by Paul Kelly
Tom Mahon closed his eyes in sadness.
“My God, Rose ... Oh, my God ...” he cried... “And we never knew...
We never ever knew. I‘m such a wicked old man Rose….”
“Wicked?” asked Rose in surprise, “How can you say you are wicked Mahon. You always loved Fern. You know that.”
The Choir Master shook his head slowly.
“I am wicked Rose. I was jealous of the affection Fern had for that priest and I thought ... I thought there was a danger in that relationship. How can I think that now when they were ... well they were brothers weren’t they? They had the same mother.”
And Father Peter never knew that he had been adopted at birth . . .
Chapter Fifty Five
SHONA STOOD BY THE GIANT WATERFALL and the sound of the water was inexplicably quiet, almost inaudible, as the wind could be heard above his weak and feeble cries. It was two months since Fern’s death. ...The earth was darkened as the clouds rode across the sky like black stallions in battle clash and the wind blew stronger, to swiftly sweep the land into a tornado, as Shona struggled to maintain her balance, gathering her clothes closely to her body. Lightening flashed its blue electric flame through the dark threatening pillows as a thunderbolt shook the elements into subjection and Shona rubbed her eyes as she tottered feebly in the midst of the crescendo.
Suddenly as quickly as it had happened, the noise ceased and the scene became calm. Shona gasped in curiosity and her eyes stared in frantic perturbation.
A white turtle dove flew out of the nearby woods and settled beside her. It was joined in a moment by another and the two love-creatures winged their way playfully above her head; their claws shining as silver stars and the sun had at last achieved her goal, as she pushed her lambent rays through the purple darkness. The feathered visitors cooed gently, encircling Shona’s head before darting forwards into the torrent of the crashing waters, where the duo disappeared into the might and depth of the waterfall, as with screaming dithyramb, the Giant roared, consuming his pray with delight and his awesome tears fell as never before as his voice abounded richer and more resonant than ever. Shona smiled and replaced her thumb in her mouth, as her eyes glazed over lazily and she listened to the song of the waterfall.
“Fernando .. Fernando .. Fernando ..”
He roared his chorus incessantly and his lamentable outcry could be heard throughout the whole valley and high up into the mountains. The sun gloriously triumphed over the day... and Shona made her weary way to Fern’s grave…
***
She swayed to and fro to the distant rhythm and the elements of the weather did not affect her as she sat beside the grave of the young lover whom she had so desperately desired and as she gazed at the headstone, she shook her head in pity.
Fernando Miguel Alphonso Zambrano
Born September 3rd. 1920
Lived only seventeen years until his death on
August 31st 1937.
“NO GREATER LOVE HATH ANY MAN,
THAN THAT HE LAY DOWN HIS LIFE FOR HIS FRIEND.”
R.I.P
***
Shona came every day to the grave to tell her love of her devotion, but she was not alone. In the darkness of the evenings, a tall figure stood in silhouette in the background on the hill. She stood oblivious of the deafening sound of the waterfall, or of the plaintive moans of the lovelorn Shona and her blonde hair blew wildly around the brim of her dark hat as the moon’s rays picked out her trembling pale hands ... She stood alone and Shona was unaware that she was being watched. The still sentinel stood guard over the place where Fern had loved to be and as the clouds uncovered the moon to its fullness, her grief and her solitude was illuminated and shame filled her sorrowful face as her eyes grew tired with the tears of her loss.
“Why? Why?, Why?,” she murmured and her words formed puffs of moisture in the cold night air. “I would have given you anything; done everything you could have wanted from a woman, just for the smallest, most insignificant recognition of my love for you,” she lamented as she hung her head with renewed shame and guilt and lisped her desolate plea. “Why him? Why could You not have taken me instead?” she whimpered as she looked at the skies for help in her dilemma. “Listen to me now, my darling. Listen carefully,” she went on, “I did love you, more than you will ever know. I want you to know that now, Fern. I want to speak the words that I should have spoken, even if it may seem to be too late.”
The tall lady clasped a kilt pin in her nervous hand as she spoke of her love and the light of the moon touched the amethyst crown to make it sparkle.
“You will understand now, something of my life, and of the way it was for me. Don’t condemn me in the joy and peace of your present state, but pity me and help me, in the life that I have to live and which I find so difficult.” She pulled her coat collar around her neck. “I loved you Fernando Zambrano as I love you now, and you no longer have the power to stop me saying it,” she sighed as she turned away slowly from the tomb where her love lay, as the church bells tolled solemnly in the distance, and made her way home to her husband ... and to the Manse.
Fern’s last letter to Peter was never signed.
Shona had visited him as usual in the hospital and had cuddled him in her love, but as she pressed her lips to his ear, to tickle him with her love talk, Fern slipped away peacefully from all his suffering and pain.
Conclusion
THE YOUNG FOAL mirrored himself in the waters of the lakelet and lowered his head to drink. His gangling spindle-legs tottered in an effort to support his frame as he leaned forward to slurp the pure liquid, causing ever-increasing circles on the surface of the water to disturb his vision and the water sparkled and glistened in the sunlight as his limpid eyes became blurred. He closed them as he continued lazily to quench his thirst, but the silence and peace of his function was disturbed by the sound of light hooves treading the slopes nearby and a gazelle, light brown, speckled and white bob-tailed, sped his way with grace over the minute rocks leading to the mountain top. His deft clip-clop movements startled the young colt as he slowly raised his head allowing driblets to fall from his soft wet mouth in plopping disturbance, as atoms returning to source. He blinked and blinked again in wonder at the sight before him and the fawn returned his gaze of admiration to the sound of a black mane swishing into the air, accompanying an excited neigh. There was a scratching of hooves in simultaneous response. the gazelle gazed on and his sure step of delicate precision over the ice-hard and precarious path that led to his goal, faltered for a moment, before he could rectify his step with his magnetic touch to the earth. Silence encompassed the scene… Even to breathe would disturb and as the colt lowered his head again, the roebuck continued to ascend, glancing back with incomprehensible, yet disturbing sounds of an invitation to follow ... His feet now renewed in agility, he glides in grandeur to entice the solitary figure standing below and the young horse lifts his head from the pool, spluttering his aqueous diamonds into the air, as he too, seeks out a path in which to follow his new-found companion. The sting of desire that will not leave him and which has fired and inflamed his hitherto mundane existence too has injected him. His eyes are alert and bright, quivering with joyful anticipation, as he dreams and longs for the wings of a Pegasus, that he might pursue this obsessive yearning. Wings that would allow him to fly away into the abyss of unknowing, to seek out his destiny and to enrapture his friend with a kindred love and embrace him with warmth under the Pegasus wing…
The End
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