Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' (28 page)

Chris watched in fascination as the as the various
bits and pieces of the sleepy Hawaiian village slipped by,
oblivious to the animated chatter in Hawaiian from Alani beside him
as she recounted her previous night’s adventure to a clearly
concerned and disturbingly silent Noelani. Music of all genres
drifted back and forth on the morning breeze, and the slowly
dissipating mists that clung to the surroundings trees and hills
refracted prismatically in a wonder of rainbow hues. Here a
Buddhist shrine, there a simple Baptist church, in the distance a
glorious Mormon temple, the village offered every type and style of
church imaginable, a veritable spiritual smorgasbord of a typical
Sabbath in Paradise.

As they rounded a distant corner and came to the end
of the road, Chris saw the object of their destination. It was a
quaint, faintly gothic-styled church, the steep high-pitched roof
in the Polynesian style, the sparkling jewel-bright stained glass
windows contrasting with clean white-washed walls. Framed against a
backdrop of every shade of green imaginable, the sky in the
distance a rich and layered gray, the church was painted luminously
in the early morning light, glowing like an impressionistic
painting in almost ethereal fashion- rich, overlapping golden hues
radiating from the white-washed surface, the soft shadows
reflecting delicate shades of periwinkle, turquoise and teal. A
riot of kaleidoscopic color that was the gathering of congregants
were milling about at its entrance, slowly disappearing into the
tiny structure as the first bells of that morning’s mass encouraged
the flock to begin their worship.

The long, dark car slowed and stopped, causing a
brief stand-still to the thronging crowd as they all paused as one
to stare at this clearly unexpected arrival. As Alani and Chris
emerged from the car, an elevated murmur of voices ramped up with
juicy bits and snippets of inevitable gossip as the heretofore
insular congregation assimilated this stranger. Chris looked around
at the gathering, feeling as if the eyes of each and every one of
them were probing his every detail. And if Chris hadn’t felt
conspicuous enough, he was positively gobsmacked when Alani held
him back by one elbow and whispered softly in his ear, “The police
called this morning, they have my backpack…”

Chris responded with a face-palm and a grimace, “Oh,
hell- Sorry.”

Alani merely grinned, a twinkle of
mischief reflecting from her jade-green eyes. “Not as much as
me-
Daddy
answered the phone.”

The short, anachronistic caddy stopped in a bright
patch of sunlight a few yards from the caddy-shack, the light
making his graying hair glow with an almost silvery shimmer as he
muttered a quick prayer to the sky. Holding his hands out to his
sides, he suddenly brought them together in a sharp ‘clap’ above
his head as a distant rumble of thunder echoed in reply. He quickly
crossed himself in an oddly Catholic gesture of genuflection, and
then kissed the tiny crucifix before tucking it back into his faded
shirt. His ritual ministrations apparently complete, he turned and
slowly shuffled off in the direction of the clubhouse.

Walter stood looking to the hills
with his hands knotted into fists on his hips, his eyes searching
for a reassuring patch of blue. The ancient caddy silently strode
up behind him, snatching his bag without a word and casually
ambling off towards the 10
^th
tee. Walter’s mouth fell
open as he watched the mysterious man walk away, and then silently
closed it as he shook his head in puzzlement, and
followed.

Chris craned his head around in a slow circle,
taking in the details of the tiny church and its’ colorful
congregation, noting with admiration the delicate stained-glass
inserts in the tall, narrow Gothic windows; the blaze of glory of
the enormous rose window over the pulpit, a rainbow of color
streaming through it from the sun that had leaked through the
now-thinning clouds behind. Multi-hued dust motes twinkled in the
air, dancing like miniature fairies from the stirrings of the
ceiling fans that loped around in lazy circles above his head. His
gaze traveled to the pulpit, where he saw the Priest standing
silent and smiling benevolently at his flock; to the chorus, Buddy
among them, his face pale and breathing labored, and finally to the
antique electric organ just to one side of the raised stage, where
Noelani stood patiently waiting as the ancient organist, a tiny
Chinese woman whose feet could barely reach the pedals, let alone
her hands touch all the stops and keys, mounted the bench with the
help of a small stepstool.

Settling onto the bench, the diminutive organist
interlaced her hands and cracked her knuckles, eliciting a titter
of mirth from the congregation. With a sly wink at Chris and a tiny
nod of secret knowledge to Noelani, the organist began to play, and
the notes of the aria streamed from overhead speakers, resonating
like crystal bells in the wooden rafters as Noelani lifted her face
into the colorful light streaming through the rose window and began
to sing.

Walter stood with hands on hips on
the tee box of the 13
^th
hole and squinted into the distance where the
low-scudding mists of morning skidded along the tops of the tall
banyans lining the course. Without looking back at his silent
caddy, Walter called out softly, “Better give me the Three-wood...”
The caddy complied, handing him the Driver instead. Walter looked
at it in annoyance and cried, “Oh, good Lord. No- Dammit! The
three…”

The ancient caddy stood unmoving, merely holding the
club in mid-air as he looked down the fairway with a frown. He
looked up to Walter with soulful eyes and gestured insistently with
the chosen club. Walter looked at his ward as if he were a retarded
child and said slowly, “No, three…“ He held out three fingers as if
to clarify and said, “Threee...” The ancient one stared in apparent
incomprehension and Walter dropped his hand in resignation, “Oh,
for Pete's sake…” And then he moved to extract his desired weapon
for himself.

The man stopped Walter with a lowering of his head
and a sorrowful hand across his chest, and swapped out the clubs
without a word. Stepping back out of Walter’s line-of-sight, he
quickly stole a glance to the sky and nodded to the clouds as
Walter swung and sharply struck the ball, the bright white orb
leaping into the air and rocketing down the center of the fairway.
Walter held the club to his shoulder with one hand, watching the
ball intently as it soared to the treetops, and then his face fell
as it suddenly and unexpectedly veered sharply to the right,
striking the top of a tree and falling like a stricken dove to the
ground below. The club clattered to the ground as it fell from
Walter’s numb grip as he witnessed this renewed insult and he
muttered dumbly, “Oh God dammit, not again!!” Bending angrily to
retrieve his wayward device, he flung it callously to the immobile
caddy behind him who snagged it out the air without moving a
muscle.

The familiar melody of Schubert’s
‘Ave Maria’ resonated majestically throughout the tiny church,
Noelani’s sweet, powerfully magnificent voice handling the
stratospheric notes and melodic tones with confident ease. Chris
sat transfixed, his mouth slightly agape as Alani looked at him
with a small smile. A moment into the song, he breathlessly
exclaimed to her, his voice a barely contained whisper, “Wow- I had
no idea... She's really good!”

“
Who, mamma? Yes, she is... She
sang for Hawaii Opera for years back before I was born. She was
even thinking about going professional once- until I came along and
spoiled things.”

As they turned their attention back to the spectacle
unfolding before them, lightning flashed through the giant rose
window behind the altar, a distant note of thunder echoing through
the open lower portions of the stained-glass windows a moment
later.

Walter and his mute side-kick stood at the edge of
the long, narrow fairway and Walter held his hand out behind him.
“Se-” he called, hesitating as he saw the very club he ordered
hovering in the air before him, finishing, “-ven. Thank you.” The
ancient caddy stood stoic beside him, his weathered face an
inscrutable mask. Walter swung smoothly, and the ball lofted
skyward, floating softly onto the distant green and rolling slowly
to a stop mere inches from the pin. Walter sighed contentedly,
“Yes... Oh, yes! Beautiful!” and twirled his club casually, handing
it to his silent accomplice, tilting his head skyward and tossing a
smug, almost taunting look to the heavens as he strode confidently
down the lush carpet of green.