A Son of Aran Read online

  ‘Isn’t it ironic,’ thought Peadar, ‘that Saureen, despite her deviousness and infidelity, now occupies my mother’s family grave, while she is condemned to resting among strangers in Bohermore cemetery in Galway. Lord, have mercy on them both,’ he prayed as the sparse Aran earth was piled over the coffin.

  Investigations into Saureen’s death continued for some months. The sergeant learned that a woman answering the description of the deceased had boarded a boat at Rosaveel on the evening of the storm. The captain remembered that she was dressed in a long brown coat, and insisted on remaining on deck despite his warning of impending gales and heavy seas. He had seen her disembark as soon as the boat berthed, and wondered why she hurried away so quickly. Peadar accounted for his voyage in the hooker from Galway along with Eileen on the night before the storm and told how they had sheltered in Kilkieran for two nights. Tadhg confirmed this and told of their slow journey to Aran the following day, arriving in Kilronan at midnight, and going direct to Peadar’s cottage. Máirtín gave evidence of coming to the cottage late that night after he returned from a wake, in order to close the hens’ roost and milk the cow. He was unaware of anybody being in the house when, before departing he shot the outside bolt on the door. He returned late on the following morning and was surprised to find Peadar knocking on the window signalling that he wanted to be released. Máirtín’s mother gave her account: ‘Awakened by a cry in the night, I went to the corner of the house from where I had view of a stretch of the beach below. I could see nothing, but I heard splashing in the tide off shore—a low moan followed by a gurgling sound. It sounded like seals mating. A head bobbed for a moment above the water and disappeared. Then I heard a wailing sound far out at sea. I couldn’t tell if it was the rising wind, the cry of a seal, or a human voice—it was impossible to identify above the surge of the tide.’

  All told, it appeared to be a case of accidental drowning, but the sergeant, a meticulous policeman, was still not happy. He had never experienced a case like this before.

  ‘Could it be murder?’ he wondered.

  Several factors pointed to Peadar as the possible culprit:

  ‘Had he not a motive? Deserted by his wife who had left him for another man, fear that she was again planning to take Eileen away from him, reprisal for the shame she had brought on them—all good reasons for getting rid of her. Had he opportunity? His alibi was cast iron; he had witnesses to cover all his movements from Galway to Kilkieran and from there to his house in Aran. Had he engaged somebody else to do her in? That would have involved violence—there was no evidence of force having been used.

  ‘Is there a missing factor?’ he wondered. ‘Hold on for a minute! Peadar testified that on the night of their return to Aran, Tadhg and the girl had gone to sleep in the room while he bedded down on the kitchen floor. Could he not have slipped out quietly and met with his wife? A woman had been around earlier looking for him? He may have suspected it was his wife. Luring her into the water on some pretext wouldn’t have taken very long. He could easily have been back in the house before morning. I believe there’s a hole in his testimony!’

  The sergeant succeeded in convincing his superiors that there was a case to be answered. Peadar was charged with complicity in the death of his wife. A preliminary hearing was arranged. To facilitate witnesses from the island the court sitting was held in Kilronan. A trial ensued. Taking the stand the sergeant outlined the case for the prosecution, and gave an account of findings that resulted from his investigations. ‘Prosecution,’ he said, ‘was based on two main concepts—motive and opportunity. He contended that both of those elements were present in the case against the accused. He reiterated the broken relationship between Peadar and his wife, her conspiracy with another person to kidnap their daughter—a plan which Peadar had thwarted, and his fear that she would make another attempt to take the girl away from him.’

  Questioned by the judge, he agreed that Peadar had satisfactorily accounted for his movements from the time he left Galway until his arrival in Aran on the night in question. He asserted that, on his own admission, after Tadhg and Eileen had gone to sleep in the far end of the house, Peadar himself bedded down on a straw mat in the kitchen.

  ‘Was there not,’ he asked, ‘ample opportunity for him to slip out unobserved and meet his wife on the shore or on the cliff face, from where he could quite easily have caused her to enter the tide and drown?’

  ‘Have you anything to support this theory?’ asked the judge.

  ‘Intuition, my Lord,’ replied the sergeant.

  ‘I don’t think that is a good enough basis on which to bring a charge. Mr. O’Flaherty, what have you to say to the sergeant’s allegation?’

  ‘My Lord, I repeat what I have already told the sergeant several times—I had no hand in my wife’s death. What the sergeant alleges is not true and could not in any event have happened. On the night in question, without being aware of it, I was detained within my own house. When I awoke the following morning and tried to get out, I found that someone had bolted the door on the outside; I was forced to signal my neighbour to undo the bolt so that I could open the door.’

  ‘Can you verify your statement?’ asked the judge.

  ‘I can, my Lord. Máirtín Ó Neachtain is present here. He will testify that it was he who released me.’

  The judge banged the table with his gavel.

  ‘I find no case to be answered here,’ he announced. ‘Sergeant, I will see you privately after I have finished. I have something to say to you about wasting official time pursuing your silly obsessions.’

  ‘Moladh le Dia’ (praise to God) exclaimed Peadar as he embraced Máirtín and hugged Eileen, when arm in arm, they left the courthouse together. ‘I am relieved to know that ordeal is behind me. We’ll pay a visit to the grave and say a prayer in thanksgiving. Saureen, in life and in death you caused me much grief. I could willingly have murdered you when I learned of your intrigue with that Spanish playboy, but I’m glad I didn’t. Despite your unfaithfulness, I still love you. I wish that none of this had ever happened and that we were together here in Aran, one happy family, with Eileen and maybe one or two more children to bless us. We could have been happy. All that remains for me now is to pick up the pieces and return to the life I lived here before we met, a life I dearly love and, with God’s help, I will never again leave.’ Lifting his daughter shoulder high, he said with conviction, ‘Come, Eileen love, you and I are going home.’

  III

  ON THE HOMEWARD VOYAGE TO BILBAO, THE CAPTAIN OF the Sansander pondered his position following his attempt to abduct Eileen: ‘What is likely to result from my dismissal of her mother?’ he asked himself. ‘Will she and her husband combine to bring charges against me, and attempt to extract compensation for disruption of their marital relationship? Such a measure if implemented would be valid under Irish law but could only be applied if I was apprehended in Ireland. If I return to Galway there is a danger that friends of Saureen or her husband may take the law into their own hands and exact satisfaction for my injustice to them. Visions of floating face downward in Galway docks do not appeal to me. Despite my desire to meet Saureen again, and to learn the whereabouts of the girl, I must give up the idea of returning. I will employ some other means of finding out what has happened to her and her daughter following our last encounter.’

  On completion of his assignment as captain of the Sansander, Carlos applied for transfer to a company ship that plied to India and the Middle East. On those runs he felt safe from reprisal while planning his next move. The captain’s request was granted but not as he had anticipated. His next ship was the Corolus, a charter vessel operating between ports in Europe, West Africa and the Mediterranean. Frequent intervals between assignments allowed him to spend more time on his Spanish estate, and to oversee cultivation and harvesting of the olives, apples and grapes. Workers and supervisors on the estate noticed a significant change in his mood. He was sullen, irritable, and frequently intoxicated. His f
ormer pride in maintaining the estate had evaporated. His disposition was that of a lonely troubled man.

  ‘Whatever happened to him on his last trip to Ireland?’ they asked one another.

  Riding bareback through his extensive estate, or wandering aimlessly through the ornate rooms of his mansion, his thoughts returned again and again to the elation he had experienced for several years each time the Sansander docked in Galway, his trysts with Saureen, and the birth of her child.

  ‘Why could we not have enjoyed the splendour and peace of my establishment here in Spain?’ he asked. ‘Why has life dealt me such a cruel blow? I regret having so summarily dismissed Saureen. She would have provided an ongoing link with the child. In many respects I still love her. Had I taken her with me to Spain, she would have been a source of consolation to me while I planned what further steps we might take to be reunited with her daughter. Saureen might have been blessed with other children! Is there any way in which I can turn the clock back and revert to our former relationship?’

  Ports in Africa and the Mediterranean in which he was obliged to stop over during loading and discharge of cargo, brought little consolation. He had no desire to parley with women who offered their services; his shore time was spent in taverns and drinking dens where he played blackjack and poker with cut-throats and scoundrels, risking life and limb whenever arguments and confrontations erupted. He had no heart for that kind of existence; more and more he isolated himself and grew depressed by the day.

  Six years later when World War Two had ended, the Corolus was chartered by the Irish Potato Marketing Authority to carry a cargo of seed potatoes from Galway to Malta. Carlos found himself once again steaming into the port he had known so well. This time there was no welcoming signal from the house on Long Walk as the ship approached but his spirits rose at the prospect of getting some long awaited news of Saureen, and the possibility that they might meet. In view of the manner in which he had treated her, he wondered how she would react to such an encounter.

  ‘All of that took place a long time ago,’ he consoled himself. ‘Perhaps by now she has forgiven me? If she and her husband have not got back together, she may be pleased to renew our relationship?’

  The sun was sinking low over Galway rooftops as the ship docked; loading of cargo would not commence until morning. Berthing completed, he set out to explore the town. In the interests of anonymity he took the precaution of shaving his beard, trimming his moustache, dressing informally and wearing dark glasses. There was no response to his tap-tap on the red door on Long Walk. Passers-by looked curiously as he continued to knock.

  ‘There’s no one living there any more,’ a neighbouring woman volunteered.

  ‘Can you tell me where the previous occupants live?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I can’t tell you,’ she replied. ‘Nobody has lived in that house for a long time. The people that were in it went away suddenly. I think they left Galway altogether.’

  Disappointed, he turned his face in the direction of the town centre.

  ‘The café where she worked—I might get some information there.’

  Rhona was reticent about telling what she knew of Saureen. She didn’t recognise this man but she was aware that a Spanish boat was in port.

  ‘Was he the infamous captain who had brought ruin and disaster to Saureen and her husband?’ Rhona wondered. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t give you any information about Saureen. She left her post in the café without warning—I haven’t seen or heard from her since. Perhaps you should inquire at the police barracks—they may have information about her.’ He bade her good day and left.

  ‘No way am I going to approach the police,’ he mused, ‘that could give rise to questions I am not prepared to answer.’

  He decided to refrain from further investigations lest the story of his quest should get around. Visions of floating face downward in the dock came to mind; he decided to return to the ship and remain on board until they sailed. He would find another means of approach.

  Following the trauma of Saureen’s death, Peadar settled down to his former routine of farming and fishing. With Máirtín as partner, they fished far out into the Atlantic wherever shoals were to be found, frequently landing their catch at the nearest port when they were far from home. Together they planted potatoes, mowed hay, tended cattle, and carried turf from the Connemara mainland—as a team they worked amicably together and remained good friends. When their activities necessitated overnight absence from Aran, Eileen stayed with Máirtín’s mother and attended school on the island. By the time she reached ten years of age she was able to tend the livestock, milk the cow, and look after the hens, ducks and geese that cackled and squawked around the door of their cottage. At school she learned reading, writing, and arithmetic. She was initiated into sewing, knitting, and cookery, all of which proved extremely useful around the house. Peadar hadn’t experienced such companionship and attention since his mother died. Eileen sometimes asked about her mother: ‘Did mammy live in Galway before you met? Who were her parents? Are they alive? Did she have any brothers or sisters? Have I any cousins on my mother’s side?’

  She remembered how her mother died, but she was unaware of the background that led to that tragedy. Peadar thought it best that at such tender age she should not be burdened with the knowledge. The island had no facility for secondary education. Her teacher told Peadar that Eileen was making good progress at school and was likely to obtain a scholarship to secondary school. She sought his reaction to Eileen going to the mainland to attend school there. Thoughts of her being out of his sight for months on end worried Peadar, particularly in the light of the previous attempt to take her from him. He would miss her company and her cheerful demeanour—life would not be the same in her absence.

  ‘I’ll have to take time to think it over,’ he replied.

  ‘Should I move back to Galway and resume work in MacDonacha’s fertiliser factory for the duration of Eileen’s schooling? In that way she could live with me and attend school by day. Would her situation there be as secure as if she was resident in a convent school?’

  He pondered the question for several months. Máirtín listened as he debated the pros and cons. Together they talked with Sorcha who had experienced a similar situation when her only daughter reached secondary school age. With the wisdom of age and experience, Sorcha suggested that, since Eileen had come to love Aran and all that went with it, it would be unfair to return her to city living. Apart from becoming conversant with school routine in Galway, she would associate with friends outside of school hours.

  ‘Better,’ she suggested, ‘for her to reside in the security of a convent school where she would get to know students from a wider area.’

  She reminded Peadar that if he went to work in a factory in Galway he would see Eileen for a short time only each day; during her free time she would be out and about with companions of her age and he would have little control over her movements.

  ‘If Eileen is agreeable, I suggest you should choose a convent school in Connemara where she will be away from the city and safe from those who might have designs on her.’

  ‘Moladh le Dia (praise be to God),’ replied Peadar, ‘when I scratch enough heads I always find the solution to my problem!’

  When he put the matter to Eileen and pointed out the alternatives, she had no difficulty in opting for a convent school in Carna. She had heard about it from pupils who had attended there in the past.

  ‘I’ll be very lonely leaving home,’ she said, ‘but Carna is accessible by boat from Aran. You will come to visit me whenever you and Máirtín call there with fish or when getting a supply of turf. The prospect of meeting from time to time will be something to look forward to for both of us.’

  Her future decided, Eileen resolved to make the most of her freedom before going away to school; she wanted to learn how to swim, sail a hooker, and help with the fishing. Peadar had never learned to swim; he harboured a long-held
superstition among fishermen that, if the sea wants you, it will take you whether or not you are a swimmer! He approached an island boy named Seosamh, the son of a family that he knew and respected. Seosamh was glad of the opportunity to act as coach to Eileen. Together the young pair spent hours on end in the sea until she had mastered the butterfly, crawl, and backstroke. Despite her newfound ability to swim, Seosamh warned that she should never enter the water alone, and should not venture beyond her depth. Nevertheless he kept a watchful eye on her from a distance. As he gathered dilisc from the rocks one evening, he heard a frantic cry for help. Divesting himself of his heavy boots and loose báinín jacket he ran to her aid.

  ‘Help, help, save me—somebody save me quick!’ she yelled as, while swimming in deep water, she suffered cramp and was unable to make it to the shore.

  With long strokes and a dreadful sense of tragedy, Seosamh tried to reach her; he saw her go under twice before breaking surface again. Taking a grip of her long dark tresses in his left hand, he paddled with his right until they reached shallow water. Quickly gathering her limp body in his arms, he carried her above tide level and laid her on her stomach. Recalling tips he had learned from his father, he parted her lips and breathed frantically into her lungs until he noticed a feeble heaving of her breast. With deft movements, he raised and lowered her diaphragm until water trickled from her mouth. Prolonged bouts of coughing and spluttering ensued before normal breathing commenced. Opening her eyes, Eileen shivered and asked in bewilderment, ‘What happened to me?’

  Embarrassed at finding herself in a state of undress in his presence, she begged Seosamh to turn the other way. Although he was still concerned for her recovery, he retrieved her clothes and disappeared out of sight while she towelled and dressed. Regaining her strength she raced to him, threw her arms around his neck, and thanked him profusely for saving her from drowning. In a sudden impulse of gratitude she kissed him warmly on the cheek.