One evening it was supper-time once more, and after supper Mary said, ‘Daddy, can I borrow your boat?’
‘Oh yes, Mary, my dear,’ he said, ‘you can borrow the boat. I’m sure I’m finished – we’ve finished our day’s work. You can have the boat.’ It wasn’t far across to row the little boat, maybe several hundred yards to the wee island in the loch. And the old woman and the old man sat by the fire.
Once Mary had walked out the door and said ‘good-bye’ to her father and mother, the old woman turned round and said to her husband, ‘There she goes again. That’s her gone again.’
Mary’s father turned round and he said, ‘What do you mean? Margaret, what do you mean – you know Mary always goes off, an-and-and enjoys herself in the boat.’
She said, ‘Angus, you don’t know what I mean: it’s not you that has got to go down to the village and listen to the whispers of the people, and the talk and the wagging tongues.’
He says, ‘Woman, what are you talking about?’
She says, ‘I’m talking about your daughter.’
Angus didn’t know what to say … he said, ‘What’s wrong with my daughter? I’m sure she works hard and she deserves a little time by herself – what’s the trouble, was there something that you needed done that she didn’t do?’
‘Not at all,’ she said, ‘that’s not what I’m talking about.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘tell me what you’re trying to say!’
She said, ‘Angus, it’s Mary – the people in the village are beginning to talk.’
‘And what are they saying,’ he said, ‘about my daughter?’ And he started to get angry.
‘They’re talking about Mary going off herself in her boat to the island and spending all her time there, she’s done that now for close on five years. And they say she doesn’t go to any dances, she doesn’t go to any parties and she doesn’t accept any invitations to go anywhere and she has no boyfriend! And the wagging tongues in the village are talking about this. It’s getting through to me and I just don’t like it.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘Mother, I’m sure there’s nothing in the world that should upset you about that; I’m sure Mary’s minding her own business! And if she’s out there, she’s no skylarking with some young man – would you rather have her skylarking around the village with some young man or something? And destroying herself and bringing back a baby or something to you – would you enjoy that better?’
‘It’s not that, Angus,’ she said, ‘it’s just that Mary is so unsociable.’ But anyway, they argued and bargued for about an hour and they couldn’t get any further.
By the time they were finished Mary came in again. She was radiant and happy. She came over, kissed her mother and kissed her daddy, said, ‘Daddy, I pulled the boat up on the beach, and everything’s all right.’
He says, ‘All right, Daughter, that’s nice.’
‘And,’ she says, ‘Daddy, the tide is coming in and some of the corks of the net are nearly sunk, so I think we’ll have a good fishing in the morning. I’ll be up bright and early to give you a hand.’
He said, ‘Thank you, Mary, very much.’
And she kissed her mother and said, ‘I’ll just have a small something to eat and I’ll go to bed.’
But anyway, the old woman was unsettled. ‘There she goes again,’ she says, ‘that’s all we get.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘what more do you expect? She’s doing her best, Mother. She’s enjoying herself.’
‘What is she doing on that island? That’s what I want to know.’
Said the old man to Margaret, ‘Well, she’s no doing any harm out there.’
So the next morning they were up bright and early, had their breakfast. And Mary went out with her father, collected the nets, collected the fish, and they graded the fish and kept some for themselves. Then they went into the village and sold the rest, came back home, had their supper. It was a beautiful day.
And Mary said, ‘Is there anything you want me to do, Mother?’
‘Well no, Mary,’ she says, ‘everything is properly done: the washing’s finished and the cleaning’s finished, and I was just making some jam; and I’m sure your father’s going to sit down and have a rest because he’s had a hard day.’
Mary turned round and she said, ‘Father, could I borrow your boat?’ once again.
‘I’m sure, my dear,’ he says, ‘you can have the boat. Take the boat. Now be careful because there might be a rise of a storm.’
‘I’ll be all right, Father,’ she said, ‘I don’t think it’s going to – the sky looks so quiet and peaceful. I doubt if we’ll have a storm the night.’ And away she goes.
But as soon as she takes off in the boat, oh, her mother gets up. ‘That’s it, there she goes again,’ she said. ‘To put my mind at rest, would you do something for me?’
Angus says, ‘What is it you want now, woman?’
‘Look,’ she said, ‘would you relieve my mind for me: would you go down and borrow Lachy’s boat, your cousin Lachy’s boat, and row out to the island see what Mary does when she goes there? It’ll put my mind at rest.’
‘That’s no reason for me to go out,’ he said. ‘Let the lassie enjoy herself if she wants to enjoy herself! There’s no reason for me to go out – I’m sure there’s no one within miles. Maybe she’s wading on the beach and she sits there, an-and-and maybe she has some books with her, and she – she likes to be by herself.’
But no. She says, ‘Look, do something for me, husband! Would you go out, Angus, and see what she does?’
So Angus said, ‘Och, dash it, woman! To keep you happy, I’ll go out and see what she’s doing. It’s only a waste of time anyway.’ So he walks down; it was only about two hundred yards down to Lachy’s cottage.
Lachy had the same kind of boat. He was sitting at the fire; he had never married; their fathers had been brothers. Lachy stayed in this cottage, he was an old retired seaman and he always liked to keep a boat. ‘Well, it’s yourself, Angus!’ he said. ‘Come away in. And come you, sit down and we’ll have a wee dram.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘Lachy, I’m not here for a dram.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘what sent you down? It’s not often you come for a visit.’
‘I was wondering,’ he said, ‘if you would let me borrow your boat for a few minutes?’
And Lachy said, ‘Well, what’s the trouble?’
‘Ach, it’s no trouble, really,’ he said, ‘I was just wanting to borrow your boat for maybe half an hour or so.’
‘Well, what is wrong with your own boat?’
‘Och,’ he said, ‘Mary’s using it.’
And Lachy said, ‘Och, that’s Mary off on her gallivant to the island again. And you want to follow the lassie and see what she’s doing. If I was you I would leave her alone. Come on, sit down and have a dram with me and forget about it.’
But old Angus was so persistent, ‘I want to borrow your boat.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘take the dashit thing and away you go!’
He takes the boat and he rows across to the island and he lands on the small beach. There was Mary’s boat beached. And he pulls his cousin Lachy’s boat up beside Mary’s, and beaches it. And he walks up a path – it was well worn because Mary had walked up this path many many times – he follows the path up, goes over a little knowe. There are some rocks and a few trees, and down at the back of the island is a small kind of valley-shaped place that leads out to the sea. Then there’s a beach, on the beach is a large rock. And beside the rock is a wee green patch. Old Angus came walking up, taking his time – looked all around and looked all around.
There were a few seagulls flying around and a few birds wading along the beach because the tide was on the ebb. And he heard the laughing coming on. Giggling and laughing – this was Mary, carrying on. And he came up over the knowe, he looked down – here was Mary with a large seal, a grey seal. And they were having the greatest fun you’ve ever seen: they were wrestling i
n the sand, carrying on and laughing, the seal was grunting and Mary was flinging her arms around the seal! So Angus stopped, he sat down and watched for a wee while.
He said, ‘Ach, I’m sure she’s doing no harm, it’s only a seal. And her mother was so worried about it. She’s enjoying herself; probably she’s reared it up from a pup and she comes over to feed it, and I’m sure it won’t do her any harm. She’s better playing with a seal than carrying on with a young bachle as far as I’m concerned!’ So, he takes his boat and he rows home, gives his cousin Lachy back the boat, lights his pipe and walks up to his own home. He comes in through the door and his old wife old Margaret is waiting on him.
She said, ‘You’re home, Angus.’
‘Aye, I’m home,’ he said, ‘Margaret, I’m home. And thanks be praised to God I am home!’
She said, ‘Did you see Mary?’
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I saw Mary. She’s out on the island.’
‘And what is she doing? Is she sitting – what is she doing?’
He said, ‘She’s enjoying herself.’
Old Margaret said, ‘What way is she enjoying herself – is she wading on the beach or something?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘she’s not wading on the beach.’
‘Is she reading?’
‘No, she’s not reading,’ he said. ‘She’s playing herself with a seal.’
She said, ‘What did you say?’
He said, ‘She’s playing herself – she has the best company in the world and she’s enjoying herself – she’s playing with a seal! A large grey seal. They’re having great fun and I didn’t interfere.’
She said, ‘Angus, Mary’s enchanted. It’s one of the sea-people that’s taken over. Your daughter is finished – ruined for evermore. I’ve heard stories from my grandmother how the sea-people take over a person and take them away for evermore, they’re never seen again – she’s enchanted. What kind of a seal was it?’
He said, ‘It was a grey seal and they were having good fun so I didn’t interfere.’
She said, ‘If you want to protect your daughter and you want to have your daughter for any length of time, you’d better get rid of the seal!’
He says, ‘Margaret, I couldn’t interfere with them. It’s Mary’s pet.
‘I don’t care if it’s Mary’s pet or no,’ she said, ‘tomorrow morning you will take your gun and go out, instead of going to the fish you’ll go out and you’ll shoot that seal and destroy it for evermore!’
‘But,’ he said, ‘it’s Mary’s pet – she probably reared it up unknown to us, she probably reared it up from a young pup, and it’s not for me to destroy the seal, the thing she has to play with.’
‘I’m sure she can find plenty of company in the village instead of going out there to the island!’ But the argument went on, and they argued and argued and finally old Margaret won.
He lighted his pipe to have a smoke before going to bed. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘in the morning I’ll go out and see.’
Then Mary came home and she was so radiant and so bright, so happy. She came in and kissed her daddy and kissed her mummy. She had a cup of tea and asked Mummy and Daddy if they needed anything or wanted anything done.
And they said, ‘No, Mary.’ The old woman was a wee bit kind of dubious. She wasn’t just a wee bit too pleased.
And Mary saw this. She said, ‘Is there something wrong, Mother?’
‘No, Mary,’ she said, ‘there’s nothing wrong.’
‘Well, I’m going off to my bed.’ Mary went to her bed. In these cottages in times long ago in the little crofts, the elderly people stayed down on the floor and there was a small ladder that led up to the garret in the roof. If you had any children they had their beds in the garret. Mary lived upstairs.
So the next morning Angus got up early. And before he even had any breakfast, he went ben the back of the house and took his gun. He loaded his gun and took his boat and he rowed out to the island, before Mary was up. And he walked up the path, the way Mary usually went, over the little hillock, down the little path to the little green part beside the bare rock – sure enough, sitting there sunning himself in the morning sun was the seal.
Angus crept up as close as he could – he fired the shot at the seal, hit the seal. And the seal just reared up – fell, and then crawled, made its way into the sea, hobbled its way into the water and disappeared. ‘That’s got you,’ he said.
And then he felt queer. A funny sensation came over him. And he sat down, he felt so funny – as if he had shot his wife or his daughter. A sadness came over him. And he sat for a long while, then he left the gun down beside him and he looked at the gun … he felt that he had done something terrible. He felt so queer.
So he picked up the gun, walked back to his boat and he could barely walk, he felt so sick. He put the gun in the boat. He sat for a while before he could even take off in the boat and he had the queer sensation, a feeling of loss was within him, a terrible feeling of loss – that something he had done could never be undone … he could hardly row the boat. But he finally made his way back to the mainland, tied up his boat, picked up the gun and put it back in the cupboard. He walked in and old Margaret was sitting there.
She said, ‘You’re back, Angus.’
He said, ‘Yes I’m back.’
She said, ‘Did you do what I told you to do?’
‘Yes, Mother,’ he said, ‘I did what you – what you told me to do.’
She said, ‘Did you see the seal?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I saw the seal. And I shot the seal.’
She sat down. ‘Are you wanting …’
‘No, I don’t want any breakfast,’ he said.
She says, ‘Are you feeling …’
‘No, I’m not feeling very well. I’m not feeling very well at all.’
She says, ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘I feel terrible, I feel queer and I feel so kind of sad … I’ve done something wrong and you forced me to it, I hope in the future that you’ll be sorry for it.’
‘Och,’ she said, ‘it’s only a seal!’ But they said no more. by this time Mary had come down.
She said, ‘Good morning, Father; good morning, Mother,’ and she sat down at the table as radiant as a flower and had some breakfast. ‘Are you not eating, Daddy?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘Daughter, I don’t …’
She said, ‘Are you not feeling very well?’ And she came over and stroked her father’s head. ‘Are you not feeling very well, Father?’
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I’m feeling fine, Mary. I’m just not, just – what I should be.’ And the mother tried to hide her face in case Mary could see something in her face that would – a giveaway in her face, you know.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘Father, are you ready to go out to lift the net?’
‘Well, Mary, to tell you the truth,’ he said, ‘I don’t think the tide’ll be on the – the out-going tide won’t be for a while yet. No, I think I’ll sit here and have a smoke.’
‘Mother,’ she says, ‘are you needing anything done?’
‘No, Mary,’ she said, ‘we don’t need anything done.’ Now they wanted to try and be as canny with her as possible. They didn’t want to upset her in any way. And the mother said, ‘No, Mary, I think everything’s done. There’s only a little cleaning to be done and I think I’ll manage.’
Mary says, ‘Well, after I milk the cow, Father, would it be all right if I take the boat?’
‘Och, yes, Daughter, go ahead and help yourself to the boat,’ he said, ‘I’m sure you can have the boat any time. You don’t need to ask me for the boat, just take it whenever you feel like it.’
So Mary milked the cow, brought in the milk and set the basins for the cream, and did everything that was needing to be done. She said, ‘Good-bye, Mother, I’ll see you in a while. I’m just going off for a while to be by myself – I’ll be back before very long.’
Mother said, ‘There she goe
s again! If you tell me it’s true, she’ll be home sadder and wiser.’
But old Angus never said a word. He just sat and smoked his pipe. And he still had this – as if a lump were in his heart. And he was under deep depression, just didn’t want to get up, just wanted to sit. He had this great terrible feeling of loss.
So Mary rowed the boat over to the island. And he sat by the fire and he smoked and he smoked and he smoked. Maggie called him for dinner and the day passed by, but Mary never returned. Evening meal came, Mary never returned. Her mother began to get worried.
She came down and she said, ‘Angus, has Mary come home? It’ll soon be time for milking the cow again.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘Mary has never come.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘she – would you go down and see if the boat’s in? Has she tied up the boat? Maybe she walked down to the village.’
Angus went out and there was no sign of the boat. ‘No,’ he said, ‘the boat—’
‘Well, she’s not home. If the boat’s not home, she’s not home,’ she said. ‘I doubt something’s happened to her … I doubt something’s happened to her – Angus, you’ll have to go and see what, you’ll have to go out to the island. Go down and get Lachy’s boat and go out to the island and see.’
So Angus goes down, just walks down and takes Lachy’s boat, never asks permission, just pulls the rope, unties the rope and jumps in the boat. He had the feeling that he doesn’t even worry what happens, he’s so upset. And he rows out to the island and there’s Mary’s boat. And he pulls the boat in because the beach was quite shallow. And he lays the boat beside Mary’s boat, his own boat. And he walks up the path, over the little hillock, down by the big rock to the little bay and the green patch beside the big rock, and walks right down where he saw the seal. He looks. The side of the rock was splattered with the blood where he had shot the seal. And he walks round the whole island, which wasn’t very big, walks the whole island round – all he saw was a few spots of blood. Nowhere did he find Mary. Mary had completely disappeared, there wasn’t a sign of her, not even a footprint. And he walked round once, he walked round twice and he went round a third time; every tree, every bush, every rock he searched, but Mary was gone.
The King and the Lamp Page 14