The Miracle In The Canyon Page #6

N/A

• Mystery

								


Jack rode all day and arrived at the South Rim of the Canyon just after six in the evening.  He checked into the same Motel —The Yavapai Motor Lodge — and parked the Motorcycle in exactly the same spot that it had been in, on exactly this day, a year ago.  The same desk clerk was working in the lobby who had been there last year.
  
“How are you doing?  I NEVER expected to see you back here again.  That was really something that happened last year, wasn’t it?  None of us can believe an entire year has gone by already.” “Yes, it was really something,” said Jack.  “I made a promise to come back and honor his memory, so I’ll be staying with you for the next two days.  It would mean a lot to me, and to him, if you keep my being here quiet.  I don’t want any publicity, especially from the press.  This is a very private matter and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“No problem, mums the word as far as I’m concerned.  It’s good to see you and know that you’re doing well.  Just one thing though before I go home for the evening.”  “What’s that?” Jack asked.  “Did they ever figure out why he did it? I never read anything in the papers about why he jumped.”

“No, I don’t think they ever did.  Some things, maybe the most important things in life, tend to remain a mystery from all but the few who are directly involved.  I think in Fred’s case, that mystery will remain intact.”  “That’s right his name was Fred.  I haven’t heard anyone use his name in almost a year.  Around here, he’s just referred to as the ‘Naked Jumper.”’ Jack smiled to himself at the terminology.  He knew that somewhere high above Fred was looking down and smiling too.

‘One more thing though,” the desk clerk said as Jack was turning to go to his room.  “What’s that, I’m kind of in a hurry, I want to order something from the restaurant before it closes and then get over to the canyon before the sun is completely down.”  “Well, it’s like this.  Every morning, at exactly 7:00 a.m., the phone rings at the front desk and it’s someone asking for the number of Jack’s room.  When we tell the caller that we are not allowed to give out any information regarding our guests, they immediately hang up and the call ends.  The very next morning they call back again and ask once more for the number of Jack’s room. This has happened now every day for a year. Your name’s Jack, isn’t it?”

‘Yep, must be a co-incidence. Didn’t they ask for Jack by his last name.”  “No, only Jack, just plain old Jack every time they called.” Jack knew that Fred had never asked him about his last name, and he was sure that he had never offered the information.  “It’s really funny,” the desk clerk went on, “The caller never stays on long enough for the police to trace the call.  After the tenth or eleventh time, we forwarded the information about the calls to the Park Police who tapped into our line and tried to put a trace on them.  Our receptionist, Daphne, who almost always takes the call, has tried to keep the caller on the line, but when she doesn’t give the caller the information they request, the line always goes dead.”

Jack said goodnight to the desk clerk, whose name he now knew was Roy, and checked into his room.  It was the same room, #888, that he had been in a year ago.  He picked up the phone and dialed 0 for the front desk.
“Roy, this is Jack in Room #888.  Did someone request this specific room for me when making the reservation?”  “Let me check …. Nope, just says Non-Smoking King on the reservation slip.  Why, is something wrong with Room #888?”  “No, everything’s fine, good night, Roy.”

Jack quickly said a Rosary before ordering a light meal from the restaurant. He then hurried across, and down the road, to the Rim where he had met Fred on that fateful day a year ago.  As he sat there quietly eating and staring out over the rim, he felt a peacefulness descend and overtake him both in body and spirit.  As the sun went completely down, he prayed for over three hours for the saving deliverance of Fred’s soul.

Suicide, a word no-one except the police and newspapers had used in his presence, was still a grievous sin in the Catholic Church.  Publicly, the church would admit to no justification that would allow one to take their own life.

Jack thought silently about Jesus — wasn’t that exactly what he had done by offering himself up as a sacrifice so all could be saved?  Jesus knew what was going to happen on Calvary that afternoon, just as Fred knew what was going to happen if he didn’t receive a phone call from Jack that morning saying that he had changed his mind.

When the stars had finally filled the sky, Jack got up and walked back to the motel. As he walked past the front desk he asked Roy, “What time does that call come in in the morning asking for a Jack?”  “At exactly 7:00 a.m. every morning.”

Jack thanked Roy and walked back to his room.  He set his alarm for 6:00 a.m. but knew he would be awake most of the night. He was in the lobby, standing at the front desk at ten minutes before seven, waiting — waiting to see if the mysterious caller would call again.


Chapter Six

“Nothing,” said Daphne.  “Every morning for a year a call has come in at exactly 7:00 a.m. asking for Jack.  Are you sure it hasn’t been you that’s been making those phone calls?”  “What, call and ask for myself?” Jack said. “What would be the reasoning behind that?”

“It’s really unbelievable. We’re open 365 days a year and the only property inside the park that is.  This caller has called every day for a solid year and hasn’t missed a holiday, weekend, nothing.  Every morning, and I mean EVERY morning that phone rings — but not today!”

Jack spent the day in quiet contemplation on the edge of the rim.  He thought about Sarah, and how she had loved this place, and said a prayer to Fred to please watch over his beloved wife until he could be with her again.  That night he said two Rosary’s, one for each of them. 

There was a night owl just outside his window and it spoke to him in a language he felt but could not understand.  He could feel it saying to him — UNTIL NEXT YEAR, UNTIL NEXT YEAR.
 
Jack slept very little, and the next morning was in the lobby again before 7.  Once again, no phone call asking for Jack.  After having coffee, and visiting the rim one more time, he rode non-stop back to the monastery carrying a new part of the Great Mystery with him. He had tried to limit his food and sleep for the past two days, as the Abbot had instructed, but something inside him had taken charge.

The Abbott had always been very respectful, and not in a condescending way, of the terms the Indians used to refer to God and Revelation. Jack had heard the Abbott use the term The Great Mystery when referring to their religious beliefs many times.  He couldn’t come up with a better term for what he felt had happened back at the Canyon.

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