hint of unification with the quantum world came with the development of the theory of the Big Bang, because near the singularity at the postulated beginning of our universe, it is quantum theory that takes over, in defining the very origin of our world. Once again we are taking a ride on a quantum particle or wave, whichever suits, but the total energy in our microworld has the same amount as exists in our now huge universe. That means it is extremely hot and that everything is moving at the speed of light. Time has lost its meaning near this searing singularity. This is the scientist's Garden of Eden.
But reality may have even deeper layers, because theory postulates that there may be an infinity of such worlds, each bursting like bubbles from the foam of an even greater reality. We can never know of these worlds, but need them to explain the extreme rarity of our own world where everything is delicately poised, to lead to where we are now - a sentient life on a hospitable planet, orbiting a stable mid-sized sun, on the outer region of one of the trillions of galaxies - one we had so humanly called the Milky Way.
'Behold,' I again gestured with my hands towards the sky.
Maria clapped and laughed.
'Well done,' she beamed in admiration. 'I thought you'd never be able to link in all our existence. I am very impressed.'
Even Jan seemed to be impressed or perhaps he was just glad that the monologue was over. He too let his hands fall into a slow clap and forced a smile.
'Very clever indeed,' he said. 'Quite a comprehensive picture. I struggled to follow at times but I get the overall sense. Yet I'm not sure if it has added to my understanding of reality.'
'That is the crux,' I agreed. 'It will take a lot of thought to develop new metaphysics from all that, but that is my goal.'
'Wouldn't it be great to devote ourselves to finding that new enlightenment?' Maria was excited at the prospect. 'I would love to come here everyday and discuss all these things, over and over.'
'You are both welcome at any time,' I was delighted to offer the invitation, but I scrutinised Jan's face to detect any discomfiture. I was again amazed to see no animosity in his expression. Maybe their relationship had been purely platonic. I thought of the Greek soldiers training in their unisex arenas, and how the brave males observed their Platonic ideals in abstaining from carnal desire for the naked female soldiers. I was certainly no Greek soldier but maybe Jan was.
As I waved goodbye to them, I had a brief pang of loneliness - a shiver and a feeling of unease deep within me. I was once again my own self for company and the thought didn't appeal on this sunny mid-afternoon. I decided to do something - seek out more human company. I had had enough of inward contemplation that morning. I quickly closed up the tent and almost ran down the rocky path from the cliff until I hit the road. Breathless I stopped and looked up and down not knowing which direction I should choose. A mental flip of a coin had me heading towards the village.
It was great to see the signs of normal life. I had not realised it was a Sunday. People were still in the village, long after mass was over. Some were chatting on the pier, waiting for the arrival of the afternoon ferry. The men of the village were sitting over pints of Guinness, in the open air, in front of the only pub. They had the look of time being of no value to them - their weather beaten faces showing wrinkles from staring into a weak westerly sun, and long nights of intoxicated laughter after the labours of unloading the fishing boats.
I sat outside at a table with two fishermen opposite me. They seemed not to mind my intrusion and I was a little surprised to find that they knew of my existence. I raised my glass of Guinness and said 'Slainte' and they laughed at my gaucheness.
'Sure we have no Irish here,' the smaller one with the greasy tweed cap grinned. He introduced himself as Paudy and his friend as Matty. They were brothers who lived together in the old family cottage, at the far side of the island. The island had long been their home and it seemed that, other than seldom trips to the mainland, they had not seen much of the world. I marvelled at how content they were in their ignorance of the great world out there. They had not seen the Taj Mahal or St. Peter's or the Eiffel Tower. These great sights of the world may as well not have existed. The island was their world and it fulfilled all their needs. More, it had defined their needs, and in being so parsimonious, had determined that they should never be envious of the outside world.
'I can remember a time when to see a stranger was a rare sight,' Paudy said, taking a long slug of his pint, as if to bolster the impact of meeting a stranger. 'There was one man that came on the first day of the heavy snow, in December, back in the late sixties. He had the island talking about him for days. Mrs. MacCarthy in the shop couldn't stop wagging about him.' He went on with the story; about the way the man's fur coat came down to his boots, the way the black of the fur made him look like a bear in the snow. How curious that the first time snow had hit the island in years coincided with the arrival of the strange man. How the snow had gotten worse and the island was cut off for weeks. All the while the man who was best kitted for cold weather, walked the length and breadth of the island. How he spoke few words. How when he spoke, his American accent was rough and throaty. How when riled, he had the anger of a wild bear. Soon he became known as the 'Bear'. The Bear was very strong. One day he was spotted lifting a big stone that had lain in the middle of Coffey's Field since as long as anyone could remember, and with what seemed like minimal effort, he carried it up to the cliff top and threw it over, into the swirling sea. The stone is still there for anyone to see. When the snow finally thawed, the Bear paid Mrs. MacCarthy all he owed her and took the next ferry back to the mainland. He was never seen again.
Paudy told this story without looking at me. I had no idea why he was telling me. It was certainly a remarkable fact that a fur clad man with an American accent should visit during the snow, but had it any significance? Has anything in Paudy's life much significance I wondered. Perhaps he trundles along in life from inanity to inanity, without a thought. Is that the secret of happiness. Yet I was sure that the Bear was an unhappy man. He had come to their world and changed it imperceptibly - enough for Paudy to be telling his story forty years on. What had been his impact - throwing the big stone over the cliff? His coincidence with the blizzard? What makes a strange story? It has to be some remarkable coincidence. Ill fortune alone is not enough. There also has to be mystery. These elements were present but not of such import that the story should survive and be retold so many years hence.
Paudy finished off the dregs of his glass and, without having to put in an order, another perfect pint of stout appeared before him.
'That's what I call service,' I remarked in awe. Paudy had a twinkle in his eye as he replied.
'I've been training 'em for years, haven't I Matty?'
Matty took a sup of his own pint and nodded. Matty was a man of few words and was a suitable companion for Paudy, who obviously liked the sound of his own voice. Paudy was not one to sit over his pint in silent contemplation.
His natural curiosity got the better of him, as he couldn't help asking where I was from, and what had brought me to the island. I answered, evasively, that I wasn't quite sure and then feeling that I was being unfriendly in being non-committal, I elaborated.
'I guess I came searching for something, but I've yet to find what that something is. Do you know what I mean?'
Matty stared at me - a hint of suspicious retreat coming into his eyes. Perhaps he thought I might be a spy from the social services. I quickly deflected such fears.
'It's purely a personal search. Nothing to do with academic research or any government services. I'm looking for something I've not had in my life to date. There has always been a void or gap that nagged at me as I led a normal life on the mainland.' I liked the way I had instinctively used the word 'mainland', as if I were now part of the island community - a major conceit on my part, but understandable in that in coming here, I wanted to belong, and yet be apart. These islanders had that feature in their lives. They, in a sense
lived according to their own ways. They resented the authority of the mainland except ironically where it financially supported them, through the dole or grants. Yet even here, they despised them and in their narrow way, looked down on them. The look on Paudy's face had registered my use of the word 'mainland' and his words now had a faintly, unfriendly note.
'You won't find what you're lookin' for here. This is not an easy place for outsiders. Isn't that right Matty? Sur' we're only here forty odd year and Mrs. MacCarthy still thinks we're blow-ins.' He laughed at his own levity and Matty grinned complicitly. They both took another long sup of their pints.
I was intrigued to learn that they were not islanders, born and bred. I wanted to ask how they had come to the island but didn't want to pry. I ordered another drink and put one in the pipes for my companions. They were delighted at this gesture and they motioned to me to pull closer. I leant forward and as Paudy spoke I could smell the porter on his breath. His voice lowered in a conspiratorial tone.
'Listen my friend. I don't want to scare you but this island is a quare place. It does something to you. When we came here first, on a fishing boat, we wanted to escape after the first rain-sodden few