Chapter 4: Naming
It has been a restless night. I try to sleep in this damp cell, but it is almost impossible. I must try to make best out of my situation...
One of the guards opened the cell. I wonder what he is up too...it can't be good.
"Get a move on, kid! You're getting transferred to another cell. Order of the Prime Minister." grumbled the guard, "You better hurry and get moving before he changes his mind."
"T-thank y-you...s-sir."
"You can talk!" the guard balked at the bedraggled boy before him. "Well...I'll be darned. You aren't as stupid as you look. Don't thank me, youngling, thank the Prime Minister. He's the one getting you transferred; I would rather have you stay here."
"But where are we going?"
"To your new cell. It'll be much more comfortable than your old one, believe me."
I had never thought this miracle could have happened to me. Guards giving me some degree of respect...transferring to a better cell. I would very much like to visit this "Prime Minister". He must be someone of very high rank...someone who looks out for everyone.
Ian Balza and Superintendent Thompson waited outside the new cell for the boy and his escort to arrive. The Prime Minister had ordered that the boy be brought to a new, more comfortable cell. He had also ordered a private meeting between himself and the boy.
"I wish they would hurry!" Thompson muttered impatiently. "The Prime Minister is not someone who should be kept waiting!"
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind, Sir." replied Ian. "It isn't an urgent meeting, after all."
At the same moment, the boy and his escort appeared from behind the corner.
"Reporting as ordered, Officer." He snapped a crisp salute to Ian and the Superintendent.
"At ease. Show the child his new cell."
The guard unlocked the door.
"Go on in! Check it out. I'm sure you'll like it. You're going to be in there for a long time, so you might as well make yourself comfortable."
The new cell…it is…beautiful. The floors are covered with a thick, soft carpet. Various paintings depicting angels hang on the walls. Wait….angels? I have no idea what those winged creatures are…but yet I no what they are called. Angels. Hmm…
I will ponder this no further. My attention was immediately drawn to a large window to the right side of me. Almost the entire wall was covered by this window. I had a great view of the city from here.
Several pieces of furniture were placed in different spots around the cell. I would never have to sleep on the hard floor again. I am very pleased with my new cell.
The guard watched the boy with amusement.
"You like your new room, don't you?"
"Of course, Sir. Thank you."
"Thank the Prime Minister. In fact, you will be doing just that in a few moments. Come with me."
The boy somewhat reluctantly walked out of the cell. The guard locked the door behind him. Superintendent Thompson chose this moment to tell the boy about the private meeting with the Prime Minister.
"As the guard has said, you will be meeting with the Prime Minister in a few moments. He will question you, and you will respond with the utmost respect." declared Thompson.
"Is the Prime Minister the leader of Great Britain?"
"Yes, he is. That is why you should treat him with the utmost respect." Thompson was rather surprised the dumb-looking boy knew that bit of information.
"But that's enough of the talk. We must leave now. The Prime Minister does not like to be kept waiting."
July 14, 1993…Prime Minister's Office
I have always wanted to meet this "Prime Minister". After all, it was he who got me into better living quarters. I will remember to thank him for that.
Ian has dressed me in an uncomfortable uniform he calls a "tuxedo". It is driving me absolutely crazy! I can't imagine how the Superintendent wears one all the time without complaining. It is so scratchy and stuffy in here. Ian tells me I'll get used to it.
I also saw a "car" for the first time. It was just how I imagined it. Sleek, black, and comfortable leather seats on the inside. It moved at an extreme speed...I wonder how it does it so easily.
We have reached the Parliament building, the capitol of Great Britain. The Prime Minister is supposedly waiting for me inside.
The awestruck boy gawked at the humongous Parliament building. He had obviously not seen something of this size and beauty before.
"There are a few rules to remember before you enter the building." Ian whispered to him. "One, remember to stay quiet. Two, do not touch anything, especially not the statues. Three, try not to wander off. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ian." replied the boy, still goggling at the building.
"Come now, we must hurry inside." piped the Superintendent.
They walked up the stairs, through the huge double-door entrance, and into the great halls within.
I thought the outside of the Parliament had been beautiful enough; I was completely stunned by the interior. Beautiful statues and paintings decorated the walls; the velvety carpet made me feel as if I was walking on a cloud. Oh, how I wish I could stay here forever! But there is an urgent meeting with the Prime Minister to attend to, and there is no time to lose.
"We have arrived at the Prime Minister's office." stated the Superintendent. He gestured to a door at the end of the hall. "You must proceed alone; the meeting is supposed to be private. Remember to knock before you enter. And most importantly of all; don't you dare mess around in there!" hissed the Superintendent.
The child slowly walked toward the door, and tapped lightly on the hard ebony wood.
The door slowly creaked open, and before the boy stood a tall, wizened old man. His many years had given him an air of confidence and wisdom like no one the boy had ever met before.
"I have come as you ordered, Sir." the young child bowed reverently.
"There is no need for such formalities." the Minister smiled. "Please, do come in! Sit down, make yourself comfortable." He closed the door after him.
The Prime Minister is a wonderful man. I do not have the words to describe him. His office is rather small and modestly decorated for a individual of his rank and power. I wonder what he will ask me today.
The Prime Minister seated himself at his desk, taking a long drink from his cup of coffee. He then began questioning the young boy.
"Well, son. It has been very kind of you for you to come visit me today. How are you feeling?"
"I am fine, Sir. The quarters you provided for me are just perfect. Thank you!"
"Oh, that was nothing. But there are more serious matters to discuss." the Prime Minister's tone darkened.
"The police tell me that you have no identity, but you do have a great power: the power to heal. Is this true?"
"Yes, Minister. Would you like me to prove it to you?"
The Prime Minister made a "no" gesture with his hand. "No, no. That is not necessary. I don't want you hurting then healing yourself again. That is too drastic!"
"As you wish, Sir."
The Prime Minister sighed. "All I have ever wanted was the best for my people. A leader does not rule his people, son. He serves them, and leads them in their time of need. Great Britain's mortality rates caused by illness and injury have never been so high. There was nothing I could do about this...until you arrived."
"Sir...what are you asking of me?"
The Prime Minister did not answer. Instead he gestured to a painting on the wall. "Do you see that, son?"
The boy turned his head toward the painting. It was a picture of an angel, winged and in his full glory. The angel had one glowing hand placed over a sick man's forehead. In his other hand, he carried what looked like an medicinal herb.
"That is the Archangel Raphael, my boy. He was the greatest healing angel to have ever lived. No disease or injury could best him. He healed everyone who needed it..."
The boy stared at the picture. The Archangel looked so...familiar. Had he seen him somewhere before?
"You are very much like him, son. You have the power to heal." continued the Prime Minister. "As for what I ask of you...I ask of you to heal my people. I want you to end their pains caused by illness and injury. Can you handle this task?"
The Prime Minister has given me a great and difficult task. If I agree to help him, I will have to bear my power with great responsibility...will I be able to bear it?
The boy pondered for a few more moments, and finally spoke.
"Prime Minister...I agree to help your people. Is there anything else you would like me to do?"
The Minister gave a heavy sigh of relief. His prayers had been answered.
"No, my child. That is all I ask of you. But I must ask you one last question. Child...do you have a name?"
"A name? No...Sir. I do not have a name. People just call me "boy" when they want to get my attention."
"Then come here, child." the boy obliged. "Kneel." With a doubtful look on his face, the boy fell on one knee.
"I, Johannes Erickson, Prime Minister of Great Britain, christen you Raphael, Healer from the Stars. May your spirit bless the people of this world. God bless you."
Raphael rose from the floor, and looked one last time at the painting.
"I have a job to do...just like you, Archangel." he thought.