A Son of Aran (23 page)

Far on the verge of the ocean it lay,

He sailed to Hy Brasil, away far away.

How many times did I hear him say that he would like to search for that mythical island if an opportunity was presented? We must go to Inis Méain and Inis Oirr and farther away to the coastlines of Clare and Connemara. I'll ask Máirtín to run us across to those places in the hooker. Fishermen who knew my father will have kept an eye open for any evidence that may have come to light. In times of trouble a great loyalty exists between those who earn their living from the sea—none of them knows who will be next.'

Day after day, during weeks that followed, Eileen and Seosamh scanned every nook and cranny along the rugged coastlines of the three islands. They spent days in Connemara to the west and along the coast of County Clare from Black Head and the Cliffs of Moher to Doolin. They spoke to fishermen and coastal dwellers along those routes; nowhere did they get any information that would lead them to determine what had happened to Peadar. With heavy hearts they had, at last, to admit defeat.

‘I reckon, Eileen, there's no use in distressing yourself further. Wherever your father is, I hope he is happy. Knowing his philosophy on life and his belief in the hereafter, I have no doubt he is enjoying his present existence. Alive or dead, he is still the father you remember—cherish your memories and be reconciled to God's Will in whatever has happened to him. In time all will be revealed.'

‘There are some loose ends I must tie up here before we return to Spain,' Eileen announced after more than a month had gone by.

‘I'll ask Máirtín to take charge of the land, look after the house and keep it in shape in case we come back sometime. In the meantime Chrissie or her friends might like to use it if they come on a visit to Aran. At the moment the island holds too many painful associations for me—my mothers's affiliation with Carlos de Montmorency, her subsequent drowning, the aftermath of that tragedy for my dad, and now his own demise—only time will help to reconcile me with those events. Until that happens I would prefer to stay away from Aran.'

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.'