Free Blasket Spirit by Anita Fennelly

tides, the weather and the sunset.
    One evening, a teenage girl sat at Sue’s fireside. I had seen her a few times as I returned home at the end of the day. She came into the island every day on the ferry and sat for hours reading on a fish box outside the remains of
Teach an Rí
. Although it was the dwelling closest to mine, I always succeeded in passing her by with just the briefest nod. Sue introduced us as I stood in the doorway. Had I been left to my own devices, it would have taken me a long time before I introduced myself to her. Her name was Aisling. She was sixteen and the granddaughter of a Blasket Islander. She was also a native Irish speaker. Her sister had started a small book business, and Aisling was the one charged with the task of selling them to the day-trippers on the Blasket. Aisling loved the island. Every day was an adventure. Irrespective of whether she made sales or did not make sales, her day was full and exciting.
    From the day of our meeting onwards, I served her a cup of tea on her fish box as she set up shop in the mornings. She worked her way through her book supplies, reading both the Irish and English versions of each title during that summer. Sometimes she translated passages of island folklore for me, providing the seeds for the daydreams of my rambles.
    One day, I returned from my walk at lunchtime to escape the blazing sun. The island was swarming with tourists. Squeals and shouts carried on the breeze from the direction of the beach. A steady stream of visitors struggled up the path past my door. Two large American men towered over Aisling outside
Teach an Rí
. ‘You are a real Irish colleen. Gee, she’s got the cutest freckles and green eyes.’
    ‘My great-granddaddy came from Ireland. Ma-hoe-ney, from Cork. My wife’s maternal grandmother was a MacIntyre from County Monaghan. Now, her first cousin was born in Leitrim and…’When I emerged from the hut twenty minutes later, Aisling was still smiling bravely up into the face from which the monologue streamed. Her face and neck were burned red. She attempted to deal with other potential customers and escape into the shade of
Teach an Rí
, but the man did not appear to draw even a breath.
    I stood at my door and called down to her. ‘Aisling dear, come up for your lunch now.’
    She looked up at me in surprise as the man launched into another lecture about the lineage of his second cousins on his father’s side. ‘Don’t you be delaying those nice gentlemen now, and get up here for your lunch.’
    ‘Coming, Mam,’ she called. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go. Did you want to buy anything?’ As he began a lengthy explanation as to why he was unable to buy anything, Aisling scampered up the bank and raced into my hut. I closed the door and we watched through the crack until the coast was clear. The men passed by slowly, presumably speculating as to how any family could live in a 3 metre by 1.5 metre cowshed. ‘You should have told me to call my ten brothers and sisters as well,’ Aisling giggled.
    My provisions had reduced to porridge, rice, tea, tinned fish and beans, none of which tempted my newly acquired daughter. She explained that she normally went over to the cafe for chocolate and Coke but she just had not had a chance. A crowd of visitors still bustled around her little shop. Rather than dealing with them, I opted to go to the cafe for her.
    So I headed off nervously, up past the
Dáil
and across to the cafe to make my first island purchase. I stepped in my bare feet over the rough ground outside the hostel. Both doors were open. Inside one door, a woman sat writing at a table. Inside the other, some walkers were cooking. Beyond this was the cafe where a dark-haired girl was handing out drinks over a half-door to heat-weary day-trippers. I approached and gave Aisling’s order. ‘Two Mars Bars and a can of Diet Coke, please.’
    ‘There can’t be two people on the island with that lunch order. That has to be for