“No sign of Oengus,” the Sergeant said softly.
“Oh,” Bridget said and sipped her tea.
The Sergeant looked her straight in the eye. “Bridget the funny thing is that there is no official record of Oengus being born or alive,” he said.
“But you’ve seen him in the flesh yourself Sergeant,” Bridget pointed out.
The Sergeant couldn’t hold his gaze. “Now and then but you’ve kept him well hidden on this farm,” he said.
“I took him out of school to give him personal tuition. He knows the reading, writing and arithmetic as good as anybody and he has all the computer stuff with Facebook, Bebo and other things I never heard about,” Bridget explained.
“Kevin O’Sullivan took the boat ticket from your brother John but he said there was no sound or trace of Oengus. And John told O’Sullivan that Oengus was with his own people.”
The Sergeant paused and took his tea waiting to see how she’d react.
Bridget stood and went to the window. The Sergeant sipped his tea in the silence and tried her scones.
She stood a while and then turned to face the Sergeant.
He was taking his time, spreading butter and jam on the scones and eating with relish. Bridget had a name for her baking.
“He’s not here. We are his people,” Bridget said.
The Sergeant continued to chew. Bridget turned again to the window. “I’ll go and ask for him back,” she said.
“To where and how?” the Sergeant asked.
“Great Blasket, that’s where I’ll go and I don’t know how I’ll ask. But if that’s where he went then that’s where I’ll go.”
The Sergeant remained seated but squared his shoulders. “Now Bridget,” he said, “we don’t want you going missing. Hasn’t there been enough of a fuss.”
“I’m going.”
The Sergeant finished his tea and scones and left with a friendly smile. But he was worried.
He decided to talk to O’Sullivan and get him to keep her off the island.
***
Morag was packed and ready to leave New York when one of her technical team rang.
“The missing fireman has turned up back in New York. It was on the local news. He said he was camping on one of the smaller Islands and not missing at all. He said the Irish Police should have tried to get him on his cell phone. But he said maybe there was no reception on a remote island. Anyway he’s back and unharmed.”
“Did he sound creditable?” Morag asked.
“He said he’d been brought up on the Blaskets and knew how to survive on fish and local fauna. Said his health had greatly improved and he was looking forward to getting back to work.”
“And the boy?”
“John, the fireman, said there was no boy with him and the local ferryman must have made a mistake. He said the Dublin police could confirm there was no such boy. He said his nephew died forty years ago.”
Morag considered after she had hung up. She got her researcher to check it out. The researcher confirmed that there was no evidence of a boy called Oengus to be found in local records either in Kerry or the central registry in Dublin, Ireland. The local police had closed the case.
Morag asked for more on the fireman.
A day later she got a report. The fireman was behaving normally and had reported to work after his vacation. He was due to retire soon and the mayor had sent him congratulations and wished the nine eleven hero a long and happy retirement.
But Morag was not entirely satisfied. The trip was scheduled so she decided she’d still do a follow up.
***
O’Sullivan refused to sell Bridget a ticket to the Blaskets.
“I don’t want another missing person off my boat,” he’d said, having promised the Sergeant not to let her sail.
“I’ll take my husband’s Curragh,” she said bitterly.
“Bridget a Curragh is just a wooden frame with tarpaulin and hide for a skin.”
“I know what a Curragh is,” Bridget interrupted.
“Then you’ll know its no boat for the Blasket sound,” O’Sullivan said forcibly. “Even experienced fishermen are nervous of the currents out there,” he added.
Faced with O’Sullivan’s refusal and his impassive stance, Bridget took herself back home.
“O’Sullivan showed some sense,” her husband Patrick said when he heard the story.
“Maybe you’ll go?” she suggested.
“Maybe I will but not before I finish helping O’Shea with his sheep. He was good enough to help us and we are obliged.”
“The sooner the better then,” she said and threw some turf on the fire.
She knew she’d have to bide her time. But in time she was determined to find her lost son even if she had to beg the Sidhe, even if she could find them. There had to be a link on the Blaskets.
***
Of an afternoon Kevin O’Sullivan arrived with his last load of tourists for the day. On Great Blasket there was a crowd of the morning trippers waiting to be brought back to Dunquin.
He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw Oengus skipping down along from the traffic lights towards the boat with a sprightly black and white poodle type dog running around yapping and accompanying him.
He let the tourists aboard and waited for Oengus to arrive, holding the poodle in his arms.
“My uncle came yesterday, he had both tickets,” Oengus explained. “Do you mind if I bring the dog?” he added.
“Your uncle came about a week ago,” O’Sullivan said.
“Really? I don’t think so. Sure we only spoke yesterday.”
“Get on board anyway,” Kevin O’Sullivan said gruffly.
With a happy grin Oengus picked up the dog and went aboard.
O’Sullivan was thinking as he disembarked his passengers in Dunquin. His son Kevin had told him what Oengus had said about talking to his uncle the day before. He’d heard it said that time passed at a different pace in Otherworld and what might seem a week to a mortal man on earth might be a day or less to the Sidhe in Otherworld. Not that Oengus resembled in anyway to a fairy.
Chapter Six
It was late when they came in off the mountainside and they were starving with the hunger. However Bridget had their dinner ready. An Irish stew that could be kept simmering while it waited to be eaten.
“That dog Oengus brought from the Blaskets was useless,” Dad remarked as they pulled into the table.
They had left O’Shea to his boreen and he had refused the invitation to have dinner saying his wife would have his own on the table. O’Shea had been unnerved by the return of Oengus but he held his peace and got on with the job.
“O’Shea said it was the worst he’d seen,” Dad added, referring to the new dog.
“How is O’Shea?” Bridget asked, worried how the neighbors might take to the unexpected return of Oengus.
“He’s fine. But that stupid dog disappeared when we were half way up the mountain and only reappeared when we were on our way down again,” Dad continued.
“Beag needs a bit of training,” Oengus admitted.
“Beag, what sort of a name is that?” Bridget asked.
“We could call it small as beag means small,” Oengus joked in English.
“Gaire did not get on with him either,” Dad added.
“Well here’s the dinner,” Bridget said and poured the stew into large ceramic dishes. The good dishes that she hardly ever used but she was marking the return of Oengus.
“You didn’t go to the pub?” Bridget asked.
“I think O’Shea was uncomfortable. I said I’d tell him the story of what happened when I knew it myself. There’d be too much talking and whispering in the pub and we both know it. Better to let it rest a few we
eks,” Dad said and picking up his spoon he started into the hot stew.
“Well,” Oengus began.
“Not now,” Bridget interrupted. “We can talk around the fire when we are finished the dinner and all the world is at rest.”
Oengus and his dad were surprised to find that Bridget had the fire lit in the parlour. The fire was packed with sweet smelling turf that spread a perfumed glow of warmth around the room. Bridget lit a side lamp but the glow of the fire was not overcome by the addition of artificial light. The chairs were high backed to keep out draughts and they sat in a small circle around the fire holding warm mugs of tea.
Puca Beag was left outside with the dogs as was normal on a farm. But he was not too happy with the arrangements so he shape shifted from dog into a horse. He was exhausted from running Mount Eagle after contrary sheep and although he did not get on well with Gaire his respect for the breed of sheepdog had increased immensely.
Gaire barked when he saw the stupid dog change into a stupid horse. But Gaire did not like the thought of being corralled with a heavy horse that might stamp him so he showed Beag how to open the gate and led him into the barn where Gaire bit open a sack of oats.
He left Beag chewing and went back to his place and closed the door and decided to pretend nothing had happened. It was not for nothing he was known as a clever sheep dog.
“So you are back with us?” Bridget said to open the conversation.
Oengus started with a stammer and then gathered himself.
“Mom and Dad,” he said addressing the two of them. “On Blasket I have discovered that neither of you are my natural parents.”
It pained Oengus greatly to say it but he needed to get it out there.
His dad looked at his mom. Bridget looked about to burst into tears.
“You are our son,” Dad said, softly touching his chest and adding, “here in our hearts.”
“And in our love. I am the mother who loves you and dad is the father who loves you,” Bridget said softly.
Oengus bit back a tear. An anger and bitterness had built in his heart but on their words it just melted away. He wanted to give them both a hug but it wasn’t the sort of thing they did a lot as a family, so he just sipped his tea.
“Do you know who your real father is?” Dad asked.
“And your mother?” Bridget asked.
Oengus was sitting between them and it made it difficult to look at them both at the same time. He turned to his mother.
“I met a woman called Danu. She said you’d agreed to name me Oengus after my father. But I haven’t met him.”
“Nor have we,” Bridget said. “We were allowed to keep you without the bad luck if we so named you. All the punishment was that the good land in the lower fields went barren.”
“But the mountains were still good for sheep so we hung on,” Dad said.
“But O’Shea has deep ploughed?” Oengus pointed out.
“Aye, but that was to improve his land. But when you were away it rained for a week and everything came back even our lower field.”
“We knew then the fairy curse was lifted,” Bridget added.
“This woman I met said she was famous once. She said there was a river called the Danube named after her,” Oengus explained.
“Mythology has it that Danu was the Goddess of the Tuatha de Danann, the tribe who preceded the Celts,” Dad offered. “And the river Danube in Europe is named from those times,” Dad said.
“Was she a nice person?” Bridget asked.
“She seemed alright but more a queen type person that a mother type person if you understand what I mean,” Oengus replied.
“Did Uncle John give you back to them?” Bridget asked, although she had already guessed the answer.
“Uncle John said he stole me and he could give me back,” Oengus said.
“Bad luck to him,” Dad said fiercely.
“Now dad, stay calm,” Bridget said.
“Uncle John said he was dying of the cancer. He said he was soon to die but he offered me in return for the cure,” Oengus explained.
“He was always self first,” Bridget said flatly, but without rancor.
“He said the doctors had given him only weeks to live. He said Danu had the ‘waters of life’ and if they could give him some he might be getting better.”
“It was he who stole you in the first place. Maybe cancer broke his courage for he was never afraid when he was young,” Dad said.
“He was in the papers as one of the hero’s of nine eleven,” Bridget added. “I suppose it’s wrong to blame him if he had no other option.”
“His life was run its natural course. He will have bad luck for trying to change it,” Dad said ominously.
“Not from us,” Bridget said sharply.
“We’ve had you a long time Oengus. I suppose we should count our blessings,” Dad said.
“If they are so powerful why did they not come and get me back when I was stolen?” Oengus asked.
Bridget smiled at the question, remembering back.
“They did come to talk,” she said. “But I was bitter with them for stealing my child and would give them no mercy.”
“Magic has its rules,” Dad added. “They stole our child. John was wild enough to go steal one of theirs. We had taken no more than they had so they were bound to it. They tried to send us the bad luck and Oengus you have to forgive me for what I did next.”
“What dad?”
“I rowed out in a curragh with you in the bottom of the boat, and said I’d drown you off the Blaskets if they did not leave us be.”
“After that there was peace but the cattle died and the lower fields went to gorse,” Bridget explained.
“So we reared you as best we could all these years,” Dad added.
“And you are a great joy to us,” Bridget said and put her hand on his. Dad added his hand.
They sat there and watched the fire.
“Danu said to tell you your son is safe and happy,” Oengus said.
“But no more our son,” Bridget said bitterly. “Once changed there’s no return for a human child.”
“But I am your son,” Oengus offered with a smile.
To his surprise his mom stood and embracing his head she kissed him.
“You were always a good boy,” she said.
“There was an ancient Celtic god called Oengus,” Dad said. “I believe he was supposed to be the God of love of everything except power and money. But the stories about him say he was a hard man who killed people with his sword.”
“When was this, was it recent?” Oengus asked.
“No son, this is the stuff of legend. These things were told around the fireplaces in this part of the world and are legends about things that happened before time began as we know it, pre history, and pre everything so long ago it’s not history. That’s why it’s called legend.”
“So nothing to do with me?” Oengus asked.
“Probably not Oengus, who knows? I took an interest in the name Oengus when they insisted it was yours son. But that’s why I know and that said I don’t know more.”
“But they let you come back to us?” Bridget asked.
“I told them it was all too gross and I wanted to go home. They seemed sane but I doubt it.”
“But Oengus they have lifted the curse, everyone in the area has noticed,” Dad said.
“I think I am grown up enough now to decide who I belong to. They couldn’t keep me, and from now I have to decide what I want to do,” Oengus explained.
“What will you do?” Bridget asked.
“They have set me a task. It was the condition they set to let me come back. I have to start by going to America and finding Uncle John.”
Bridget and h
er husband nodded in understanding.
They asked no more questions. Together they sat around the fire and thought their own thoughts, happy to be together on that night.
The next day they took him to the bus stop in Ventry. They had known in their hearts he couldn’t stay. It was time for him to find his place in the wide world.
Bridget packed his a small case of essentials. He showed them the false papers he had brought from Great Blasket.
“They look real enough,” Dad remarked weighing the Irish passport in his hand. A plastic card fell to the floor and Oengus swooped to pick it up.
“What is that?” Bridget asked.
“It’s some sort of magic. You put it into an ATM and cash comes out. They told me a secret code called a pin. It seems they have arrangements with gnomes in Zurich.”
“You’ll find credit cards common enough when you get past Dingle,” Dad remarked, but he was impressed.
They were surprised when Oengus went into the barn and came out wearing a thick green cloak about his shoulders.
“What about doing the leaving certificate and going to University,” Bridget had fussed on the way across to Ventry in their old ford car.
“You said once that I’m not on the register,” Oengus pointed out. “I expect I can’t take the State exams.”
“Where will you go?” Dad asked.
“They gave me papers that will get me into America. Uncle John is shown as my sponsor. I have to go find him,” Oengus explained.
“Don’t trust him,” Dad said.
While Bridget got him his bus ticket to Dingle Oengus’s dad drew him to one side.
“Respect women,” he advised, “but remember, they are not all respectable.”
“Yes dad,” Oengus said, feeling embarrassed.
“The girls where we live were warned not to bring the bad luck by talking to you and they believe their mothers. But in America girls don’t really listen to their mothers,” Dad added.
“I just thought they didn’t like me,” Oengus admitted.
“And remember, this part of west Kerry is a remote spot. Magic lingers here in the mists and the mountains and through the bogs and in the people with their mountain ways. But elsewhere people are worldly wise and they might not understand the likes of you boy.”
The Great Fury Page 5