The Legends (16 page)

Dr. O’Sullivan would not disclose the exact location of the find to the general public so that the integrity of the location might be preserved. Experts from the university will continue to study the area for further clues. Meanwhile the ring is on public display during normal museum hours.

Margaret O’Neill stood by her living room window eagerly awaiting the strawberry-blonde head that would soon appear over the front garden hedge, bounding toward her door. Brian Boru O’Sullivan would be followed by that massive dog Molly, who had apparently decided that, because she was the one who discovered the boy, she was not about to let him out of her sight. Molly’s one concession was to accompany him to the local grade school and then leave Brian to his studies. However she was certainly not about to let him run home alone, particularly when there would probably be a visit to Mrs. O’Neill along the way. Brian’s mother explained that Molly knew exactly when classes were over for the day and she would always wait at the school gate to greet her boy.

Few days passed when the Brian did not visit Margaret and the boy also stayed with her on a number of occasions when his parents were attending a conference or having a night out. Margaret cherished each such visit and they were without question the highlight of her day. Even waiting for him to arrive brought a smile to her face.

After that memorable afternoon, my goodness was that five or six years ago, when Evelyn O’Sullivan told her the remarkable story of Brian’s appearance, the dreams and visions of what she now thought could have been her former life, had stopped. Margaret reasoned that these dreams were intended as a message and after she understood what they meant, there was no need for repetition. That did not mean that she didn’t think about the dreams because for several months after the Evelyn’s visit Margaret recalled them in vivid detail and committed them to her memory.

Although Margaret still had difficulty believing in reincarnation, the more she thought about it, the more Margaret was convinced that in those ancient times there was a woman whose life had now, somehow, become part of her own. She had even given the ancient woman a name, Mairéad, which was Irish for Margaret. Even if that woman was not actually Margaret in a former existence, a possibility that Margaret did not entirely discount, she had undoubtedly established a mystical connection between the two. As a result, Margaret was able to see what the ancient woman saw and feel what she felt.

Margaret strongly believed that this connection was disclosed in those early dreams because her ancient alter ego wanted to tell Margaret about Brian and, more importantly, commit the child to her care. Margaret knew, without question, that this ancient woman loved and cared for the child when he was first born. She was now passing that responsibility on to this twentieth century grandmother. It was a task Margaret accepted with great joy because she knew immediately that she too, loved the little boy.

For Margaret, accepting the role as the child’s special guardian meant more than just being a glorified baby-sitter and she gave a great deal of thought to how best she could guide the child. Of course, she would always be there for Brian but Margaret had another idea as well.

To implement her plan she dug into the boxes of books that her family had accumulated over the decades. Margaret pulled out every old book she could find that had anything to do with ancient Irish history, the arrival of the Celts in Ireland or Celtic mythology. She also made a point to visit Green’s Bookstore whenever she was in Dublin and she always came away with a few more old and worn texts. Margaret even visited an optometrist to acquire a special pair of magnifying glasses to ease the strain on her eyes and then she began to read and study everything she had assembled.

For many months Margaret attacked the task she had appointed for herself with a single-mindedness she would not have thought possible. Even after the initial period of intense study, not a day went by when she didn’t spend some time either reading or re-reading some book or article.

Margaret embarked on her studies simply because she wanted to learn everything she could about the times and culture into which Brian was born. This, she reasoned, was an important part of her job as his special guardian. Although the boy may never know that he was the son of a great king or hero, when the time was right she wanted to be able to tell him everything there was to know about these people. Without even realizing it, she considered that she might even be telling him about his own parents.

Thinking about the books she read and the library she had accumulated, now neatly lined up on a bookshelf Margaret purchased specifically for these special books, gave her a feeling of accomplishment. Laughing to herself she thought that even though she didn’t have a fancy degree, there couldn’t be too many people who knew more about the subject than she did. She had nearly memorized at least a couple translations of the Tain Bó Cúalnge – the story of the Cattle Raid at Cooley – where only Cúchulainn stood between Ulster and the forces of Queen Maeve. In addition she read everything she could find about kings and druids and, of course, the legendary Red Branch Knights.

Reading many of the stories and legends brought back warm memories from her own childhood. She remembered, long before anyone dreamed of a television, gathering at the home of an old storyteller, called a shanachie, who would spin tales and tell stories of those ancient times. When she was young Margaret thought that the shanachie must have a remarkable imagination to tell such wonderful stories. She now realized that the old man was simply retelling these legends, a tradition that went back hundreds and hundreds of years, long before anything was actually written down. And now, perhaps, she was a bit of a shanachie herself.

Her audience, however, was not a clatter of wide-eyed children but one little boy with sparkling blue eyes who hung on her every word. Although he was entirely too young to understand what Margaret and his mother suspected, she had no difficulty in explaining that Brian, like many modern Celts, was born of an ancient people. His ancestors were a race of great heroes with special gifts who above all did what was honorable and right. As she told those stories, the boy listened in rapt attention and at times she thought she saw a flicker of recognition, a recollection perhaps of something that was buried deep in his forgotten memories. The first time it happened, Margaret decided that she seeing something she expected to see, not something that was actually present. Over the years, however, she thought she saw the same thing many times. Not each time she told him a story, but often enough. Invariably it appeared as a raised eyebrow or a puzzled expression as if he was trying to remember something that was just beyond the edges of his memory.

On most of the little fellow’s visits there was no talk of Celtic legends and myths. The events of the day, his adventures at school or on the sporting fields were usually the stories that Brian wanted share over his milk and cookies and Margaret was an enthusiastic audience, listening carefully and seeking even more detail.

From that first time when Evelyn pushed the buggy holding its special cargo through her front gate, Margaret thought each visit was special. She remembered the day when Brian and his mother, with Molly of course, walking hand in hand, stopped in after his first day at the local grade school. How cute he looked, with his grey pants and sweater and a bright blue knapsack to hold his books and treasures. When asked whether he enjoyed school he explained, quite seriously, that he thought they spent entirely too much time sitting around but he did enjoy the playtime. Margaret told Brian that she understood perfectly because when she was a little girl she felt the same way. He looked on dubiously as she further explained that if he listened very closely to what the teachers had to say, he would learn all kinds of exciting and magical things.

Later Evelyn told Margaret that she was afraid Brian would be fidgety for some time to come. He had always been extremely active, always running, always on the move and to ask him to sit quietly would take some getting used to. Early on she consulted with an expert to determine whether he suffered from some attention deficit disorder but she was assured that such hyperactivity was normal in healthy, active little boys. In time, Brian solved the problem in his own way. He explained to Margaret that since most of the other children sat quietly, he decided he could sit just as quietly as they and so in the end, his determination overcame his nature.

About a week after school began, a week arriving at Margaret’s gate accompanied by his mother on his way home from school, Brian was confident enough to make his own way, accompanied as usual, by Molly. Evelyn explained that one afternoon she was in the middle of an intricate silver design when Molly informed her that it was time to retrieve her son. More in jest than anything else, she said, “You go bring him home,” and she opened the door for the dog. Molly ran out and down the path before stopping and looking back at Evelyn who once again told her to go. So, off Molly went. Feeling a bit guilty and concerned, Evelyn retrieved her sweater and set off after the dog. By the time she got to Margaret’s house, the dog had accomplished his task. Boy and dog were making their way through the gate without any problems.

When Evelyn joined the party she suddenly felt as if her presence was not really necessary. Perhaps even more than delivering Brian to school for the first time, this experience left her feeling depressed because her son was now asserting his independence. After that, Evelyn occasionally joined Molly in collecting Brian, but most of the time it was the boy and the dog that visited their special friend.

Throughout his grade school days, unless Brian had some activity that required his presence elsewhere, Margaret’s home was always a stop on the way home. In the course of those visits, the old woman came to understand the difficulties faced by the young boy and she came to admire the way in which dealt with his unique situation. She hoped that, in some small way, she helped Brian work things out.

Extracts from the Local Newspaper:

Drogheda News:
The members of the St. Faolán GAA Club are shaking their heads in amazement these days, and all because of a six-year old boy. “I have been involved in hurling since I was in short pants,” said octogenarian Tommy Boyle, “and I have never seen the likes of that young fellow.” “Puts me in mind of that Tiger Woods fellow when he was on the television hitting the golf ball two hundred yards at about the same age,” added a slightly younger Liam Casey.

The boy, Brian, son of Dr. Cathal and Mrs. Evelyn O’Sullivan, can only be described as a hurling phenomenon. At a time when most boys his age are barely shuffling the ball along the ground, Brian has no difficulty lifting, carrying and accurately striking the ball over the bar from thirty or forty yards. He does use a child’s size hurley but this makes his ability to strike the ball long distances even more surprising.

When asked about the boy’s amazing coordination and talent, Dr. O’Sullivan could shed little light, “He certainly didn’t get it from my side of the family. I enjoy watching the hurling but would have difficulty even hitting a ball. Brian’s Uncle Paddy Rice gave him a hurley before he could even walk and it seems that it never left his hands.”

Unfortunately, there seems to be no place for young Brian on any of the many St. Faolán’s team rosters. He is entirely too good to play at his own age level and because he is no bigger than most six year olds, it would be too dangerous for him to play at a level that reflects his skill. Come to think of it, that might be our Inter County Team.

Ger McEvoy, who coordinates the underage teams at the club, told this paper that he hopes young Brian will continue to train at St. Faolán’s because the boy has obviously been blessed with remarkable talent. McEvoy said that he was looking forward to the day when Brian is big enough to safely compete in the higher age groups. Meanwhile, Brian Boru O’Sullivan is a name to remember.

Drogheda News:
After several weeks of national, and indeed international, publicity after this newspaper first published the story about Brian O’Sullivan, the six year old with remarkable hurling talent, Dr. Cathal O’Sullivan has withdrawn his son from the club at Brian’s request. The reason, in the boy’s own words, was: “all the other boys and girls love hurling just as much as I do. It isn’t fair that everyone thinks I am so good and no one likes them as much.”

Dr. O’Sullivan told this newspaper that he saw no purpose in continuing to subject his son to what amounted to a circus atmosphere, particularly when the boy wasn’t having any fun. “I’m not sure how much you can read into Brian’s own statement,” O’Sullivan said, “but making friends with children his own age is just as important to him, and to my wife and I, as the game itself but it seems his skill and the attention he is receiving, are making that impossible.” When asked whether the boy would be giving up the game entirely, Dr. O’Sullivan replied, “Not a chance in the world. We will just give him a chance to be a boy and when he gets a bit older, I suspect he will be back.”

“There is something very strange about that child,” Millicent Blessington, reported to her husband as she stared out her living room window on a sunny Saturday morning.

“And which child might that be?” her husband Nigel queried barely lifting his head from the ‘Financial Times.’

“The O’Sullivan child, of course,” she replied. “What other child would I be talking about? This town land isn’t exactly crawling with children now is it?”

“Yes, yes,” Nigel muttered, well accustomed as he was to his wife’s habit of keeping an eye on everything around her. “And what is it that makes the child so strange?”

“Well for one thing he spends every waking moment running around like some wild animal with that stick and ball. Isn’t that some Irish Sport? Curling or something?”

“Hurling actually,” Nigel said under his breath now regretting that this conversation would take him away from his reading.