Blasket Spirit (13 page)

‘You won’t find one either. There’s not a tree on the island.’

‘I know, and we’ve burned every piece of driftwood.’

We strolled to the Seal Cove, racking our brains for a solution to the broom handle. That was soon forgotten about as we lay on the clifftop watching the seal pup suckling the huge, dappled cow. The contented rhythmic flapping of his flippers was the same, but Junior was barely recognisable: he was easily three times his original size.

‘He’ll soon be swimming off,’ Laura said. ‘Seán thinks that it could be in the next day or two.’

‘Well, I hope to God he doesn’t end up scampering up onto the White Strand, at the mercy of the hordes of tourists and dogs on it lately.’ I was still upset, thinking of the bald man scaring away the seals.

‘I don’t think you need worry about that. The seals won’t come within an ass’s roar of the beach from now on until the boats stop running, in the fall.’

‘Did you see that fool driving the seals off the beach the other morning?’

‘Yeah. Complete barbarian, wasn’t he? Seán tackled the three of them when they came up looking for beers. All they did was laugh in his face. I had to go outside, I was that mad. Still, if I had been the one to serve them, they would never forget it: they would have gotten one gut-twisting sandwich.’

‘Pity you didn’t serve them.’

‘Seals are so harmless; it’s hard to understand anyone wanting to harm them.’

‘Well, if your livelihood is at stake, you try and find something to blame. Drift-netting, over-fishing and corruption appear to be out of the small fisherman’s control, so he vents his frustration on something tangible, like the seal. A fisherman told me that they used to poison them with strychnine, but after that was banned, brake fluid and homemade bombs were used. Up until the seventies, there was a bounty of three pounds per snout paid. Often you’ll come across one with a bullet hole in it.’

Laura looked at me aghast. ‘God, that’s totally gross. How can you hurt something that looks so human? Gee, at times, I think the Beverley Sisters look more human than seal.’

‘Well, it’s said they were human once. Have you ever heard of the seal people?’

‘You mean people who were suckled by seals as babies?’ Without waiting for an answer, she continued. ‘I heard a cool story about a baby left in a cave for safety while its mother was gathering seaweed on the Gravel Strand. When she came back to collect the infant, the tide had come in and covered the mouth of the cave. She was reassured that the baby would be fine, up on the high rock for the next six hours. It would just be hungry. Anyway, according to the story, the weather turned stormy. The seas were huge for the next four days, leaving the cove inaccessible. On the fifth day, the men went down to retrieve the body of the dead baby, if it hadn’t already been swept out by the tide. When the water was low enough, the father waded into the cave first, followed by the others. The rock where the infant had been stowed was drenched with pools of seawater and seaweed; it had obviously been submerged during the storm and there was no trace of the baby. Then a movement caught the man’s attention in the depths of the cave, where a seal was hauled out, high on the gravel above the tide, suckling her young. As the men startled her, she escaped into the water, leaving her young behind. When the man waded over, he found not a seal pup, but his own baby daughter, alive and well. She was warm and full of milk. The seal had pushed the helpless child up above the tide line, nursing it through the storm. Imagine that.’

‘I heard of something like that happening on the Hebrides too.’

‘There, it’s gotta be true,’ Laura said. ‘Why, in the name of heaven, would any mother make up a story like that about her own baby? One sure way to get the kid bullied at school. We’ve got similar stories of babies suckled by wolves in Canada, like in
The Jungle Book
. It’s a maternal instinct, I reckon.’

We watched the seal suckling her pup far below. Neither of us spoke for a while, then Laura rolled over onto her back in the sunshine and asked, ‘So what are seal people supposed to be?’

‘Apparently they could take seal or human shape. According to legend, when Noah’s Ark was full, the people who were left behind turned into seals. One of the fishermen told me a story about seal people on the Great Blasket.’

‘If it’s good, you’re invited to dinner. Well, on condition that you don’t go to ground again for a whole week.’

I promised her that I wouldn’t. She cradled her head in her lower arm and adjusted her baseball cap, in order to see me, and at the same time shield her eyes from the sun. I sat, keeping the seal in view and began a story for my supper.

‘Peadar was an islander in his late forties. He had no wife. He had lost his eye as a child and with it his appeal to girls. The Blasket people thought that he was a lost cause, so it was a great surprise when he arrived back into the island one night with a wife.

‘From the very start the islanders thought that Niamh was strange. She looked foreign, with a dusky complexion, huge dark eyes and sleek, shiny, black hair. She kept to herself and Peadar was tight-lipped when any question was put to him about the origins of his bride. Still, whatever people thought, everyone agreed that Peadar and Niamh made a most contented couple.

‘They said that she had strange ways about her. She wore layers of long, shapeless skirts and shawls, always covering her arms and hands. The children used to say that she had no hands. She rarely went walking since it seemed to be difficult for her. She took small, shuffling steps and when she did go out, it was at night. Some talked cruelly behind her back about her looks and her strange habits. Kinder people suggested that it was such talk that forced the poor woman to venture forth alone and at night.

‘When darkness fell, and the sound of seals wailing and surf breaking filled the island, she went walking. She would walk the paths and watch the sea, but never went to the beach. In eight years, nobody ever saw her on the beach.

‘A few months after her arrival, Nan Cleary told the women to stop their gossiping and to be civil to the dark woman. Then, one Sunday, Nan invited her to come and pray the Rosary with the women in the National School. That was the custom while the menfolk were across on the mainland at mass. Peadar said that his wife would go and so she did. It was Niamh’s sweet singing that held the women spellbound and won them over. The thrill of her voice struck every listener to the depths of their soul. Once the women of the island had accepted her, it would be a brave man who would utter a word against her.

‘A year later, Peadar was the happiest man alive when she gave birth to their healthy baby boy. Peadar gave Niamh the gift of a beautiful soft wool shawl. It was woven with jade, green and turquoise wool and shimmered like the sea. From that day she was never seen without it.

‘Like his mother, Éanna had dark skin and deep, inkwell eyes. Like his father, he was strong and tall. The young boy grew like any island boy, except for one affliction. He was afraid of the water. He never went to the beach to run on the sand or to play hurling like the others. Of all the young boys of his age, he was the strongest at hauling turf and stones. He was the fastest, climbing steep slopes with heavy loads of seaweed to fertilise the potatoes. He was the fittest boy, rounding up sheep on the hills. When other boys were puffing and blowing, there wasn’t one quick breath from Éanna. All this was well and good, but not enough for a man making his future on the Great Blasket Island. He had to be able to fish and to man a
naomhóg
. Peadar understood the boy’s limitations and so he encouraged Éanna to succeed with his schooling. Perhaps with the boy’s kindness and angelic voice, he would be destined for the priesthood. Then the sea would no longer be a worry for his mother. So by the time that the boy was seven years old, he outshone every thirteen-year-old scholar in the schoolroom. Éanna, like his mother, had a most beautiful and haunting voice. When they sang together, it was said that the seals and birds came in to shore to listen.

‘During that year, Éanna and four other young boys were being groomed for their First Holy Communion. The whole island seemed to be preparing with them. You would have thought that the mothers themselves were making the Holy Communion with all the fuss that was going on. They were so involved because when the actual day would come, only the men would cross to Dún Chaoin with the boys for the mass.

‘Éanna was as excited as any of the children. Niamh, however, was anxious and distracted for weeks. Peadar was distressed, seeing her like this, and he reassured her every day. She would not be consoled until the event was over and their son had returned safely into the island. On the First Holy Communion Sunday, the men set off early in the boats. Niamh stood on the clifftop that May morning, her sea-green shawl wrapped tightly around her. She watched the boats until they became tiny black dots, swallowed by the shadows of the mainland cliffs. She remained there while the women went to and from the National School for the Rosary and while they returned to their houses and cooked the Sunday meal. She kept to herself all day.

‘Over on the mainland, the First Holy Communion had gone off famously. The five island children received the sacrament with the children of Dún Chaoin and Ballyferriter. After the mass, the priest spoke to all the island boys outside the church. Once each had received the priest’s blessing, the men made haste back to the slipway.

‘Peadar and three other men took to the oars in one boat. Éanna and his two young friends sat up in the bow. They were full of high spirits. When they were a good mile out to sea, they were suddenly surrounded by seals. The three men swore that in all their days fishing, they had never seen so many seals. The boys squealed with delight, barking and yelping at the shiny bald heads. Éanna lost his fear of the water, leaning over to touch the seals with the others. The seals were fearless and nuzzled the hands of the boys. Peadar became mad with fright, roaring at the seals and lashing out with the oar at them. He screamed at Éanna to sit down. The other men were as captivated as the boys were, and with all the excitement and commotion, Peadar’s appeals were ignored. The boys whooped with joy. It was during all this confusion that Éanna leaned too far overboard, stroking two sleek seals. After each contact they drifted farther out of the boy’s reach. Nobody could explain how it happened that Éanna slid into the water so easily after the two seals. Without the slightest splash, the lips of the water closed over the young boy and the seals. It all seemed to have happened before anyone could react.

‘Peadar screamed for the boy, making the boat rock dangerously as he stumbled from side to side, searching desperately. The men scanned the waters, but Éanna never resurfaced. As quickly as the seals had appeared, they disappeared into the green waters. For hours the men searched the area but found no trace of Éanna.

‘Before the boats had come close to the island, the women knew that something terrible had happened. The crying of the boys and the frantic wailing of Peadar filled the Blasket Sound. It was a hard job the men had to do to prevent Peadar from jumping in after his son, on the journey back to the Blasket. When the boats landed, the awful truth was broken to the women. The neighbours ran ahead to be with Niamh; her heart would wrench in two with the news. The door was wide open but the cottage was empty. The islanders searched her usual haunts but there was no sign of her. Once Peadar realised that his wife was missing, he raced as fast as the wind straight down onto the White Strand. Nobody could keep up with him. When the people reached the cliff overlooking the strand, they saw Peadar crumpled to his knees in the shallow ripples. He clutched the jade and turquoise shawl to his chest. No one would ever forget the heartbreaking wailing of the man screaming to the waves.’

Laura said nothing for a while when I had finished. Then she sighed and said, ‘What happened to Peadar?’

‘Well, he never spoke about the loss of his wife and child. In the months that followed, he kept to himself, taking on the strange habits of his wife. He walked the cliffs here by the Seal Cove at night, listening to the singing of the seals. He lived like that for three years and then he died one winter’s night, out on the cliffs alone.’

We sat on the grass, watching a brilliant orange orb sink into the horizon beyond An Téaracht. Seventy or eighty metres below us, the full tide surged onto the gravel. The scalloped lace ripples glowed with orange light. Slowly the seal cow began to nudge the pup towards the frothy bubbles. He seemed reluctant at first. He stopped as the first wave flooded around him and drained back through the gravel. The next wave came quickly, floating him for an instant. He looked to his mother for reassurance. She was by his side, urging him along with her. As the third wave broke, she dipped her head and slid beneath it. The pup hesitated, was upended and then dived after his mother. The sleek heads of mother and son reappeared beyond the breakers.

‘Good luck, you guys!’ Laura called after them. I could say nothing, fearing that my voice would fail me. We watched until the seals had disappeared and the last droplet of molten sun had dissolved into the sea. In the dusk, my tears fell silently. Laura was on her feet already. ‘You’re not supposed to cry at your own story, you big softie. Come on. Éanna has just earned you dinner.’

F
riday was the quietest day on the Great Blasket Island during the summertime. Out on the mainland, it was changeover day. Tourists were busy loading cars and setting off on long journeys home while others were excitedly heading to the Dingle Peninsula to take their places. The beaches were quieter while the roads were busier. From the sanctuary of the sea, the Great Blasket Island gave a shrug of relief, watching the chain of colourful matchbox cars glint in the sunshine as it snaked around Slea Head. During the Friday swop-over, only one ferry operated between Dún Chaoin and the Great Blasket Island.

‘How would you like a day minding the shop?’ Sue asked as she popped her head through my door one Thursday evening. ‘It should be quiet tomorrow, so I’m going out to the mainland for next month’s supplies. I’ll show you where I leave the key and you can help yourself to tea, scones and whatever you like.’