Sedona Is Never Far From Lausen - By Subramanian A

Prayers are always answered in a mystical, mysterious way. Lost alleys in the valley of life are only apparent. On the arrival of spring, clear, azure blue skies would grace the dales.

Presently, a White car was gliding along the All US American Road 'Red Rock

Scenic Byway'. The Highway led to the little town of Sedona and its bucolic winds. Nature presented magical views of Red Rocks and a chain of mountains around the place. The flavour of hues invited any searching eyes. Rising high above such magical views, the Chapel of Holy Cross was one of the most awe-inspiring landmark icons of that little town.

Mr Lawrence Bragg was on a trail. He was not more than 35. He was now travelling all along from Switzerland on a singular mission. His countenance bore an expectant mental frame of meeting Patterson after an eclipse of several years.

He had no idea of Patrick Patterson's present moorings. It was a letter from Rev. James which turned the tables. Brag set off. Crossing the North Atlantic, he arrived from Lausen and met Father James at Durham and gathered the details. To the showcase of red rock mountain buttes of Sedona, he was now travelling for a historic meeting. Life would confluence life.

Mr Bragg tried to recall Patterson. Beyond certain childhood recollections, Patterson remained rather oblivious. Through the veil of the past, the frame of Patterson amounted to only a pencil sketch of faint and broken lines. Certainly, as a boy of eight or nine, Bragg remembered the presence of a bespectacled man often visiting Durham Chapel Boulevard. He presented to be a well-bred man. Sitting under the shades of a big oak tree that grew in the courtyard of the chapel, Patterson could be seen engaging in a light conversation with the Rector of the chapel, Rev. Father Victor James.

 

The boys would be playing in the courtyard of the chapel. Bragg would often be seen sitting under a cedar tree and watching the proceedings going around. He preferred listening to the melodies of nature. The winds of Chapel Hill Violins brought in the scent of seasons. The sinking Sun over the meadows of BlueCross Blue Shield was a pastoral scene.

He preferred silence to the din of the world. The teachers of Hillside Park School saw in him a blossoming talent at that tender age. During his evening rounds to the chapel, Mr Patterson's glances would often fall on this lonesome boy, truncated from the general spin of the world.

As weeks went by, between the little Bragg and Patterson, there grew bondage. During the rounds to the Chapel, Patterson always stole time to be with him. He would enquire about his studies. He would walk around the place with him and talk about people and places, nature and seasons, in a tone that was suggestive of talking to a mature man. Little Bragg would attentively listen. Patterson never diluted his levels.

To Patterson, little Bragg was not little Bragg but his favourite "Macaroni". It conveyed no particular meaning other than a lovable address.

Along with other boys, Macaroni stayed in the orphanage run by the chapel. Like all other inmates who reached such workhouses, he too had a big tale to tell the world written by an oblivious past. All that Rev. James could now remember was that Macaroni was seen crying in the footsteps of the chapel on a rainy day, about eight years ago. The kid was in the tottering stage. He was trembling in the cold wind. His little eyes were searching for his mother.

And where was she? Nobody actually knew. Only the cutting wind and the fallen leaves of the Boulevard knew the truth. Rev. James got a letter from the kid's pocket and his heart nearly leapt out of his ribs in anxiety but the high tides soon subsided. The letter practically revealed nothing. It only pleaded with Rev. James to take care of the kid and be brought up well. The letter also conveyed a story of a broken relationship and an attempt at suicide with the kid. After all, the poor mother hadn't the heart.

Rev. James had read such letters on several occasions in the past – broken family relationships, diseases, penury, love affairs, elopement, suicides – all such complexities of life had brought children to the doors of the workhouse. Oftentimes, the church bells had rung at unusual hours. So, the latest tale was no more than a paper boat in the ocean of life.

Rev. James advertised about this missing boy but to no avail as usual. The world has its own hide and seeks games. Chances of meeting tempered winds are less possible in quelling currents.

Thus, under the wings of Rev. James, little Bragg began to gain ground. The workhouse became his very home and the Boulevard, the playground of his life.

Rev. James, Patterson and a young couple Florian and Audrey from Switzerland – Bragg received a lease of life from all of them.

Patterson's native haunts were Sedona. He belonged to the winds of the Village of Oak Creek. He was a well-bred man who served the US Postal Department in different capacities in various towns. His ancestors still retained the credit of being part of that historic Pony Express mail delivery system of the US which formed one of the longest and most hazardous routes among the dense prairies and the rocky lines of Nebraska to Sacramento. Those were the 1860s.

It was during his tenure at Durham that he had come in contact with Rev. James and Macaroni. Philanthropy enriched Patterson's life. Wherever he lived, he did leave an indelible mark by way of services.

So, Patterson naturally got along with the activities of the chapel. Those visits glued bondage between him and little Macaroni.

 

Patterson had a son by the name Collins. He was a smart boy who fared well both in studies and music. The boy had multifarious talents. Naturally, he was very much part of the annual Verde Valley Music Festival conducted every October. The festival happened to be a fundraiser for Native American Scholarships at the school.

Thus, at a tender age, his fragrance was wafting beyond the bounds of Oak Creek. He was really a blossoming bud on the Oak Creek valley. Collins was left under the care of his grandparents for one sole reason - his health could not really be fair under other climatic conditions. However, he joined his parents during

vacations and on one such occasion……..

Let me draw a deep breath at this juncture. Let me continue the tale in my naive language.

Heart disease disturbed Macaroni's life for a long. Heart transplantation was the only solution. The world was aware of Macaroni's deteriorating condition.

Money and medical support were no problem but getting a living heart was the real hurdle. Who would come forward? Body organs are unlike grocery items. While man draws the blood of his fellow men, he forgets that life is dearer than all the idiosyncrasies of the world.

Doctors were on the hunt. Progressive deterioration finally led Macaroni to the confines of the hospital. It seemed to be a losing battle. Prayers touched the limits of the skies. Rev. James and Patterson were much tossed and swayed.

Parallel to this tragedy, Patterson witnessed another personal tragedy. Little Collins suffered from pneumonia for a few days. He was admitted. Sometimes, an ordinary fever may seem to be very innocent but death may be lurking within its precincts. Before it was dawn, the dusk arrived and drew the curtains over the short life of little Collins.

Patterson was naturally shattered. His prayers did not give conclusive answers. Somewhere, the equations showed a mismatch.

Yet, he could defy the surging winds. In whispering tones he conveyed to the doctors:

"You may try my son's heart on little Bragg. His life is also akin to mine.

I give my consent. Paradise Lost in one sense can be Paradise Regained in another sense. I fully comprehend".

The doctors were now on a momentous trail. Patterson's prayers were finally answered in a mystical, mysterious way. The tone of his heart set the standard. Though his prayers could not save his son's life, they saved another precious life. Macaroni was soon backing in life.

After that, Patterson soon moved out of Durham for other places in the priorities of life. Though he occasionally felt the ruminations of those Boulevard winds upon his chest, he was at intangibility to revisit those springs.

On his retirement, he returned to his native winds. He led a peaceful life with the memories of the past.

Now, Bragg needed parental care. On seeing an advertisement, a generous couple from Switzerland approached Rev. James. They were the young couple Florian and Audrey who lived in Lausen. They had no issues. They were on the lookout for adoption. Gender did not matter. More than a kind of market purchase, the couple believed in certain ethics. They saw giving a new lease of life to an orphan boy as indeed services to the Lord, more than the sense of adoption. They knew the difficulties of adopting such an ill-fetched boy, yet, the spirit of the Cross properly guided them inwardly. They knew that life was an open stage for anybody. Meticulous planning need not yield any result. In a moment, share markets can topple you. In a wink, a stroke can force anybody to confine to bed for years. From the world of happiness, you may be thrown into the ocean of sadness in no time. Life is a great gambler that way.

So, they set their mind on adopting the little Macaroni. They approached the whole process from a positive angle.

Little Bragg knew that he would soon be leaving the cares of the chapel - those meadows where he could chirp under the wings of his uncle James. He knew that he would soon be missing his playmates.

Sitting on the steps of the chapel, he solemnly wept. Parting is always a painful affair for every heart. Wherever man has pledged his heart, it is indeed difficult to wind up relations and get back his heart.

James' uncle patted him and said:

"My darling, weep not. This is only a summer vacation for you. You will be back. I will be waiting for you under these oak shades. Don't you know that we would celebrate the next Christmas only here"?

Thus, holding the arms of Florian and Audrey, little Bragg voyaged into the expanse of life. While leaving the doors of the chapel, turning his head, he sent a whimsical look. He saw uncle James wipe off his tears. A sparrow chirped away from the rooftop.

Why did uncle James wipe off his tears? Little Bragg was bewildered.

The next Christmas arrived but he did not return. Seasons blossomed and withered but to Durham, he never returned. It was soon a new kind of life. As if in a dream he remembered his days, but, he was only a little boy who could not speak out about his dream. Soon, the new tides of life swept away the images of his early life. The currents of life have the power of such a sweep. Though every parting can be painful, the powerful veil of life soon would cover the Past and those times become oblivious and intangible.

It happened about 25 years ago. He remembered his Durham days and the face of Patterson but he was not aware of the truth that Collins was living through him. One day he received a letter from Rev. James.

"Dear Bragg, I want to see you in my failing health. An important mission is

waiting for you. The river will be meeting the ocean. Do come. Uncle James".

Bragg was left to bewilderment. He felt a deep stir. In no time he set out for Durham.

Uncle James received him in joyful tears. Old winds fanned their memories. The past sang an ode of common mirth.

The truth was revealed. Bragg listened to the whole account of Rev. James in awe-stricken silence.

"Now, you can see the significance of this trip. You owe your life to Uncle Patterson. Now that the truth is revealed, I can die peacefully. You may go and meet him without fail. He is living in Sedona".

So, Bragg set out to meet his benefactor. Naturally, he was feeling guilty but helpless. Who did reveal to him the truth earlier?

The car finally halted before a wicket painted green. The wooden fencing that ran around kept within its bounds a small farmhouse and the view suggested Bragg of a classical rural landscape painting.

An old man appeared at the door. He looked at the incomer with inquiring glances but was at his wit's end to recognize his old Macaroni from the Durham chapel.

The puzzle was finally solved and both of them were in heaven. Springs sprang forth. Across the passage of time, the olden Boulevard winds brought to them the mellower tones of life.

"Darling, I have really gotten back my lost treasure. We must celebrate this occasion. Open the doors; let the wind chimes be sounded!"

Macaroni stayed there for a week enjoying the fountains of life. In a lighter moment, he asked:

"Uncle Patterson, why can't you join me for the rest of your life or at least be with me for several months? You are getting old and a change could be imminent".

Patterson smiled through the corner of his eyes.

"Macaroni, you are indeed a lovable boy. This Oak Creek wind is enough for me. These dales are my living forces. It is only a natural thought to have my gravestone laid in these familiar winds. I can perfectly absorb you. I am contented. See, separation is counted by the level of disownment and isolation and not by distances. When we are no more in different hemispheres, where is the feeling of estrangement anymore? I am not a philosopher but, life has its own voices".

Patting Bragg, Patterson further endorsed: "Sedona is never far from Lausen".