Guardian Angels

By Fairbanks

good mix of Dark and Light, with some colour thrown in as well.

This short novel is called 'Guardian Angels'. But these are probably not the angels you envision. Fairbanks angels have glowing pink eyes, and gossamer non-bodies. They float through Time and Space. They speak into one's brain or Self, with or without spoken words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen Culture Solutions
• Release date: May 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638120148

Fairbanks

Fairbanks He lived for a spell near Melbourne town, till a Saturday bushfire burned his home down; then what had been an itinerant centre stay became a permanent home for wandering, work, rest, and play. And now this ex-chalkie, he camps and he writes and he talks in cafes and markets and street corner walks, of life in the bush and life behind doors to help us see truth, our land, and ourselves.

Book preview

Guardian Angels

Copyright © 2021 by Fairbanks.

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63812-013-1

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63812-014-8

All rights reserved. No part in this book may be produced and transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Published by Pen Culture Solutions 05/19/2021

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Contents

Part 1

i     September 2000

ii    Three Days Later

iii   4 October 2000

iv   A Single Red Rose

v    Christmas, 2000

vi   A Boy Begins To Grow

Part 2

vii   Growing Up In A New Home

viii  A Young Career Continues To Develop

ix    A New Career

x     Acclaim, New Beginnings, And Dark Clouds

xi    Fate Brings What It Will

xii   Endings Are Beginnings…

Part 3

xiii    One Chapter Ends…

xiv     A New Chapter Begins…

xv     The Back-Story, And Moving Forward

xvi    The Family Is Extended

xvii   The Story Goes On…

xviii  Memories

Author’s Cautionary Note

I make no apologies for my story! But I do apologize to those who may be offended by some of its references. All I can say is that this may not be a story for everyone. Those familiar with my other writing will know that I do not shy away from harsh and jolting scenes, though my intention is not to of fend.

The potentially offensive references in this novel are to do with suicide. I have experienced the suicide of a close friend myself, and I am wholly sympathetic to others who may have experienced that trauma. It is an awful thing. Some pain never goes away. Some wounds never fully heal. The scars remain for a lifetime.

But this is not a story about suicide per se. It deals with death and the AfterWorld but over-riding themes are of hope and the beauty and fun of life. It is fiction, not meant to be real. Characters and events portrayed are inventions and are not the re-telling of any particular people’s stories who I know.

I trust that readers will find that on the whole it is not a dark story but is full of a lot of light. I hope you will enjoy it, and be provoked to further reflection by the topics raised.

Fairbanks.

2021.

Part 1

I

September 2000

Ashe woke, as from a short nap. Everywhere was thick palpable darkness. He felt lost and confused. If this was night, where was the moon which had shone so brightly last night? Where were the stars? The numbing darkness seeped into his very b eing.

Nothing. Nothing, except an innate and panicky pervading fear! and the feeling that something was terribly wrong. And the permeating darkness.

Then he remembered.

Maybe I really fucked up this time, he said aloud. Typical. What now I wonder? He dozed; or maybe he passed out.

The dark spell was diffused, marginally, by the plaintive cry of a crow, echoing in Ashe’s soul. He woke. Symbol of death, the crow went on and on and on, loud as a warning siren – one of those sirens that sounds warning of impending tsunami along the beachfront. The penetrating caw seemed to come from somewhere to his left, and he was drawn towards it. Ashe found himself ‘sitting’ on thin twigs in a dead statuesque tree. The crow sat on a branch at his side, braying ceaselessly into the foggy dark. Caw! Caw! Cawww!

Enough, crow! We get the message. Piss off! A new voice emanated from the darkness, further below Ashe. Two points of lucid pink appeared, but Ashe was not sure he was seeing right. The voice was plain, even light, though showed obvious irritation at the mad crow. The ebony bird-demon with glaring white eyes, on cue, flapped its oversize black wings noisily and flew off. That’s better, the new voice said. So. How’re you feeling? The pink ‘eyes’ hung in the inky dark.

Me? Ashe responded, staring vacantly at the eyes. Are you talking to me? Where are you?

I’m right here, below you, the thin voice answered. You can climb down and sit with me, if you like.

But it’s so dark. I can’t see, Ashe responded warily.

Yes. Well you’ll get to know a lot of darkness henceforth. Now and then you will get a bit of a break from its intensity. Little mercies appear randomly in this sphere. The voice paused, then went on invitingly, Not so dark down here. A bloated, misshapen moon is just coming up over the horizon. Its light is beginning to fill the valley. But no worries if you aren’t inclined. After another short pause, I can go, if you like.

No! Don’t go! Please! Ashe was insistent. He was suddenly flushed with strong emotion, overcome, and tears welled uncontrollably, though no tear dripped. He felt about in the darkness and slowly edged his way down. A thin branch at his feet gave way, and Ashe fell a short distance, landing on a more substantial dead branch with an airy thump. He found himself staring in wonder at a gibbous moon. Sitting next to him was an ethereal being, ‘dressed’ in flowing gossamer robes. He had faint pink glowing eye hollows. The moonlight seemed to glow through the figure as it turned towards the bewildered Ashe.

That’s better. Welcome. Ashe, isn’t it? Ashe Robb. Dr Ashe Robb, to be precise. Maybe we can try again: How’re you feeling? The ghostly figure put a large book down which he had perhaps been reading.

At the mention of his name, Ashe felt a nauseating spasm spread through his being. He felt as though he was choking! Still choking, choking again! The rope was cutting into his neck! A claustrophobic fear overpowered him, and he had to reach out to hold the branch to keep from falling. As the panic subsided, he whispered, Yes. That’s me. I think. His voice thinned and faded.

In the distance an owl hooted forlornly.

Well, you’ll actually find that you don’t think; not anymore. You need a brain for thinking, and your brain is dead. That’s it, hanging on the lower branches below you, if you care to look. But you will feel, feel pain, feel remorse, feel the woe. And you will remember. Memories are part of Self and are not just in the brain. Your Self is not dead, though your body hangs, ready for Day One of Decomposition.

My Gawd! Who are you? Ashe asked. He avoided looking down. He focused instead on the bulbous moon sitting above the horizon.

Me? Why, actually you know me. I am Yintl, your Guardian Angel.

Ashe involuntarily briefly laughed aloud. My Guardian Angel!? he blubbered. Not so sure of the job you been doing, mate, he teased.

One can only do what one is allowed to do. You ignored me most of your life, ever since you were a young child, and I was quite limited in the things I could do to help you or to protect you, from yourself, and from other dangers. After a pause, the mysterious being went on, Sorry. I’d have liked to have done more.

Ashe was dumbfounded. He mused inwardly to himself, "Another fuck-up, it seems."

Don’t be too hard on fuck-ups, though, Yintl responded. Sometimes fuck-ups are what makes a Life, for the Good or for the Bad. It’s up to You.

What?! Are you listening to my thoughts?

You’ll get used to this. You have no thoughts. You have no brain. You’re dead. Remember? Yintl shifted to sit closer. Yes, I see what is inside your Self, what you ‘say’, and I can follow the conversation with or without actual spoken words. You’ll get used to it.

Fuck! This is not what I expected.

No. It usually isn’t. I’m afraid your philosophers and your various religions have a lot to learn yet. Still. They have some parts right – or almost rather-right. This is the AfterWorld, sometimes called the after-life though life is not what this place is about. What you are experiencing is different to what others experience. Innocent Death is very different to Guilty Death, as yours is classified. Those experiencing Innocent Death have something very much like your religious Heaven; for a time. No dark shroud envelops their world; they experience Light and Warm Peace.

So, they were right all along, the church mob.

Well… The word was spun out, becoming like a breeze. No. You couldn’t say that. They all stumble at two significant hurdles: They all have missed the concept of Eternity and ‘everlasting life’; and they have totally misread the concepts of Justice and Fairness. But perhaps that is all for another day’s discourse.

I ask, for the third time, How’re you feeling?

"How’m I feeling? I don’t know.

Terrible. Fearful. I feel like I ate something which is about to explode in my guts.

I feel that I have arrived at the impending doom I have always dreaded!

I feel wasted."

There was a long spell of silence. Ashe fidgeted mindlessly.

Yintl spoke gently, You mean a great deal to me, Ashe Robb. You always have. I am here to help now that you are in this sphere. My place is to support.

Thank you. I wish I’d known you earlier. After a pause, Ashe added nervously, So. What happens now?

Well, now I will take you to your quarters. You’ll be able to rest. I will come see you again, and, if you like, I can take you to go visiting. Anyone you’re interested in visiting?

You mean visiting someone here, or there? Ashe pointed to the moonlit horizon.

There is no one really to visit here, unless you know any recently deceased murderers or heinous criminals. Others are elsewhere. This is an interim, temporary place; for those who are waiting.

Like me. I’m waiting; am I? How long will I be waiting here?

It depends. But you will soon learn that time has a very different quality in this world. A day, a week, a year, a decade. They are rather interchangeable terms here. There is a period of one lunar cycle, like an Earth month, when you have ‘time’ to rest and recuperate, ‘time’ for visiting loved ones in the Earthly sphere, visit your own funeral, etc. After that you will remain in your quarters; and wait. I’ll explain more as we go along.

The two sat silently for a while, staring at the rising moon and slowly passing stars. Occasionally an owl sounded in the distance, and one briefly landed at the carrion hanging below them. Ashe felt no peace in this placid scene; he was still filled to exploding with angst and nervous fear. His hands began to tremble, as if cold, though Ashe could feel no coldness.

I think you could use a rest, Yintl said politely. Are you ready? I will take you to your quarters.

Hmm. Yes. Thanks. I guess. Will we return here at some time? It seems as if I should be here, for some reason.

Yes. We can return here any time you wish.

Yintl reached out his non-hand and took Ashe’s equally non-existent hand. The two drifted off the dead branch, up into the dark gloom above. Ashe was unaware of movement, but the two ‘sailed’ through the black fog for some distance. Then the shadowy silhouette of a castle-like mansion came into view, and the two ‘landed’ on a balcony high up on one wing of the massive building. There was a lone plain wooden door; no windows.

Suddenly feeling quite exhausted and sleepy, Ashe reached out to open the door and bid Yintl farewell. However, the door would not open.

Sorry, Yintl said. I can open it for you. He opened the door easily. I will come visit you again soon. We can go visit your tree, or wherever you like. Goodnight, Ashe. Yintl reached out two robed ‘arms’ to hug.

The door closed behind him as Ashe entered his own private space. To wait.

The room was dark, but thinly so compared to some darkness Ashe had experienced already. He could easily feel his way and discovered a sleeping slab and a hard wooden chair, and nothing else. Ashe remembered a bible quote: ‘In my father’s mansion there are many rooms…’

Somehow I was expecting something else, he mused.

Nonetheless, an aching tiredness overcame him, and he lay on the slab and fell into a stupor.

Nothing. No peace, just Nothing.

As his mentor had advised, Time had little meaning in this sphere, and there was no way to measure the passing seconds/hours/days. After some period, Ashe ‘woke’.

Panic and fear filled him once again! He was thrashing madly, choking violently! Spasms wracked him to the core! With every spasm the imagined rope cut deeper into his throat! He gasped uselessly for air, grabbing feebly at the noose crushing his trachea.

Eleven minutes is an eternity.

Eventually there was a pause in the spasms; then one last shiver coursed through the young man. He was once again in the tops of the dead tree. Again there was overwhelming thick darkness, and that lone crow cawed morosely for the world to hear. Piss off, crow, he mumbled. I get it. I’m dead. I know that now. Where’s Yintl? he wondered.

Yes. I’m here. Come on down, soothed the thin voice. The pink eyes glowed comfortingly.

As before, Ashe clumsily descended out of the heavy darkness. He settled next to the robed figure, gently swaying his legs back and forth nervously. They sat in silence.

Then: Good morning, Ashe. How’re you feeling?

Gawd-awful, Yintl! Gawd-awful! Is this what it will be like from now on? Do I have to relive that horror over and over, for eternity?

I’m afraid so, at least for now. Your Choice, as you will recall. But, ‘eternity’? That is one of those Earthly terms, which has no meaning here. Your eleven minutes of nightmare is an eternity; this place of waiting is an eternity; the pain, your pain, as well as the pain you have caused others, is another eternity. But eternity as measured by endless Time, well… His voice trailed off.

Try not to dwell on it, Yintl said soothingly. It will be easier if you just accept and don’t ‘think’ about it too much.

Ashe whimpered involuntarily. Then, movement below attracted his attention. Oh, Gawd! That’s my body down there; isn’t it. That’ll be flies. Look at ‘em. They’re swarming. Ashe felt a wave of nausea turn his insides into a cesspool. Oh, Gawd. Ants! They’ve made an ant highway down the rope! Where’s my eye? One of my eyes is missing! They’re streaming into the empty eye socket! I suppose they’re eating my brain!

Yes. Not a pretty sight. It will be another two days before your body is found. You’ll have fed an entire generation of creatures by then. Probably didn’t help that you stripped naked before hanging yourself. You’ll notice your sausage is already gone. I believe you were quite fond of that sausage in life. That was the owl we saw last night. His offspring had a right sausage-feast, thanks to you. Best not to dwell on it too much. It is what it is now. Nothing anyone can do. It was Your Choice, after all. After a pause Yintl continued, Maybe there is somewhere else you’d like to go visit.

Yeah. Somewhere else would be good. I hate being here. Ashe stared into the faint darkness. But I don’t know where else to suggest. There isn’t anyone, really. I don’t have anyone I’m that close to. I can’t see the point in visiting my old workmates at the clinic. I was friendly with them all, but they weren’t personally special to me. Colleagues, but not close friends. Maybe Vasi. He paused before going on. My father is long-dead, and my mother is in a nursing home in Box Hill; but she suffers from dementia and probably won’t even know I am missing. She barely remembers me when I visit. I wouldn’t want to risk upsetting her. She’s better off without me.

Sad. All nightmares do end; if that is any consolation. How about Beryl? Yintl asked.

Beryl? You mean Beryl Andrews, from Cardiff? I barely know the woman. I haven’t had contact with her in months. Oh, dear. Is she tied up with this? Of course! She was there! She knows… Oh, dear. That’s not fair. Beryl Andrews was one of the few good things from that horror night. She was kind to me.

After a pause, Yintl went on, "Yes. And, you’re right. It isn’t Fair. But that is another of the misconceptions your religions perpetuate. Fairness. There is no Fairness in Life, or in Death. And Justice is not quite what your mob would like it to be either."

If I still had a brain, not that bug-fest hanging below, I would have lots to contemplate with all of this new information. As it is, as you said, it doesn’t really mean much to me now. In one ear and out the other, so to speak. He looked down to see if he still had ears. Ants were crawling in and out.

You’ll get used to it. Just accept, and don’t try to understand. But I’m afraid your Beryl is someone we will need to talk about one time – not now perhaps, but one ‘time’.

Fair enough. Beryl. Hmm. Are we able to travel overseas? She’d be in Cardiff, Wales. Long ways from the Victorian Highlands.

Actually, Beryl is just arriving in Australia as we speak. A conference, in Melbourne. I believe you were to attend that conference yourself. Beryl had intended to contact you there. I guess that is off the agenda now.

Oh, dear. Poor Beryl. Coming to Australia. Imagine that. Yes. The conference was scheduled for the week after the Sydney Olympics. But I don’t think I want to visit Beryl. An overwhelming rush of anxiety and foreboding flooded like nausea. The Depression which had wracked him these last months pervaded once again. He whimpered, She knows, or she knows a bit anyway. She’s one of the only ones who does, he said morosely. But I doubt Beryl Andrews would be that interested.

You might be surprised. There are things you don’t know. She will be quite hurt to find out your news.

I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

Suiciders never do. They always think that no one will really care. They think they are the only ones, themselves! that matter.

The two fell silent. Ashe watched as more birds came to peck at the corpse hanging below. Once again, waves of nausea afflicted him. I’ll tell you what I would like to do, if it was possible. I’d like to go to Sydney, to the Olympics. How did Cathy Freeman go? Did she win?

The problem with your current state – brain-dead and all – is that you are unable to understand new knowledge. You can observe, but you won’t be able to process what you see if it is outside your current Self-knowledge. You can watch the race, but you won’t remember the result; it won’t make sense to you. It’s not much different to how your poor demented mother views the world.

Oh, Gawd! This place is horrible! It’s not at all what I expected. Why don’t people tell you these things?

Mostly because they don’t know. How could they? There is a great chasm between Life and Death, and there is no bridge which spans the gap. Some mystics think they understand, but most are well off the mark. They view Death as if it were an extension of Life; but, of course, it is a wholly separate dimension.

You’re right. It is all a muddle, what you’re telling me. Without a brain, I can’t make much sense of it all. A brown falcon noiselessly flew to the hanging corpse, scaring the other birds away. It pecked out the remaining eye to take to its fledglings in the home nest. Ashe gagged. Maybe we could go visit Mum. At least I wouldn’t have to keep watching this gruesome scene.

Good idea, said Yintl. Take my hand. Close your eyes.

There was no actual hand for Ashe to take, but as he closed his eyes, he felt a rush like a strong wind, and when he opened his eyes the two were floating near the ceiling of a room in St Johns Nursing Home in Box Hill. Ashe’s mother, Agnes Robb, was sitting in a wheelchair, staring blankly out a window. A half-eaten institutional lunch was scattered on a tray in front of her.

Ashe felt an overwhelming sadness well within him as he watched the woman he had once known and loved stare vacantly into space. If he’d had tears, they would have flowed freely. He turned to his mentor. Will she know I am here? Will we be able to communicate? She looks so sad.

Well. Yes and no. For most, the Earthly brain is too strong to allow cognizance of such an un-worldly phenomenon as meeting with a departed spirit, but in the case of dementia there are other linkages which can afford some communication. You will be able to hear her thoughts, jumbled as they may be, and your mother will be able to hear your thoughts. But, of course, she will not be able to make sense of it all. And if she tries to explain it to others, they will not understand and will assume it is demented delusion.

The room seemed to be in a haze, like looking through water. Some things were exaggerated, others obscured. It was like a Picasso painting. The half-eaten sandwich on Agnes’s tray stood out grotesquely; yet her face was a blur. Loose strands of her once carefully coiffed silvery hair stood out boldly; balanced against her pasty and oblique countenance. Ashe’s mother had a sour scent which was quite pronounced.

Nevertheless, Ashe decided to attempt communication – as Yintl had suggested.

"Hello, Mum. It’s me, Ashe," he thought towards the old woman.

Agnes turned abruptly, looking about the room for the source of the clear, familiar voice. She could see no one. But she was accustomed to voices in her head, and she responded mentally. "Ashe? Is that you?"

"Yes, Mum. It’s me. I’m here, but you can’t see me. I’m in the spirit world now."

"Oh, of course. Is Albie there too?"

"No, Mum. But maybe I can find him. He must be here somewhere."

"Maybe not, Ashe. I think he’s gone now. I haven’t heard from him in years. After a pause she went on, Do you want some sandwich? I’m not hungry. She held the half-eaten sandwich in the air. You should eat something."

"I don’t think it works that way, Mum. But thanks anyway. You should eat it." His mother carefully placed the sandwich on the floor, like for a puppy.

"Maybe Albie wants some."

"Albie’s not here, Mum."

"No. He’s coming to visit next week – or maybe it’s tomorrow. I forget."

The