Road To The Moon [one-minute stories]

Leaving Kilda

"We'll die if wae stay," I heard between my pleading cries not to go. Choking on my tears I looked up to my mother.
Wrinkles carved a saddened mask, her pale skin worn down by the hardships life had thrown at her. The only evidence of her once fiery nature was her hair, shining like the flames of the peat fire that was burning in the middle of the room.

"Die?" I whisper, afraid the mere mention of the word will be my end. Just month's ago death seemed such an elusive term. Ethereal, like the puffins in flight.

"But I don't wantae leave th' island," I grumble under my breath.

With a deep sigh, mother kneels down before me. Two loving arms pull me into a warm embrace. "I can't let th' curse take you too, Rachel."

Her voice carried my name with such sweetness it made me forget I loathed my Hebrew name. Always envious that my brother was given the Gaelic name, Aden. A name that suited him even if he took after our Jewes father. A name that would never mark the trench in which he lay.

The curse of St Kilda, all my life I was told it was merely an old wives tale and all of a sudden I had to leave my home because of it.

Crops will perish when there is no man left to weed,
Birds will leave when the sea starts to bleed.
Soil will be bare when mother and child perish as one,
When the last born dies on the island, St. Kilda will be undone.

The last words made my mouth run dry, for I was the last born, barely 8 summers old.

I looked around the house one last time before following my mother to the doorstep. The thick dry stone walls blackened by soot, filled with centuries of memories, roofed with turf. Its simple build with only one small window and one doorway may have seemed ancient to any others, but it had been the home of my people for centuries, it is my home.

Mother placed an open bible in the house, encasing it in a circle of oats before we both stepped outside and prayed. From the corner of my eye, I could see Nola and her mother, in the neighboring house, reciting the same ritual.

Our eyes locked as soon as Nola finished her prayer, but she did not speak. She joined the rest of the women as we descended to the dock.

The sky was hopelessly blue, the sun calmly rising out of a sparkling sea.
It warmed the impassive cliffs of Oiseval. Its green field twinkling in the sunshine, making parting all the more difficult.

After a while, the familiar outline of St. Kilda grew faint and the island fell back onto the horizon. The pending silence broke as this severing from our ancestral homeland became a reality and we all gave way to tears.

- 30 years ago -

"Land Ho!"

Those words sounded like the sweetest prayer in Daniel's ears. Leaning over the railing of the ship he spotted the cliffs cutting through the dense fog that has been surrounding the ship all morning.

His mouth fell open at the sight of these immense cliffs, standing like sharp shards of glass atop the surface of the water. "the cliffs of Oiseval."

"No lad," the captain chuckled, "those ur some wee bit pebbles. Keek tae yer left."

As Daniel turned his head, his jaw dropped at the sight of the magnificent island forming in front of him. The cliffs went beyond the clouds, the fields were greener than anything he had ever seen and the sky was filled with the songs of seagulls. Large hands wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him out of the way as the sailors started to lower the dinghy.

"Careful laddie, we wouldn't want ye tae sloch seawater at th' lest minute." The captain joked. Daniel laughed along sheepishly not truly understanding what this bear of a man was saying. In London, he used to brag about how good his Scottish accent was, but up here he wouldn't dare to stray away from his poised Cockney tongue.