Cén chaoi a mbeadh a fhios agamsa céard a dhéanfainn—th’éis dom é a inseacht dó—mar nach bhfaca mé m’athair ag caoineadh cheana ariamh. Ariamh! Fiú nuair a maraíodh mo mháthair sa timpiste naoi mí roimhe sin, deoir níor chaoin sé, go bhfios domsa. Táim cinnte nár chaoin mar ba mise a tharraing an drochscéal chuige. Is ba mé freisin a bhí ina fhochair i rith an ama ar fad: lnethanta bacacha úd na sochraide. Níor leagadh aon chúram eile ormsa ach amháin fanacht leis. Ba iad a chuid deartháireacha agus deartháireacha mo mháthar—mo chuid uncaileachaí—a d’iompair an chónra agus a rinne na socruithe sochraide. Ba iad comharsana an bhaile, le treoir ó mo chuid deirfiúracha, a choinnigh stiúir éicint ar chúrsaí timpeall an tí, Sórt tuiscint a bhí ann—cé nár dúradh amach díreach é, gur mise ab fhearr fanacht taobh le m’athair, óir ba mé ab óige: an t-aon duine a bhíodh sa mbaile ó cheann ceann na bliana.

How would I know what to do — after I had told him—as I had never seen my father cry before. Never! Even when my mother was killed in the accident nine months before, he didn’t cry a tear, as far as I know. I’m sure he didn’t cry because I was the one who brought him the bad news. I was also near him during the whole time: those halting days of the funeral. No other responsibilty was laid upon me except to wait for him. His brothers and my mother’s brothers—my uncles—carried the coffin and made the funeral arrangements. It was the neighbors of the town, with guidance from my sisters, who kept some direction on matters around the house, It was sort of an understanding – although it was not said out loud directly, that I was the best to stay with my father, for I was the youngest: the only person who had been at home from the beginning of the year.

Thit tost uirthi agus chuardaigh a súile corp Burr. Bhí sé clúdaithe anois ag ceann de sheolta canbháis stainnín Ghobnait.

‘Nach mbeifeá féin ag fáil bháis den éad,’ a d’fhiafraigh Gobnait.

She fell silent and her eyes searched Burr’s body. It was now covered by one of Gobnait’s tin/waxed canvas sails.

‘I have always known that he did not have a strong enduring love for me. That was not his nature. You understand he would be in want of money, a lot of money that could not be earned with the skills of a doctor, even if he had them. A wealthy patient of his fell in love with him. She was already on the brink of death. Hildebrandt proposed to marry her.’

‘Wouldn’t you yourself be dying from jealousy,’ asked Gobnait.