A Son of Aran (14 page)

‘What do you think I should do about Seosamh?' Eileen asked. ‘Should I write and accuse him of what I have heard, ask him to explain and, if the story is true, tell him I never want to see him again? That would set him back on his heels.'

‘I suggest that you shouldn't be precipitate,' Chrissie advised. ‘This may be his way of amusing himself in your absence—there may not be any more to it than that. If he loves you he will come back to you like a shot when you meet in Galway in three weeks time. He can't have forgotten you so easily after your close association since early teens. If he has ceased to love you and chooses to consort with this girl we heard about, then you're well rid of him. There are better fish in the sea.'

‘And how will I react in the meantime—we correspond every week?' Eileen asked, a tear running down her cheek.

‘You should write to him in the normal way, say nothing about this girl, and tell him you're looking forward to seeing him in three weeks. In the meantime, sit your exam as if none of this had happened. If the story is malicious or exaggerated, your detractors will have nothing to gloat about—victory will still be yours. Come on, write that letter and we'll put it in the mail box.'

Her letter reached Seosamh two days later:

Dearest Seosamh,

You will be pleased to know that my school days in Carna end on 21
^st
June. After that I will be free as a bird for at least three months. I am coming to Galway on the following day (June 22
^nd
). I intend to look for a summer job in one of the hotels. If you have any acquaintances in that business you might put in a word for me—a number of my friends will be on the same trail. It will be great to be near one another again! We'll be able to do the things that we always wanted. It'll be just you and me—no others. Write to me soon and tell me all your news.'

With all my love,

Eileen.

xxxx. PS. If you're good, I'll have a present for you when we meet.

Carlos de Montmorency's patience with Peadar began to wear thin. Had Fr Corley delivered his message? Why had neither of them responded during these past months? Acting on impulse, he put pen to paper and wrote a personal letter to Peadar. Not knowing his address he sent the letter in care of the priest and asked him to transmit it:

Dear Mr O'Flaherty,

Please do not think me presumptuous in communicating with you in this manner. I do so with the best intentions. Father Corley has, I hope, already told you of my discussion with him some time ago and my desire to make amends for the trauma and tribulation which I have brought on you and your family. Firstly, let me offer my heartfelt condolence on the tragic death of my dear friend, your wife—news of which reached me on my recent visit to Aran. Having regard to our earlier association, I can appreciate how difficult it must be for you to discuss this matter. I believe there are, however, aspects of our relationship that need to be set straight. At this stage I assure you that, apart from the close bond of friendship established with your late wife, I have no ulterior motive in intruding on your private life. Saureen and I knew one another for some years prior to her marriage; we were intimate on more than one occasion. I loved your wife very dearly and hoped that she and I would settle down together in my native country. After you married, out of concern for her welfare, I continued to visit her during her difficult pregnancy. At my instigation she had regular consultations with the same physician who tended her in hospital and provided vital post-natal treatment following the birth of her baby. Were it not for his care and attention, it is possible that your daughter would not now be alive. Having never personally experienced the joys of fatherhood, I deluded myself into thinking that my contribution to the girl's birth gave me a moral right to appropriate both her mother and herself, which gave rise to my abortive attempt to abduct them. I loved your wife dearly—in death I still love her. I want to make it clear to you that I am not the father of her baby. To my knowledge, you are the natural father of the child born prematurely to your wife. I renounce any claims which at the time of the baby's birth I foolishly thought were valid. If you see fit to meet me, I will outline a proposal which I trust will atone to some extent for my indiscretions and for my trespass on your marital harmony. Should you decide to spurn my advances, I will remain in my native Spain and leave you in peace. I await your esteemed response.

Carlos Montmorency de Tirelle

School year ended, exams had finished; in high glee the girls packed their things and, with tearful farewells, departed to their respective destinations. Eileen accompanied Chrissie to her parents' home in Galway where they had invited her to stay until she found alternative accommodation. Parking their suitcases, the two girls quickly headed for the city centre. Eileen's first call was to Folans' news agency.

‘I'll pay a surprise visit to Seosamh,' she said, ‘catch him off guard, and test his reaction.' To her disappointment he wasn't there. A hastily written note handed to her by Miss Folan, read:

Eileen, sorry I'll be absent when you arrive. I've gone to Aran where my father is seriously ill. Can't say when I'll be back; I will let you know more in due course. Seosamh

Tears welled in Eileen's eyes as she handed the note to Chrissie to read.

‘Curt and cold,' she remarked between sobs. ‘No hint of endearment, no manifestation of eternal love and devotion—something is amiss; this is not the Seosamh I parted with a few months ago.'

Chrissie tried to comfort her. Putting her arms around Eileen's neck she drew her close.

‘Don't jump to conclusions, love. His father's illness has undoubtedly upset him greatly. Wait until you hear the full story. I know you are terribly disappointed but crying is futile at this stage. Come with me across the street to the GBC. You'll feel better when we've had a cup of coffee and a chat.'

Days that followed brought no news. Early every morning the girls called at the shop to ask Miss Folan if she had heard from Seosamh but to no avail. As they browsed through magazines one morning they overheard a young woman at the counter ask in a shrill voice: ‘Miss Folan, have you got any news of Joseph? Do you know if his father has recovered? When is he likely to return to Galway?'

‘Did you hear that?' whispered Eileen.

Picking up a glossy edition, they turned casually around to observe a tall, slim, young woman with auburn hair, dressed in short skirt and jacket, cream shirt and red tie, painted finger nails, and gold ear rings. She carried a brown, brass-buckled leather brief case with the letters T.M. etched in gold on the front.

‘Sorry, Miss Moylan, we've had no news of Joseph since he left for Aran a week ago. If I hear anything you will be the first to know.'

‘Thank you kindly, Miss Folan,' the young woman said as she departed.

‘That's the girl we were told about—that's her for sure,' Eileen said as they left the shop. ‘It's true then; the way she spoke you'd think she owned him. And did you hear her call him Joseph? She's even changed his name. The dirty rat! I'll call him more than Joseph when I meet him. If he has thrown me over for that painted hussy, I'll tear his eyes out. You wait and see.'

Eileen stayed with Chrissie's parents while she hunted for a summer job in one of the city hotels.

‘Sorry, miss, we don't have any vacancies at present; there aren't very many visitors yet. Call back in a couple of weeks when the season starts.'

Everywhere she tried, the story was the same. Finally she was successful.

‘Can you speak a foreign language?' the manager of the Warwick asked.

‘Yes, I have learned French,' Eileen answered, ‘I would be willing to do a crash course in Spanish also if you wish and, of course,
tá sár Gaelige agam
(I speak excellent Irish).'

‘I'll give you a trial,' said the manager. ‘If you are prepared to work for three pounds a week, all found, you can start on the first week of July.'

‘The Matriculation exam doesn't take place until the last days of June,' Eileen said, as she related her findings to Chrissie. ‘I'll be able to make a quick dash to Aran before then. I'd like to visit Peadar—maybe I'll meet Seosamh too.

You have always said you'd like to visit the island. Will you come with me for a day or two? I'll show you around the place, we'll swim in the sea, and have a go at fishing with my father in the hooker. With the current preference for boyfriends from Aran that we have observed, you might even find one there!'

Seosamh was busily engaged in building a cock of hay; he didn't see Eileen until she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned towards her, sheepishly extending a hand in welcome.

‘Eileen, where did you come from? I never expected to meet you here. How are you?' he asked, showing no trace of his usual display of affection.

‘Hold your peace, Eileen O'Flaherty!' she counselled herself. ‘Much as you feel like flying in his face, nothing is to be gained from confrontation. A reprimand would result only in deeper division. In the light of our long association, I would be loath to let his diminished love come between us. I'm fine, Seosamh,' she replied, ‘I've just made a quick dash home to see everybody before I sit the next exams in Galway. I start work in the Warwick Hotel on the first day of July; I'll not have a similar opportunity for some time. Tell me, how is your father—I was sorry to learn that he has been taken ill. I notice you working alone at the hay—is there nobody in the family to help you? Give me hold of a fork— it's a long time since I saved hay but I can still try. I'm sure Peadar would lend a hand too if you asked him. Isn't that what neighbours and friends are for. What do you think, Seosamh?' she said as she raised a pike-full of hay onto the cock. ‘Am I the same girl you remember when we romped and played here in Aran before we went our separate ways? Why did we not embrace or kiss just now like we used to do? Has separation during this past year dulled your affection? I remember when we both proclaimed eternal love for each other; I haven't changed. You are still the Seosamh I knew, the same Seosamh who saved me from drowning that evening long ago. What about you? Do you still care about me in the same way? Will we be seeing each other again when we are both in Galway?'

Without looking directly at her, Seosamh muttered in a low voice, ‘Of course we'll be meeting in Galway. Sure we couldn't miss; Galway isn't that big a place altogether; we'll be running into one another all the time.'

‘Seosamh, you know that's not what I mean. Will we date and go to pictures and dances like we did that week we spent in the city last year? Don't mess with me—tell me the truth. I know you have found another girl in my absence. I have seen her although she doesn't know that. She seems very sophisticated—no doubt she has more to offer than I have. I love you dearly, Seosamh. I would hate if anyone should come between us. Rejection is hard to swallow—will it be her or me? It's up to you to decide'

‘Eileen, maintaining a relationship has been difficult while we were apart for such long spells. I admit I have been seeing another girl; I'm helping her with lessons that are held in the Irish Centre in Dominic Street. Sometimes there's céilidhe dancing after the class. She lives in Salthill; I walk home with her. There's nothing more than that between us. You can see for yourself when I go back to Galway. My father is still not very well. I don't know when I'll be returning.'

‘How about a walk on the beach this evening then for old time sake? My friend Chrissie is with me for a day or two. The three of us could walk together. This is her first visit to Aran; I would like to show her some of the sights. Come on, Seosamh; say you will; the walk will help to take your mind off your father's illness.'

‘Well done, Eileen,' said Chrissie, when she told her of the meeting with Seosamh. ‘You may not have won him over, but at least you avoided confrontation and you have kept the lines of communication open. We'll see what happens this evening when we walk together.'

‘What will I do about this letter from the Spaniard?' Peadar asked himself. ‘Eileen is now a young woman; I must discuss the situation with her very soon. She'll be living in Galway very shortly. If the social mob there gets to know that she is Saureen's daughter she is liable to hear stories about her mother. People have long memories and sharp tongues. I'll cross check with Dr Pearson on first opportunity in regard to the statement made by Carlos that Eileen's birth was premature. If that is true, a great load will be lifted off my mind. Maybe I was wrong when I took Saureen to task about the early arrival of the baby. If I had listened to her explanation at that time, events might not have turned out as they did.
Go ndéana Dia maitheamhnas dom
(May God forgive me).'

‘Seosamh, I'm sorry to have to tell you that your father is not going to get better,' his mother confided. ‘The doctor saw him again yesterday. He said that he hasn't many more weeks to live. He could go at any time. If he dies I'll not be able to carry on here on my own. Micilín is too young to be of any use on the land. I'm afraid, Seosamh, you'll have to stay with me until I work things out. Maybe one of the yanks will come back to live with me. Even then, we wouldn't be able to look after the cattle, plant potatoes, or save hay for the beasts in winter. I'll need a man to go with the neighbours to Connemara for turf, and to partner Eoinín O'Shea and Manus Clafferty on the bád mór
.
You'll have to give up your job in Galway for a while and stay here with me. It might be better if you wrote to Miss Folan and her sister and tell them so they can get someone else to run the shop for them.'

‘Blast this bloody island and all that's tieing me to it,' Seosamh exclaimed angrily, when the trio set out to walk to fort Dun Aengus that evening. ‘I thought I had my heels out of here when I got the job in Galway. Now it looks like I'll have to stay for years to come. If I had my way, I'd sell all we own and emigrate lock, stock, and barrel; my mother has other ideas.'