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Authors: Anita Fennelly
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heard her ever doubted the truth of what she said.
Shortly after they had arrived on the island, Tomás began to complain of sickness and dizziness. He stopped eating and became very weak. As his fever worsened, Peig still managed to get some water past his lips and he still spoke to her. When he fell into a coma, she was gripped with fear for him and lit the distress fire. She used all the turf in that blaze, but nobody came to their rescue. He took three days to die in the darkness and the cold. The loneliness and the silence engulfed her. Tomás never regained consciousness to recognise her one last time. He died, leaving her alone. The fire had been dead for three days; she had no means of lighting a candle. While he was alive, there had been the company of his breathing in the darkness. Now there was only the black silence of death as she lay by his body.
During the days that followed, she huddled in the wind and rain at the entrance, waiting and waiting for help to arrive from the Blasket. Why didn’t they see her fire? Why didn’t they come for her? At night, she retreated down the steps to shelter, darkness and the cold body of her dead husband. By the time ten days had passed, the body smelled badly. The stormy weather continued and Peig remained confined in the
clochán
. Finally she decided to drag the body outside. Tomás had been a heavy man, over six foot tall. Peig was slight, and greatly weakened by grief, hunger and cold. She rolled the body to the end of the steps and then began the almost impossible task of dragging his weight up the steps. Hooking her elbows under his armpits, she strained until she cried and screamed with frustration. She couldn’t remember how many days she had spent trying to move the body onto the first step. It began to decompose quickly, making her retch constantly. At night, she began to imagine that it moved, spoke to her and laughed. She screamed at it to get out, but it never would. There was only one thing to do. When it went to sleep, she would take it outside in little pieces. During daylight was the only time that it lay quietly; it would be done then.
The next morning Peig took the knife and began to hack off the arms and legs. She dragged them out singly and tried to bury them, but with no strength left, she barely covered them with grass. Then, as she hacked off the second leg, she recognised it as the body of her husband. It was Tomás. She wanted to kill herself, but she could not, so she crawled in under the fleeces and waited there to die. She could not remember the men finding her, nor could she remember her first six months back in on the Great Blasket Island.
I shivered despite the sunshine as I gazed across at the
clochán
on Inis Tuaisceart. The majesty of the Dead Man, lying oblivious to the eternal dance of sun and storms in the Atlantic Ocean was awe-inspiring, yet it made me uneasy. Sleep brought nightmares and, with those nightmares, the monster returned. I was glad of the three miles between us. How the sheep men had spent a night in that place I just could not understand. I would never go there. It was preferable to admire it from a distance under the warmth of the Blasket sunshine.
Island Romance
O ne day merged into another as my stay on the Great Blasket Island entered its fourth week. The mainland and the events taking place there became irrelevant. My existence had gradually taken on the rhythm of island life. Daylight and darkness, sunshine and rain, determined the pace and process of my day. As the sun arced through the sky and the clouds floated across the sea, every angle offered a fresh perspective on the world. My days were suddenly bursting with life. Each moment pulsed with excitement. With the new dawn I breathed fresh energy.
Morning led me to the isolation at the far end of the island. Evening led me to the communal hearth in Sue’s house. She and I exchanged reports on the seals, the dolphin, the chough family, the falcons, the
Shortly after they had arrived on the island, Tomás began to complain of sickness and dizziness. He stopped eating and became very weak. As his fever worsened, Peig still managed to get some water past his lips and he still spoke to her. When he fell into a coma, she was gripped with fear for him and lit the distress fire. She used all the turf in that blaze, but nobody came to their rescue. He took three days to die in the darkness and the cold. The loneliness and the silence engulfed her. Tomás never regained consciousness to recognise her one last time. He died, leaving her alone. The fire had been dead for three days; she had no means of lighting a candle. While he was alive, there had been the company of his breathing in the darkness. Now there was only the black silence of death as she lay by his body.
During the days that followed, she huddled in the wind and rain at the entrance, waiting and waiting for help to arrive from the Blasket. Why didn’t they see her fire? Why didn’t they come for her? At night, she retreated down the steps to shelter, darkness and the cold body of her dead husband. By the time ten days had passed, the body smelled badly. The stormy weather continued and Peig remained confined in the
clochán
. Finally she decided to drag the body outside. Tomás had been a heavy man, over six foot tall. Peig was slight, and greatly weakened by grief, hunger and cold. She rolled the body to the end of the steps and then began the almost impossible task of dragging his weight up the steps. Hooking her elbows under his armpits, she strained until she cried and screamed with frustration. She couldn’t remember how many days she had spent trying to move the body onto the first step. It began to decompose quickly, making her retch constantly. At night, she began to imagine that it moved, spoke to her and laughed. She screamed at it to get out, but it never would. There was only one thing to do. When it went to sleep, she would take it outside in little pieces. During daylight was the only time that it lay quietly; it would be done then.
The next morning Peig took the knife and began to hack off the arms and legs. She dragged them out singly and tried to bury them, but with no strength left, she barely covered them with grass. Then, as she hacked off the second leg, she recognised it as the body of her husband. It was Tomás. She wanted to kill herself, but she could not, so she crawled in under the fleeces and waited there to die. She could not remember the men finding her, nor could she remember her first six months back in on the Great Blasket Island.
I shivered despite the sunshine as I gazed across at the
clochán
on Inis Tuaisceart. The majesty of the Dead Man, lying oblivious to the eternal dance of sun and storms in the Atlantic Ocean was awe-inspiring, yet it made me uneasy. Sleep brought nightmares and, with those nightmares, the monster returned. I was glad of the three miles between us. How the sheep men had spent a night in that place I just could not understand. I would never go there. It was preferable to admire it from a distance under the warmth of the Blasket sunshine.
Island Romance
O ne day merged into another as my stay on the Great Blasket Island entered its fourth week. The mainland and the events taking place there became irrelevant. My existence had gradually taken on the rhythm of island life. Daylight and darkness, sunshine and rain, determined the pace and process of my day. As the sun arced through the sky and the clouds floated across the sea, every angle offered a fresh perspective on the world. My days were suddenly bursting with life. Each moment pulsed with excitement. With the new dawn I breathed fresh energy.
Morning led me to the isolation at the far end of the island. Evening led me to the communal hearth in Sue’s house. She and I exchanged reports on the seals, the dolphin, the chough family, the falcons, the
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