Aunt Erin’s Fisherman’s Cottage. Двухъязычная книга English / Russia

«The truest miracle is a heart that is ready to care for others.»

On the Distant Isle of Man

On the distant Isle of Man, belonging to the cold, grey reaches of Ireland, on the very top of a wind-lashed hill, stood Aunt Erin’s little fisherman’s cottage. Its roof was thatched; here and there strawe ends poked through, and the walls, carved by time and storms, had been patched in places with boards. Cold gusts would slip through the cracks, toy with the curtains and sigh. Inside, the cottage was simple and warm. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot; the hearth had not been lit for some time, but the scent of spun yarn and wool lent the room a homely comfort. At the foot of Erin’s bed, her little sheep Nolli always slept. The old woman often smiled when she looked at her, for the sheep had become more than a pet – she was a true friend and a member of the family.

Once her hair had been a fiery chestnut, but age had silvered it, and sometimes when she stood before a mirror she scarcely recognised her reflection – it seemed as if a dusting of snow had fallen into her hair. She would shake her head, as if to brush the flakes away, hoping for a glimpse of the old chestnut, but her hair flowed instead like a silver waterfall; not a single strand caught the light with a red gleam.

Her eyes, which had once shone with mischievous sparks, had grown dim and could see poorly. Her hands, once strong and deft, trembled more often. Her legs were worse still – sometimes they refused to lift her from the bed. But more than anything Erin fretted for the fate of her only companion, the sheep Nolli. If anything were to happen to her, who would care for Nolli? And if Nolli set off to seek her, wolves might take her.

Aunt Erin had no children and no close kin; she lived alone in the house left by her fisherman father, who had long since passed. All her life Erin had worked with yarn – knitting socks, shawls, hats and mittens which she would now and then take to the town to sell. Were it not for Nolli, she would have had neither wool nor an evening companion by the fire – Nolli lived with her like kin and slept at the foot of her bed.

But old age crept closer each day, and Erin feared that one day Nolli might be left alone. At last she decided to go to the village and find someone kind who could look after the sheep. But who could that be? Apart from the shopkeeper who bought her knitted goods for mere pennies, she knew nobody. And the shopkeeper was a mean man; if she brought Nolli to him, he might well roast and eat her.

Rose

All night Aunt Erin lay awake, thinking how to find a kind person for her sheep. In the morning she went into the village and bought a basketful of little toy clappers and a single beautiful rose. Stepping into the market square, she looked about and saw a girl playing in the street.

«What a gentle, sweet little thing,» thought Erin. «Surely such a child would never hurt Nolli; perhaps they would play on the meadow for hours.»

Erin approached the girl and said, «Hello, little one. You are so pretty and clever; I would like to give you a gift, but you must choose which you want.»

She presented the toy and the rose. The girl glanced at the rose without interest and turned to the toy. «Oh, of course the toy, you silly old woman! Who needs flowers? There are whole fields of them,» she said, waving towards the clover. «Give it here!»

She snatched the toy from Erin’s trembling hand and turned away.

«Well, then…» sighed Aunt Erin, and went on her way.

Soon, outside the bakery, she saw a chubby, rosy-cheeked boy named Barry, busily devouring a sugar-and-cinnamon pretzel.

«Now there is someone who is certainly well fed,» thought Erin. «Maybe he would like a companion and care for Nolli.»

«Hello, boy, excuse me, I just wanted to ask – » Erin began, but the boy shouted, «Get away, you filthy old woman! I have no food for you!»

Erin stood speechless for a moment and then walked on in silence.

At the village well she met two sisters, Etain and Elaine. «Perhaps luck will smile on me now,» she thought. But the girls were squabbling and had no thought to let the old woman draw water first.

«Hello, dear girls! I would like to offer you a gift, but each of you must choose only one, alright?»

«Alright, alright!» they cried, hurrying over and jostling one another.

Erin showed them the toy and the rose. «Etain, you choose,» she said.

«I want what Elaine chooses,» Etain replied, eyeing the presents. Erin thought to herself: «Indeed – Etain, whose name hints at envy.»

«And what will you choose, Elaine?» Erin asked.

«I want what Etain chooses,» came the reply without a moment’s thought.

After ten minutes of such back-and-forth, the girls decided they did not want the rose; the toy would suffice. Each took a clapper and, without so much as a thank you, ran off to argue whose was brighter or more delightful. Their voices soon faded, and Erin continued.

Not long after she saw a boy who offered to polish shoes for a coin, though no one had stopped. Erin peered into her basket – only one clapper remained. Her legs were weak with weariness, and she made her way to the shoeshine boy.

He ran toward her with a small stool upon which she might sit. «Would you like to rest?» he asked politely, placing the stool without waiting.

Erin gratefully sat. «Thank you, dear. What is your name?» she asked.

«Daymin,» he said.

«It means «little fawn’ – a beautiful name,» Erin said, for age had given her the habit of knowing many things.

Daymin blushed; he had not known. He asked, out of courtesy, what her name meant. Erin told him that Erin meant «a land of plenty.»

He was still a very young and curious boy. Books were rare on the island, and he could read only poorly. So for some twenty minutes he peppered Erin with questions, recalling neighbours’ names and asking about everything under the sky.

Erin was delighted to find such a courteous, inquisitive companion. It was not quite the same as conversing with Nolli – who preferred to listen and, if dissenting, would simply bleat «baa» – yet it was a pleasure. People seldom spoke to the elderly in those days; even simple courtesies such as «good evening» or «good morning» were falling out of use.