Another week flew by. But instead of feeling better mentally, things only got worse for Mark. He was constantly angry because he was shaking and stuttering. John kept trying to motivate him to keep going and do his best, but after another week it got to the point where the younger man no longer wanted to pick up his guitar. He had even thrown one of his acoustic guitars on the floor in anger, causing major damage to the wood. John didn't know what to do anymore. The two of them were sitting at the kitchen table, John had cooked fish with steamed vegetables. Mark was sitting in front of his plate, poking at his food with his shaking left hand. His head was propped up on his right hand and he looked down listlessly at the food. John, who was sitting opposite him, took a sip of his lemonade and looked at him helplessly.

"Mark, you have to eat." He said quietly and pushed the plate closer to the guitarist. "You've lost an awful lot of weight and if you keep going like this you'll be nothing but skin and bones." There was no answer. "Stop playing with your food and eat it up." John ate his fish and vegetables before taking his plate to the sink. Mark still hadn't touched a bite. "You're sitting here until you've eaten that. And I'm serious, Mark Freuder Knopfler!" John shouted angrily and pointed to the plate full of food that was still in front of Mark. "Why are you making everything so complicated?" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "I'm trying to help you, don't you understand?" Mark raised his head and looked at him with angry blue eyes.

"How a...are you supposed to h...help me when I can't even sp...sp...sp...oh damn!" Mark slammed his hand on the table in frustration. The stuttering was really bothering him. John looked at him with pity. "I can't even t....talk without stut...tering." Mark tried to use other words when he couldn't go on.

"That's perfectly normal after a cardiac arrest." John put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "But if you don't get help, it's going to get bad. So stop being a baby, finish your food, and then we can start working on your stuttering." Mark grumbled angrily. "The most important thing is for you to finally stop having these tantrums. You're angry all the time." Mark raised his head and stared at him before slamming his fork on the table. "See? That's exactly what I mean. I know you're angry at yourself. Because you need help. But you don't have to be ashamed or anything." John reached across the table and put his hand on Mark's.

"I'll never si...sin...fuck! I'll n...never be a singer a...again!" Mark screamed, standing up from his chair. He did so quickly that the piece of furniture fell to the floor. "I'll never be a...able to pl...pl...play the guitar a...again! How am I sup...posed not to be an...ang....ang..." Mark bit his lip hard. Tears formed in his eyes. "Be angry!?" John looked after him with pity as the younger one stormed out of the room and slammed the bedroom door behind him. The bassist sighed. He waited a few minutes to give Mark time before getting up and going to his bedroom. Mark was sitting on the floor behind the bed. His back was against the wall, hugging his knees and crying into the fabric of his jeans. He rocked back and forth and sobbed. John felt tears in his eyes when he saw him like that. Mark reached out and held his hands in front of his face. Both were shaking. When Mark got angry, his shaking got stronger too. That's why they were shaking so hard right now. Mark let out a frustrated cry and angrily pulled at his hair as he sobbed. John winced when Mark started to scream. He screamed until no sound came out of his lips because his lungs were empty of air. He angrily pulled at his hair and started sobbing again. John remained silent and watched him with a heavy heart. Mark Freuder Knopfler was broken.

*

John was desperate and didn't know what to do. Mark was angry at everyone and everything. No matter who tried to talk to him. John had suggested that a talk to a psychologist could help him, but before the bassist had even said the word, all hell had broken loose. Mark had screamed and thrashed around like a madman. Now John was sitting on his balcony smoking a cigarette. Next to him sat Pick Withers, who also had a cigarette clamped between his lips. John stared silently at the park in front of his balcony. He drew the smoke into his lungs and then exhaled it again.

"John...have you ever considered that..."

"That what?" Asked the bassist and looked at Pick.

"Have you ever considered that Dire Straits...how should I say that?" The drummer looked at the floor.

"What do you mean?"

"Shit, John. Dire Straits should find a new singer and a new lead guitarist. We just released the best record ever. We have to keep working. We have to tour, we have to..." John stopped him mid-sentence by angrily throwing his lit cigarette at the drummer. Pick frantically snatched it from his lap and stomped it out before looking at the bassist in disbelief.

"Mark Freuder Knopfler is the head of this band." John said quietly. "He composes the songs, he writes the lyrics, he sings the songs, he plays the songs. Without him, Dire Straits is nothing." John stood up and opened the balcony door. "And even if you and David and everyone else have given up on him, I never will."

*

John tried to get closer to the guitarist. He playfully tried to shake him out of his bad mood by making jokes or deliberately stumbling. And even if there was only a faint smile on Mark's lips that didn't reach his eyes like it used to, the bassist was already satisfied.

The blond man sat on the sofa and stared at the switched off TV. John sat down next to him. There was silence between the two for a while before John put a present on Mark's lap. Mark looked at him questioningly. John smiled encouragingly.

"Don't you want to open it?" Mark bit his lip and tried to get his shaking fingers to tear open the colourful wrapping paper. "Take your time." John said gently. Mark managed to get the paper open and threw it aside. A book appeared. Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet. The guitarist held the book in his shaking hands in amazement and leafed through it a little before looking questioningly at John. The bassist smiled gently at him. "You used to like Shakespeare a lot, didn't you?" Mark nodded silently. "Mark, it's been weeks." John said. "I know it's going to be hard, but I want you to read a chapter from this book out loud to me every day, okay?" Mark bit his lip. "It will get better, okay? I believe in you, mate. You're great and you're stubborn. You can do this." John put an arm around Mark's shoulders. The younger one gently stroked the book before slowly opening it. His index finger trembled as he placed it on the first page and took a deep breath.

" Two house...households, both al...alike in dig...dig...dignity, in fair Ver...ona where we l...lay our scene, f...from an...cient gr...gr..." Mark stopped reading and took a deep breath. John stroked his arm reassuringly. "Grudge br...break to new mut...mutiny, w...where civil bl...blood mak...es civil hands un...unclean." He read. John smiled, leaning against the back of the sofa, his arm never leaving Mark's shoulder as the younger man continued reading.

*

And John had been right, it was getting better. Mark spoke more fluently, he still had problems with some words or letters, but he quickly tried to avoid the words and use others. He found joy in reading and was already eager to do so every morning when the two friends went into the living room after breakfast and opened the book.

Now the harder part came into play. John, who had absolutely no idea how to play the guitar, had to teach Mark Knopfler to be able to keep his hands still. Mark was already taking pills to stop the shaking and they helped a lot. He was still shaking slightly, but not nearly as much as he would without them. Mark was sitting on John's sofa, a gold-red LesPaul guitar resting on his thigh. John sat opposite him and smiled encouragingly at him. Mark's fingers trembled on the fret board.

"How about you try using your left hand first before you pluck the strings?" John suggested. The guitarist nodded silently and began to move his fingers over the fret board. John could see that it was very tiring for him. In the past, he had been carefree when he played the guitar. The guitar had been his voice. It had spoken for him. Now he sat here with a frown on his forehead and tried hard to coax the right notes out of the instrument. Soon he took his right hand and began to play the rhythm of Sultans of Swing. John smiled at him when Mark briefly raised his head to look at him. He made a few mistakes and sighed in frustration. "Don't stop. You're doing great." John assured him. Mark continued to play only the rhythm parts. He knew that he would despair at the solos.

*

The days passed quickly. The weeks even faster. Mark's stuttering had improved considerably. He only stuttered when he was excited or angry. Otherwise he sounded pretty normal again. Long words bothered him, but he tried to avoid them. He could play the rhythm fairly well, but the solos still drove him crazy. It wasn't often that he would angrily put the guitar back on the stand and walk out of the room crying. John would usually sit there, sighing, and decide to give him time. Time would solve the problem. Time always had.