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 13th 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.
Noelani, spot-lit from behind in the heavenly glow from the sparkling window behind her, continued in her coloratura performance, and Chris leaned to Alani in awe, whispering, “Why doesn’t she sing professionally? My, God! She’s amazing!” Alani merely gave a tiny nod in affirmation, her attention wavering from the spectacle of her mother to the unrestrained admiration of Chris. She wondered silently to herself if he would leap up in applause at her conclusion.
Walter hovered over his putt, smiling serenely at an easy 'gimme'. He tapped the ball with a smirk, again looking skyward as he exclaimed softly, “Ha!” He bent down to retrieve his small victory, only to find that it wasn’t there. Walter glared into the empty cup and growled, “Son-of-a-BITCH! You have got to be kidding- I do not BELIEVE this-!” and gripped his new putter in disgust, clenching it tightly as if to choke some modicum of compliance into it. “Fuck!” he spat, and violently stuffed the offending club into the bag being held by the tolerant and silent caddy.
The song wove on, the sound gliding and soaring through the air by the combined virtuosity of musician and vocalist, and Chris gazed around to those fortunate few who were gathered to witness this minor miracle, nodding in sympathetic agreement at their various reactions. The Priest, beaming and proud; a woman of mixed and exotic heritage, fanning herself with a colorful fan as she watched in rapturous attention; still another, eyes closed in almost ecstatic delight, swaying slightly from side to side as she listened. He looked to his left to Alani, now noticing a trembling of lips and welling of tears as she looked to her blessed mother with a look of deep and heartfelt love and admiration. He took a stuttering breath and his vision blurred with a burning of the promise of tears of his own as he reflected on his own wealth of blessings over these most extraordinary of days.
Walter stood in silent contemplation at the foot of his nemesis, the par-three 17th where he had angrily resigned the day before. He took a deep breath and exhaled a gusty sigh, and then extended his hand to his silent accomplice, his gaze locked on the gently waving flag in the distance as he said without looking, “…seven.”
Apparently quite the contrarian, the ancient caddy handed him the eight iron. Glaring at it in disgust, Walter handed it back angrily, “Damn it, I said seven- Don't you speak English?” The old man remained resolute, insistently gesturing with the offered club as he looked downrange to the tops of the palm trees swaying in the distance. Walter gestured in vexation, his hands out to his sides in appeal, “Oh my God! Just give me the fucking seven, dammit!”
Shaking his head mournfully, the leathery face slowly framing a frown, the ancient and wrinkled caddy relented and traded clubs. Walter sighed in relief, “Thank you...” Wagging the club over the ball, he took another slow, deep breath and then hit, watching, immobile, his eyes riveted on the ball as he chanted under his breath, “Go! Go! Be the club, be right! C'mon, come on, come on...”
The ball took the tiniest of hops on the gently sloping green and rolled slowly in a delicate arc toward the hole. It stopped, perched tantalizingly on the lip, and dropped in. Walter screeched in triumph, leaping into the air and punching the sky in victory, “YEEEEAAAH!!!! Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, yes! That's how it's done!” Shaking his fist tauntingly at the heavens, he called to the fickle gods of golf, “Take that, you bastards! You can't
take that one away!” Walter casually flung the victorious club into the air, where again it found the unmoving hand of the ancient caddy, and he strode off toward the scene of his victory with an air of insouciance and swagger as a dull rumble of thunder accompanied him off the tee box- applauding, or perhaps actually mocking, his victory.
Walter strode onto the green like a vanquishing hero, by-passing the ball nestled in the hole with a snort and a nod of his head, and then continued to the far edge of the green, standing with his hands on his hips and his chest puffed out, boldly staring out to the sea. A tiny glimmer of light from a receding tide-pool caught his attention, and he glanced below his feet to discover a miraculous sight. There, gleaming on the rocks, water beading on its’ brightly chromed surface, was the very putter he had flung away in anger just the day before. Walter’s eyebrows shot upward, disappearing beneath the brim of his gray visor. “Well, I'll-be-damned,” he mused, looking skyward with a crooked grin, “Thank you very much…”
Walter lowered himself carefully over the edge of the green, his metal spikes scraping noisily on the sharp, black rocks below as he reached for the club. A near-by flash of lightning and menacing rumble of thunder preceded the small wave that crashed on the rocks at his feet, driving him back cautiously. The water slowly receded, and again Walter reached for the discarded putter. This time a slightly larger wave crashed below him, this one splashing him with a drizzle of spray, once again forcing an abrupt retreat. As the water foamed and receded, Walter’s hand darted towards the club.
Suddenly, a sun-bright bolt of lightning blasted from the sky, dividing into a two-pronged fork and blasting the flag-stick, the ball and the cup into smoking ruin while simultaneously exploding the putter on the rocks and fusing it into a smoldering mass of twisted metal. Walter flinched and crouched with his arms overhead in supplication, a hoarse cry of “HO-LY SHIT!!” exploding from his lips as the deafening crash of thunder punctuated his words.
As the thunder echoed off into the distance, Walter slowly rose and turned, a murderous gleam of rage in his eye as he looked at the small, smoking crater that was, until two seconds ago, his victory over adversity. With froth spraying from his lips, his face clouding over like a thunderhead, Walter turned to confront the ocean and sky, only to see an ENORMOUS GREEN WAVE towering over him, a giant hand of fate that collapsed on top of him with a thunderclap of sound, erasing the entire scene on the green, and much of the green as well.
As the foamy remains of the massive rogue wave rushed back to the sea, all that remained of Walter was his ‘Matthews’ visor, swirling lazily in a rocky tide-pool, a solitary shaft of sunlight glittering off its’ embroidered logo as it sank and disappeared. When it was gone, a final, oddly silent flash of lightning illuminated the ancient caddy standing quietly at the edge of the green. He slowly shook his head in a mournful manner and opened a large black umbrella as it gently began to rain, raising it above his head as he retreated into the surrounding jungle. As he sauntered toward the trees his body became oddly translucent, slowly fading and then suddenly evaporating into a swirl of luminescent mist as he casually walked away from the scene.
Noelani’s amazing solo concluded, and a brief silence ensued- one perhaps even more profound than applause. Chris looked on, unmoving even as he was profoundly moved, and a single tear broke loose and slowly coursed down his cheek, the soft sounds of distant bells wafting through the open windows of the church as he silently and openly wept.
‘Between’
The church glowed brightly, indeed almost- otherworldly as the sunlight burst through the thinning clouds, its’ white-washed surface gleaming, newly washed after the passing rain. Church bells pealed loud and bright from a dozen sources as a steamy mist boiled softly up from the dampened ground. The multi-hued and multi-cultural milieu contained within the church now spilled out of the doors, some lingering to greet their pastor, others slowly filing off to attend to their individual agendas.
Chris and Noelani walked arm in arm toward the waiting car as Buddy and Alani followed close behind, nodding greetings and trading waves with friends and strangers alike.
“You really should sing professionally,” Chris insisted to Noelani, who merely raised a hand in protest. “No, seriously, I haven’t heard anything like that. I don’t want to sound cliché, but that was awesome!”
Noelani replied with a warm smile and reassuring squeeze of Chris’ arm, “Thank you. Its’ fun, but I'm not good enough for anything more.”
“Oh, yes you are. Trust me- I've heard worse stuff at the Met.”
Noelani’s eyes opened wide, her brows arching in puzzled bemusement. “You go to Opera?”
Chris leaned in conspiratorially, “All the time, it's my best kept secret. My favorite is still, undoubtedly ‘Butterfly’- made me cry. I like the Italians the best...”
“Yes, they sound so pure, a lot like Hawaiian music.” Noelani sighed in contentment as she reminisced, “I was good, but not that good. In the end, I just gave it up…” She smiled and looked back over her shoulder, where Alani was laughing brightly at something Buddy said, “…but look what I got in return.”
Kenji winced as he watched the screen, muttering curses under his breath as his Yankees continued to falter. This was not their best year, and those infidels from Boston were destroying their chances at another World Series title. With a disgusted sigh, he muted the gloating commentary extolling the virtues of his foe, and was immediately grateful that he did- for the moment the television went silent, he heard the distinct crunch of tires on gravel and his heart skipped a beat. Whipping the stained and tattered hat from his head, he quickly clicked off the TV, and hastily stuffed both the remote and the hat into a side pocket of the worn leather armchair as his family burst through the living room door.
Noelani addressed Kenji with gusto as she breezed past him and disappeared into the kitchen, “So, Papa- your Yankees winning today? Or losing?”
Kenji flinched, and then rose and followed the sound of Noelani's voice.
Alani laughed softly and shook her head as she sat on the bench just inside the front door, removing sandals and replacing them with well-worn flip-flops as she leaned in to Chris to explain, “Daddy's been watching the game. I don't know why he hides it, we only went to church. I mean, church is church- I don't think it really matters where you go, just that you do.” She paused and smiled, “Take Daddy, for instance. If you go out to the courtyard, you'll find his altar, a holy sanctuary to the Mighty Yankees.”
Chris gaze drifted toward the kitchen, a wry smirk on his face. “Yankees, huh...?”
“Yup. You're in enemy territory now- so watch it.”
Chris replied with a start, “How did you know that I-?”
“Was a Boston fan? The day you crashed on the road, I saw your hat. I waited almost five minutes trying to decide whether or not just to let you drown.”
“Really?”
“No. Lucky for you, I was feeling generous.” Alani sighed exaggeratedly and smirked sideways at him, giving him a little nudge with her shoulder. “Now look what happened.”
“Yeah- lucky me.”
Alani smiled again and gave Chris’ hand a quick squeeze, rising with a fluid motion that belied her grace and beauty, and he rose as well, leaning in to her with his eyes lowered, his intentions clear- only to be interrupted by the entrance of Buddy from the courtyard, who pointedly shut the wide shoji screen with a snap.
He grinned knowingly at the scene and addressed the slightly reddened form of Chris, “Yo, Chris! You wanna gimme a hand wit' da plane? I gotta tighten the cylinder heads on Number One- I could use da help.”
Chris looked briefly to Alani, who smiled softly and inclined her head towards Buddy. “Go. I gotta help with dinner.” And with that she glided off, swaying just a bit more sinuously than was probably necessary, to the droll amusement and a slight shake of the head from Buddy and the open-mouthed stare from Chris.
Buddy slapped Chris jovially on the sh
oulder, the force nearly knocking him over and said, “She beautiful, huh?”
Chris replied dumbly, his voice a dreamy whisper, “My friend, she passed ‘beautiful' a long time ago...”
The fisherman stood up to his waist in the softly swelling waves, pulling in his nets as several fish jumped from the water nearby. He grabbed another double-handful of the net, tugging against an unseen force that unexpectedly tugged back and hauled him face-first into the water. As he rose, sputtering with surprise and sporting a bit of kelp on one shoulder, he stifled a curse and scrambled to his feet as he witnessed the bizarre occurrence around him. Dozens of fish, a wealth and variety of a myriad of colorful species were flashing in the air, frantically leaping and jumping in apparent panic in the water surrounding him. As he stared in awe at the extraordinary spectacle, a woman’s scream yanked his attention to the shore-line.
The woman, the fisherman’s wife, was wading ankle-deep in the surf, holding her skirts about her waist and a hand to her mouth, a look of horror on her normally placid face. She dropped the hand from her mouth and pointed shakily out to the waves beyond the fisherman, where a rolling wave revealed an arm entangled in his nets, a large gold watch encircling one hairy wrist.
Chris perched cross-legged on the wing of the ‘Menehune’ as Buddy stood on a ladder below, his head buried inside the wide radial engine. The sunlight fell in dappled patches of light and shadow on the wing as it trickled through the faded and torn camouflage netting that was still draped haphazardly over the huge craft. After a moment Buddy popped out and pointed to the brightly colored graphics on the side of the plane as he explained, “...so that's why we name it the ‘Mighty Menehune’.”
Over the Rainbow - Book One - 'The Gathering Place' Page 18