Sun Dance (48 page)

Many months had passed without it entering my thoughts, now from the far corner of our bedroom in the evening light, the briefcase stared at me. Not since the day of my meeting with Goldberg and the ex-Prime Minister had it been opened. I’d always realised my research on nuclear waste disposal could make the expansion of the nuclear industry highly contentious. Events crowded about me, the supposed archaeologist who’d attempted to kill me. His contorted grimace reappeared. He pointed a pistol at my head. I succumbed to uncontrollable shuddering.

Entering the bedroom I awakened Eilidh, “You’re shaking Hector,” she looked startled. I took her hand and without speaking, bent over and kissed her lightly, “Something to do with Anderson and those helicopters has alarmed you.” Walking to the window, I nodded. As myths will surface from deep within the sub-conscious, the dying rays on darkened waters picked out the white form of the Valkyrie. She floated as an apparition might appear in the fevered wanderings of a delirium.

I gripped the window ledge, listening over and over to the sinister ramblings of her skipper towards a scientist whom I’d met and instinctively distrusted; a top scientist whom I’d defied by the contents of that cursed briefcase; that this very man should have been here on Sandray; irreconcilable happenings reached beyond the sphere of coincidence. The cawing raven circled again, black feathers of a dismembered bird fell sinister upon a twilit bay.

Turning sharply from the window I lay on the bad without taking my clothes off, not least in case that drunken creature might somehow find his way across. I loathed worrying Eilidh. We neither of us spoke and presently her steady breathing came as a relief. Sharing thoughts of the possibilities which might unfold left me inwardly wretched.

I lay thinking. Starlight crept into the bedroom, reflected on the mirror. Sleepless eyes watched planets giving stars the illusion of immobility. Speed, acceleration, spin and density, equation built upon equation floated on a mirror of the heavens and my mind wrote again the equations which predicted the behaviour of sub-atomic particles, as had the calculations tucked away in my briefcase.

Ten years ago we physicists decreed, no particle accelerator in the foreseeable future would have the power to create a black hole. Two years later we weren’t quite so definite. Equations showed that should extra dimensions of space-time exist then the Large Hadron Collider might produce mini black holes, three years later we agreed they would instantly evaporate. Much relief ensued until six years on came a safety warning based upon astrophysical arguments and the observations of the immensely hot and dense stars, the so- called White Dwarfs.

Serious allegations were made- our experiments on the Hadron Collider, ‘particle race track’ could create a black hole sufficient to devour this planet and beyond. These valid concerns became the subject of a number of lawsuits from various countries hoping to achieve a court injunction which on safety grounds would order the closing down of the Collider.

Just how many judges were capable of understanding the complex equations involved? None! Therefore the experts called in to explain and advise had to be the scientists themselves, who else? Given the shifting sands of scientific reasoning and the interests of public safety being intimately connected to that of the planet, might not a judge come down on the side of caution?

Suddenly I sat up. The answers were in my briefcase. It contained sufficiently damning evidence on the dangers connected to the storage of enhanced radioactive waste. Any major breakdown entailing radio active emissions and ….not for days or weeks but for centuries, public health was in jeopardy. Much as the British and American Governments played down the risks and denied connections, the case against radiation exposure stood up. Thoughts raged on, I knew the strength of the nuclear lobby behind the scenes to be impressive with personal contacts to the very top.

Eilidh’s pregnancy prompted me to think of the babies born in parts of Iraq with horrific birth defects. Following the invasion and the use of depleted uranium shells, the rise in the number of deformities had been so dramatic that women were advised against having children. It brought back my meeting in Number 10. Utter revulsion towards the politicians I’d met was rekindled; the establishment’s ‘softly, softly, don’t tell the public more than you have to’ approach stank of corruption.

The correct legal frame must be found for bringing forward an injunction to prevent any nuclear company proceeding with the unproven method of deep underground waste disposal. Purely on grounds of public safety, an injunction, a decree to stop any work going ahead.

The harmful effects of radioactive emissions must be fully exposed in court, from the vomiting of radiation sickness to genetic damage resulting in birth defects, from leukaemia to the development of other forms of cancer; this criminal madness of putting the public at risk must be halted, the insanity of taking chances with radiation must be stopped.

Challenge the nuclear industry? It could prove dangerous. Young men from this island ‘went over the top’ and faced the machine guns for a cause not of their making. They did not come back. I vowed it. No man who carried their name would be a coward. The island would live again.

I’d disturbed Eilidh, she stirred and pulling back the blankets quietly took my hand and placed it on her tummy. I felt the hefty kicks from her inside, the big round dome bulged here and there, quite alarmingly. Eilidh whispered, “You’ve wakened him, now he’s playing a game of football with his father.” She didn’t doubt the baby was a boy.

I felt another mighty kick, “No, no,” I laughed, “he’s rugby player,” another thump, “there’s a flying tackle,” and at that I hugged them both back to sleep.

“The Valkyrie must have weighed anchor before daylight.” No doubt I sounded pleased. Eilidh rose and stood beside me at the bedroom window. A week had passed without Anderson venturing across to see us, nor did I risk another visit to him. The yacht had sailed and her destination was of no matter. The whole episode, from his outlandish arrival to this abrupt departure, contained elements which made me uneasy. The threats which a drunken man had levelled at Goldberg couldn’t possible involve us here on Sandray, could it? What ever might be the nature of ‘the job’ Anderson threatened to carry out, it seemed he intended to deal in some way with an eminent scientist whose appearance on the island I found extremely disturbing.

“I’m glad the bay is empty again, the seals need peace,” her relief matched my own. The misgivings which I tried to hide gave way to a quiet euphoria, the quality of a peace without people. Eilidh put her arm round me. I looked down at a body made lovelier by the fullness of expectancy. Every curve of womanhood touchable, I caressed her back and believed there could be nothing more beautiful than the radiance of this woman awaiting the birth of our child.

She smiled at up me in the way of that first fleeting contact, the same unfathomable, ocean blue eyes which had transmitted such a compelling vision, created the pivotal moment that drew me to find her in these islands of sea -washed light; and now in this translucent haven, to attempt to live the echo of an illusion. The consummate happiness at our being alone dispelled such thoughts, the will to make an island home redoubled, and yet, who is not a little afraid of happiness?

Using our two boats I ferried across fencing material, farm gates, posts, wire and tools, all I needed was the know how. Studying the fences which Eachan had built over the years on Ach na Mara provided the theory. Forty hectares of Sandray’s pastures awaited a sheep proof fence, not to mention the hectare already dug and soon to begin growing our supply of potatoes and vegetables. A week into building fences, I discovered that mastering the tricks of a computer were more easily acquired than gaining the knack of doing a job which to the layman looked simple.

Strip to the waist weather, swinging a fourteen pound mell round and round, smack on the top of each post, driving them down, inches at a blow, it opened the shoulders and sent a trickle of sweat down the back. Straight runs, corners, tightening and knotting the wires, twelve days and a few mistakes, our first field was fenced. Long days and Muille my companion, simple tools were all I had, and the luxury of time. Rest a hand on a post and watch a skylark alighting after its carefree song, stroll to the tussock hideaway they’d chosen to shelter their grass weavings. My fondness was for the little brown meadow pipits. Tramp the fence line hammering in staples and they’d flutter up from my feet. Their squeaky song had the charm of modesty.

May had given me the bracing days when the sea’s reflection seemed brighter than the sky. Each morning and afternoon Eilidh brought out oatcakes and a kettle of tea. We’d sit quietly sharing something of a working picnic. Cup in hand, I rested on an elbow, a calmness that was on the Atlantic gave it a breadth I hadn’t seen before, “I never weary of watching the sea, the ocean looks bigger today than I’ve ever seen it.”

Turning to me from gazing seawards, “No nor I,” and her smile shone through eyes, bright as the sparkle that bounced off the sea. “I was counting the different shades of blue from here to the horizon. Eachan always said the ocean has a mind and a soul. If he’s blowing smoke from the wave tops his temper’s up and he’s better left alone, but on a day like this when he’s stretched out flat Eachan would say, the old man’s happy sunning himself.” Our happiness seemed boundless as the ocean we watched, and in the warmth of the day I pulled her down beside me; my brown arms hugged her growing body and face to face, we too lay in the sun.

Ella had put her heart into the lambing of Eachan’s ewes, we guessed it brought them together. Early and late round the croft, Rab the old collie helped her to catch any ewe in trouble and gradually the drawn lines of bereavement became the rosy face of recovery. A batch of twenty ewes with twin ewe lambs at foot awaited our collection. At dawn before the sea wakened I brought the Hilda alongside the Halasay pier. Iain and Ella already had the bleating bunch penned on the end of the jetty. A full tide raised the Hida’s gunnel almost level with its edge.

Milling ewes terrified at the sight of water, lambs springing onto mother’s backs, how to load such a scrum? No hesitation -Iain caught a lamb in each hand and dangled them down to me by their forelegs, “Wait, I’ll give you another pair,” another two lambs dangled down, “hold them by the front legs, keep them in the bow and don’t let them go,” Four legs in each hand and four lots of bleating, I clambered up to the bow.

Quick as he’d given me the lambs, two ewes were caught and manhandled into the boat, more lambs caught and dropped onto the bottom boards, half a dozen ewes were bundled after them and the rest began to jump aboard. “Let your lambs go!” he called. I jumped ashore to help Iain force aboard the remaining few. My introduction to sheep handling, a boat full of large frightened eyes and the Hilda low in the water with a living cargo.

Iain was already untying ropes, “They’ll settle once you’re on the move.” I wasted no time. “Run the boat on the beach, get a hold of a couple of lambs and draw them along the ground by the front legs up to your field and the ewes will jump out of the boat and follow.” Swinging the Hilda away from the jetty, I heard Iain’s final advice above the roar of my outboard engine, “Keep your young dog on a string!” Ella waved, “Take care.” Eachan’s sheep heading for Sandray, what would be in her thoughts?

We were making a slow crossing. Overloaded? To my surprise the sheep were uncannily silent, not a bleat. More surprising, water was sloshing over the bottom boards. A deeply laden Hilda had begun taking in water between her upper planking. I steered and pumped, jets of water shot over the side. Eilidh out on the headland and the young dog prancing at her heel, I couldn’t wave. A sharp morning breeze from the east came with the sunrise.

Wavelets appeared, slopping against the hull. Sheep around the edge of the boat shook their ears, they didn’t like it, and for a vastly different reason, neither did I. Glancing ahead again, Eilidh had vanished. Approaching the headland, still pumping hard, how badly were we leaking, difficult to tell. The water sloshing at my feet became slightly deeper, the pump hardly copping. I leaned over the gunnel, ten inches of freeboard. I throttled back.

Guessing Eilidh’s intention, I willed her to appear. Thank the lord, up ahead a shower of spray and the bow of Eilidh’s boat. Cutting speed abruptly, she swung in astern. I worried for the sheep and the boat we’d been given. Half waterlogged, she moved sluggishly. I eased round the point, close as I dared. Some sheep might get ashore if the worst happened.

Edging us into the bay, out of the wind, a water- borne shepherd with a very tired arm steered for the sandy beach below the house. Barely moving, twenty yards out, a gentle crunch and the Hilda grounded. Over the side, waist deep, grabbing the bow rope I waded ashore.

Eilidh hurried round from the jetty, “Woman, was I glad to see you crewing the lifeboat.” The laugh of relief sounded in her voice, “I could see water spouting over the side, no need to let him get any wetter than you are now.” Such impudence got her a wee smack on the bottom.I emptied my wellies and seriously, “no looking,” I stripped off and wrung out my trousers.