A Son of Aran (29 page)

‘It's the same Peadar all right. Sure he wasn't drowned after all. He turned up in England a year ago as large as life. It's a long story—I'd prefer if he told you about it himself some time. You mustn't have been here when he came back to visit. Didn't Father Corley say a special Mass of thanksgiving on account of him being saved?'

‘And how do you come to know all this and you away in England at the time?'

‘That's a long story too, Thomasheen; I haven't time to tell you now. I must go and make contact with Máirtín Neachtan—he looks after Peadar's place in his absence. Good luck for now, that was a great chat we had. Tell me something before I go—I knew a sister of yours named Cáit when we were both going to school—whatever happened to her?'

‘Funny you should ask about Cáit—she went to America at eighteen years of age, met an Irish man, and married him. They had no children. Her husband was drafted for active service with the American forces during World War Two. He was killed on the Normandy beaches on D-Day. She got a big army pension and, on the strength of it, she came back to Aran. She is living with me in the auld homestead at present. I'll tell her you were asking about her. You might meet her sometime.'

‘You're not from this country,' a fellow patient remarked to Philip when he was well enough to be released from solitary accomodation and consigned to a hospital ward.

‘No, I am from Ireland,' Philip informed him.

‘And, how come you are in hospital in San Sebastian? Do you not have medical treatment in your own country?' the man persisted.

‘I became ill while I was a student in Salamanca. When I am well enough I intend to return to my own country.'

‘Salamanca—isn't that where they train young men to be priests?

‘Yes, I am a seminarian,' Philip replied. ‘I came here to study Spanish before going on the mission to South America.'

‘Ireland, South America—very interesting. You are aware that here you are in Basque country. My people have a common bond with revolutionary groups in Ireland, Cuba, and Chile. Have you heard of ETA, the organisation for freedom of the Basque people?'

‘Vaguely—in the seminary we are not allowed to follow outside events closely. What does your association do to obtain the freedom you seek for your people?'

‘For many centuries we have pleaded with successive Spanish governments to give our people autonomy; ours is an ancient culture that has nothing in common with Spain. Our native language and traditions are Basque, not Spanish. We sought freedom to govern the Basque region, which lies between France and Spain, as a separate principality. Following decades of broken promises and attempts to subdue our people by outright oppression, we had no alternative other than to turn to organised subversion. At present we have volunteers who, at short notice, are prepared to sacrifice their lives in harassing the forces of government, and in assassinating leading Spanish political figures when the opportunity is presented.'

‘I can empathise with the predicament in which your peo-ple are placed,' Philip told him. ‘Ireland has similar problems. For four hundred years we have been trying to wrest control of our own affairs from England. In 1921 when they eventually conceded independence, this was only partial. Northern Ieland, still governed by Britain, is a source of conflict similar to what you have described, involving activities by subversive groups; atrocities are frequently committed on both sides.'

‘Philip—may I call you by your name? I see that you are a revolutionary at heart and have an interest in our Basque affairs. If you don't mind I will ask some of my associates to speak with you on the subject; nothing can equal person-to-person dialogue when it comes to explaining problems.'

‘Philip has been discharged from the enclosed psychiatric wing of the hospital,' Father Benedictus told Eileen when she met him after class in Salamanca. ‘At present he is recuperating in sheltered accomodation under medical supervision and he is free to come and go as he sees fitting. His sister came from Ireland to be at his side; I understand he is allowed to have other visitors also. One of his lecturers is going to San Sebastian to see him next week.'

‘Thank God for his recovery,' Eileen replied. ‘I am so glad for his sake.'

‘I wonder if we should go to see Philip,' she said to Peadar and Seosamh that night as they partook of evening tapas.

‘Not on your life,' Seosamh quickly replied. ‘That fellow has been nothing but trouble since he came to Spain. Seeing you, would most likely set him off all over again. Better to leave him alone until he is well enough to go home to Galway.'

Peadar, never having met Philip, had no advice to offer.

‘Seosamh has a point,' he conceded. ‘Maybe it's best to let the hare sit until we have more information.'

Eileen, though disappointed, yielded to their advice.

‘Would you like to see something of the Basque country and meet some of our people while you are here?' his visitor said to Philip.

‘Anything is better than this environment,' he replied. ‘I would appreciate some clean air and open space. I'll ask the doctor if he will allow me out for a few days. If he consents, and your people don't mind, I will be glad to accept your offer.'

The sound of Atlantic waves pounding the craggy coastline, the sight of lush green hillsides separated from one another by rapidly flowing mountain streams lifted his spirits. His guide led him deep into remote valleys where hamlets of small dwellings pickled the landscape. Native people, huddling together, whispered to one another as the stranger appeared in their midst. Philip shuddered to think of the kind of reception he might have received if he hadn't been in the custody of one of their people. When his presence was explained, their resistance abated. Any friend of Diego was welcome in their community.

Addressing Philip, one of them declared with feeling: ‘We are aware that many people in Ireland sympathise with the Basque struggle for independence. Like us, you have struggled for many centuries against oppression, economic sanctions, and enforced emigration. During the past hundred years, due to government sanctions, and lack of opportunity at home, thousands of our Basque people have emigrated to Argentina, Mexico, Chile and other Central and South American countries. Many others have been arrested, tortured, and executed by the Spanish Authorities because they dared to take a stand for their traditional way of life and their right to rule themselves.'

For the greater part of a week Philip was hosted by families throughout the Basque region between which he was moved at night to avoid detection. In the process he was introduced to members of the underground movement whose primary objective was to sabotage institutions of State, and to prevent their effective operation in every way possible. He was not given access to their leaders or to information on available fire power, but he was given to understand that ETA was ready and prepared for military action at any time should an opportunity arise. Members had sworn on oath to give their lives if necessary in pursuit of their ideals.

‘What value has a man's life when he cannot attain his God-given legitimate aspirations?' Philip said by way of consolation. ‘In my own case, while I have no appetite for inflicting punishment on people that I perceive as having done me injustice, my spirit is wounded to the extent that I don't care about life any more. Not very long ago I thought of ending it but, by the grace of God, I was deterred from carrying it through. The girl I love and with whom I had hoped to find happiness on this earth, informed me that she was about to marry another man. It was more than I could take—my mind snapped.'

‘My poor man,' a young woman said. ‘Please, don't let your disappointment get to you. In time it will pass—you are not alone. I mourn for my husband-to-be who was arrested by the Spanish Guardia Civil on suspicion of being a member of ETA. Having been forced to release him for want of evidence, they shot him in the back as he left the barracks, and claimed he had tried to escape. In cases of injustice like you and I mention, the individual has no redress. We just pick up the pieces and get on with our lives. Time is a great healer. Perhaps an opportunity will be presented through which we can exact retribution.'

During his continued stay in San Sebastian hospital, Philip was visited from time to time by some of the people he had met. Conversation usually centred on his plans after final discharge.

‘Would he return to Salamanca? Would he go home to Ireland? Perhaps he would like to remain in Basque country and learn their native tongue which was so different from formal Spanish language that he had come to perfect;' questions posed were persistent and direct.

‘In my role as a seminarian preparing for priesthood, I am subject to direction by my Dominican superiors. Due to my illness, I am, for the present, absolved from their strictures. Salamanca has too many unpleasant memories for me; I don't plan to return there. Perhaps I will accept your offer of sanctuary until I am well enough to travel to Ireland. I'll let you know when the time comes for my return.'

‘I have been recalled by my superiors,' Philip announced to his host family after having spent two weeks with them in their home near Markina. ‘I leave on Thursday next; I am truly sorry to have to say goodbye—orders are orders.'

‘It is too bad that you have to leave so soon; we have enjoyed your company these past days. Before you go, perhaps you will do us a favour? A consignment of wheat seed from Canada has arrived for us in Bilbao—we need somebody to take delivery of it. We have a car but no driver; our daughter Elsa is not fully proficient in driving. Bilbao is a very busy city for a learner. We know you drive well; may we pevail on you to do the job for us before you leave? Elsa will accompany you and give you directions on where to pick up the goods.'

‘But, of course,' Philip replied. ‘It is a small return for your hospitality. I'll enjoy the trip with Elsa; we'll go on Tuesday if that's all right with you.'

Bilbao port was bustling with activity. They located the warehouse alongside the main wharf. It appeared they were expected.

‘Leave the keys—your load will be ready for you in fifteen minutes,' a man said.

While Philip and Elsa took a stroll to view the assortment of sea going vessels tied up along the pier, sacks were loaded into the boot of the car. Elsa exchanged greetings with the men and, without further delay, she and Philip were on their way.

‘I don't particularly like Bilbao,' she confessed. ‘Police and undercover agents are constantly on the lookout for subversive activities. Everyone is suspect. Thank God we're out of the city and on the way home.'

A uniformed figure emerged suddenly from behind a tree and raised his hand. Philip slowed to a stop.

‘Good afternoon, Señor. May I ask where you are coming from and where you are going? Can I see your driving license, please? H'm, you are a clergyman from Ireland,' he commented. ‘May I ask, what is your business in Bilbao?'

‘I am collecting some farm seeds for my friend's family,' Philip answered.

‘And you Señora—I'd like to see your papers. Please open the boot of the car?'

‘Of course,' Elsa replied as she leaned towards the driver and put her hand in a jacket pocket. ‘Get out of here fast,' she whispered. A shot rang out; the policeman fell to the ground.

‘A close call,' she added, as they sped away. What followed was unexpected. As they drove through an area of densely wooded countryside, from opposite sides of the road a hail of bullets peppered their car. Philip maintained a straight course before he slumped over the wheel. At his side as he collapsed, his companion lay motionless; blood was pouring profusely from her mouth. The car veered to the right and finished in a ditch, it's bonnet and front seat partly submerged in water.

‘Farm seeds, my foot,' one of the Guardia Civil officers commented wryly, as he read the label before opening a sack to expose an accumulation of small arms. ‘I had my suspicions when a car driven by a cleric appeared down at the docks. I reckoned he wasn't there to collect bibles. Right, let's get this hardware back to barracks.'

‘Not so fast, gentlemen—drop your guns and stand aside with hands above your heads. Tie them up, lads,' the group leader ordered, as a band of men dismounted from the back of a lorry with rifles at the ready. ‘Quick,' he added, ‘our diversion sign at the crossroads will soon attract attention. Transfer the guns and bodies to the truck, bundle the Guards inside. Draw the tarpaulin cover and get out of here fast. I'll set a charge in the boot of the car to take care of colleagues who come to look for them.'

‘Maybe I should look up Cáit while I have a few pounds in my pocket,' Seánín said to himself. ‘I'm not sure she'll remember that I had a crush on her when we were both young. I never got around to telling her; I was shy of girls at that age. I'll soon know.'

‘Seánín Mhicil Dubh, it's a cure for sore eyes to see you. My brother told me he met you in the pub recently. I'm delighted you decided to call. We have a lot of catching up to do since last we knew each other. I remember casting eyes at you when we were both going to school but you never responded. At that time girls weren't permitted to show their feelings for boys. In due course we went our separate ways. Here we are, thirty years later, bumping into each other again.'

‘Is ait an mac an saol
(Life is strange),' Seánín replied. ‘We never know what is in store for us.'

‘I can see you haven't forgotten our native Gaelic; did you speak it a lot during your time away?'

‘Not much—when a few of us got together in England, we liked to converse in a way that those listening wouldn't know what we were saying. Often enough we were talking about them and they didn't know.'

‘So I guess you had a good time over there—did you earn big money?'