A Son of Aran (12 page)

Bordeaux exceeded all their expectations. They wandered around its cobbled streets in the balmy haze of evening sunshine, marvelling at the tall shuttered buildings, the magnificent cathedral, and the inviting cafés where they sampled beer and wines of diverse tastes that were relatively inexpensive when compared with prices back home. On the outskirts of the city they encountered vineyards where rows of luxuriant vines were weighed down with succulent grapes. Among chateau names displayed at the entrance to each vineyard they recognised some of Irish origin—Dillon, Hennessy, Lynch—all descendents of the Wild Geese who fled from Ireland centuries earlier after the battle of Kinsale. On the wall of a building in a side street, they found a plaque inscribed in Gaelic indicating the site of the former Irish College of Bordeaux—on it lines from a well known poem composed in exile by the priest-poet, Seathrún Céiteannn:

‘Beir beannacht óm chroídhe go Tír na hEireann—bán chnuic Eireann Ó.'
(Bring my heart-felt blessing to the land of Ireland—the fair hills of Ireland).

‘This place makes me feel like I never left Aran,' exclaimed Máirtín, as they sat in the awning of a sidewalk café and sipped glass after glass of red wine. Both agreed that continental living had more to offer than their native Aran.

‘One could get fond of this kind of life,' Peadar remarked.

The convent school in Carna was a revelation to Eileen. For the first time in her life she was able to mix and mingle with girls from more distant places who were resident in the college, as well as pupils from the Connemara hinterland who commuted to school on a daily basis. Teaching was through the medium of Irish but there was no restriction on the girls communicating with one another in the language of their choice. Within the convent, discipline was strict but, out of doors, when they played tennis and camogie or went for walks in the countryside they were free to act as teenagers always will, comparing notes with one another on their respective friends and acquaintances, and relating stories about their families. Subjects on the curriculum did not present any major problems to Eileen. She had a particular liking for history, geography, and languages. In a choice between Spanish and French, she chose the latter and read profusely from the works of Guy de Maupassant and Francois Mauriac. She looked forward to the day when she could visit the pine forests of south-west France which featured prominently in some of Mauriac's writings, and to experience for herself the ambience of that district so much associated with his stories. She wrote letters to Seosamh every week to which he in turn responded. Peadar was never a man for writing. Although she wrote to him too, she was forced to await his visits to the convent whenever fishing brought Máirtín and himself that way. She looked forward to catching up on events in Aran while she was away. Happy, carefree, and deeply in love, she thanked God for all his blessings and looked forward to the end of secondary education and the prospect of further studies at third level if all worked out as she hoped. Attendance at the university in Galway would mean that Seosamh and she could be together as often as they wished.

For several months Carlos wandered aimlessly around Europe, visiting in turn, Vienna, Paris, and Berlin, horse riding in the Tyrol, climbing the snow clad Alps, boating in a Venetian gondola, all in an endeavour to relieve the despondency of his visit to Aran. In a spirit of expiation he followed the age-old pilgrimage route of Compostela de Santiago from the shrine of the Black Madonna in the Massif Central all the way to northern Spain. When he finally returned to the Estat de Tirelle, serious trouble awaited him. The huge ornate entrance gates had been thrown from their hinges; the avenue, soiled by litter and animal excreta, had traces of frequent passage of horses and farm vehicles. Two peasant women wearing long hooded black cloaks spat on the road and ignored him as they met him on the way, leading donkeys laden with panniers of fruit and farm produce. The portico doors of his mansion lay open and unguarded. Entering the vast hallway, he was accosted by a man whom he recognised as one of the local smallholders, brandishing a shotgun with hammers cocked. Two others emerged from the shadows and confronted him. The trio hustled him into a reception room where he was obliged to sit on a chair while a burly unshaven bandit with a pistol on his belt read to him from a document that he held in his hand:

Carlos de Montmorency, smallholders in the vicinity of Estat de Tirelle hereby inform you that, in the absence of any positive movement on your part to redress their land problems, they have appropriated part of your estate for allocation between their members, thus enlarging their meagre allotments and enabling them to become more viable producers of fruit, vegetables, livestock, and domestic requirements. You will retain possession of your house and the remaining hectares which are more than adequate to meet your personal needs. A fair rent will be paid to you by the occupants, in recognition of which they will be immune from displacement other than by mutual agreement. Administration of this procedure will be overseen by the Tenants Revolutionary League which will enforce its terms on all parties concerned.' (Signed) Lt. José Barlenda.

‘Outlaws, brigands, robbers,' Carlos shouted with venom in his native tongue, ‘do you think for a moment you will get away with this? Estat de Tirrelle has been in the possession of my family for generations. Nobody outside its walls has any claim on my land. I will not accept the terms you have outlined. I will immediately invoke the law to protect my property.'

‘My good man, you have no choice in the matter—we are the law in this region. People of the area have a God-given right to a decent standard of living for themselves and their dependants. To attain this they must have access to sufficient land to cultivate and raise crops. On the other hand, you have more land than you are in a position to manage as is evident from the run down state of your groves. You are not the only person to be treated in this manner; other estate owners have been subjected to similar terms of redistribution. Those foolish enough to resist have vanished without trace. If you will be good enough to append your signature to this document of agreement, we will leave you in peace.'

Carlos seethed with anger as the agrarian rebels marched in formation down the avenue. His first impulse was to get his father's army rifle and pump lead into them. Looking to where he kept it suspended over the fireplace, he saw it was no longer there. Fuming at their behaviour, he realised he was powerless to react in any forcible way. He must consider if he should have recourse to legal action against the perpetrators.

His immediate troubles did not end there. After the guerrillas had departed, a frightened housekeeper emerged from the kitchen to tell him that during their occupation the rebels had demanded food and drink. They had forced her to open the wine cellar and took away with them what they were unable to drink.

‘At the moment there is no food in the larder and no wine or brandy in the cellar. I have another message for you too,' she told him. ‘Some weeks after you went away, a coloured woman arrived on the estate accompanied by a boy of around eighteen years. She said she wanted to speak with you about something important, and indicated that she would revisit accompanied by her partner and son when you returned. She confided to me that you met some years ago in Lagos where her boy was born. He appears a comely youngster, physically strong, with a mop of raven hair and a rounded face less pronounced in colour and features than his mother; the woman and boy have not since returned but I am told in the village that a couple resembling them are camped a few kilometers from here on the road to Zamora.'

Astride his favourite bay mare, Carlos set off at a gallop to the nearest hostelry. His first instinct was to satisfy his appetite for food and drink while he tried to unravel all that had happened during these past hours. On the way he passed a bell tent on the roadside which had signs of recent occupation. The embers of a wood fire still smouldered in a patch of burned grass. A billy can and some cooking utensils were stacked close by. On an adjacent hedge, items of clothing items were drying in the midday sun. There was no sign of the occupants, but he shivered as he recognised a doll-like effigy hanging above the entrance flap of the tent. It was a fetish similar to one he had seen in the African jungle. A feeling of foreboding assailed him. Digging his heels into the horse's flanks, he galloped at speed to an inn where he ordered a bottle of cognac and sat silent and morose until the establishment closed for the night. He pondered the likely purpose of the woman's visit to his residence:

‘Nineteen years ago—West Africa—a coloured woman— could what he imagined be possible? No, no, he never had an intimate association with a native woman—that was not his style. If he was reading her right, his visitor was suffering from illusions. Surely it was an attempt at blackmail by a person or persons who knew his life style and wanted to cash in on his wealth. A coloured master in Estat de Tirelle after his death was unthinkable! He would consult his lawyers at once and put a stop to this nonsense before the story got out of hand.'

The newsagents' shop in Eyre Square was especially busy on that particular Sunday. From early morning customers queued at the counter to buy their papers before boarding the boat that would carry them across Galway Bay to Kinvara where the annual
Cruinniú na mBád
event was to take place. Teams from parishes in Connemara and the islands would vie for supremacy in rowing and sailing. Rivalry between the teams was traditional; heated arguments were to be expected between supporters of the respective sides. Seosamh wished that business in the shop would ease before eleven—he too wanted to go to Kinvara—the boat was due to sail at that time. The Folan sisters knowing his anxiety to get away, told him he could leave at a quarter to eleven— they would take over until the shop closed at mid-day. He ran all the way to the docks and jumped aboard as the vessel was pulling away from the quay wall. Two of his friends, Stiophán and Turlach, were waiting for him accompanied by three girls.

‘Come on, Seosamh,' the lads called to him, ‘we thought you weren't going to turn up. You already know Sorcha and Nóra; look who else we have here; Treasa, this is Seosamh who works in the newsagency in Eyre Square; Seosamh, this is Treasa from Salthill; she works in the Hibernian Bank on Shop Street. They stood on deck as the boat ploughed its way across the bay. Soon they were able to make out smaller craft that converged from all directions.

‘They're the O'Toole brothers from Carraroe,' shouted Stiophán. ‘I'd say they'll take some beating in the currach race.'

‘Look here to the right,' said Turlach; ‘they are the Carter lads and their companions from my home place. They would be worth backing in the
bád mór
competition.'

Seosamh tried to identify the Inish Mór team. Peadar and Máirtín would be competing in the hooker race—he wanted to be the first to greet them and cheer them on. His vigilance was soon rewarded; he shouted with glee as he observed their sail billowing as they tacked in the light breeze; they were too far away to hear his call but that didn't matter—he knew they had arrived. His chest expanded with pride as he pointed them out to Treasa. For the duration of the races their boat anchored off shore from where those on board had a bird's eye view of each performance. Treasa wasn't much interested in the boating competitions—her attention was focused on Seosamh as she endeavoured to draw him into conversation. She told him about her work in the bank where she had the job of documenting customers' accounts and keeping them up to date. She liked her work, she said, but she would much prefer to have an outdoor position which would bring her into contact with nature, birds, bees, plants, and flowers. She especially liked to walk in The Burren when an opportunity presented to admire the rare plants that grow there in crevices of the limestone rock. She had found a cave where water movement in the limestone rock over thousands of years had gouged out an underground cavern into which one could crawl with some difficulty. She told him of the stalagmites and stalactites that were formed by lime-laden water seeping from the rock, and dripping downward until eventually they became solidified like icicles.

‘Isn't nature full of wonder!' Seosamh exclaimed as, gobsmacked, he listened open mouthed to all she said. She would be glad to take him along sometime and show him all the discoveries she had made. He replied that he would be honoured; he agreed to take up her offer when circumstances allowed.

When the competitions had drawn to a close, the boat docked at Kinvara quay and all went ashore. Traditional music and dancing occupied the remainder of the evening. Seosamh met Peadar and Máirtín and introduced them to his friends. They shared drinks and recapped on events in Aran and Galway since they last met. It was almost midnight when the ferry-boat returned to Galway—too late for further celebration. The young people bade one another good night and went their separate ways. As he lay sleepless from the excitement of the day, Seosamh thought of Treasa, her shapely figure, her beautiful grey-green eyes, her snow-white neck and auburn hair, and how stimulating her conversation had been. The outing to Kinvara had been most pleasurable.

Fr. Corley decided it was time to call on Peadar. After an exchange of pleasantries and the usual discussion about the weather, the fishing, and the crops, he inquired about Eileen, asked how her studies in Carna were going, and if she was happy at school there. He said he knew the reverend mother, a decent woman who believed in imparting a high level of social and moral behaviour to the girls under her care. When he last talked with her she had given him a glowing account of Eileen, her learning ability, and her overall behaviour. She told him that Eileen had the potential to attain very high rating in her examinations; her teachers were confident that if she persisted in her studies she would earn a scholarship to university. Peadar acknowledged his appreciation of the nun's remarks.