by T L Harty
He wasn’t answering my question, so it made me nervous. “Do you like being a fixture here?” I asked.
“Let me show you something,” he said.
It occurred to me that he hadn’t spoken yet because the most beautiful Irish accent escaped his lips. The mental notes taken about his appearance were just magnified times ten. My mind, which was so clear just minutes before, thought, show me anything.
The room we were in had a long wall that boasted two large doors. Bruce walked to them, as I concentrated on keeping my eyes upward. When he swung the doors open, the scene before us was something of a winter wonderland. Snow and evergreens as far as the eyes could see.
We stepped out onto the balcony, which had to be over thirty feet high from the ground. “Where are we?” I asked, amazed.
“This is Danu Castle, in Canada…not far from Tracy’s home town,” Bruce informed. “In the day of the Toec tribes, castles weren’t really used. There were stone forts or rounds, but nothing like the grandeur that came later. This castle was built in the hope of a future to come.”
The whole scene was surreal. I looked down, and then upward to another floor. All the construction was of stone. There was a small lake off to one side of the property, before the line of pine trees swallowed up the landscape.
“How long have you been here, Bruce?” I inquired.
“Since I was eighteen,” he answered. “My mom was on the council for years until she died. There was too much of her here to leave it. And some of these women are like sisters to me. I received my training to be a druid here.”
“Hmm. You don’t have a problem with women running the show?” I asked, curious to know his thoughts.
He laughed. “Well, not when they do it with such forethought and care,” he explained. “Men tend to rule with a pride and arrogance of self. Women usually rule with others in mind. It is a wrong mind-set to think of them as ruling. What they really do is serve.”
I thought about his words, and knew that they were true. My decisions were always with Deidra or Rick in mind.
“Do you think it is safe for a council to have unlimited power?” I wondered.
Bruce shook his head. “A council can’t have unlimited power,” he shared, “but if you complete this ring of women, you will certainly be a force to be reckoned with. Our kind has a different view on such things. The world will tell you that power is about exhibiting control, authority or influence over others. True power lies not in the implementation of it, but knowing when it is best not to use it.”
“Huh,” I mumbled, in awe of his words. His disarming smile would not allow for a more intelligible response.
We looked out over the snow-covered fields. I watched my breathe billow from the cool air.
“So, does the name Danu mean anything?” I wondered. “It’s such a pretty name.”
“Danu means knowledge,” Bruce explained. He looked in my direction and put a strand of my wind-blown hair behind my ear. I was unsure if I had goosebumps because of the cold or Bruce’s proximity. “She was the mother goddess of Ireland. They say that all life flowed through her. She was the beginning.” He paused, looking out on the grounds, and continued, “For a place where we are to begin our training, there could be no better name.”
A voice cut through the air, disturbing our conversation. “There you are!” Ann exclaimed, rushing to my side. “Let’s get started.” Ann put her hand on my back to lead me off of the balcony.
“It was really nice meeting you, Bruce,” I said, while being whisked away.
He smiled, bowed his head and said, “The pleasure was mine, Danu.”
Chapter 8- Kildare
Grammy was in a generous mood the next day. She let me sleep in, which was highly unusual. She wasn’t in the room when I awoke, so I assumed she went to enjoy a quiet breakfast on her own or was strolling through the gardens. We had been together practically this whole trip. Some time apart would be refreshing for both parties.
Turning the knob in the shower reminded me of Grammy’s death grip on my hand yesterday. It was still a little sore. For such a small woman, parts of her were very strong. The water warmed up and I jumped in the shower.
It wasn’t long before a vision swirled in my head. Grammy was talking to a gentleman. They must have known each other very well, as this was no light-hearted conversation. He had a clipboard in his hand and was taking notes from what Grammy was telling him. She looked flustered and kept looking off in one direction.
My curiosity got the best of me and I encouraged the vision, attempting to widen my view. The two of them were in a park atmosphere. Judging by the sun’s height, it could be early morning or early evening. Looking around made me lean toward the morning hours, as the birds were very active. Grammy’s hair also still looked wet and she typically showered in the morning.
As I tried to gather more visual clues, I spotted a bench. It was the same bench we had recited poetry on the day before! Could this vision be happening right now? There was only one way to find out. I quickly shook my head to clear the vision, turned off the water and threw my clothes on, over a wet body. There was no time for any undergarments, but the clothes were heavy enough to conceal that I was lacking them.
I shoved my feet in a pair of tennis shoes sans socks, and ran out the door. Slowing down, I nearly went tumbling down the staircase when my foot slid inside the shoe. The stairs were accomplished with a loud suction sound caused by my wet feet, as the carpeting diligently absorbed all traces of my water trail.
Once outside, the mad dash to the back gardens commenced. At the back of the B & B, I could make out two people standing there. My run must have caught their attention because the man exited the lawn immediately. My Grammy sat on the bench, waiting for my arrival.
When almost to her, she cheerily said, “Good Morning, Muriel!”
Her tone changed once she saw that I was soaked from head to toe. “What on Earth?” she asked.
“I saw…,” I tried to speak, completely out of breath. Pointing toward the path in which the man took his leave. I tried once more. “There was a man…clipboard…you,” I shared, still out of breath.
“The gardener?” she asked. She didn’t wait for my answer and scolded, “You don’t expect for me to go to Kildare with you looking like this do you? C’mon, let’s go get you put together so we can nosh on some breakfast. You really look a fright.”
My Grammy was a ninja at changing the topic of conversation. There was more to what went on here this morning. I felt it in my bones. For a vision to come to me, it always had something of importance attached to it. This place was making it impossible to stuff them back down within me or fend them off altogether. Thankfully, we would be leaving tomorrow night.
After getting myself together and grabbing a bite to eat, we walked out into the town. Grammy hailed a taxi.
When the taxi stopped, she spoke to the driver. He nodded his head in agreement. I’m not sure how he understood her. “What did you say?” I asked her.
“I asked if he could take us to Kildare,” she explained, as we got into the car.
“And why is it that not a word of it sounded like English?” I wondered.
“Because your mum spoke Irish, lass,” the driver informed me. “Taxi drivers are required to know both English and Irish. I know a wee bit of French which can be helpful, too.” His warm smile and Grammy’s excitement over being mistaken for my mother, made me reconsider explaining that I was asking my grandmother the question.
Grammy spoke to the driver again in Irish. He answered. He then pulled away from the curb and we were on our way.
“What did you ask him that time?” I wondered.
“I asked if he knew where the Kildare Cathedral was located,” she explained. “I don’t want someone who’s only familiar with the Dublin area.”
“He doesn’t know it that well,” I assumed.
“Why would you say that?” Grammy asked. “He said yes.”
“Th
e Irish word for yes must be a really long one,” I observed. “He spoke to you for quite some time.” The scene from earlier in the garden was fueling more, unwarranted suspicions.
Grammy smiled. “The Irish don’t have a word for yes or no in their language,” she shared.
“What!” I shrieked in disbelief.
The driver chimed in, “It’s true, lass. We love language here. Anytime you answer a question in Irish, the answer has to be a complete sentence. So, let’s say someone asks you if you like to eat pig’s feet, what would you say?”
“No,” I answered.
“That works in English, but not Irish,” he informed. “You would have to say something like: I don’t like pig’s feet at all. The Irish have always been fans of a good chin wag. That’s how people were immortalized…either by a good poem or song.”
The driver started singing, “Songs of our land, ye are with us forever, the power and the splendor of thrones pass away.”
Grammy and he continued together, “But yours is the might of some far flowing river, through summer’s bright roses or autumn’s decay.”
The driver put his hand up to stop Grammy, and said, “That is as much as I know.”
“I’m not sure how much farther I could go either,” Grammy laughed. “What is your name, sir?”
“My name is Ardan,” he answered.
“Ah, yes,” Grammy acknowledged, “one of the sons of Usna, who helped Deidra escape to Scotland, so she didn’t have to marry Conchobar.”
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “I rarely come across people here that know where my name originates. I am impressed!”
Grammy waved it off, but she was a little proud of herself. During the trip out to Kildare, the two of them jibber-jabbered in their Irish tongue. They were having a fabulous time.
The meeting in the garden was still troubling me. What does a gardener need with a clipboard? And even if that was a gardener, he certainly wasn’t asking Grammy for advice. Gramps was the green thumb in the family. There wasn’t much I despised more than being lied to, but it would appear that I didn’t have a choice in the matter.
When we pulled up to a very intimidating cathedral, the chatter subsided. Our destination loomed before us. The clouds overhead looked ready to release their rains at any moment. The grounds outside the cathedral lawn were sparsely dotted with headstones. There appeared to be no rhyme or reason to their location. Some were in the shape of crosses, while others were rounded or squared. Time had pressed upon them, causing them to lean slightly. The view out the car window was haunting.
Ardan broke the silence, and asked, “So, you want me to just leave you here?” He may have been unsure about the look of the place, too.
“We are going to be in Kildare all day,” Grammy explained. “We’ll get a cab back when we’re done.”
“I tell you what,” Ardan proposed. “How ‘bout I turn off the meter, and tool around with you ladies today? When it’s time to return, I’ll turn the meter back on. Besides, this is quite a ways from Dublin. You may not find someone willin’ to take ya back!”
Grammy smacked the back of his chair, and exclaimed, “Deal!”
He backed up, so the car could be parked in the small lot adjacent to the church. When we opened the car doors, we were greeted by a cool breeze. Grammy rifled through her purse, pulling out a rain poncho that was in a case the size of a makeup compact.
She and Ardan walked ahead. “I’ll be there in a minute,” I announced. “I’d like to stay out here for a while, before it rains.”
“O.K.,” Grammy agreed. They both walked on toward the cathedral.
I was inexplicably drawn to the greenery nearby. Walking over to the tree and other bushes, it was apparent that this foliage could not have been around when this church was built, but there was some kind of brilliance that drew me to this area. I bent down to rub the soil and grab a few of the stones that were strewn about. The earth was rich with memories that played before me like a movie. If I had been a film critic, there would be no way to classify the genre of the movie. It had everything from horror to romance…comedy to drama. It contained centuries of life.
When the scenes had stopped, I lifted my hands, wiping away tears. One look at the sky, told me it wouldn’t be long before the clouds burst open, and the rain came down. Setting my sights toward the cathedral door, I jogged to the building. When the door shut behind me, the rain fell.
I turned around with a triumphant smile to find Grammy, Ardan and a priest looking at me. Grammy frowned at me, and although it was not an ideal greeting- I walked over to join them. Ardan laughed.
“Go use the bog and get yourself together,” Grammy snapped. It wasn’t like her to be so curt. I also had never heard the term bog used in that way, but I assumed that it meant restroom. Where else would I go to get myself together?
It was a long car ride, so a trip to the bog was in order anyway. After using the facilities, I exited the stall to see my reflection in the mirror. I had lines of dirt all across my face from wiping away the tears. No wonder Ardan was laughing and Grammy was a little peeved. My days of making mud pies in the yard were over, but you would never know it by my appearance.
After washing my face, I came out and joined the group. The rains must have kept people away today because the three of us were the only ones visiting.
The priest welcomed me back and began a mini-tour. “This is the Cathedral Church of St. Brigid,” started the priest. “We only know that this building was restored sometime after 1223 AD. There were many buildings erected here over the years, all to be destroyed. At least 15 buildings were destroyed in the ninth and tenth century alone.”
This was old news to me, and not nearly as interesting as what I had seen.
“Can you tell us something about St. Brigid?” Grammy asked.
“There are many miracles attributed to her…” he began.
That was all I heard before walking out of earshot. Something was beckoning me toward the front of the cathedral, very similarly to what happened outside. When I arrived at the transept, there was a monument of some sort, to one side. The placard read: Walter Wellesley. There had been many tombs on this trip, and this one was the most unremarkable of all.
The sound of stone being shaped with tools rang through the air. This must be another vision coming on. How irritating that keeping them suppressed was near-impossible in this country. It wasn’t the making of the tomb or the church that caused the ruckus. I saw various women carving stone- shaping them into grotesque little statues. A statue I had seen before at another cathedral just a couple of days before.
The carvings were not a pleasure to the eye. Then, the history unfolded…understanding came, which changed everything. The visions dissipated, while the noise of clanging stone could still be heard above my head. Looking up, I saw one of the very sculptures that were being carved in the visions.
I spoke out loud, “Sheela-na-gig.”
“That’s right.” said the priest. “How did you know that?”
He startled me with his presence. Grammy glared in my direction. I was skating on thin ice, so there would be no response. Instead, I walked away to the front of the cathedral.
“Sorry,” Grammy apologized for me. “You know how teenagers can be.”
We walked around the grounds once the rain stopped. There was plenty to see- a round tower, Brigid’s fire temple and Brigid’s well. The view from the top of the round tower was very cool. It was only one of two towers that could be climbed in all of Ireland.
While we were outside, it was easy to keep my distance from the others. The priest was practically giving Ardan and Grammy a private tour. If I stayed away, there would be no temptation to argue with his historical view or inform him of pieces of it he was leaving out.
Any time I took a pause to stop somewhere or slow down, visions visited. This land would not be denied the right to tell its story, so I listened.
While strolling back from Brigid’s well, a ra
indrop fell on my face. Or at least, I believed it to be. Three or four additional raindrops would need to be experienced before actually deeming this was rain. It didn’t take long for me to be convinced, as my stroll turned into a jog.
Grammy was in the cathedral, and there were now a few other tourists milling around. They must have come during the break in the weather. I hadn’t noticed. Grammy saw me enter and approached.
“Ardan had to use the restroom,” Grammy shared. “When he gets out, we can go get some lunch.”
“Lunch,” I questioned, “what time is it?”
“It’s a little past one,” Grammy said. “We’ve been here for almost two hours.”
Interesting. It didn’t feel like we had been here that long, although I had enjoyed this stop more than many of the others. It may have something to do with the fact that my hand wasn’t being crushed…or that I was walking away from here, instead of being dragged.
Ardan joined us and we walked to the car in silence. It was still raining, so the only noises to be heard were the tings of the rain and Grammy’s plastic rain poncho rustling as we walked. When we got into the car, Grammy removed the poncho.
“This has to dry before it can be put in the case,” she said. “I need to leave it out anyway, in the event we get more rain.”
This was one of those moments that I chose to be a good sport, nodding my head in agreement. The truth is that Grammy hated whenever she had to take that poncho out. She would always brag about the slim case or that she was dryer than the rest of us, but trying to get it back in the case had brought her to tears on one occasion. She dreaded the task, so sometimes the poncho was “dried” for a week or two when we were at home.
“Ardan,” Grammy started, “you pick a restaurant and I’ll buy.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” he argued. “A woman shouldn’t buy a plate for a man.”
“It’s a tradition in America,” I fibbed. “It’s called ‘you fly-I buy.’ It means that the person who picks up the food or drives to get it doesn’t purchase the food. Since you are driving, it’s only fair.”