Island of Wings (17 page)

‘But, sir, I am not sorry.' She looked at him frankly. ‘It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and you let your dog sleep on it.' She blurted it out.

The minister rose from his chair and slammed his fist on the desk.

‘Please, sir, let me keep it,' she continued to plead through her fear in a thick, desperate voice. ‘You let your dog sleep on it, but it makes me look prettier than I have ever been before. It gives me colour,' she tried to explain.

‘That is it! I will have no more of it – the rug must be back in its place by nightfall!' cried the minister, and he pulled a wooden ruler from the drawer of his desk. ‘Our Lord Jesus sees you as you sin but forgives you if you repent,' he stammered, as he hit her once and then again over the fingers with the ruler until her knuckles bled.

Anna's eyes filled with tears but she said nothing. What was there to say? She had tried to tell the truth as prompted and she did not understand the reason for the blood on her hands. She was at the age of becoming: about to learn that life explains itself most clearly in challenge and failure.

Lizzie stepped away silently from behind the door where she had witnessed the scene. She felt upset and confused. This was a side of her husband she had not seen before. She could not comprehend his lack of compassion and compromise. Why was his world so black and white? He was being unreasonable – could he not see that Anna was only trying to tell the truth? The girl had not thieved; there was no malice or greed in her young heart – she was just a child, in love with beautiful things.

Overcome by a need to be alone with her thoughts for a moment, Lizzie slipped into the scullery and stood motionless in the cool, narrow passage. She held her breath for a moment or two and listened. The gloom hid her well and she relaxed a little, resting her back against the shelves. What was his mission? What did it signify? She thought of the pains he was taking to improve the life of the St Kildans. He studied their world with what sometimes seemed like detached scientific interest, but she knew that their welfare meant everything to him and he felt their tribulations as a personal agony. Surely only a good man would take such heed of those less fortunate? And yet there was a strange lack of imagination and empathy that kept him apart from the islanders. For the first time she felt a rush of pity for her husband – she sensed that his coldness and alienation were born out of a deep-rooted and lonely insecurity.

I am his wife and I admire him for his strength and conviction. I must not lose faith in him. I chose him, I am his wife and I need his warmth. Why is it not enough?

The year ended as it had begun, swathed in Atlantic mist. On the last day of the old year a certain tension rested over the
clachan
as the inhabitants prepared to celebrate
A'Callainn,
the old festival of Hogmanay. It was an unruly time, when worlds met and spirits travelled freely across liminal boundaries – the night when creatures emerged from the wrong side of the deep and the skies opened into space. The famous St Kildan hospitality was suddenly suspended and doors were locked against the gloomy day.

Betty Scott was grinding rye in a hand quern. The rhythmic sound as her strong arms turned stone against stone was calming to Calum, who snoozed in a recess in the wall of the hut that had been allocated to them until their own house was constructed in the new village. The sound brought back darker memories to Betty: the grinding of iron-shod hoofs as the laird's factor and his men rode into the glen, and the wheels of hand-drawn carts rasping against the loose gravel of the path as her kin left the mountains of Sutherland behind and travelled down to the sea.

She paused in her grinding and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her hand. The fire in the hearth would flare up every now and again as an undetected draught found its way into the smoke hole. Calum stirred and studied his young wife as she started to bake the freshly ground meal into a bannock. From where he was, beyond the circle of light, it looked as if she was on fire. Her hair was in flames and the outline of her body glowed. ‘You are so pretty, my lass, the queen of the village,' he whispered, surprising himself with such soft words. Betty, whose mind had been further afield than his eyes could see, twitched at the sound of his voice. ‘And you are a very lazy man, Calum MacDonald.' She laughed and glowed brighter. ‘Have you checked that there is enough whisky in the keg for the visitors tonight?' ‘If we get any visitors,' he added quickly as one could not know what to expect from the
Gillean Calluinne
, the Hogmanay celebrants. He rose reluctantly and kissed the crown of her head where she bent over the baking. Then he went outside, closing the door carefully behind him, to check on the stores in the
cleit
where they kept their food and drink. He felt uneasy in the grey daylight and wished that he had stayed in bed. He knew the stories. Oh yes, he had heard them told by the hearth of old Miss Ferguson, the
seanchaidh,
who remembered all the tales of old and fed them into the individual memories of the St Kildans. He had heard of the dark forces at large on the night of
A'Callainn.
Once, not long ago, a father and his daughter had walked out on to the rocks to fetch some wood to keep their fire going into the New Year. It had been a misty day, like this one, and an old man who had met them on the path at the edge of the
clachan
had warned them not to go any further as the mist was thick and the rocks were slippery. The father and daughter were never seen again. Not so much as a piece of clothing ever floated ashore to remind the people that they had once lived on the island. The man's wife, the mother of the child, had gone mad from waiting for the two of them to return. For years she would set out into the mist as it rolled in from the sea. The villagers could hear the eerie sound of her voice as she called for her only child at the edge of the sea. But the man who had met the father and daughter on the path told his kin that there had been something strange about them, something that he could not quite explain. He swore that their gaze was distant and they had not looked at him as he spoke to them but walked passed him with their eyes far into the mist. Calum felt a shiver run down his spine and he quickened his step so that he was almost running when he reached the
cleit
where Betty had stacked their winter stores. Suddenly he wanted to be near her again. She always made him feel safe and strong – it was a strange thing to think about a lass who had been on the island for only a few years. He could not think of a single girl that he would rather have married, and he knew that many of his friends envied him and admired the beauty of his bride. He pulled out the keg of whisky and some dried meat and hurried back into the
clachan
. Dusk was falling, and in the long shadows he could make out some of the boys and youths who had begun to gather in the yards. He was no longer one of them, he had a wife to protect, and he hurried into his house and closed the door on all evil.

As the darkness of the old year settled over the
clachan
the voices of the young men became increasingly excited. Betty listened from inside the small house. She liked the excitement of the rituals and she could feel her heart beating faster as she heard a sound as of a muffled drumming. She stood on her toes to look out of the smoke hole. There in the yard of the houses the boys had built a small fire on which they lit some torches. They gathered around and suddenly she saw a beastly being rise from their midst. A horned creature with a hide like a winter cow's. The youths started to hit their sticks on the hide, which answered like a drum. The creature started running, leaping like a devil dancing in the flames of hell, and the youths followed, beating it hard with their sticks. ‘Come over by the fire, Betty!' Calum called anxiously as the noise grew stronger. She went and sat by him with her hands pressed between her thighs as she continued to listen breathlessly. Suddenly they heard the din draw nearer. They began to shiver as they heard the horrible procession dance around their house; three times they went in the course of the sun, while drumming upon the hide of the screaming beast and on the walls of the house. The noise was terrifying, gruesome, as if all the evil spirits had been let loose. Calum moved closer to Betty as they heard the monster climb on to their roof and stamp his feet. Now they could hear the sticks beating at the door and somebody chanting the runes:

We come here to you at A'Callainn

Renewing the rites of Hogmanay;

The rules are still the same, of course –

The same since our ancestors' day.

Betty stirred towards the door, but Calum held her back as another voice picked up the chant:

We will go southward round the house

And we will descend through the door;

We'll pass through the home as we always do,

Round the man, as we've done before,

Another voice, recently broken by puberty, continued:

For the wife will get it, she that deserves it:

The giving hand of the Hogmanay.

Knowing the drought that is on the land

We don't expect any
uisge beatha
–

The banging on the door was louder as somebody sang the last verse:

Just a little drop of the summer produce

That we hope you'll put on some bread.

We have many houses to visit tonight, so arise now

And open the door – and please, let us be fed!

When the chant ended, there was a pause and then a deep voice said, ‘Open up, let me enter,' and Calum, still shaking a bit, stood to open the door. Soon the horned beast was standing by the
tallan
and Calum bade him to step up to the fire. Betty thought she recognised the torn shoes of her brother-in-law, Aonghas, as the beast pulled out a piece of sheepskin from under the hide. He leaned towards the fire and singed the sheepskin until a thick smoke rose from it. Then he walked around the interior of the house once and held the skin under the noses of Betty and Calum. Everybody was silent as this went on, but as the beast threw the skin back into the fire Betty handed over the bannock that she had baked earlier and opened the keg of whisky to pass it around the young men. Calum took one mouthful from the keg, and then another, before he passed it on to the youth beside him. Finally the spell was broken and he smiled, relieved and elated, as he saw the horned beast gather Betty in his arms and kiss her from under the hide. Everyone laughed and one boy, strengthened by the drink, cried at Calum that he was a lucky lad to have wed the prettiest queen on Hirta, and if he could bear to leave her side for a while he was welcome to join them as they went on their way.

The partying went on throughout the night, but as soon as all the young men had fallen into a deep sleep the New Year broke cruelly into another grey day.

Afterwards no one could remember that the first day of the year had begun in any particular manner. No one could remember seeing or hearing anything unusual as they went about their business that morning. But then most of them had slept in until after breakfast. One boy called Duncan, who was only nine at the time, had been out early to poke in the dying embers of the bonfire. Later on, when asked by the
maor
if he had heard or seen anything unusual, Duncan said he had not, but when the
maor
gave him a rare winter apple and asked him to think harder he said that there had perhaps been a noise as if a giant door had opened and closed far away. As his kin gathered around to hear about the noise, the boy seemed to remember more and more. Had he seen a light as of a great fire in the morning sky? asked one. Oh yes, he suddenly recalled that there had been a strange red light on the horizon. Had he heard a noise like the screaming of thousands and thousands of doomed souls? wondered another, and the boy furrowed his brows until his face lit up with the memory: yes, yes, there was a strange sound as if a lot of people were crying and wailing. So, at the end of the day, the St Kildans were convinced that some unearthly evil had once again settled on their island.

But that was later. What did happen on that New Year's Day was this: Anna and another young girl from the
clachan
called Rachel had set off over the hills to drink from the well they called
Tobar nam Buaidh
, or the Well of Virtues. It was generally thought that the water from this well could offer good health to anyone who drank from it.
Tobar nam Buaidh
was over on the north-western side of the island, on Gleann Mòr. The summer pastures of Gleann Mòr lay about a mile from the
clachan
, and the girls set off just before midday to make it back before the dark. The young friends had much to talk about, as one of the
Gillean Calluinne
had stolen a kiss from Rachel the previous night. It had been too dark to see who it was, and the girls were left to analyse the event over and over again. As they reached the ridge of Am Blaid they sat down for a while to catch their breath. They scanned the glen below them and one of the girls thought she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked again everything was still and quiet. They soon stood up again and skipped down the hillside into the glen, the thin braids which had escaped from under their woollen head scarves whipping around their necks. As they reached the well, hand in hand, they were flustered and breathless and they were giggling so hard that they could hardly stand . Rachel dropped into a hopeless heap by the side of the well, while Anna held on to her jaw, which was hurting madly from all the laughter. Suddenly Anna cried out and pointed at the ground. Strange footprints were scattered in the mud at the opening to the well. They looked fresh, but the shape was peculiar, as one foot seemed to be much larger than the other. In fact, one of the prints did not look like a human foot at all. This seemed odd as they had not seen anybody on their way to the glen. Nor had they spotted any animals on this side of the island. They looked around but could see nothing. Anna felt uneasy, but Rachel laughed and said she was silly and soon the two of them were drinking greedily from the cool clear water of the well. As they left their offerings to the spirit of the well, a couple of pretty shells which they had gathered by the head of Village Beach earlier in the day, Anna prayed earnestly for the spirits to keep her and her family and the manse-folk from illness throughout the year. Rachel, on the other hand, asked the well to make her pretty and make her breasts grow. ‘You can't ask that of the spirits!' Anna gasped. ‘They will get angry with you – the
Tobar nam Buaidh
offers health, not beauty!' ‘Oh, Anna, don't be such a spoilsport. I can ask for whatever I want,' said the plain girl, whose chest was still flat and whose nose was rather too large for her face. ‘Anything I want!'