by Mike Ward
The Old Rocker and the Healer
by Mike Ward
(Author of The Banker With a Face Full of Evil)
Copyright 2016 Mike Ward
This story was inspired one Saturday morning by listening to "Far, Far Away" by Slade. By mid afternoon the story was finished.
Table of Contents
The Old Rocker and the Healer
Excerpt from A Cyclist Thrown into Another World by a Female Magician
About Mike Ward
Other Books by Mike Ward
Connect with Mike Ward
Excerpt from The Banker With a Face Full of Evil
The Old Rocker and the Healer
The house was quiet now. They'd all gone to bed. This would probably be his last night on Earth but he wasn't ready to leave. He wanted to see his granddaughter grow up, to guide her through her teenage years. They had been big, his band. There had been a string of number ones, a lot of awards and travel, all that travel. He had loved playing concerts all over the world. They had agreed early on that they would moderate their behavior. There would be no trashing of hotel rooms, no treating people badly. They had been in a business that sometimes brought out the worst in humanity, and they had seen that, but somehow they had risen above it. There had never been any scandals. As far as he knew none of them had ever taken drugs. None of them had ever been drunk in public, even though it had happened in private.
He was old now. Frank had died last year, and now he was the last of the group. He had been the lead singer, and also played guitar. The songs were still fresh in his head, he still knew all the words. He had built this house when he retired. It was on Loch Snizort on the Isle of Skye. There was the blood of the Vikings in him, and they had been on all the islands around here. Snizort was not a Gaelic name, it was a Viking name. He wondered what it had been like, to walk these shores a thousand years ago in the heyday of the Vikings. They had controlled much of the Highlands and Islands, and their blood was everywhere including in him.
His granddaughter was fifteen. Fifteen was an awkward age, but grandfather and granddaughter shared a bond that was missing between his granddaughter, and her parents. She would come round, he knew that. Give her five years and she would be a model daughter. He had guided her, and been there for her at the times her parents had been too busy with their own careers. He knew that she needed him in her life. He wanted to be here until she was twenty two years old, and then he could leave, but it was in his head that he would be leaving tonight.
Just an hour ago his granddaughter had sat with him. She had opened up her chromebook and played one of his old songs on You Tube. He was there with the band. By God they'd had so much energy then. He was fronting the band, singing about all the places he'd been. Watching the sun rise over the mountains in Alaska. Standing on bridges around the world. He was lucky, the memories were all there. He could still remember that sunrise in Alaska. They'd played a concert in a place called Talkeetna. It wasn't a big gig, but it had been an interesting town, a long way on the road from Anchorage. He'd thought then about giving it all up, and being a mountain man in Alaska. That idea had held appeal for a while. But they were a band, a group of four men together. They were bonded, and he needed them, and they needed him. He hadn't mentioned any of this to the others, and he was glad he'd stayed. He thought of Robert, the other guitarist, with his long dark hair and easy smile. Robert had been a rock, a calm man who held the band together just by his prescence. They had all been calm in their own way. Sometimes the guys who played good music were the outsiders, the ones who didn't fit in.
While he lay there, lost in his thoughts the man slipped quietly into the room. The old rocker looked up as the man sat down by the bed. "Who are you?" he said. "How did you get in here?"
"I'm just a fan," the man said. I was only a young teenager when you guys were at your height, but I've never forgotten you. I still listen to you guys on You Tube."
"What's your favorite song?" the old rocker said. "I don't know why I'm asking you this. You shouldn't be here."
The man put his hand on the old rocker's arm. "It's okay,' he said. "People and animals are always calm around me. It's just the way it is. When I lived in England I could cut a twig off a tree, and plant it in the soil, and it would always grow." The man looked the old rocker in the eye. "I have been blessed with the gift of healing. That's why I'm here."
"Nobody can heal this," the old rocker said. "The doctors have given up. They sent me home to die."
"Will you let me try?" the healer said.
The old rocker nodded. "Do your worst," he said.
The healer took his words literally, which was not how he had meant them. "I will do my best not my worst," he said. The healing will take about five minutes. All I ask is that you stay still, and don't say anything. Where does it hurt?"
"It hurts like hell in my chest," the old rocker said. "The cancer is in there. It's everywhere."
The healer put his hands on the old rocker's chest. He shut his eyes. He paused for a moment. "It's not everywhere," he said. "This will be difficult but not impossible."
The old rocker looked at the healer. It was obvious the healer did not expect a reply. He wondered if the man even knew he had spoken. One hand stayed on the rocker's right lung. That was where the worst of it was. The healer lifted his other hand and put it on the old rocker's neck to the left of his Adam's apple. There was a sense of calm in the room, a sense of incredible peace. The old rocker felt a light tingling in his chest, but nothing else.
After five minutes the healer stopped. "It is done. Later you will be hungry, but your stomach will not tolerate food. Ask your granddaughter to bring you milk from the fridge. Ask for as much as you feel you need. Sip it slowly when you are ready.
"I haven't eaten anything for five days," the old rocker said. "I doubt that I will eat now."
The healer looked at him. "It will probably happen," he said. "That is what I always tell people. Drink milk. It will do the job."
The old rocker sat up. It was the first time he had sat up in bed for four days. He was surprised at the strength he had. "What did you do?" he said.
"I didn't do it, God did it," the healer said. "There are healers all over the world. Many do not even know they can heal, but God has put them there. There is not supposed to be the suffering on this world that there is." The healer smiled. "I would like you to play for me. I would like you to play the song about waking up in the mountains of Alaska."
The old rocker looked at the healer. He had been about to comment that now was not the time, but he realized he had a yearning to pick up a guitar. "I have a guitar in the adjoining room." He pointed at a door in the wall. "It's in there. Can you bring it to me." He watched as the healer stood up, and walked into the other room. He guessed the man was only about ten years younger than he was, but the healer walked like a young man in his twenties. "Thank you," he said as the healer handed him his guitar. The guitar was tuned, he still played regularly, and he had played through much of his illness. Unlike some of the other old rockers he had no arthritis, and he could still play the really complicated chords that had characterized the band's music. He smiled at the healer, played the opening chords, and then his voice began to ring round the room. His pitch was perfect, and he wondered if the healer had done something to his voice. He wasn't straining like he had done recently. Fascinating. He began to get into the song. He sang about the bridges, he sang about the sun rising over the mountains in Alaska. For a moment it seemed like the band members were there with him, and he could have sworn he could feel their prescence.
He finished the first song. "Would you like another?" he said.
> The healer smiled. "There was a song you sang that didn't make it to number one. After that all your singles were number ones. I really liked that one."
The old rocker knew which one he was talking about. He liked that one too. Even though the song didn't make it to number one it had gotten the band a lot of attention. After they could do no wrong in the eyes of the fans. The song was three and a half minutes. The old rocker was in the zone. He felt better than he had felt for twenty years. He was ready to play all night. "What would you like next?" he said.
The healer looked at him. There was some regret in his eyes. "We have awoken your granddaughter," he said. "She will be up here in five minutes. She cannot see me."
"Why not?" the old rocker said.
"Because I do not exist," the healer said. He paused for a second and then he spoke again. "Your granddaughter did not want you to die. She has been praying for three days that you would not die. You mean a lot to her. Her prayer has been heard, so I have been sent."
"What does this mean?"
"It means you will have extra time, time you would not have had. Spend the time wisely. Since it was granted to your granddaughter, and not necessarily to you then be there for her at the rough times, and the good times. You will be there to guide her through her teenage years just as you both wanted."
The healer stood up, and walked over to the door. He stood behind the door just as it burst open. The old rocker's granddaughter walked in. "Are you okay Granda?" she said. There was concern on her face.
"I'm okay," the old rocker said. He watched the healer slip out through the open doorway. He was still watching as a white light enveloped the healer. The light was bright, and the rocker looked away. When he looked back the healer was gone. "Will you fetch me some milk please Rebekah," he said. For a second he saw hope in his granddaughter's eyes, and then he saw her shut it down. He put his hand on his granddaughter's arm. "I feel better," he said. "Perhaps I have been granted a reprieve. Bring me some milk, and I'll play you some of the old songs."
While his granddaughter went to fetch him some milk the old rocker stood up, and looked out of the window. Dawn was creeping slowly across the land. For a fleeting moment he saw Frank, Robert and Marc standing there together on the hillside. Frank lifted a hand and waved at him, and he waved back.
By the time his granddaughter came back the band was gone. He took a deep breath, and for the first time in nine months it didn't hurt. He lifted his guitar, and began to sing the song about the sunrise in Alaska.
The End
