Naoi Bhfocal, Ón Taobh
Nine Words Sideways
(scéal i mBéarla agus i nGaeilge)
Ann lived alone. Usually she didn’t mind, but she missed her friends, most who had moved away after school. She had very little in common with her coworkers. Her job was a dull, but it paid well so she was disinclined to leave. The pay also allowed her to indulged her interests, particularly books, of which she collected many. Among books on sailing, gardening and history, she had kept books from her childhood. One in particular was her favorite, a book on fairy tales. She’d read and reread it so many times she knew it by heart.
But a part eluded Ann, an inscription in the front, printed in an old script. It read:
Say this with your eyes shut
Motuigim bolah an Eireannaig binn breugaig faoi m’foidin dutaig
And you will see what you will see.
Now and then over the years Ann would return to it, searching for clues, first at the library, then online. She learned it was in Irish. One forum dedicated to Irish language had decoded the letters into something slightly more readable. But it took Ann the better part of an afternoon of research to get an approximation of what it might mean and still she wasn’t sure. “Feeling the soul of Ireland” ? It was garbled through culture and time. As for how to say it, no one really knew.
A curiosity had taken root. Ann didn’t know why. She wasn’t Irish(that she knew of). But a desire to solve this one mystery from her childhood drove her on. She found a transliteration into modern Irish. She muttered this to herself as she read it, as best she could, and a something inside her changed.
Work was the same, but more dull. Ann thought more of taking a course and changing professions. But the words were ever in her mind. She muttered them in the morning after rising, and in bed at night. Even on the bus to and from work. With every thought, the words sank deeper into her, pressing their form on her soul, morning, noon and night.
Like the hacker tool ‘brute force’, Ann seemed to be trying every combination until one worked. There is a limited number of ways to pronounce these nine words, so it was just a matter of time before she said it right.
It happened one morning while she was brushing her teeth. The sounds she’d struggled with, were, if not perfect, intelligible to the people of the time who wrote it down. And, in that moment, she squinted enough that her eyes were, for the most part, shut.
Something inside Ann moved again. She felt the light change. She blinked.
And ansin....feiceann Ann timpeall.
Taitníonn an ghrian tríot an fhuinneog. Bhí scamaill beacha os cionn an rósóg in airde taobh amuigh. Ach, bhí rud eile ar na rósanna: léimeann na créatúir bídeacha óir le sciatháin ó gach peiteal sa ghrian. Sióga óir a bhí iontu.
Dhún Ann a súile. B'fhéidir, bhí sí fós ina codladh, ag brionglóid. D’oscail sí a súile. Taitníonn solas na gréine isteach sa seomra folctha anois. Tháinig cúig sióga óir leis, ag damhsa ar an doirteal. Bhí siad go hálainn, ach bhí sí buartha go raibh sí as a meabhair. Chuala sí canadh freisin: “Blah, blah, blah”. Tháinig se seo as na sióga óir nuair a bhí siad ag damhsa. Tharraing Una anuas na dallóga, ag coinnigh an solas amach. D'imigh na sióga.
Chan siad taobh amuigh fós. B'fhéidir, dá ndéanfadh Ann neamhaird orthu, rachaidh siad imigh. Bheadh sí an-mhall. Chaith sí uisce ar a aghaidh. Mar a thriomaigh sí í féin, bhuail duine éigin ar an doras seomra folctha.
Stán Ann ar an doras, le huamhan. Bhí sí ina cónaí sa teach léi féin. An buirgléir a bhí ann? Cén cineál cnag buirgléir chun an seomra folctha a úsáid?
“Brón orm,” a dúirt guth, “An mbeidh tú i bhfad?”
Go tobann d’fhág an eagla í. Rug Ann ar na pionsúirín géar (ar eagla na heagla) agus tharraing sí an doras a oscailt.
Sheas fear óg tanaí ard os a comhair agus an-chrosta. Chaith sé jíons teilgthe agus t-léine a léigh, “Bua T-nOg”. Bhí súile glasa aige agus gruaig fhada dhubh air. Bhí dhá adharc gabhair ar a cheann aige freisin, agus bhí scairf a d’athraigh dath aige. Ar dtús bhí sé glas, ansin ór. Ansin bhí éisc ag snámh air, amhail is gur teilifís a bhí ann.
“Ní tusa an t-aon duine atá ina chónaí anseo, tá a fhios agat,” a dúirt an fear.
Thit na pionsúirín as a lámh.
Chrom an fear, thóg sé iad den urlár, agus thug sé ar ais do Ann. Shnámh na éisc ar a scairf go dtí na foircinn, ag beathú amhail is dá mbeidís ar bhun locha.
“Anois, mura miste leat ...” a dúirt sé, ag brú anuas uirthi agus ag dúnadh an dorais.
Níor chreid Ann é. Mura raibh a meabhair caillte aici, geas a bhí sna naoi bhfocal. “To see what you will see”. Shíl sí go tapa: an féidir léi é a aisiompú?
Rith Ann go dtí a seomra leapa. B’fhéidir go ndúirt an leabhar rud éigin níos mó. Ach bhí an leathanach leis an inscríbhinn bán.
Bhí sé mar an gcéanna lena leabhar nótaí. Bhí gach leathanach leis na naoi bhfocal bán. Chuardaigh Ann a fón. Ní raibh na focail ina stair chuardaigh. Fuair sí an fóram céanna. Ach bhí an snáithe imithe. Cibé draíocht a thoghairm, bhain sí iad ó gach cartlann, téacs nó digiteach.
“Nah, níl ach cinn a d’úsáid tú,” a dúirt an fear. Bhí sé ina sheasamh sa doras, ag triomú a adharca le tuáille. “Níl sé uait níos mó.”
“Cad é?” dúirt Ann.
“Breathnaigh!” a dúirt sé , dhírigh sé ar amach an fhuinneog. “Is breá leis na sióga gréine na bláthanna.”
“Bláthanna?” macalla Ann, ag breathnú taobh amuigh. Gan dabht, rince na créatúir sióg ar na rósanna, na lus móra agus fiú an féar.
“Nach gcloiseann tú iad? ‘Bláth, bláth, bláth’. Sióga gréine. Leanann beacha iad.”
“Ar ndóigh déanann siad,” a dúirt sí, “Ceist amháin.”
“Cinnte.”
“Cé sa diabhal atá tú agus cén fáth a bhfuil tú i mo theach?”
“Mise Troscán. Tá mé i mo chónaí san áiléar.”
“Níl áiléar agam!”
“Ní raibh tú in ann a fheiceáil roimhe. Tá sé ón taobh.”
“Ón taobh?”
“Le domhan an duine. Bhíomar anseo i gcónaí. Anois is féidir leat a fheiceáil. Nach é sin a bhí uait? ”
JMCressy©2021
Notes:
Má rinne mé botún… agus rinne mé go cinnte...abair libh.
This is part of a series of Modern Fairy Tales I work on in between other projects.
Inspiration for this particular tale goes to book with the real inscription, in “Celtic Fairy Tales” , collected by Joseph Jacobs and published by John Nutt in 1892. Sadly, that page in my copy isn’t blank.
~~~
Scéalta le Ann agus Troscán
1: Naoi Bhfocal, Ón Taobh (Ar dtús i mBéarla)
