way.'

‘I'm grateful for your invitation, Tadhg, but I don't want to impose on you for that length. However, on account of Eileen, I'll accept your offer. It will give me an opportunity to say hello to some more of my friends in Kilkieran.'

The sun was high in the sky over Camus and the Connemara hills when all three awoke. The storm had blown itself out and the sea was calm. Meeting his old friends and having convivial dialogue with them, lifted Peadar's spirits. Events of recent days were put behind him as they drifted slowly out of Kilkieran and set sail for Aran. Eileen, now fully awake and rested after two good nights' sleep, plied Tadhg with questions about the names of the rocky headlands and islands they passed on their way to the open sea. She told him about the dolphins they had seen on their way from Galway and asked if they were dangerous. He told her she had nothing to fear—dolphins were friendly, playful creatures who had a special affinity for humans.

‘Some people believe they are an omen of good luck,' he said.

‘I think we are going to be very lucky,' Eileen replied. ‘When we get to Aran, daddy and I will see lots of dolphins when we go fishing. I love Aran,' she added—'I can't wait to get there and I'm never going to leave it.

As the hooker rose and fell with the action of the waves, in a feeling of euphoria, Peadar broke into a verse of song that the master had taught them at school:

On the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye dwell

A shadowy land has appeared, as they tell.

Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest,

And they called it Hy Brasil—the Isle of the Blest.

‘Daddy, you are always singing about Hy Brasil—where is that place? Will you show it to me?' asked Eileen.

‘I will show it to you, alannah
,
but not today. Hy Brasil is a long, long way out to sea—it would take a lot of time to get there. First we must make our way to Aran—that's enough journey for one day. See if you can remember the names of sea birds that we meet on the way, cormorants, shags, gulls— there are many different species. If you watch closely you might catch a glimpse of jelly fish, pollock, hake, porcupine, and dogfish—they are all out here in the wide blue ocean.'

The day wore on. With little wind to propel them, their pace was slow. There was nothing they could do to expedite the journey. Tadhg hadn't forgotten to take with him a bottle of the crayther (poitín) and, for the want of something more important to occupy them, he shared a noggin with Peadar. They exchanged stories of their experiences at sea while Eileen listened open-mouthed and plied them with questions when she didn't understand what they were talking about. It would have taken a person more street wise than the child to interpret some of their conversation. She laid her head on a sail-cloth in the prow and soon was fast asleep. Between snatches of storytelling, filled with the fire of distilled spirit, Peadar broke into snatches of song. His melodic renderings of An Spailpín Fánach, Thíos i Lár an Ghleanna and Fáinne Geal an Lae, resounded from the deep with nobody but Tadhg to appreciate them and he was already nodding to sleep. Peadar noted the position of the evening sun, and hoped that the course he set for Inish Mór would take them there despite approaching darkness and a thick mist which was falling around them. Keeping a weather eye open for craft that might cross their path he hummed gently to himself and tried to stay awake. Eventually, he succumbed to sleep and dreamt of youthful days in Aran, his father's demise, and his mother's philosophy—'
Glóire do Dhia a thugas beatha dúinn agus saol siorraí
,' (praise to God who gives us life here and hereafter). He awakened to the soft murmur of the waves lapping against the side of the boat. A full moon provided clear visibility to the far horizon; there was no sign of the island.

‘Have we strayed off course while I was asleep?' he thought to himself. ‘We don't have to worry unduly for there is safety in the open sea. If we are patient we are bound to make land in one place or another.' Relieved of the trauma of the past days he burst into song once again to the rhythm of the waves:

From year unto year on the ocean's blue rim

The beautiful spectre showed lovely and dim.

The golden clouds curtained the deep where it lay,

And it looked like an Eden, away far away.

‘Wouldn't it be lovely to sail away for ever to that legendary land?' he exclaimed to Tadhg who awakened to the singing. My mother claimed that my father found the place and stayed there. He never came back; his body was never found.'

‘I don't go along with that tale,' replied Tadhg. ‘If there was such an island we'd have come across it all those years when we fished half way to Newfoundland.'

‘Still, Tadhg, there are lots of things we don't know. What about Oisín who was absent for a whole lifetime and came back to find his companions had all passed away? Where did he go in the meantime?'

Tadhg had no answer. Peadar continued with his song about the man who was said to have found Hy Brasil and never returned:

A peasant who heard of the wonderful tale,

In the breeze of the Orient loosened his sail.

From Ara, the holy, he turned to the west,

For though Ara was holy, Hy Brasil was blest.