The Harp
Go dté tẠslá¡n

The Present Day...Somerville, New Jersey...

Adam walked out of Mannion’s Irish Pub at 9:27 pm on a Thursday in August. It was hot and he was tired. Everyone was sweating that day…even well into the night, so he didn’t have to worry about the tears he was shedding; they looked like the beads of perspiration that fell from everyone’s face on that hot summer night.

Three young men about as old or as young as Adam stepped onto the sidewalk and yelled as one,

“What a fucking queer!” Thus demonstrating both their lack of sensitivity and inattentiveness as a large SUV passing the bar drove through a puddle left over from an earlier thunder shower, splashing the idiots thoroughly. Adam didn’t take the time to relish his nemeses bad fortune because he was already walking toward his car.

He was always plagued with words and pictures; they woke him up in the night and they invaded his waking thoughts during the day. Self-talk can often be helpful, but in his case it was absolutely horrible, since it frequently either quoted or paraphrased the cruel jabs and barbs that came his way on a daily basis. And not just from idiots…well not just from strange idiots. Friends could be insensitive even if well meaning, telling him that he had a future with some nice boy in Somerset County, having read about all the great spots for Gays in New Jersey.

But Adam wasn’t gay…at least in the way anyone understood, including his very well-intended but misinformed parents and older brother.

“Why, Adam? Can we help? Daddy has great insurance, and they don’t even ask for a pre-certification. You can just go and they’ll pay for everything. It’s quite alright to like boys. Your cousin Ryan has been with David for two years now. It’s so hard when you’re so confused, but they tell me that those folks can really help you get things sorted out,” his mother said in a brief if altogether sadly dismissive tone.

Sorted out? Being gay and being…well, they just didn’t understand. At least they…they did try, didn’t they?

Adam got into his car and started it up. Nothing seemed to matter anymore; he was too overwhelmed to care because the pain just wouldn't go away. He was still crying enough that between blur of his eyes and his inattentiveness, he didn’t see the Somerset County Public Works dump truck that sped through the red light. He pulled out and into its path, and it hit the side of his Toyota just behind the front door; sending it spinning into the Chevy Blazer that was coming toward both vehicles in the other direction. No one was hurt or killed, surprisingly, but Adam, in traveling the few feet it took to slam into the old SUV, ended up taking the trip of a lifetime.

The haze lifts…..

Adam blinked his eyes, as if coming out of a deep slumber and saw an old, craggy faced man smiling at him.

“Come on…come on. Let’s get goin’, Lad…I haven’t got all day.” The gruff man said it loudly, but his tone was almost more jocular than impatient; which was proven a moment later when the man added,

“I swear, Adhamh, you’ll be late fer yer own funeral, I’ll wager!” The man finished with a laugh. Adam would have sat up from the hospital bed upon waking from the accident except for two very important things.

First, for some reason, he felt fine if a little stiff and sore. He shook his head, and found that the mood that had plagued him seem to have followed him straight through his ‘sleep’ and back into his consciousness, leaving him still sad.

But second, and more importantly, in a way, Adam realized he was already standing; as if he had woken from an odd dream. The man who had been speaking stared at him with the same look that only a moment before had implored him to move. But now, the man frowned while stepping forward to catch Adam just before he fell to the ground in a dead faint.

He looked up and saw a friendly face, vaguely familiar in the back of his mind if altogether strange at first glance.

“Oh Adhamh…are you alright?” The fair-haired girl spoke…at least he thought she spoke. Strange sounds came from her mouth, but the intent and the meaning came through.

“Aiofe?” He said, the word sounded like Ee-fa…her name. She smiled down at him and touched his cheek.

“Oh, Da nearly dropped you on yer head, and what good would that do, us bein’ engaged n’ all?” She pushed her lips out slightly in a sad pout.

“O, don’t be worryin’ Aiofe, I’m fine!” Again strange sounds, but coming from his own mouth. And he noticed his voice, apart from the foreign words, had gained an octave. His face immediately grew warm and his hand shot up to his cheek in embarrassment.

“You got to be talkin’ lower, lad…at least around the lads here,” she used her eyes to point in the direction of the five men standing at the bar, staring at his prostrate figure, which was draped over a table. He sat up.

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m fine now.” His voice was back to normal…at least it sounded normal but it sounded odd; like it really wasn’t his own voice.

“You won’t be fine if we don’t keep things quiet, dear. We wouldn’t want anyone finding our dear Aine (which sounded like Awn-ya,)” she said.

“At least until after Meadhbh gives you your blessing?” Her smile was conspiratorial if odd. Who or what was Meadhbh (which sounded like Mayv) and what was the blessing the beautiful girl referred to?

“Yer havin’ them spells again, Lad…You should just go over In the corner and sit down. I’ll bring ye somethin’ to sip on while me daughter makes her eyes at ye,” the old man said, this time not gruff at all and with a smile on his face.

A few moments later Adam was sitting with a mug in his hand.

“We can go in a while, my dear and soon we won’t be worryin’ about you at all.”

Aiofe smiled once more before walking out of the pub. Adam took a gulp from the mug in his hand and found that the beer was way too strong and altogether warm. It took him about seventeen or eighteen minutes to notice that the clothes everyone was wearing seemed out of place; until he realized he was out of place. He reached over and grabbed the newspaper from the chair next to him and noticed that the words looks almost as odd as the one’s that had emitted from everyone since he awoke. But he understood every single word on the page, including the date. 18, August…1881.

“Excuse me…I seem to have…I hit my head?” The men at the bar all laughed; the same strange tongue seemed to permeate his being as one old man pointed to him.

“And what’s the news about that, Adhamh? You were dropped on yer head when ye was born, lad, and maybe this time it will have done ye some good!”

“Oh…yes… some good. Where exactly am I?” More laughter and every one pointing.

“You serious? Streedagh if you were anywhere…where you was born and everyone knows likely where you will die, if you last that long!” The old man laughed again as Adam felt a hand massaging his neck.

“Don’t you let them get to you, Adhamh.” The man behind him looked vaguely familiar even though Adam couldn’t place anyone there.

“You just listen to yer Uncail Padraic, lad…I’ll not be leaving you to these fools anytime soon. So what if yer Da never knew ye an’ yer Ma died bringin’ ye into the world…Me n’ yer Aintin Maighread love ye proper an’ all. And we know yer not exactly….well… yer not foolin’ us, no.”

Adam looked up at the old man and he smiled a knowing smile; which was odd. What did this man…his uncle? What did he know about Adam that Adam knew nothing about himself. As he sat there, a thought…a sensation actually came to him as he realized for all intents and purposes he was somewhere back in time; a dream for sure.

But the dream also included someone… Aiofe? Eve? Adam and Eve…no …something much more… ancient than that? For that matter, who was this Aine she referred to; a name that sounded not only familiar but dear and treasured, of all things, like another family member? A cousin? A sister? And something peculiar and even worth of pride struck him as he sat in the pub in Streedagh in a hot day in August in the year of our Lord Eighteen Hundred and Eighty One. He came to realize that, even with all the unanswered questions, one thing was certain. He was undoubtedly the first transgendered person this place or this time had ever seen.

“Ye got to pull yer weight, lad. I can’t be doin’ all the heavy lifting.” The old man smiled at Adam, who seemed to have popped into a scene in some old movie about the Old Country, except that everything was in color after a fashion, although it seemed very gray at the moment. He looked around wondering just what the old man expected him to do. The smell of salt air led him to believe he was by the coast; an assumption that was indeed true. Was he a fisherman? A Boatwright? A laborer. A slight 143 lbs belied any manual labor, but who knew anything was possible now that the barrier of time had been broached. Perhaps he was a manly fisherman?

“Dé tha thu ah deanamh?” the man snapped. Adam understood and said,

“I was just gettin’ my harp,” to which the other men at the bar laughed.

“A harp is for girls. Better you play it and I’ll play your girl, aye?” A tall, thin man said, but the look on his face was one of a tease rather than a challenge. Harps were for girls, it was true. A man might play a fiddle or a whistle or mandolin, but never a harp. At least that's what he'd always been told. But this was different...a different time and place and even a different harp.

“Just you leave the lad alone, Seamus…My Aiofe has eyes only for him, God only knows, but that’s the way it is. Keep your hands to yer own instrument!” Aiofe’s father quipped and Seamus turned bright red as all the other men laughed. Aiofe came from behind the bar with a tray full of mugs and set it on the table.

“Here is your only round on me father, lads. Drink while you can; Seamus is up next, and he hasn’t bought a round since Hector was a pup!” Aiofe laughed and soon all the men in the pub were laughing as well, including Seamus.

Adam sat with the Harp resting on his shoulder. Some things seemed to have followed him. He was small and still the object of teasing. And he played harp like an angel… a woman in fact…the woman he had wanted to become. What had happened and just why did he offer no argument for a fate too horrible to imagine; it was like he was walking in quicksand, and his head was barely above the surface. It felt like he would drown if he took the wrong step.

“There he goes again. I’ll give him this; he can play. But look at those hands…look at that face. Joseph and Mary protect that boy…” The words still penetrated his mind like darts; sharp and to the point, but uncomfortable. Why did he understand and why was he there? Aiofe came over to him and touched his hand gently and whispered,

“A ghra mo chroi, (love of my heart) soon and very soon we shall see. That’s me girl.” She smiled and walked away, her sashay gaining the attention of every man there. Every man?

“Dear God…with all that is holy, what is going on?” Adam thought, but he wanted to scream.

From a timid young man in New Jersey who was contemplating ending…bringing to an end a very sad existence…to a musician in amidst a group of rugged men with rugged instruments playing rugged Irish music; feeling lost and out of place; alone in the company of strangers who spoke a strange tongue in a strange land in a strange time. He bit his lip; already they perceived him to be soft. What did they do to men like him? Any hope of being anything but a soft man had taken flight even as he had landed there and then.

“Aye, lad…suck it up…no tears in front of the men. You know what they’ll say,” he heard a vaguely familiar voice. He turned to face his Uncail Padraic…Paddy to the lads. The man looked sympathetic and caring; a welcome if totally out of place expression in the midst of confusion and worry.

“Like yer Aintin Maighread might say, ‘What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” Adam had no idea what his ‘uncle’ meant until the man leaned in and spoke softly,

“Yer goin’ to be alright, lad…Meav will see to it, aye?” Meav… Meadhbh ….the Queen of the Fairies? He laughed softly at the irony even as he wiped the few tears from his eyes, taking care not to make a big gesture of it.

The men produced their own instruments…guitar, fiddles, flute, penny whistles…a squeeze box…Adam looked down at the harp that he held. Etched into a brass plate was the name, Adhamh Caellach …Adam Kelly…his own name…who was he? And why was he there. But next to the plate, something had been etched into the wood frame of the harp… Aiofe a Aine… that name again…Aine? Who was she and what did she have to do with it all? The tuning and plunking and blowing and banging all began as the men prepared to play a melody. Adam looked around and noticed the men had all turned their attention to Donnchadh, (Donnah) Aiofe’s father. And Adam looked down one last time at the brass plate on the frame and noticed something painted in very ornate script on adjacent to the plate. It read,

“Clá rsach Aine” He shook his head. He understood Gaelic even though until that day he had never heard it much less spoke it. But he understood and it frightened him and warmed his heart at the same time.

“Clá rsach Aine….Aine’s Harp”

To be continued…