LAST EDITED ON 08-10-03 AT 01:03 AM (EST)The following days passed happily for Raymond and Eveleen as they spent time talking and joking with friends in the market, or exploring the terrain. Muriel would often join them on their wanderings, although he would have preferred to be alone with the woman who was rapidly becoming as much of a liberator as his writing. Discovery and infatuation worked in tandem, generating a creative flow that intensified every time the two were together. Raymond always brought his notebook, often sitting under trees, in clumps of clover, or leaning against rocks as Eveie or her sister described the various legends surrounding the places they showed him. It never ceased to amaze him how connected they were to the land. It was as if they were not just living in Ireland, but were part of it. He would watch Eveie as she caressed a tree or cradled a flower in her hand to show him some new aspect of it, and described the spirit that embodied it. He would listen to her, drinking in every word but never truly understanding her passionate connection with it.
He recognized it to some degree. The Admiral would talk about the sea in much the same manner, and Raymond, while liking the sea well enough, could never quite muster up the same fervor. In truth, he seemed always to be looking elsewhere, to a new horizon or shore. He didn’t realize it, but his connection was to the sky, and the freedom it implied simply by its vast emptiness. Most of the things he wrote were about the vistas, skies or birds he saw. Muriel had seen it when she would sneak peeks when he was busy pursing her sister for kisses underneath trees, or stokes behind boulders. Eveie noticed it when those pursuits were interrupted by a bird in flight, or a new cloud formation. Raymond, however, seemed to be blind to it.
Sensing that he was not as blind as he pretended to be, she decided to show him a place where she knew he could feel it for himself. One morning, after gently telling a pouting Muriel that she could not tag along, she asked him to get in the wagon, without any other explanation. She would drive him to Tara, the ancient place. They drove along the road and laughed as he moved closer to her every time the wagon bumped over a hump in the road. Eventually they were so close that they could share the reigns, and he could feel her soft curves against him. They rode this way until she finally drew the wagon to a stop. They silently climbed the emerald green mountain until they were almost to the top. She stopped him just before they reached the rise, and told him to close his eyes.
Leading him to the top, she spoke softly. “Let go of yourself and open your eyes.”
Raymond drew in his breath at the majesty rolled our before him. Green grasses, deep and dark in some spots and lighter and longer in others, stretched for miles, dotted with the purples, pinks, yellows, and golden hues of wildflowers. Morning mists rolled down the surrounding hills like great waves from a sea storm. They diffused into strands at the valley floor below, where herds of sheep grazed on the dewed clover. A light breeze blew across the grass creating patterns on the landscape. Raymond stood marveling at both the view and the heady feeling exploding from his brain. He was transfixed, his notebook forgotten as he immersed himself in ethereal beauty.
“You can feel them, can’t ya?”
“Them?”
“The ones who lived here,” Eveleen explained. “Tara is a sacred place. St. Patrick himself stood here, as did all the kings, and knights who fought for Ireland. They lived and loved and fought for her here, and you can feel their spirits carrying on.”
“No fairies, eh?” he said, pleased that he could tease her about her narrations. “I thought there were always fairies about.”
Laughing, she simply said, “no fairy can compete with St. Patrick, dearie. ‘Twould not surprise me to find him here entertaining a few brownies though,” she added with wink.
He was always surprised at how the Irish held to the belief that mythical beings and long dead spirits roamed the island alternating between benevolence and mischief. He did have to admit, however, that Tara did seem to make one feel as if he were standing in a dream, surrounded by greatness. It was so overpowering that he suddenly felt the impulse to write. He sat on a boulder and wrote while she quietly stood on the rise, looking out over the horizon. They became lost in their
meditations.
Raymond broke out of his musing first and quietly walked to where she stood. She was barely breathing, and seemed to be in some far off place. He put his arms around her, looking out over the horizon, languidly pulling her to him until her head lay against his chest so he could kiss her hair.
“I love to come to the high places,” she whispered, “and watch the sun cast shadows across them as it sails across the sky.”
“It’s like standing in a temple, isn’t it?” he sighed. “Somehow comforting.”
“Aye, and right somehow.” She turned to him and stroked his face lightly. “You’re leaving soon, aren't you?”
He looked down at her, wide-eyed. “How could you know that? I only found out this morning!”
She turned back and looked out over the horizon. His arms encircled her again, and although her hands lay softly on his forearms, he felt her shoulders tense. “The sea always reclaims what’s hers, Raymond.”
He gently turned her to back to face him. One hand left her shoulder to lift her chin. With a long look he told her, “You must know by now that I don’t really belong to the sea.”
She smiled up at him. “Aye, but you don’t belong to the mountain either. You’re more like a bird. You soar across the land or the sea, perching long enough to rest. Then you must ascend again to find a new expanse to explore.”
“You know you’re more of a poet than I am, don't you?” He caressed her hair, lazily undoing the braid, and spreading the curls across her shoulders and down her back like a mane.
“No, my love. I can’t make words breathe with life like you,” she said quietly. “I just know how to hear your soul.”
He searched her eyes and found that there was no sadness, just understanding. An understanding he had always known, but could never put into words. He was an Andrews, but he was not like Helios and the sea. He was more like Emerald, the girl who ended up a captive on a pirate ship because she had wanted to see something other than what society offered her; the woman who often had sailed with her husband before the children came because she too wanted adventure. The sea didn't own her either ... it was just the means to discovery. He saw all this truth shining in the blue-green eyes of his lover. And was mesmerized.
“Eveie...,” he whispered as he stroked her hair and put a wayward strand behind her ear. “Some birds, such as falcons, mate for life.” He searched her eyes and saw what he was looking for. “Soar with me.”
Eveleen put her arms around his waist, closing her eyes as he stroked her back and picked at the laces of her dress. She knew he was serious, and that he loved her. But she also knew from his writings and their conversations, that he would always have to fight with the sea. His family would never agree with a decision to leave the family tradition, even if he argued that storytelling was also part of it.
“You must give part of yourself to the sea first,” she said as she felt the laces give. “When the war is over, then you will know what to do.”
He took her face in his hands, and kissed her long and deep. Looking into her darkened eyes, he whispered, “Right now, I know exactly what I want to do. And it has nothing to do with giving part of myself to the sea.”
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