A late summer breeze drifted across the outer monastery garden picking up speed as it sped across a plot of land that, for the first time in many years, now lay fallow and devoid of pea plants. None had been planted that year, and the moving air felt no restriction as it danced across the flattened grass and up the stone walls of the residence wing.

Just above it an open window was far too tempting a target to ignore, and with a sudden burst of speed rushed though the gap in the glass panes to find itself in a comfortable wood-lined study dominated by a large oaken desk. Piled all over the desk were stacks of papers that presented far to great an opportunity for an irresponsible breeze to pass up. Dashing the short distance from the window to the desk, the draft lifted the nearest stack of papers off the surface of the desk and scattered them across the slightly worn carpet around the feet of the monk sitting behind the desk. Then it sped off, rustling with laughter. It's work was done.

With a sigh, Abbot Mendel put his pen in its holder and bent down to collect the fallen documents. Since his elevation to the Abbacy of St. Thomas' he had spent a lot of time behind this desk and not enough time in his garden. Until now he had not fully appreciated the effortless way in which the previous Abbot had combined administration with his favorite activities of politics and science.

He sorted through the rescued papers and found that they were a series of semi-personal letters and documents he had received over the last few months. At the top of the stack was a formal note from the Bishop's Palace containing a strained and strange message that "... the Bishop wishes to inform you that, at the recent Royal Wedding the Countess Walpurga Truchsess-Zeil spoke to the Bishop and specifically asked that her profound appreciation and sincere gratitude be conveyed to you on her behalf. As the Countess failed to indicate the nature of service that you had performed for her, we are forwarding her message without further comment..."

Smiling, Abbot Mendel still felt a slight glow inside his chest at the thought that the Countess had been informed of his role in making the wedding such a success. For the second paper was a clipping from the local newspaper, published at the time of the wedding, in which the reporter raved about many aspects of the greatest social function of the year, but reserved his greatest praise for the magnificent display of finery worn by the Countess and her guests. Such was the impact of this new, exciting and brilliant type of cloth that, "... red," the reporter insisted, "would for evermore be the chosen color of all brides at the time of their nuptials!".

It was the same theme that could be found in the third piece of paper Abbot Mendel was holding; a letter from the newly appointed 'Chief Engineering Officer' of the Badische Anilin- & Soda-Fabrik (BASF) of Baden, Germany, one Carl Emmanuel Waldschmidt, who was currently enjoying considerable financial and personal success at the new, three year old, dye manufactory. He had written a warm and very sincere letter thanking the new Abbot for all his research efforts and offering yet again to give Mendel a very well paying job in the new field of chemical engineering, if every he wanted it.

In his letter Waldschmidt pointed out that the German manufactories were investing heavily in all areas of chemical and scientific research. Already he had made considerable progress on a number of new products, but, he reported, "... there is a serious shortage of trained scientists who have the right attitude and aptitude to work with these highly theoretical and abstract areas of human thought...". Mendel, he said, had the right stuff to make significant contributions to human understanding of science and produce breakthroughs in basic research.

At this Abbot Mendel grinned ruefully. No one, he thought, would ever remember a single thing he had done in his life. Few had even read the paper he published a couple of years ago on pea hybridizations! In a few years his work would be completely forgotten, or at best considered irrelevant.

Folded into an inconspicuous square among the stack of documents Mendel found a dirty single sheet of very cheap paper on which there were only a few words and no signature. It was written in Czech by a feminine hand, and simply thanked unnamed persons at the monastery for unnamed services to the cause of Czech nationalism. It also added that the writer was now safely away from the Bruno area and back with friends.

However, it was the last of the letters that Mendel had read, and re-read time and again since its arrival a couple of weeks ago. It had been posted from a place called 'Brooklyn' where someone now calling himself Ladimír Klacel was currently staying before continuing his journey 'west'. The letter was long, rambling and gave dramatic accounts of his journey though Italy and onto a ship bound for the United States. His arrival in New York had been almost a disaster and someone at the docks had wanted to change his name to 'Matthew Chester', but he had refused to comply (although that name may now appear on official documents).

He did however, think it was a good idea to change part of his name, so he had decided to call himself 'Ladimir' from now on. Life in the United States, he wrote, was very different to anything he could have imagined. It was a raw, fast life that was full of crudity but a lot of vitality. He had already made contacts among other Czech immigrants, and a group of them were planning on leaving the New York area and going to a much more distant place called 'Chicago', where, it was reported, there were great opportunities to be had killing cows for their beef!.

In order to save money while he was stuck in New York, he had taken a ferry across the river to this place called 'Brooklyn', which was smaller, dirtier, but a lot cheaper. Not far inland there were farms, and he had able to find work in the one a few miles from the ferry with the strange name of 'Flatbush', but as there were absolutely no libraries, newspapers, schools, colleges or any other kinds of intellectual simulation in the area, he would not be staying long. This, he said, was not a part of New York that would ever amount to much!

Carefully, Abbott Mendel placed the stack of papers back on his desk and this time took a large orb of glass and put it on top of them. He did not want to lose any of that correspondence. You never knew when or where the loss of one piece of paper could change the course of history.