A Son of Aran (38 page)

‘Just as I figured,' he thought to himself. ‘I am about to be abandoned, left alone and isolated here on the island, while they carve out careers for themselves on the mainland. I can't blame them—they must live their lives; they don't need my help or guidance any more. I'll not complain. I'll work things out my way—maybe they'll get a surprise when they hear what I'm about to do!'

‘Máirtín, I don't like to trouble you so soon after the death of your mother—God rest her soul. Now that we are both on our own, why don't we visit each other every day? We could double up on food instead of having two of us cooking separately for ourselves. In the meantime I'd like to buy a
gleoietog—
would you have any tidings of where I might find one for sale?'

‘Can I ask what you want with a
gleoiteog?
' Máirtín said. ‘I can't see any problem in getting one, but I'm curious to know what use you intend to make of it. The emphasis on these boats has declined over the years—they are considered too small for use, apart from a bit of inshore fishing; not many Aran people opt for that kind of activity now. Our fishermen prefer to make use of the
bád mór
(big boat) to bring them farther out to sea in pursuit of hake, cod and larger species. What use will you make of a
gleoiteog?
'

‘It's just a fad of mine, Máirtín; I'd be able to handle a small boat on my own; it would be useful for going to Galway to see my old friends, and for taking an odd trip across to Kinvara, near where Eileen and Seosamh are planning to settle. It might even serve to take me to Kilkieran to visit Tadhg whose health, I have heard, is not good at present.'

‘A
gleoiteog
wouldn't be my preference, Peadar, but I wish you luck; I'll make a few inquiries and see what I come up with. How about coming with me on the hooker for a turn or two? The mackerel season will start soon; a few pounds could be earned if we land a good catch.'

‘After the experience I had some years ago, I made a resolution I'd never go fishing again. However, I reckon that is all in the past. When I was adrift in the South Atlantic I discovered that great big fish could be caught there—halibut, tuna, dogfish, porpoise, bottle nose whales, and other species the names of which I never discovered. Do you think the hooker would be fit to sail that far from home? Now that we have no domestic attachments, we could stay away for months at a time and sell our catch in foreign ports. That way we'd get to see a lot more of the world. Think about it and let me know if you make your mind up.'

‘I think Peadar is going off the deep end,' Máirtín said to himself following their conversation. ‘Doesn't he know enough about sailing a hooker to realise that it was never designed for a journey to the open Atlantic. When Peadar was shipwrecked and drifted, as he claims, in a southerly direction, it belies belief that he was anywhere in the latitude of the South Atlantic. West Africa, where he was hospitalised is north of the equator. He was in no fit state of mind at that time to determine with any accuracy where he was picked up. He has a fixation about finding this island of Hy Brasil that he is constanly talking and singing about—how can I convince him that the story is only a myth? If no one ever found the place, we can assume it doesn't exist except in the imagination of the narrator.'

‘I know it's out there somewhere,' Peadar protested when, after a lapse of a few weeks, Máirtín raised the topic again in an attempt to disuade him. ‘At one point I got a glimpse of land rising out of the mist away to the west, in the middle of the ocean where no country is known to exist. I was privileged to see its dim shape through a haze of what looked like dust. I must pursue my search; it is my destiny; it was for this I was saved from drowning. I will now reveal to you in confidence the full account of that escapade at sea that I have told to no other person. After I fell overboard from the hooker, I was carried away in the storm clinging with both hands to what I thought was a spar of wood. It sped through the waves at such incredible speed that I found difficulty in maintaining my grip on its slippery surface. Tossed hither and thither by the strength of the waves, it took a while before I realised it wasn't a timber spar I had caught, but the tail of a giant seahorse. On and on it went for what seemed like an eternity until I lost all consciousness of time and fell into a deep stupor. I dreamt I was a child again, sitting beside the hearth fire, listening with open mouth to a neighbouring fisherman as he told the story of Mongán, the son of Manannan Mac Lir, the ancient sea god, and how on many occasions he saved sailors from perishing when their boat was tossed about like a cork in a violent storm and all appeared lost. In my subconscious state I heard the seahorse speaking to me: “Peadar O'Flaherty, I have saved you from drowning for a purpose. You, a worthy son of the great O'Flaherty dynasty, are destined for greater things. You have three options—whichever one you opt for will lead you to great fulfillment here and happiness in a future existence. You can be reunited now with your deceased mother and wife, you can have your life and health restored, or you can attempt to discover the legendry island of Hy Brasil and live there for evermore.”

‘The choice wasn't difficult. While I dearly wished to be with my mother and my beloved Saureen, I reckoned that, in the course of time,
le cúnamh Dé
(with the help of God), that will happen in any event. I didn't want to die just then; I longed to be back with you, fishing in the hooker and looking after my little fields here in Aran. In choosing to be restored to life and health, I figured I'd have the opportunity to search for Hy Brasil during my time here below, and to be reunited with the others in the afterlife. It was like getting two dinners for the price of one. I chose to live. The story of my eventual rescue and repatriation is already known to you. My present ambition is to take whatever steps are required to pursue my quest for Hy Brasil. Ancient sagas are there to guide me. Saint Brendan, in a boat made from hides, spent several years searching without success. With some companions he set out again in a wooden ship. They reached what he referred to as Paradise, but the saint decided they wouldn't stay. He returned to Ireland where, in pursuit of his calling, he spread the gospel and founded monastries. We are told that in the past, fishermen saw an island appear out of the sea only to disappear when they approached it. Those who tried to find Hy Brasil never had enough time or energy to pursue their quest—their livlihoods depended on bringing catches of fish back to port. In my case I don't have to fish any more. I have money to support me while I pursue my search.'

‘I wish you luck, Peadar, but I can tell you, without fear of contradiction, that a
gleoiteog
or, for that matter a larger hooker, is of no avail in searching the Atlantic for this fabled island that you speak of. It would take a boat bigger than the Gráinne Mhaol to make such a hazardous journey.'

‘Máirtín, I know you would like to discourage me from undertaking this task. Nevertheless I am determined to continue with the search even if it's the last thing I do. There has to be some means by which I can get near to the place where I first got a glimpse of the island. During the time we spent in Spain I heard of Portugese and Basque fishermen, great sailors, who go far out into the Atlantic Ocean in pursuit of bigger species. Some say they were fishing off the northern coast of Canada before Columbus landed in the southern part of the American continent. If I could only get in touch with some of those Basque boatmen I might succeed in taking passage with them on some of their outings. Like the Celts, they too have legends of a magical island somewhere out in the ocean. Each tradition has its own name for the place—Atlantis, Hy Brasil, Glasinnis—what difference does it make which name it is called? Fishermen speak about it and would like to find it; why shouldn't I join in the search?'

Seósasmh took care of Carl and Eileen Óg while their mother busied herself with negotiations for purchase of their prospective new home near Ardrahan. These involved numerous trips to Galway on the Dun Aengus to consult with the estate agent, the engineer, and their bank manager. On one of those occasions she made an appointment to meet with Bernadette, Philip's sister, who was anxious to hear again about the ordeal of her brother's death. Eileen recapped on the details insofar as these were known to her—the coincidence of his introduction to members of the Basque community while recuperating in the hospital in San Sebastian, subsequent visits to the Basque region, how inadvertently, he became involved in gun running for ETA with fatal consequences. Having visited Philip during the early stages of his confinement in the psychiatric unit of the hospital and having spoken with his doctor, Bernadette had acquired a certain insight into the circumstances that gave rise to his mental breakdown. Although she knew of Eileen's association with Philip during their student days at Galway University, she didn't appear to be aware of Eileen's role in her brother's dilemma. Thankfully, she made no reference to this. She said that when the story of Philip's death was finally broken to their mother she had, through time, become calm and peaceful. Now that the trauma of uncertainty had abated, she was resigned to God's Will in all that happened. Father McHugh's help in talking them through their grief had been a source of great consolation to the family.

Vincent and Chrissie, already settled in their new home, were delighted when news reached them about the purchase by Eileen and Seosamh of a property close at hand. Having got a contractor to plough and cultivate some of his fields in preparation for planting potatoes and vegetables, Vincent, as an interim investment, purchased a two wheeled ironshod tractor and attachments for use in follow up maintenance work, thereby dispensing with the need to keep horses on their limited acreage. He and Chrissie had erected a small glass house for production of early seedlings, halfhardy flowers, shrubs, and vegetables. Things were looking up for them—their farming project was rapidly coming to fruition.

‘We hope that Seosamh and you will be able to come to our wedding,' Chrissie announced to Eileen when they spoke. ‘The date isn't fixed yet—hopefully it will be in mid-September. The ceremony will take place in the ancient abbey at Corcamroe where my mother grew up—won't that be nice! Vincent wants Seosamh for his best man, don't tell him, it's meant to come as a surprise.'

‘Of course I'll not tell him but, by that time, we shouldn't have far to travel. From the accounts I have been getting, we will be in residence in our new home by July. The atmosphere in Aran is dull at present—I look forward to a more exciting social life on the mainland. I am pleased to know we will be living close to each other.'

Máirtín asked Eileen to come and see him when she got back to Aran. Having chatted about plans by Seosamh and herself to transfer to the mainland, he spoke of how they would be missed on the island. He talked about Peadar in particular, and asked if he intended joining them in their new abode or, had he decided to stay in Aran on his own?

Eileen paused before she responded: ‘I'm afraid, Máirtín, I can't answer that question. My father has been in a strange mood lately. I am at a loss to know what has brought this on. He won't be drawn into conversation about our purchase of the property near Ardrahan; he doesn't appear to have any interest in what we have done. I watch as he sits in silence beside the hearth like he was in a dream. Do you think he might be suffering from amnesia or some form of brain damage? I sense that something is weighing on his mind. I am very worried for him but there is little I can do unless he confides in me. In the light of your long friendship, if you can lead him into conversation, maybe he will open his heart to you.'

‘He has already confided in me, Eileen, which is why I asked you to come and see me. Your father believes he was saved from drowning by Mongán, the son of Manannan Mac Lir and that, as a member of the ancient O'Flaherty clan, he is destined to achieve great things before he departs this life. He says that, in a mental stupor before he was rescued from the sea, he had a vision of three options open to him: to be reunited with his mother and your own mother whom, despite her infidelity, he dearly loves, to be restored to his former good health and return to life on Aran, or to find the legendary isle of Hy Brasil.

‘He opted to have his health and wellbeing restored in order that he might return again to Aran. He figured that with renewed life and energy, he would be able to pursue the search for Hy Brasil at his leisure—he appears to regard this as his destiny in life. At the moment he is considering how he will return to the broad Atlantic where, he claims, he got a fleeting view of an island where none is known to exist. This would explain the preoccupation that you have observed recently. I have tried to reason with him, telling him that the legend of Hy Brasil is a fisherman's tale that exists only in the imagination of those who believe the story. He refuses to accept my theory and produces numerous arguments in support of his own ideas. I suspect that, without our knowing, he has been reading accounts of old mythology and regards these as fact. When I called to his house unexpectedly on a night recently, I found him pouring over an atlas that we had in sixth class at school. He put it away rather furtively when he saw me; I hadn't an opportunity of seeing what part of the world he was scrutinising. He won't thank me for telling you all this, but I feel you should know.'

‘Thanks, Máirtín, for putting me in the picture. I'll try not to let him suspect that we have been talking about him. Inevitably, some event will arise to provide an opening for me to ask questions. I'll wait and see what he tells me then.'

During days that followed, Eileen and Seosamh couldn't help noticing some unusual habits that her father had developed in recent times. In his daily outings, in place of walking through the fields in pursuit of the cattle as had been his wont, he spent a lot of time down by the pier at Kilronan.