by her subjects and perhaps
they buried her on the remote
mountaintop of Knocknarea
where her spirit could
do no harm.
I tried to envision this queen
hoping that Rebecca would read my thoughts
and comment
telling me
that women in Ireland rarely
steal bulls
anymore.
But instead, I only heard the wind.
Knocknarea
The drive to Knocknarea was through
an enchanted land:
green fields
and stone walls
sheep and cows
and old men sitting on benches
looking like they were from another century
and didn’t give a damn about this one.
I drove with difficulty and shaky hands
and Seamus talked.
Finally as we pulled into
the small parking lot at the base of Knocknarea,
I interrupted him
How do I find the girl?
I asked.
How do I find Rebecca?
Maybe you don’t
he said, smiling.
Maybe she’ll find you
if she’s ready.
The trail was steep and full of rocks.
Seamus sang
In the merry month of May
from me home I started
Left the girls of Tuam
nearly broken-hearted
Saluted father dear,
kissed me darling mother
Drank a pint of beer,
me grief and tears to smother
and so on.
A little way along I caught the smell of cow shit
as earthy as I had imagined it.
At that moment nothing could have smelled sweeter.
The top was blustery and cold
and before us was that giant pile of rocks
each stone placed where it should be by human hands
from Neolithic times.
The cairn was a monument and a grave
and considered by some to be sacred.
The view was magnificent
just as I had seen in the vision
that Rebecca put in my head.
Is this one of the thin places?
I asked as I stared at the stones
and let the wind whip my hair into a frenzy.
Don’t get much thinner
than this
Seamus reported.
And I expected any minute for Rebecca
the flesh and blood Rebecca
to walk from behind the cairn
and take my hand.
But she did not.
Instead
clouds slowly shifted in from the west
and the wind increased
and pelting cold rain
fell from the heavens.
We turned
and clambered down
the sides of Knocknarea
breathing hard
and fast
as we hurried
and stumbled
on the never-ending stones
once walked upon
by the ancients.
After Knocknarea
On the subject of women Seamus was surprisingly mute.
I was a smitten teenage boy
in love (or at least believing he was in love)
with the girl of his
dreams.
Literallycome to think of it.
Days passed after Knocknarea
and she did not appear.
Ireland is a big place
Seamus reminded me.
She could be in Donegal or County Clare
or Tipperary or Cork.
He suggested I was in trouble though
if she were to be living in Dublin
but he wouldn’t explain why
except to say he didn’t trust that dirty city
or anyone in it.
I asked him why he lived alone
and why he had not married.
This brought a faraway look to his eyes
and at first I thought he wouldn’t say a word.
But then the floodgates opened.
Seamus Speaks
I was a mere country lad meself
and had not a care in the world
except to work on McGonnigle’s farm
mucking around with the cows and such
and meeting up with me mates for a pint at the pub.
And then I met Katherine.
Long dark hair and fair of skin
and eyes that would look into your very soul.
Her father hated me
as fathers do when a young man
captures a daughter’s heart
and I tried to convince him of my worth
which was an utter failure on my part.
She was Catholic and I was Protestant
but if you had asked me to choose between
God and the girl I loved
it would have been no contest at all.
Still
these things
these differences
run deep in this country.
Katherine had ambition and wanted to go
to university.
A rare thing for a girl from these parts
in those days.
But I was all for that
and would follow her to the ends of the earth
even to Dublin if need be.
And then she got pregnant
and she did not tell me.
I knew something had changed
but had no idea
what must have been
going through her mind.
She went somewhere
to Limerick I think
and had the pregnancy terminated.
Abortion was not legal, of course
and had she told me
I would have convinced her to keep the baby.
We
would have kept the baby.
But she didn’t.
Afterward
when she came home
there was an infection.
She died.
And a big part of me
died with her.
Her father tried to kill me.
Once with a peat spade
and once with an axe
and he would have satisfied us both
had he succeeded
but in the end he couldn’t do it
and we both fell to this very floor beneath you
Declan
weeping
until the neighbours came.
And after that
well
after that
here you see me.
There’s not much more to say.
Paths to Nowhere
After a few uneventful days
Uncle Seamus said I should take the car
any time I wanted.
My driving by now
had improved.
I studied the road maps and found
my way to other ancient places:
Carrowmore
and Carrowkeel
with more piles of rocks and dolmans
(stone tombs said to have passages to other worlds)
but not a sign of Rebecca.
Like Uncle Seamus
I feltlikeI had lost
the love
of my life.
On my way home one day
I stopped at the old church in the town of Drumcliff
and found the grave of the Irish poet
W.B. Yeats
with its inscription:
“Cast a cold Eye
On Life, on Death,
Horseman, pass by.”
Towering above the graveyard
was the mountain
called Benbulben.
I drove down a potholed single-track road around its base
and hiked up into fields and forest paths
to find a way
to the summit
buried in the clouds.
Surely, there I would hear her voice
or see her in my
mind’s eye.
But I failed to find a path
allowing me a way up.
And then
all alone in an empty pasture
a dark cloud descended
the very sky
dropping down on me
like nothing I’d ever known
and again I felt terribly alone
and abandoned.
Something had gone out
of the world.
Not just the sun
not just my old familiar life
but now
I was losing hope I’d ever see Rebecca again.
I felt hollow
and weak
and lost
as that great malignant cloud
first swallowed the top of Benbulben
then settled on the field
and swallowed me
Saved by a Horse
I sat there on a great cold stone
and thought I
would cry.
At my feet I noticed
a small mound of sand
as if something created
by ants.
But the sand itself puzzled me.
When I looked up
there was a horse.
A pony, really.
I would learn later it was
a Connemarapony.
It appeared coming throughthe mist
walking my way.
A pale grey-white creature with magnificent eyes
walking straight to meas if
I had called out to it.
I reached outand was permitted to touch
her headstroke her back.
I imagined there was something spiritual
about this beautiful creature
who stood there beside me
as if protecting mefrom something unknown
or from myselfperhaps.
But I still sank deeper into my gloom
until the horse bowed its head
and nudged my side
almost knocking me off my stone perch.
For unknown reasons
I bent over
and scooped some sand
(no ants)
and dumped it in my pocket.
ThenI began to walk
down toward where I had parked the car.
The horse followed me to a fence
and before I climbed over
I saw that there was a single ancient
standing stone behind me in the field
a monument to what, I didn’t know.
The horse watched as I placed
my hands
on the stone
half expecting some message to come to me
from another time.
And then I heard a voice
a whisper really.
I looked around
but saw nothing.
Then I heard it again:
Keep looking
she said.
I need you
to find me.
The Lonely Man
He appeared to me again in my sleep
standing by his stone hut.
His eyes pierced me and frightened me.
I woke up
shaking.
I must have screamed as well
because Seamus came into my room
and turned on the light.
Lad?
He asked.
Are you all right?
It was just a dream
I said.
Perhaps
he said.
This girl who’s haunting you
perhaps
she’s a witch
and she is trying
to do you harm.
And then he told me about the eight witches
of Islandmagee
on trial in 1711.
Hauntings
On the peninsula of Islandmagee
in County Antrim
a widow awoke one night and found
her sheets and blankets ripped off
and folded into the shape of a corpse.
Rocks were thrown at her windows
and she heard voices telling her
she would die.
And die she did
in awful pain.
Later, the woman’s knotted apron was found
by a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl
named Mary
who untied the knots.
Immediately after
she began to see demon horses in the clouds
and saw a nightgown walking by itself.
Mary had become possessed
and vomited pins and buttons
shouted and screamed hysterically
and was seen floating above her bed.
Eight women in the village
were charged with being witches.
They were later convicted
and thrown into filthy dungeons
in Carrickfergus.
But they survived.
The people of Islandmagee
were convinced they
were witches
but not the only ones
causing mayhem.
Belief
I told Seamus.
I don’t believe in witches.
But you’re in Ireland, now
he said.
You already told me you came here
looking for the special places
where the spirit world is closer
to the physical world.
But it’s not like that
I insisted.
There is nothing evil about Rebecca.
He gave me a funny smile
as
he so often did and said
Well, we’re all glad of that.
And I told him about what woke me
not Rebecca
but the man.
Describe where he lived.
So I described the stone hut
and the boat.
It’s called a currach
Seamus said
a boat made from a wooden frame
with animal skins stretched over it.
It can be rowed by one or more men
out to sea for fishing.
And then he added for emphasis
Your friend
he’s a fisherman.
He lives by the sea.
I was staring at the floor now
and noticed the sand
a small sprinkling of it
on the worn floorboards
that must have spilled from
my jacket pocket.
Beaches
Seamus wrote me a list
of all the beaches h
e knew of
in County Sligo and beyond.
He offered to join me in my search
and seemed rather disappointed
when I said I needed
to go at it alone.
I drove first south to Strandhill
with its dunes
true mountains of sand.
I trudged to the tops
and back down to the stony beach
but grand as it was
I saw no fisherman’s hut
felt no presence of spirit.
Before I left the town
I stopped in a little shop
called Shells
run by surfers
where I bought a piece of amethyst
for my mother.
It made me feel homesick
for the first time.
I missed her
and my father as well
and began to doubt
why I was here.
As I walked back toward the shore
I heard my father’s clear voice of reason
saying
there was nothing here to find.
I had followed a foolish notion
to a foreign shore
where I didn’t belong.
The Coasts of Sligo
But later that day
my father’s cold logic faded
as I passed green fields
and sunlit lakes.
I was getting good with the driving
and following
the map Seamus had given me
marked with the coves and beaches:
Rossnowlagh, Mullaghmore
Raghly, Moneygold.
Some of the beaches were in towns
and some were tourist destinations
and nothing felt right
but I walked them all
inch by inch
waiting for her voice
waiting for something.
Call from Home
It was my father.
Your mother told me why
you are really in Ireland
he said
his voice filled with anger.
You are to come home at once.
I would
if I could
I said.
But I can’t.
Put on your Uncle Seamus.
So I handed Seamus the phone.
I could hear my father shouting at him:
Seamus, you old fool
do one sensible thing in your life
and put my boy on a feckin’ plane.
Send him back home.
And I could see Seamus getting angry himself
but he held the phone away from his ear
and said nothing in return.
When my father’s rage subsided