Sea Trial Of The Aran

Published Date: 02 Nov 2017

Angler!

lnhaling the last puff of nicotine from his clay cigar, Declan FitzGerald turned

off his battered transmitter, which sat on the tea-stained kitchen window sill.

Declan’s mind drifted from the soothing rhythmic ticking of the clock to the

frenzied Atlantic gale that mercilessly rattled the kitchen window panes.

Getting up off his sugan rocking chair, he stretched his seventy-two year old

frame and made his way to the back door. Water dripped from the overloaded

gullies into his wellingtons, which he had stupidly left outside the door. Cursing

his luck, Declan drained his mud-splattered wellies into the sink, put on his

coat and grabbed a flashlight before making his way into another winter’s

night.

Declan hinged the clasp on the door behind him and made his way

along the familiar rugged path to the nearby lake. The November moon

illuminated the meandering turn of the river in which Declan had laid his net.

Suddenly Declan’s pulse quickened and his face lit up like a child on Christmas

morning with the sight of a hundred fish, struggling viciously to free

themselves from the grasp of his net. He had to be careful snooping around

the lake at night during spawning season, because of the risk being caught

poaching. FitzGerald's foot made contact with unstable ground while hauling

his catch ashore. This resulted in his feet to slide from under him thus,

propelling him suddenly into the icy-cold water.

Although Declan had spent the last seventy-two years of his life in the

Aran Islands surrounded by the swell of the sea he never mastered the art of

swimming as many locals considered it to be a bad omen. Now he was

struggling in ten foot of water and panic began to set in resulting in his legs

and arms to spasm in fear. His lungs began to squeeze smaller by the pressure,

Declan choked and gagged on nothing. His throat burned with trapped air and

his ears were pounding. His heart was beating against his chest; all he heard

was the rumble of the clear liquid that surrounded him. He could take no

more. As he opened his mouth to scream all that came out was a queue of

bubbles and he realised his time had come. Declan could feel his life ebbing

away and his frantic efforts to remain alive were replaced a calm feeling of

entering another worici...

Declan’s sub-conscious mind was transported to a courtroom where

he was surrounded by the animated sounds of bustling fish who carried

ledgers under their fins whilst swimming frantically back and forth. Declan

eyed a fish resembling a stereotypical judge with a long white curiy wig and an

immaculate robe, at the top of the court. Banging his gavel the fish called for

order. He then instructed the courtroom to rise as he read out the charges,

Declan FitzGerald, is being charged with the mass-murder of an unknown

quantity of innocent salmon, in the River Glaise during the period of 1923 to

1942

Declan stood uneasiiy at his bench beside a big burly salmon in a suit

who passed him a sheaf of papers. The salmon introduced himself as Frederic

Fin, Declan’s defence lawyer. The judge called on the prosecution to make the

opening statement, which consisted of a iong list of chilling atrocities,

supposedly perpetrated by Declan. It suddenly dawned on Declan that, okay,

no he wasn't an angel but a lot of what was said by the prosecutor was

exaggerated. He shuddered on the impact this would have on his image in the

locality. Declan suddenly became sweaty with the realisation of what his

neighbours would think about him. He could picture his face on the "Aron

Echo!" and the heading read "l\/lass Murderer Facing Life Imprisonment"

The judge calied on the defence to make their presentation. Declan

cleared his throat nervously reaiising the judge was addressing him. "Aumm..."

Declan began to trail off. Thankfuiiy, Declan’s lawyer came to his rescue by

making a robust presentation. Frederic began to pick holes in the prosecution’s

allegations as he questioned the insufficient evidence that supported the fact

that his client, Declan FitzGerald, was a serial killer.

He eyed the judge forensically, realising that his destiny lay in the

hands of this doddery old fish. The thought of a guiity verdict was more than

Declan couid take. The judge adjourned the court for lunch and announced the

verdict wouid be read afterwards. Chatter began to emerge through the

courtroom as the fish made way for lunch. Nervous tension permeated

Declan’s whoie body as he pushed his seaweed listiessly around the piate.

After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, a cackling voice came over the

intercom, summoned both defence and prosecution to the courtroom.

Declan walked uneasily up the courtroom aisle flanked by his eager

lawyer. He could feel the eyes of bereaved fish burning into him. Some hissed

and shouted obscenities at him while more held tissues in their fins and

dabbed their eyes occasionally. Declan and his defence lawyer took their piece

at the bench as the judge reappeared through the side door. Taking his seat,

the judge asked the court to rise as he gave a quick summary on both the

prosecution and defence.

The judge then began to read out his verdict based on all the evidence

he had witnessed. Declan’s heart beat surged and he closed his eyes in quiet

prayer. The verdict ‘Guilty’ hit him like a bolt of lightning. Suddenly the hushed

courtroom descended to chaos. Fish all around him hugged, clapped and

cheered. The sentence of fifteen years in prison was barely audible. The

sudden bang of the gavel and the snap of cuffs around his wrists were the last

things Declan recalled before he felt his weiiingtons being wrenched away

from his sodden socks.

The silhouette of his neighbour's familiar bearded chin became

gradually more into focus. "Declan! You okay?" questioned Jackie. "You’re like

a cat with nine lives and for a man who can": swim you made a Trojan effort to

walk on water" he sniggered mischievously before dragging him on to a dry

bank. Decian shivered as his soaking clothes began to freeze his body as the

cold Atiantic winds whipped down from the north. Jackie helped him to his

feet before returning to the fishing net to haul the catch on to the bank and

prepare it for salting.

Declan was already making his way to a lighted window in the distance. He had

seen enough of fish for one day or maybe forever.