Aidan became famous as a storyteller and the children, especially, loved tohear his tales.
They built a currach and would fish on the lake or out to sea. On clear, warm evenings they would go to the cliffs, at the edge of the coast, and look to the west as the sun set over the ocean. They often went walking on the long beaches along the shore, following the line at the edge of the water, where the sand met the sea and the sun made everything shine silver and gold. Aidan would smile into the setting sun and tell Brendan of his dreams of going further west.
‘Like your namesake, Brendan, the Great Navigator. Did I ever tell you the story of how he landed on a whale and thought it was an island? Ah, I did. I must have told you every story I know by now. But, you know, no one really knows what is out there, out to the west. You might reach the edge of the world and fall off, into God knows what. It would be a marvellous thing to see the place where the sun goes down.’
He paused. ‘Brendan, I have a favour to ask you. When I go, and you know I will have to go sooner or later, I want you to put me into a boat and send me westwards, into the setting sun.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Brendan would say. ‘You are staying here with me and Pangur.’
‘Ah Brendan, don’t be upset that I’m talking to you like this. The line between life and death is a narrow one, you know. It is no more constant than that line where the tide meets the sand.’
All through this time, Brendan worked on illustrating the Book. He tried to put everything he knew into it. Everything he had felt in his heart and thought with his head. The sounds and smells of the forest; the feeling of the green moss on the tree under his hand. And he put in all those he had loved.
He put in Aisling, now as a white-haired angel, now as a wolf, now as a white bird with a human face, now as a twisting of pale flowers in a margin. He put in the Abbot, with his sad stern face and his tall figure. Cellach had a Book in his hand, open, finally taking the time to look inside. He put in each of the lost brothers: Leonardo, Assoua, Friedrich and Jacques. They peered out at him from under the tall letters and bands of colour. He put in Assoua’s lions, although he found he couldnot remember the description all that well, and when he looked at what he had drawn, he was not sure it was exactly right. He put in the otter he had seen in the forest, with the fish in its mouth; he put in the eagles he had seen flying over the high mountains they had crossed on their way to their valley. He put in the shy deer and the clever foxes; the mice that had kept him company in his cell and the robin that had looked on as he learned to draw. He put in the moths he had seen flitting in the light between the trees. He even put in the monster, Crom Dubh. It became a green serpent that wriggled and curled through the borders, swallowing its own tail. He put in the spiral path in the forest, the path that had led him to knowledge and wisdom. And again and again, he drew the tree of life. Every time he drew it, it was different and more wonderful, as if the drawings themselves were growing like trees, as he himself had grown. And when Pangur played with her kittens, he put them in too. He drew them as they crawled over her back and played tag under her legs.
Pangur never seemed to get any older. But the years passed and Brendan grew up, until he was no longer a boy but a young man. And Aidan grew older too, until he became very old and very tired, and one spring morning he did not wake up. Brendan found him in his bed in his little cell, a smile on his face, and Pangur curled at his feet.
13 The Book of kells
A fter he had prayed over him, Brendan took Aidan’s body from his cell and made a bier of green branches. With the help of those who had come to mourn with him, he carried him to the coast. There he placed him in the currach that he and Aidan had built to go fishing in the
They built a currach and would fish on the lake or out to sea. On clear, warm evenings they would go to the cliffs, at the edge of the coast, and look to the west as the sun set over the ocean. They often went walking on the long beaches along the shore, following the line at the edge of the water, where the sand met the sea and the sun made everything shine silver and gold. Aidan would smile into the setting sun and tell Brendan of his dreams of going further west.
‘Like your namesake, Brendan, the Great Navigator. Did I ever tell you the story of how he landed on a whale and thought it was an island? Ah, I did. I must have told you every story I know by now. But, you know, no one really knows what is out there, out to the west. You might reach the edge of the world and fall off, into God knows what. It would be a marvellous thing to see the place where the sun goes down.’
He paused. ‘Brendan, I have a favour to ask you. When I go, and you know I will have to go sooner or later, I want you to put me into a boat and send me westwards, into the setting sun.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Brendan would say. ‘You are staying here with me and Pangur.’
‘Ah Brendan, don’t be upset that I’m talking to you like this. The line between life and death is a narrow one, you know. It is no more constant than that line where the tide meets the sand.’
All through this time, Brendan worked on illustrating the Book. He tried to put everything he knew into it. Everything he had felt in his heart and thought with his head. The sounds and smells of the forest; the feeling of the green moss on the tree under his hand. And he put in all those he had loved.
He put in Aisling, now as a white-haired angel, now as a wolf, now as a white bird with a human face, now as a twisting of pale flowers in a margin. He put in the Abbot, with his sad stern face and his tall figure. Cellach had a Book in his hand, open, finally taking the time to look inside. He put in each of the lost brothers: Leonardo, Assoua, Friedrich and Jacques. They peered out at him from under the tall letters and bands of colour. He put in Assoua’s lions, although he found he couldnot remember the description all that well, and when he looked at what he had drawn, he was not sure it was exactly right. He put in the otter he had seen in the forest, with the fish in its mouth; he put in the eagles he had seen flying over the high mountains they had crossed on their way to their valley. He put in the shy deer and the clever foxes; the mice that had kept him company in his cell and the robin that had looked on as he learned to draw. He put in the moths he had seen flitting in the light between the trees. He even put in the monster, Crom Dubh. It became a green serpent that wriggled and curled through the borders, swallowing its own tail. He put in the spiral path in the forest, the path that had led him to knowledge and wisdom. And again and again, he drew the tree of life. Every time he drew it, it was different and more wonderful, as if the drawings themselves were growing like trees, as he himself had grown. And when Pangur played with her kittens, he put them in too. He drew them as they crawled over her back and played tag under her legs.
Pangur never seemed to get any older. But the years passed and Brendan grew up, until he was no longer a boy but a young man. And Aidan grew older too, until he became very old and very tired, and one spring morning he did not wake up. Brendan found him in his bed in his little cell, a smile on his face, and Pangur curled at his feet.
13 The Book of kells
A fter he had prayed over him, Brendan took Aidan’s body from his cell and made a bier of green branches. With the help of those who had come to mourn with him, he carried him to the coast. There he placed him in the currach that he and Aidan had built to go fishing in the
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