A Son of Aran Read online

  On a dismal, dreary day in March, having said farewell to Máirtín and Sorcha, and to Seosamh’s mother and brother Micilín, Eileen and Seosamh boarded the ferry for Galway. Eyes dimmed with tears, neither could bear to look back at the rainswept visage of their beloved homeland shrouded in thick mist as it gradually disappeared in the distance. They bade farewell to their friends in the city and, three days later, weary and dejected, they were back in the sunshine and warmth of spring at Estat de Tirelle. Eileen resumed her studies at Salamanca University. Father Benedictus tendered his sincere sympathy on the death of her father. Philip’s distress showed as he tearfully proffered his hand and kissed her softly on both cheeks. Although he had not known Peadar personally he was keenly aware, from conversations with Eileen, of the close bond that existed between her father and herself.

  ‘If there is anything I can do to alleviate your suffering I will gladly do so. Please call on me at any time and I will come running.’

  ‘Thank you Philip, I appreciate your concern. With Seosamh at my side, I believe I can handle any situation that may arise. I thank God I have him to fall back on.’

  She was aware that Philip was disappointed by her response to his offer.

  ‘Come and visit us at Estat de Tirelle when you have an opportunity,’ she said to him by way of reparation.

  ‘I mustn’t forget that Philip was a valued mentor during my studies at University College in Galway,’ she commented as she and Seosamh set out for home.

  ‘I have news for you, Seosamh,’ Eileen told him one night as they relaxed in the sitting room of the Mansion of Tirelle.

  ‘I am pregnant. Having missed this past month, I had a test today in Salamanca. I am going to have a baby. Are you delighted?’

  ‘Good Lord, how did this happen?’ Seosamh asked in consternation.

  ‘You ought to know, Seosamh, you are the father.’

  ‘Eileen, please forgive me; the news is all so sudden. Of course I am delighted. Come over here until I give you a big hug. Me, a father! I never in all my dreams thought it would come to pass. And you, Eileen, the mother of our child! Praise to the Lord God who has brought it all about.’

  ‘Now that we both know, we’d better do something about getting married,’ Eileen said. ‘It wouldn’t do for our friends in Ireland to think we’ve been living in sin. Will you come with me to Father Benedictus and we’ll see what arrangements he can make for us. I would like if we were married quietly over here with a minimum of fuss. Nobody in Ireland will be any the wiser whether the baby was conceived before or after.

  ‘Whatever you wish, Eileen. All I want is to be with you and with our offspring when it arrives. Gee, how Micilín will be surprised when he learns that he is an uncle. When is the baby due?’ he asked when he regained his composure.

  ‘Around Christmas if all goes well,’ Eileen replied.

  ‘What a wonderful Christmas gift that will be,’ Seosamh exclaimed, ‘and to think that last Christmas we were celebrating a family get-together back in Aran. Isn’t it a terror all that can happen in the course of one year.’

  ‘Philip, I’m going to ask a great favour of you,’ Eileen said to him a few weeks later. ‘But of course, Eileen, anything for you.’

  ‘Will you act as witness to the marriage of Seosamh and me? We are getting hitched next Sunday here in the Jesuit oratory. Father Benedictus is performing the ceremony.’

  ‘But, Eileen, I thought you and I ………………...! What you have told me comes as a great shock. I had hoped that our close relationship in Galway would blossom into something more permanent. Why do you think I opted to come to Salamanca in the first place? I wish you and Seosamh the best of luck, but I don’t feel equal to acting as your witness. Perhaps it would be best if you found someone else. Excuse me, I must leave you now—I don’t feel very well.’

  ‘Poor Philip, I fear he took the news of our marriage badly,’ Eileen told Seosamh.

  ‘He seems to have nurtured some fantasy about getting close to me. I haven’t given him any reason to feel that way. In college we were thrown together as pupil and tutor. We enjoyed each others’ company, but that was the total of our relationship.’

  ‘I never warmed to that fellow,’ Seosamh replied. ‘What right has a student for the priesthood to be casting eyes on a young woman? Wouldn’t he be better off saying his office or reading spiritual books? You’ll have something to say to him, Eileen, when he comes to his senses.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on him, Seosamh. After all he’s a young man; he has all the feelings of a full blooded male. It’s just one more obstacle on the road to sanctity that he must learn to cope with. I’ll have a quiet word with him when next we meet—hopefully what I say will help him to overcome his disappointment.’

  With Santa Clara and Jago for witnesses, Eileen and Seosamh were married in the Jesuit Chapel on the first day of April nineteen hundred and fifty six. People in the university whom Eileen had got to know, joined them in a modest celebration, as did Jago’s parents and their family. Philip was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Do you realise that this is April Fools’ Day,’ Seosamh remarked, as Eileen and he slipped under the bed sheets in the Avinguda de la Catedral Hotel in Barcelona where they decided to base themselves on an extended honeymoon.

  ‘It would be foolish to place any emphasis on that old Irish pisreóg (superstition),’ Eileen remarked. ‘I doubt if Spanish people ever heard of it. An opposite line of thought suggests that ‘where ignorance is bliss ‘tis folly to be wise’. At the moment I prefer to identify with the latter version. Come on, Seosamh, let’s celebrate our wedding night.’

  The clear blue waters of the Mediterranean sparkled in the morning sunshine as, hand in hand, they strolled languidly along the promenade next day to the Old Port where replicas of sailing ships of previous centuries were on view.

  ‘I wonder did any of those vessels take part in the Armada,’ Seosamh remarked, displaying his knowledge of Irish history.

  ‘Faith, the time you spent in the technical school in Galway, is paying off,’ Eileen chided. ‘If you had another year or two in college there’d be no beating you for information. Come on, I want to visit the Parc Zoo to see what species of wild animals they keep in this part of the world.’

  Over several days they visited museums, churches, and monuments throughout the Old Town districts of Barcelona. From a historical point of view, the Musea de la Ciutat proved to be of special interest, as did the remains of ancient Roman occupation, walls, drainage systems, baths, and mosaic floors—all preserved for posterity. On Sunday morning, from the window of their bedroom, they watched Catalan folk dancers in traditional costumes performing their sardana in the square outside.

  From early morning until long past midnight, restaurants and bars served an assortment of dishes—hams, cheese, albondigas, preserves, chocolates, together with a selection of beverages—beers, wines and cocktails. Spanish people appeared to eat at all hours, and were in no hurry to rise from table where an atmosphere of conviviality was perpetuated. Our pair found it hard to become accustomed to a second breakfast before midday, followed by tapas with wine or beer in early afternoon, and a huge supper that extended to well after midnight. Food seemed to have a special place in the day to day life of Spaniards of all classes.

  ‘If we continue to follow the customary way of eating the vast selection of Barcelona cuisine, we’ll be like two stuffed ducks when we return to Estat de Tirelle,’ Eileen pronounced.

  ‘Don’t you worry too much about your food intake, love— remember you are now eating for two.’ Seosamh chuckled.

  ‘A pity it isn’t you that’s eating for two, you big hulk— it might help to keep your mouth shut sometimes,’Eileen replied. Having partaken of traditional Catalan cuisine— several variations of paella, butifarra, pollo, pastel and parrillada, and drunk of the fine wines of the region—cava, rosados, and moscatels, the happy couple left Barcelona behind. For two weeks they wended their way through the
provinces of Gerona, Navarra, and Huesea, hugging mountainous fringes of the Pyreneese to the north and stopping in quaint old villages on the way. Like homing pigeons, they focussed on returning to Estat de Tirelle via Rioja and Zamora.

  On reaching home Eileen was surprised to find a letter awaiting her from the Dominican residence at Salamanca:

  Señora Eileen O’Flaherty,

  It is my unpleasant task to inform you that in your absence Philip, your colleague student from Ireland, gave rise to concern due to non attendance at lectures for several consecutive days. On checking his rooms which are detached from the convent premises, our sisters found him in an extremely agitated state, unable to communicate apart from repeatedly mumbling an incoherent word that sounded like Aoilee. Although it appeared that he had not partaken of food for some time, he could not be induced to eat or drink. The doctor that we called diagnosed Philip as suffering from an aggravated state of mental disorder. He arranged for his admittance to a psychiatric hospital in San Sebastian for assessment and treatment. I will be pleased to give you details of the location of the hospital in case you would like to make contact.

  Mother Gratiata,

  Dominican Convent, Salamanca

  ‘Seosamh, this is dreadful news,’ Eileen said, tears forming in her eyes. ‘We must do something about it. Philip’s sister in Galway should be informed. I will ask if the Dominican community where he lodged have her address. We should go to visit him too although, from our last meeting, I’m not too sure that he will want to see me.’

  ‘What is this about him mumbling some sound like Aoilee?’ Seosamh asked. ‘Is it by any chance your name he is calling? Why would he want to do that? What kind of association did you have

  in the university back in Galway? Strange though it may seem, I had a funny feeling about Philip from the start. I thought he acted a bit over the top when you two got together. When he met us at the railway station in Galway he kissed you on the cheek—how did he know we were arriving on that particular train?’

  ‘Seosamh, don’t run away with any notions about our friendship. As I have told you, he was appointed my tutor while I studied Spanish in the university. We got on well together but our friendship was never more that philanthropic. Sometimes we had a cup of coffee in the canteen at the end of a session. We never walked out together or went to the cinema. It was my understanding that he was studying for the priesthood; I would never do anything to discourage him or make his vocation difficult. I was not aware that he had a fixation on me; I never did or said anything that he could construe as encouragement.’

  ‘It’s strange that he decided to do his further studies here in Spain—was that coincidence? I figure he romanticized about a relationship with you and, when he heard that you and I were to be married, he flipped his lid. I’m sure glad he hadn’t started to spend weekends at Estat de Tirelle as you suggested.’

  The chief psychiatrist at the municipal hospital in San Sebastian was not very forthcoming about Philip’s condition.

  ‘Is the patient related to you?’ he asked.

  When told that Eileen and Seosamh were acquaintances only, he declined to discuss the case in any detail.

  ‘All I can tell you is that your friend is confined in solitary accommodation until we have had an opportunity to study his problem. He is not allowed visitors unless perhaps some of his family should come to visit him. I understand that he is from Ireland, in which case it may be difficult for them. I am sorry I cannot tell you any more. If you leave your name and address with the receptionist, the hospital staff will contact you if a necessity arises.’

  ‘Poor Philip,’ Eileen said as they left the hospital, ‘it is sad to think he is confined far away from his home and family. His community in Ireland has, no doubt, already been advised of the position. I wonder if his breakdown will be an impediment to his future priestly role. Still, if that is to happen, better that it should occur now rather than after ordination.’

  Following soaring temperatures and arid ground conditions during the long hot summer, the arrival of autumn was a welcome diversion. The happy couple spent evenings in the warm balmy air gathering what fruit remained on the stunted apple, damson, and plum trees of Estat de Tirelle—sufficient for Eileen and Santa Clara to bake luscious pies, and to preserve the better quality fruit for later use. Week followed week, autumn mists merged into winter frosts and snowfalls. Christmas was again around the corner.

  ‘Seosamh, love, I think I’m going into labour,’ Eileen declared with alarm. ‘The pains have been coming intermittently all day. If I get a sudden call, we have no midwife service here at Estat de Tirelle. For safety sake, I should make arrangements to go into hospital in Salamanca; the road is long and weather conditions are uncertain. If an emergency were to arise, you might be called on to perform the role of midwife on the way.’

  ‘Good Lord, Eileen, if that happened I’d be of no use whatsoever. Come on, pack your bags, I’m taking you to Salamanca straight away.’

  In prevailing mid-winter frosts, driving conditions were not conducive to speed. Seosamh, conscious of the sensitivity of the situation, drove with extreme care, keeping a wheel close to the road verge in anticipation of a sudden slide that could exacerbate Eileen’s condition. Arriving safely at the hospital, he watched as the nurses wheeled her into the maternity ward.

  ‘I’ll be down to you in a minute or two, love,’ he told her, as he went to revive his flagging spirits with a cup of coffee. He had barely taken the first sip when he was alerted with the news that his wife had given birth.

  ‘That was a close call,’ he murmured. ‘Can I see her now?’

  ‘Not for a little while—finish your coffee—we’ll let you know when the time is appropriate,’ the nurse told him.

  Seosamh could not sit still. Nervously he walked up and down the hospital corridor, repeatedly asking why there was such a delay, and waiting for the ward door to open.

  ‘Is everything all right with Eileen? Have there been difficulties? Is the baby all right?’ he asked excitedly.

  ‘Yes, everything is fine,’ the nurse said. ‘Mother and baby are both doing well.’

  After what he thought was an interminable lapse of time, he heard his name called.

  ‘Señor O’Loinigh, you may now visit your wife.’

  He found Eileen, bright and cheerful, sitting up in bed with the baby in her arms.

  ‘Seosamh, come and see our young son. Do you think he looks like his father?’

  ‘Eileen,’ he said with fervour as he kissed her tenderly, ‘this is the very best moment of my life. I don’t care who he looks like. My concern is that you and the baby are out of danger. I love you, Eileen. Thank you for being my wife. I’ll love our son too, no matter whom he resembles.’

  ‘What name will we call him?’ Eileen asked. ‘Do you have any particular name in mind?’

  ‘Never gave it a thought,’ Seosamh replied—‘it’s usually women who think about things like that in advance. How was I to know whether the child would be a boy or a girl? What about you, Eileen—have you a name in mind?’

  ‘To be sure, I have; I’ve thought about it long and hard but I can’t make up my mind. There’s you and there’s my dad; I’d like to name him after one of you but, if I do, I will be guilty of partiality. How about a completely neutral name? Carl for instance in memory of our benefactor!’

  ‘Carl is fine by me; I reckon it is only fair to Carlos that we leave some symbol of the Montmorency family name intact for future generations. After all, where would you and I be were it not for Carlos and his benevolence?’

  ‘OK then, for better or worse, Carl will be the baby’s name; I hope he’ll never hold it against us for calling him that,’ Eileen laughed.

  Amid great jubiliation, after a week had elapsed, the new O’Flaherty O’Loinigh family returned to the ancestral Castillo de Tirelle where they were feted with champagne by Santa Clara and Jago’s parents and siblings. For Eileen and Seosamh, life assumed a n
ew dimension—bottles, nappies, disturbed sleep, and cries of a new born baby resounding through a house where heretofore adult voices held sway. Responding to the challenge of new responsibilities, they rallied to each other’s assistance when problems presented. Marital love and dedication prevailed—wasn’t this the life together they both had longed for!

  ‘Buíochas le Dia (Thanks be to God)’—it’s good to be alive,’ declared Seosamh.

  VI

  ‘BODY IN THE WATER,’ SHOUTED THE LOOK-OUT ON A fishing vessel some weeks after the typhoon had abated and the sea was calm again.

  ‘Quick, lower the lifeboat,’ the captain ordered. ‘You two,’ he told crew members, ‘over the side and bring the body on board.’

  It was a strange sight. The body of a man in his fifties was loosely lashed to a plank of balsa wood—debris detached by the storm from one of the many merchant ships that sank in those waters during World War Two. Quickly they loosened the rope, hoisted him aloft, and laid him flat on the deck. Facial scars suggested that he had been bashed by some hard object; his right arm was hanging limp. Fronds of seaweed were entwined around his neck and chest. As they stood over him, one of the seamen bent down and lifted his left arm; it was supple but cold and lifeless. Checking the right wrist for a pulse, he felt a weak but perceptible throb.

  ‘This man is alive,’ he announced. ‘Quick, get some cognac—there may be a hope of reviving him.’

  Prising the teeth apart and drawing forward the man’s tongue, he allowed a sip of the spirit to enter his mouth and waited for reaction. Nothing happened; he repeated the treatment. A flicker of one eyelid signalled life; a faint heart beat became perceptible; sporadic breathing commenced.

  ‘I think we have him,’ a crewman gleefully exclaimed, as he lifted the man’s body to expel any water that might have accumulated in his lungs, laid him on a sail cloth, and covered him with a warm blanket. Little by little, amid coughing and spluttering, his eyes blinked momentarily against the sunlight and closed again. In a little while they remained open, staring wildly. The injured man made gestures with his hand and whispered a language they didn’t understand.