War In Heaven

by Jasmine Bowen

  “I’m a singer,” Gabriel managed.

  The doctor nodded.

  “I know. I’ve already acknowledged that. You’re young and healthy, and we’ve got it early. We should be ok, on that front. Do you have any questions for me at this time?”

  “What should we do?” Isda asked again, weakly.

  “I’m going to write your husband out a management plan and a prescription. I’m also going to refer him to a respiratory therapist for regular follow up. But for now, as soon as the infection in your lungs is gone, a day or two, you guys can get out of here, and back to your normal lives.”

  “Except I’m a singer with degenerative lung tissue,” his voice was quiet, hoarse, and heartbroken.

  “That is quite likely to never get any worse than this,” the Doctor assured him, getting up. “I have to complete my rounds now, but please let me know if you have any more questions.”

  The only noise in the room when he left was the hiss of the machines and the beep of the monitors. Isda tried to smile.

  “It’ll be ok, honey.”

  “Of course it’s going to be ok,” he turned to her with another fake smile, but she could see the distress behind his eyes. “God didn’t give us this opportunity to share his message just so he could take it away.”

  She nodded, “You’re right. This is a test, that we can overcome.”

  “And we will,” he squeezed her hand with a smile. “And we will.”

  “Do you want me to call the boys?” she offered and he sat up a bit straighter.

  “No. But I do want you with us on tour. I want my wife with me.”

  “I…” she opened her mouth, about to protest. There was home and school and all of these things to consider. They paid rent on a tiny bachelor apartment, although she was the only one there. But Gabriel was looking at her with such intensity, with such longing, that she didn’t know how to refuse. Her wedding vows had said ‘obey’ and she wasn’t about to go back on them now. “Sure. I’ll find a way.”

  He smiled, his head resting back on the pillows.

  “We can do Whore of Babylon every night,” he said, and she simply gave a tiny shrug.

  If you can manage it, she thought, although not an ounce of sadness crossed her face. If you can still sing.

  The boys took it relatively well, considering the fact that their lead singers voice was now in jeopardy. But when Gabriel was released from the hospital, he seemed to jump right back into work with more energy than ever. They were simultaneously trying to record another album and continue this tour, which meant they had longer stops in the city whenever they could find a recording studio.

  Isda dropped her courses that took place in a classroom and kept her online courses, taking only half a course load. It still kept her busy, spending long hours online as the bus moved across cities, but it was worth it, to be a shoulder for Gabriel, to be his strength.

  At first, it was easy, it was nothing. A little cough here or there, an extra breath in a song. Nothing that anyone would be ashamed of, especially with their schedule. But one night, Isda was sitting backstage, watching the monitors and scribbling from a textbook, when something caught her eye.

  “What song should we do?” Gabriel asked the crowd, that grin on his face that made every single person feel as if they were special. “We’ve got a set list, but you’re the ones paying us to be here. You guys decide.”

  A roar came from the crowd, and Gabriel cocked his ear, listening.

  “Jerusalem? Hmm, haven’t heard that one in awhile,” he strummed the guitar he had on, fingering the opening chords, and the crowd roared their approval. “You boys remember Jerusalem?”

  In answer, Jinn hit the opening beats on the drum. Isda raised an eyebrow, intrigued to see if they actually remembered it. It was a 7-minute song, and they didn’t do it all that much.

  “You guys know that Jerusalem was supposed to be an epic place, a Utopia, right? But then human nature being what it is, it turned into a place of gambling and hookers. If you build it, they will find a way to use it for evil. Jesus wasn’t too impressed with that.”

  “What’s he doing?” Isda asked, pressing her headset to Jinn’s private channel. He always had a private channel to be able to call out things that were wrong, as he sat far enough back on the stage to see everything. On the monitor, she saw Jinn react to her comment, but he didn’t answer.

  “So there’s all this gambling and illegal activity, and Jesus is wondering how he can possibly die for his father when the earthly world needs him so much. But in a way, that spurs him on.”

  “Hey, Gabriel, did you forget the song?” Jinn called out at last, calling a roar of laughter from the crowd.

  “Did you?” Gabriel answered back, and the crowd laughed even harder. Again he strummed the opening chords, and Isda switched channels. In Gabriel’s mic, under the background noise, she heard his breath, heavy and catching. Before she could say anything however, he leaned into the microphone and the boys jumped in.

  Jerusalem; we think there’s no place like you

  Jerusalem; what we see can’t be true

  But our everyday life is tangled in lies

  We’ve turned this whole world into strangled cries

  He coughed then, rocking the amphitheatre, and took a deep breath. Isda heard it catch and she could do nothing, but watch, in fear, her eyes wide and her body paralyzed as he continued, taking a breath every three words.

  We need you back, Jesus, to overturn tables of the world

  We’ve turned your earthly kingdom into an evil swirl—

  There was a break for the music, and she could see as the camera zoomed in and he tried to smile, tried to relax, that his chest was heaving and he was trying not to hack into the microphone again. He had a death grip on the microphone stand, his hand trembling and she wasn’t sure whether it was from pain or anger. But her husband was stubborn, she knew that and she knew that he wouldn’t quit. The boys echoed the chorus, and she knew that there was no recovery when Gabriel did not join in, taking the time to breathe, his hand now in a fist. He usually jumped in with a scream that brought the house down, but this time it was just Jinn and Ramiel’s voice, great, but not as powerful as his.

  Ramiel played the opening chords of the next verse twice through, and each time, Gabriel tried to start, but found his breath too short. Isda gasped, putting her hand to her mouth, watching as if the stage was crashing down. She saw the looks Jinn and Ramiel gave each other. Her mind whirled, and she pressed the button to the public channel, not caring if he heard. There was only one way to save this.

  “Jinn, Ramiel, take over the song.”

  Their years on stage were a credit, as the crowd probably had no idea what was wrong. She was counting on the fact that Jerusalem was such an old song, no one would remember it properly.

  The drummer and the bassist leaned into their microphones, and, with healthy lungs, blasted out the rest of the verse.

  Misguided children, and broken men

  The fields are all dying, the roads all bend

  We try in our own way to make it right

  But we are but mortal, we need our God to win the fight

  Church pews once full now gather dust

  We worship alone; our God must be in disgust

  Gabriel caught his breath in time for the chorus, grabbing the microphone off the stand and dropping to his knees for dramatic effect.

  We need you back, Jesus, to overturn tables of the world

  We’ve turned your earthly kingdom into an evil swirl

  No one knew anything was wrong, not with the power that he had finished with. But Isda’s heart was nearly beating out of her chest and she felt sick to her stomach.

  “Early intermission,” Isda turned to the lighting crew, who knew better than to protest and shut the house lights down.

  “Ladies and Gentleman, there will now be a 30 minute intermission,” came the pre-recorded announcement. Isda barely heard it as she rushed t
owards the stage exit, waiting for the boys to make their way off. Their intermission wasn’t due for another two songs, and so they would be understandably confused.

  They were arguing when they came off.

  “What the heck were you two doing?” Gabriel snapped as he made his way to the curtain. “Trying to get your brush of fame?”

  “Gabe, don’t be an idiot, we saved your ass out there,” Ramiel replied, pulling his headset down to his neck.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Jinn put in.

  “It’s not a big deal?” Gabriel turned around, looking like he wanted to explode. “I’m the singer, not the two of you. I don’t wander over to play the drums when you go to get a sip of water.”

  “I…” Jinn started, and looked at Isda, who was standing off to the side.

  “Gabriel…” she managed, but he seemed to have an angry look for her too.

  “I had water go down the wrong pipe, you never had that happen? And suddenly you think you have the authority to change the whole show?”

  “You choked?” she asked doubtfully and he rolled his eyes.

  “Isda, I’ve been singing that song since I was 12 years old and I wrote it in my bedroom. I’m quite sure I can handle it. And if I need to a moment to get a drink, the protocol is to do some improv, not steal my parts.”

  “Gabriel,” she said, trying to remain calm. “That’s not what happened.”

  “That is damn well what happened!” he snapped at her, his eyes wild with anger.”And the fact that any of you think otherwise is an insult. I’m fine, I said I’m fine, why the hell can’t you believe me?”

  “Gabriel!” Jinn’s voice was assertive, and powerful. “There is no need for that kind of language. No one is trying to steal your place, no one is trying to do anything to harm you. We’re a team and we’re in this together. We support each other.”

  “Then act like it!” Gabriel snapped, pulling off his headset. “I’m going to take intermission in the green room and the door will be locked. I don’t want any of you coming in.”

  “My purse is in there,” Isda replied, trying not to cry. “Let me get it.”

  “You know what?” now his anger was directed right at her, like a tidal wave. “You’re missing school. You can probably head back.”

  “What?” her jaw fell open.

  “Seriously. You’re not a manager, Isda. You’re an occasional singer, and you’re my wife. How the heck can I do a show if I’m wondering if you’re going to change it at any moment?”

  “I’m not. I was just…”

  “I think you should ask Camay to get you on the next flight out of here. Our mailbox is probably overflowing.”

  And with that seemingly innocent but biting comment he was gone, storming through the crowd of stage hands. Everyone backstage heard the green room door slam, but no one dared to follow him.

  Isda put her hand to her mouth, trying not to openly cry. Jinn reached out, wrapping his arms around her. It was too much, and she broke down, sobbing as if the world was ending.

  “I didn’t…I just…I can’t…” were the words flooding out of her mouth. Jinn held her as delicately as a child, rubbing her back.

  “Sssh. I know. You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s just scared, love, that’s all. He’s scared and he doesn’t know where to turn and he’s taking it out on you.”

  “He asked me to stay!” she cried. “He asked me to be here. I gave up most of school, and I…”

  “Ssh, hush. I know. I know. You should stay.”

  “No,” Isda shook her head, pulling her tearstained face back. “I should go. He asked me to go.”

  “He’s also an idiot,” Ramiel put in, but she shook her head.

  “It’s been brewing for awhile. We don’t work like this, crowding each other. He’s my husband and he asked me to go, so I should. I’ll be at home, waiting for him, like I always have. Will you guys take good care of him?”

  “Of course,” Jinn promised her, although his heart was breaking at the thought of trouble like this coming to the band. He knew that Gabriel was young, and frightened, and his marriage to Isda was as rough as any new couple who had to be apart. He was trying to tell himself that none of it was as bad as it seemed. Maybe he really did just choke on water; maybe it was better that Isda was at home. The road was no place for a lady, and the tour bus was certainly nothing to write home about. They needed to focus on their jobs while they were out, especially as their fame grew. “Of course we will. But if I were you, I’d book a refundable ticket. You know how Gabriel changes his mind in an instant.”

  “It’s ok,” she bit her lip, trying not to sob again. “I should…go pack. Ramiel, can you get my purse from the dressing room?”

  “Can I punch him in the face first?” Ramiel asked, with a sadistic grin, and Jinn gave him a look. The bassist sauntered off, not daunted, and Jinn gave Isda one last hug.

  “Call me when you get home. I’ll keep my opinions to myself. The relationship between a man and his wife is private, I get it. But I think you know my opinion.”

  “Of course,” she nodded, taking a deep breath, and reminding herself how hard it must be for Gabriel. For even this simple act, something that took no effort, was something he couldn’t necessarily do. She tried to understand his anger, his frustration, and tried to ask God to forgive her intolerance, her own anger and pain. But at that moment, in the darkness backstage, she felt more alone than ever.

  When she got back home, they acted as if nothing had happened at all. He still called every night, she still answered. They sent texts all day, and prayed together on the phone. But something was different, something was changed between them. Gabriel’s heart had been broken with his damaged lungs, and Isda knew that it was only the grace of God that could heal him, heal his body and his soul.

  Not all of their concerts were televised, and so she had to go off his word that everything was fine.

  Their tour ended without another incident, or at least not one that she heard of. And she was beside herself with happiness when she was able to walk into church one Sunday holding his hand, the boys in tow. The entire church burst into applause upon seeing them, and they bowed their heads modestly as the pastor welcomed them back.

  But after Church, Jinn tapped Isda on the shoulder.

  “Do you want to come to the nursery to see the rug rats?”

  “Yes, of course,” she gave him a funny look, there was so much meaning behind his eyes. She saw his kids nearly every day, she only lived a few minutes from his wife. But there was clearly something he wanted to say to her in private, and so she followed him through the bowls of the church. They stopped just before the nursery, ducking into a private corner.

  “So?” she asked, confused and he pulled out his phone, flipping through the files and then held it up to her ear.

  “Listen. This is Gabriel, two days after you left.”

  She listened to the clip he was playing her, from Jerusalem, the song that she had come to hate. It didn’t sound right and she cocked an ear.

  “Play it again.”

  He obliged, scanning backwards as she counted off on her fingers.

  “The final note is four beats shorter. Did something happen on stage?”

  “Gabriel happened,” Jinn replied, and skipped to another file. “Now listen to these ones.”

  He played them in sequential order, and she barely needed to pay attention as the files went on. Each tune was breathier, rougher and shorter than the last. When he played the final clip, for their last concert of the tour, she nearly cried. War in Heaven, their title song, sounded as if he was running a marathon.

  “What do the fans say?” she asked, shocked. Jinn shrugged.

  “They love Gabriel, probably a little more than they should. No one is going to say anything, and no one has said anything. But every night, on stage, we hear this, just a little worse than the show before.”

  “Maybe it’s just…” she tried to make excuses, but Jinn shook
his head.

  “No. It’s nothing that can be excused, Isda, and he knows it.”

  “He hasn’t said anything,” she whispered, sounding terrified.

  “Of course he wouldn’t. It’s probably the hardest thing in the world, to admit. But we see it, every night. And it’s breaking our hearts. And you can hear it, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, feeling the tears prick her eyes. “So what’s can be done? Are you accepting defeat? Because you’ll kill him if you do.”

  “I think,” Jinn said, stony faced. “It’s time we had a group meeting. I have a few options to present to you guys, but I want everyone to make this choice together. We’re a team, no matter what.”

  “No,” she shook his head. “It’s up to you guys.”

  “Isda,” he replied. “We never should have done what we did to you. But we did and I pray for forgiveness every day. You were right in telling us to continue to spread the Lord’s message, but it’s still hard. You’ll sit in on this choice and have equal vote, same as everyone.”

  “All right,” she nodded. “Let’s get to it then.”

  And so it came to be that they sat on the edge of the same stage they had once practiced on, the same stage they were at when they got the call for the Ballet House. Gabriel sat a pew, clearly aware of the situation.

  “I think it’s time face reality,” Jinn said, after a long silence, and nervous glances. “Gabriel?”

  “You want to have me bow out graciously then, so you can replace me?” his voice was full of bitterness and anger. Jinn rolled his eyes.

  “No one is saying that, kid. Why don’t you save your breath and listen to what I have to say? I’m tired of your attitude, and every time you think those dark thoughts, you are straying away from our purpose. This band isn’t about you and your pride, Gabriel, this band is about spreading the Lord’s message. And I for one know that the second it becomes not about that, I’m gone.”

  “And where would you be without us?” Gabriel snapped.

  “I’d be just fine as long as I trusted God,” Jinn replied. “Which is what you need to start doing again.”

  “Gabriel, please,” Isda pleaded, her eyes large and sad. “Please, just listen.”