An Capall Dubh (1955)

Áralt Ó Tnúthail, composed in Toronto, Ontario

“Bhí an lá caite agus an beirt ridirí ina leaba. Ní rabhadar ina gcodladh, áfach, ach ag gol agus ag cur scréach astu go minic.

‘Níl dúil againne dul i gcodladh, Mhamaí,’ do scréach Mícheál. ‘Táimid inár ridirí na mbó agus ní ceart é sinne bheith i leaba. Ba cheart dúinn bheith ag marcaíocht amuigh faoin spéir agus ag lámhach gunnaí.’

‘Agus ag leanúint na mba,’ adeir Seán.

‘Anois, a bhuachaill, seo an scéal,’ adúirt Mamaí. ‘Tá an lá caite agaibh agus ba mhaith liom mo dhreolíní beaga stóraigh bheith i bhaclainn na Maighdine; nó, más mian libh, ag marcaíocht suas san spéir.’

‘An bhfuil capaill ann, a Mhamaí?’ d’fhiafraigh Mícheál.

‘Tá,’ d’fhreagair a mhamaí, ‘Tá capaill go leor ann. Is dóigh liom go bhfuil siad bán.’

‘An bhfuil capall dubh ann?’ d’fiafraigh Mícheál.

‘Níl fhios agam.’

‘Níl capall bán uaim in aon chor,’ do ghol Mícheál. ‘B’fhearr liom ceann dubh, agus b’fhearr liom fanúint annseo ag imirt le mo bhréagáiní.’

‘B’fhéidir go bhfuil gearrán dubh suas san spéir. B’fhéidir freisin go bhfuil cead agat ón Tiarna é thógaint amach ar lorg na mba bhfiáin.’

Tar éis tamaill thit an stócach i gcodladh go sona sámh. Ach do bhí Seán ina dhúiseacht, ag imirt le bréagán loraí a bhí aige. I gceann tamaill chuaigh mé isteach agus chonaic mé é i lán dúiseacht.

‘Táim im’ dhúiseacht, Dhad,’ adeir an stócach.

‘Cad tá ort, a linbh, nach bhfuil tú i gcodladh fós?’

‘Ní maith liom dul suas san spéir, Dhad. Níl an slí agam agus beidh sé caillte agam agus mé ag teacht thar n-ais.’

‘Cad a bhfuil tú a rá, a Sheáin?’ chuireas ceist air.

D’inis an laidín bocht an scéal dom. Chuireas béic gáire asam.

‘Feicfead amach as an bhfuinneog agus b’fhéidir go bhfuil sé i gcumas dom na capaill nó na mba suas san spéir d’fheiscint,’ adúirt mise agus shiúil mé go dtí an fhuinneog. Facas amach agus chonaic mé cuileog tine ag eitilt amach sa ngáirdín.

‘Níl aon capall ag rith trasna ar an spéir, a chroí, ach tá síóga amach. Chím ceann acu.’

‘Suas liom, a Dhada,’ arsa Seán, ‘agus lig me iad d’fheiscint.’

Thógas suas é. D’fhéach sé amach tríd an bhfuinneog agus chonaic sé na ‘síóga’ bheaga. Ghlaoigh mé ar ceann acu, ‘Tar isteach, Bháibín na Réalta, agus oscail do chluaise dom. Níl aidhm ag an leanbh óg seo bheith ina chodladh anocht. Tá eagla air go mbeadh sé suas leis na capaillíní bána sa spéir. Fan leis agus cuir suaimhneas air.’

Isteach ina leaba arís leis, agus ‘lig’ mé an tsíóg bheag isteach. ‘Anois a bhean sí, cuir cigilt ar srón an bhuachalla muna bhfuil codladh sothúlach air i gceann nóiminte.’

Ar an uair sin do chuir Seán sraoth as. Nach ar mise a bhí an gháire fhada go háthasach. ‘Féach, a bhuachaill,’ arsa mise, ‘Ba cheart dhuit dul i gcodladh anois.’

‘Go maith,’ d’fhreagair arcán an dhiabhail. ‘Ach, ná lig an bhean sí chuir cigilt orm arís.’

Ritheas as an seomra. I gceann cúig nóimintí bhí sé i bhaclainn na mná sí go sona sámh. Bhí críoch ar lá eile.

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“The day was spent and the two riders were in their bed. They weren’t asleep, however, but crying and crying and screeching often.

‘We don’t want to go to sleep, Mommy,’ Michael screeched. ‘We are cowboy riders and it’s not right for us to be in bed. We should be riding out under the sky and firing guns.’

‘And following the cattle,’ said John.

‘Now, boy, here’s the story,’ said Mommy. ‘The day is spent and I want my little beloved wrens to be in the arms of the Virgin, or, if you want, riding up in the sky.’

‘Is there a black horse there?’ asked Michael.

‘I don’t know.’

‘I don’t want a white horse at all,’ Michael wept. ‘I’d prefer a black one, and I want to stay here and play with my toys.’

‘Maybe there is a black gelding up in the sky. Maybe also the Lord will let you take it out looking for wild cattle.’

After a while the young lad fell asleep peacefully. But John was awake, playing with a toy truck he had. After a while I went in and I saw him fully awake.

‘I’m awake, Dad,’ said the lad.

‘Why, child, aren’t you asleep yet?’

‘I don’t want to go up in the sky, Dad. I don’t know the way and I’ll get lost when I’m coming back.’

‘What are you saying, John?’ I asked him.

The poor little lad told me the story. I let out a bray of laughter.

‘I will look out the window and maybe I’ll be able to see the horses or the cows up in the sky,’ I said and I walked to the window. I looked out and I saw a lightning bug flying out in the garden.

‘There aren’t any horses running across the sky, love, but the faeries are out. I see one of them.’

‘Pick me up, Dada,’ said John, ‘and let me see them.’

I picked him up. He looked out the window and he saw the little ‘faeries’. I called to one of them, ‘Come in, Star Baby, and listen to me. This young child doesn’t want to go to sleep tonight. He’s afraid that he would go up with the white horses in the sky. Stay with him and let him be peaceful.’

Into his bed he went again, and I ‘let’ the little faerie inside. ‘Now, faerie woman, tickle the boy’s nose if he doesn’t easily go to sleep in a minute.’

Just then John sneezed. Didn’t I have a long, happy laugh. ‘Look, boy,’ I said, ‘you should go to sleep now.’

‘Ok,’ answered the devilish piglet. ‘But, don’t let the banshee tickle my nose again.’

I ran out of the room. After five minutes he was peacefully in the arms of the faerie woman. That was the end of another day.”

Adapted from: Ó Tnúthail, Áralt. 1955. “An Capall Dubh.” Teangadóir. 2.4 (1955). Cló Chluain Tairbh: Toronto.

For citation, please use: Ó Tnúthail, Áralt. 1955. “An Capall Dubh.” Ó Dubhghaill, Dónall. 2024. Na Gaeil san Áit Ró-Fhuar. Gaeltacht an Oileáin Úir: www.gaeilge.ca