Fatima: The Final Secret

Since I was distracted by my thoughts, and as she continued on in silence, I hadn’t realized where we were, nor the streets we’d passed. That usually happens when you’re driving, if you’re alone you have to pay attention to everything to get to the place you want to go, but if someone next to you is giving you directions, when you arrive, you realize that if you had to go back, you wouldn’t know where to go, since you didn’t pay attention to where you had come from, you had only relied on the person who was guiding you and following their instructions. That was what had happened to me and I almost missed the place, when I heard:

“Here it is! We’ve arrived. Now you’ll see how to find what you’re looking for. I think it’s the place where they have the most material on that subject in all of Santiago.”

She’d stopped, and I hadn’t heard, but when I did, I quickly stopped and looked at the window. It was a very old bookstore. She went in right away, and before I could reach her, she was already greeting an old man who was seated and who I took to be the owner. When I got close to them, I heard the man as he got up from his seat and greeted her.

“Hello Pilar, how long has it been without seeing you? I thought you’d forgotten the address of this place, or have you been so busy that you’ve not had time to come visit an old friend?”

She said to him softly in apology:

“I’m sorry, I don’t get much spare time as you know, but you’re right, it’s been too long since the last time and it shouldn’t have been so. How is everything?”

“Good! As always! As for my ailments, you know…, fine! So what brings you here today? I see you’re in good company,” said the man, whom I could see as he winked at her while he said it.

“Sorry! Sorry!” she said as she turned to me. “Let me introduce you to…,” and looking at me she said:

“How scatterbrained of me! I don’t even know your name.”

“As scatterbrained as ever, you haven’t changed a bit,” the old bookseller said and laughed. “I remember that first time we met, the shy curious girl who needed to ask something, but her shame kept her from even speaking. How I asked you to write it down for me so I could find out, because your words came out so broken that there was no way to understand you. Do you remember what you wrote?” the old man asked leaning into her ear.

“No,” she replied, a little surprised by the unexpected question.

“Well I do, I haven’t forgotten it, despite all the time that’s gone by. You wrote on that paper in big letters, so I could read it properly, ‘Everything you have about the Virgin and the Apparitions of Fatima.’ Yep, that’s right, that’s what she wrote for me on that piece of paper,” the man said looking at me. “I, a communist recognized by everyone, let out a huge laugh that was heard throughout the store, and you tearfully asked me for forgiveness. I still don’t know why, because you hadn’t done anything to offend me.”

“Well, let’s get back to today, as I’m an old man, I live more and more in the past and in my memories, which are certainly more fun than daily life, where nothing different ever happens. Every day is the same, nobody comes in here and I spend the morning with the duster, going over the old books so that the dust doesn’t accumulate too much. It can’t be left even for a single day, and in the afternoon sitting in the doorway enjoying a coffee and taking a little sun, if the sun has deigned to visit us that day, and if not, I drink my coffee sitting by the heater so that these old bones don’t protest too much, if that’s even possible. And how are things in your life?” he asked her suddenly, as if he were just realizing that she was still there.

“Pilar, you didn’t get married, right? Do you still have that little gray kitten that gave you such good company, and that kept ruining that cushion you were so fond of?”

“That was a hundred years ago, how can you remember all that?” she asked laughing.

“Come on, you’re exaggerating!” he answered. “Yes, it’s true that the years have indeed passed. You had pretty brown braids back then, and now I see some gray hair in there, which you surely haven’t colored yourself,” he said quietly.

“No, they’re natural,” she replied with a sad smile, “how time flies!”

“Okay, okay, let’s leave this melancholy behind… and you told me you had come with this young man… but I haven’t let you tell me why,” he added, looking at me.

“Well, it’s almost the same as that first time,” she responded, “to learn everything you have about ‘The Apparitions of Fatima,’ which seems to be something that interests him, and as you know, that’s my area. I was very happy that someone had reminded me of this, and I told him that I would help him find that information, some of which I’m sure he can find around here somewhere.”

“Young man,” the old man said suddenly, “are you a believer?”

Surprised by his question, I answered him haltingly:

“No, but does that matter?”

<<<<< >>>>>

It was a subject that was very clear in my mind and that I had discussed for a long time with family and friends, but when I arrived at University, the belief that you can be a good person without believing in anything became stronger, and that was my philosophy of life.

It was hard for my mother to understand, because she had always been very involved within the parish and had tried to get the five of us to continue with those religious beliefs and practices.

“Let the kids find their own way, they’re honest and good people, and they’ll learn their beliefs over time and make their own decisions,” said my father.

He always accompanied her to mass, but he didn’t get involved in anything else, leaving us with freedom and decision-making power, which my mother told him was not good for our future.

One day, knocking on the door of my room, asking for permission to come in, my older sister Carmen told me she’d been talking with Don Ignacio, the priest at our parish, who had known us since we were little, who had baptized us and with whom we had made our First Holy Communion.

“What happened if you didn’t believe in anything?” That was the question she told me she had asked. “What you had to do was look for answers, those that would convince you and don’t let yourself be swayed by the impositions of others.” That was the response that the priest had given her, and Carmen added, “But I didn’t say anything to him about you, I made it out as though it was a doubt that I was having.”

I thought about it for a few days, and those words from the priest helped me to have a talk with my mother, because the subject had caused some friction between us from time to time.

One day I was able to catch her alone at home, a rare thing! It was a rainy afternoon. I had organized to go out with friends for a game of soccer, but the rain was so intense that they told me on the phone that they had suspended it. My father was traveling; he had needed to go to Madrid for work. Carmen, my older sister, had gone with him, because she wanted to see some friends who lived there. She knew them from the beach at Sanxenxo and they had invited her on several occasions to visit the capital.

She had taken advantage of my father’s trip, and that way “He didn’t have to go alone,” as she put it, of course to justify them allowing her to go. I say that, but the truth is my father was grateful to have some company in the car, so he could chat with someone and the trip would not be so boring.

The twins had an important exam, so even though it was raining when it was time to go, they couldn’t stay at home, and Chelito, the little one, was in bed with the flu, and was sleeping after having taken her medicine.

“Mom, we have to talk,” I said, facing her, taking advantage of the fact that everything was quiet at home.

I still remember her face, as if I were seeing it in front of me now, her pretty brown eyes looked at me with interrogation, penetrating, wanting to guess what I wanted to say to her, like so many times before. I don’t know how she did it, but before I opened my mouth, she was already giving me answers for whatever it was I wanted to ask.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Have you caught the flu from Chelito? Have you been suspended?” she asked nervously, with such speed that before finishing a question, she already had the next one on the tip of her tongue and she wouldn’t let me say a word.

“No, wait, wait, let’s sit down for a little bit and chat,” I said taking her by the shoulders to reassure her a little.

“Well, before that I’ll prepare you a glass of warm milk, so you can energize your body,” she told me and before I could respond, she had already gone into the kitchen in two strides and put the pot on the stove with milk. She waited a little while for it to warm up, brought it to me, and told me while she handed it to me, “Take it warm, I’ve thrown in a little honey, just the way you like it.”

With the glass in my hands, feeling the warmth of the milk comfort me on that bleak afternoon, and being sat on the sofa next to her, which was strange in itself because the sofa was always full to watch the television and she normally had to sit on a chair, we now had the entire thing just for the two of us.

I don’t remember the last time we had a moment alone, she was always doing something.

“Well, tell me, you have me on tenterhooks,” she told me, “what do you want to talk about?”

I tried to find the words. I would use gentler words, so that she would not misinterpret them and they would not hurt her. I started by asking:

“Mom, do you love me?”

“Oh son, what a question, do you doubt it?” she asked, looking at me with great surprise.

“No,” I answered resoundingly, “listen to me, it’s very important,” I said.

“It already seems that way to me, you’re kidding me, right?” she said more calmly, with a smile.

“No Mom, I’m being serious.”

“Me too,” she said.

“Do you think I love you?” I asked her, looking her straight in the eye to see her expression.

“Well of course, I’ve never doubted it, but you’re acting strangely today. Tell me what’s wrong with you, you’re starting to worry me,” she said shifting restlessly on the sofa.

“Mom, I’m an atheist,” I said after taking a long drink from the glass of milk as if to draw strength from it and tell her what it was that was so difficult for me, because I felt it was now or never.

“Whaaat? What do you mean? Don’t talk nonsense,” she said very seriously.

“Look, Mom, I’m not going to go to church anymore…,” and I started to explain… but I couldn’t add anything further, she wasn’t listening anymore.

“Son, I’m sure you have a fever, go to bed right now, I’m going to get the thermometer that I left on the nightstand in Chelito’s room where I put it earlier.”

Jumping up, she got up from the sofa, as if launched by an invisible spring, and boldly moved down the hallway without giving me time to react.

“Come back, we have to talk, I’m not ill, calm down,” I was saying walking behind her, trying to convince her and continue the conversation.

But turning a deaf ear, she kept moving forward, almost forcing me to run to catch up to her. I reached her when she already had her hand resting on the door handle of the room where my little sister slept peacefully. Putting a finger to my mouth I said:

“Shhhhh! You’ll wake her up,” and I added quietly, “now that it seems the fever has gone down and she can rest easy, after the bad night has passed, don’t go waking her up by making noise.”

<<<<< >>>>>

What would I see? Why was she screaming like that? We were all woken up and frightened and we went to her room. Mom had arrived first and was already comforting her. Asleep, Chelito cried inconsolably, and between screams said things we didn’t understand.

“Calm down little one, you’re not alone, I’m here with you and nothing is going to happen to you,” Mom was saying from there beside the bed, while she was gently stroking her head.

It seemed that Chelito was not listening, until Carlitos came running in and lying on the bed, hugged her and said:

“Here I am to defend you, don’t be afraid, I won’t leave you alone.”

At that moment she woke up and was surprised to see everyone around her bed, and in her feverish eyes I could see how confused she was, but she couldn’t say a word, all she could do was stare at us, from one to the next.

“It’s okay, it’s over now, you see? You’re not alone, we’re with you little one, don’t be scared, nothing’s going to happen to you,” Mom was saying to her, while she hugged her and gave her an affectionate kiss.

“Why don’t you call the doctor Mom?” I asked worried about what was happening, because I didn’t understand it, it was the first time I’d saw my little sister that way.

“But son, am I going to bother him at this hour for a cold? I’ve been through this situation many times before,” she answered more calmly.

“But Mom,” I protested, “it’s not even like Dad’s here to take her to the hospital if we need to,” I insisted, “and what if she gets worse, what will we do with her?”

“That’s not going to happen, calm yourself and don’t be a child, you’re already a man, and now that Dad’s not here you’re the man of the house, look at how Carlitos has managed to face the situation.”

“Yes, but it’s woken her up and I don’t know if she’ll be alright,” I said a little embarrassed.

At that moment, Tono came into the room with a glass of water, and told Chelito:

“Take it, this will help the fear pass, for sure.”

We all laughed, this pair of twins certainly never failed to surprise us. The situation changed, and despite her fever, Chelito was calmer, so Mom sent us all to bed.

“Go back to sleep, you know that tomorrow’s exam is important, and Dad doesn’t want to hear any excuses about why you didn’t pass it,” she said to the twins.

“But it’s easy Mom,” said Tono, the most unruly of the two.

“Yes, easy, it will be for you because you’re a nerd,” Carlitos said.

“Get outta here! Mom, he called me a nerd when he doesn’t stop studying even on vacation,” protested Tono getting cranky because he did not like being called that one bit.

It made us smile once again, and my mother, already adopting a more serious tone of voice, told us:

“Right, off to bed all of you, I’m staying here. I don’t need to hear any more talk, you have to rest so that the night passes quickly, go to bed without complaining.”

Down the hall, on the way to our rooms, I told the twins:

“Well done guys, you should always protect your sisters.”

“Yeah, but Carmen is already very big and she doesn’t need us,” Tono protested.

“Look, she thinks she doesn’t need you, but women always need a man by their side to defend them and protect them, and who better than a brother? Don’t listen to her when she says she’s the biggest and doesn’t need anyone. Surely she’s a little jealous of you guys, not having a sister her age to talk to about things, because Chelito is too little to give her advice. What happens to me is I get bored when I’m not sleepy, and you’re lucky enough to be able to chat quietly until you fall asleep. When I hear you, it makes me want to take my mattress and come here into this room with you guys.”

“Are you also afraid about what’s happening with Chelito tonight?” Tono asked softly.

“No,” I said with a smile. “Come on, let’s get some sleep, the time for talking is over. Mom is going to really get angry and she’ll punish us for not obeying her. Besides now that Dad isn’t here, we have to behave better so that Mom is happy with us.”

Closing their bedroom door, I went into my own room, that place they allocated to me, saying that I was already big and had to sleep alone because I was almost a man. I still didn’t understand, Carmen and Chelito shared a room, although tonight Carmen was on a trip with my father, so her bed was empty. Well, now Mom would sleep in it, but I had to go to sleep in that tiny room where the bed barely fit, to make room for the twins. That didn’t matter much, but I felt lonely sometimes and I didn’t like that.

“Why doesn’t he close the door?” Dad would ask. “It’s like he’s afraid of how old he is,” but no, it was only because I wanted to hear others talk, the twins had more fun from their bunk beds than I did. I knew that there was no room for my bed in that room, but there are reasons that children just don’t understand, and this was one of them.

<<<<< >>>>>

As time passed quickly, there was plenty of room in the house before we knew it. Carmen started University, and of course, like all her friends, she left home, “It was modern,” as my father put it. Even though Mom was opposed to it, she had no choice but to give in, on the condition that she had to come home every Sunday, and she wasn’t going to accept any excuses.

“If you miss one Sunday, it’ll be harder for you to come back,” my father told her, “so, even if you’re ill or if you have to study here, I want to see you. Well, if you get ill, then come whatever day it is. That way we can take care of you; just because you leave doesn’t mean you stop being a member of the family, nor that we’re going to stop loving you the same way.”

My sister promised very seriously to come home every Sunday and said that we should also call her if anything ever happened and we needed her, that she was not going to stop being our daughter and sister just because she didn’t sleep at home.

She was two years my senior, and that was how those two years passed. As I said, the time flew by, and I think it was my good grades that decided my future.

When Carmen left, I asked myself a question, although I didn’t share it with anyone. I also wanted to go and live away from home, but I knew it was impossible, that Dad had a secure job and that his salary was good, at least that was what he told us. I never knew how many pesetas he earned, but it would never allow him to have two independent children, since he still had three others at home with their own needs, so I told myself, “If I push myself and I get a scholarship, I’m sure he won’t oppose what I ask him.” That’s how the last two school years passed. In addition to attending class like I was part of the furniture, as I had done for a long time, just to listen and take notes, I started to take on extra work and the teachers noticed the change in me straight away, because some of them made comments to me about it in jest.

“It seems that you were asleep before and you’ve finally woken up and you’ve begun to take an interest in the classes and as the saying goes, ‘Better late than never,’ at least that way you’ll leave a little more prepared.”

I had finished sixth in my class, with the best grades for that year. Even the teachers had congratulated me. That made the final examination easy for me to take, and in truth I was quite pleased with myself. When I’d suggested it, I had succeeded. The pre-university course, the “Preu,” was very easy for me and that also raised my morale. Everyone in my circle was very afraid of failing at such an important point in our student lives, but none of us had any problems.

It was Carmen, and her example, that made me change. Since she had lived away from home, when she came by, she seemed like someone else, more mature, more interesting. She always had something different to tell us, she shared her ideas with my parents, something that was unheard of before. She seemed like a different person altogether.

My father used to say that, if he had known, he would have sent her away from home earlier. It was a joke of course, just tongue in cheek, because being the eldest, she was “His little girl.” Well, Chelito too, being the youngest, she was “His little one.” Everyone could see that the girls were his favorites, although that didn’t stop him from being demanding with them like he was with us. They didn’t get any bad grades, of course they never brought them to him if they did, but whenever they had an exam, he managed to help them out and explain things to them properly until they understood. That said, he also helped the three of us, I can’t complain about that, it was always very important to him for all of us to study, and that “we worked toward a good future for ourselves,” as he used to tell us, even though we were small and we didn’t know what those words meant.

<<<<< >>>>>

Upon entering that place, where there were so many books all over the place, in an order that I’m sure the gentleman knew, but which at first glance just seemed like they were all over the place, with books piled up everywhere, I remembered once when I was little, when I went to my grandparents’ house and they were cleaning. I think it was because there had been a leak and the builders had to fix it, and then paint the room. I was so young that I still hadn’t started school and neither the twins nor the little one had been born.

My mother took me to my grandparents’ house, because she had to “help Grandma with all that clutter,” as she put it. Well, that was what came to mind now, because it was the only time I’d seen so many bits and pieces accumulated, there were boxes everywhere.

What struck me the most though was that my grandfather’s books, which were always so well positioned in their place, were now in heaps on the floor, yes, on the floor. How could that be? And there were so many of them…, so many, why would he want so many? Would he have read them all? Well, I don’t know if I had that thought at the time, or if it had come to me later, when I was a little older.

Every time I entered his office I would ask:

“Grandpa, have you read all these books? All of them? Every one?” There were books almost as far up as the ceiling and I was sure he couldn’t even reach up there.

“Yes, young Manu, and many more,” he replied cheerfully, “and I’m sure you’ll do so too when you’re older, because I’m going to let you read all of them if you want to.”

I was elated just looking at them, such colors, so thick, so many of them, and all placed there on their shelves. What patience he must have had to be able to have everything in order. He never let me touch them when I wanted to take one to see the pictures.

“Little one,” he told me, “that’s not to be touched. When you’re older, if you behave yourself, I’ll let you see them.”

Now, looking distractedly at all these piles in front of me, I thought about how difficult it must have been for my grandfather to place his books on the shelves again, and to leave them all in place following that cleaning of the room. Yet my grandfather continued with his order and his readings, which years later he shared with Carmen, who was interested in the same subject, because she studied law just as he did.

<<<<< >>>>>

The owner of the bookstore had moved slowly, because he could barely walk. He assisted himself with an old cane, and still talking to us, he moved between the tables full of stacks of books to one in particular. With a trembling hand he pulled out two or three books from a stack and told me:

“Here is everything you need young man, but I have to warn you about something.” Using a mysterious voice, he asked me softly, his piercing eyes fixed on mine, “So, if you’re not a believer, what are you?”

“I’m an atheist,” I said very quietly, fearing his reaction, because I didn’t know how else I could answer.

“But, a real atheist? Or one of those who’s just saying so because it’s fashionable?” he asked me.

“A real one, what do you think? That it’s like a sweater that I can put on or take off when it gets stained?” I said a little seriously, because his observation had not gone down too well with me.

“Alright, an atheist. You won’t like hearing this, but I don’t believe you are,” he said seriously.

“I really am, I’m not deceiving you,” I told him softly, although I don’t know why we were talking quietly, only the librarian was there and she could hear us anyway.

“Look young man, an atheist as I understand it, is someone who doesn’t want to know anything about anything,” he said very seriously, “and even less so when it comes to these matters. I’m not fooled, I’m already too old and I’ve seen many things, I can identify those people as soon as they open their mouths.”

“Yes, you’re not wrong sir,” I said, “but we’re not all the same, I’m not searching for anything else, only the answers, scientific ones if possible, to some events that happened in one place, nothing more.”

As the conversation appeared very tense, the librarian, Pilar, as I had heard her being called earlier, subtly asked:

“Do you have anything new that would interest me?”

“I always have something new, you know that, you’re the one who doesn’t want to visit me.”

While they went on talking, I took a look at the books he had suggested to me. There were several, and I said to myself: “Why so many on the same topic? I think one will be enough.” Of course I didn’t realize that the subject was important enough to warrant so much being written about it, and I wasn’t aware that I was delving deeper and deeper into it.

Pilar approached me, because the old man had gone to the door as the postman had arrived and from there we heard him say:

“Hello, did you bring me something today?” he asked in a jolly tone.

“Some document or other, it’s in here somewhere,” the postman answered.

“It’s a good thing that at least someone remembers I exist, because if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t talk to anyone for days on end,” the old man told the postman from the doorway of the bookstore.

“That being said, I see you have lots of company today. I’ll leave you to it, it seems that everyone’s decided to write today and I have a lot of work to be getting on with,” said the postman leaving.

When he was alone, the gentleman slowly approached us again, while Pilar had begun to leaf through one of the books piled up in front of us.

“I don’t know this one,” she said surprised, “when did it arrive?”

“Exactly, I told you I had new material,” the man answered smiling, “because it’s been here, waiting for you to remember… yes, I think a few months back.”

I took a look at the book she had in her hands, it was in English, and it surprised me that she knew it, given how difficult it was. That language was my torment, French had been easy, but one day my father asked me:

“Son, why don’t you study English?” just like that when he came into the house.

“What for? I’m never going to England,” I said with wide eyes.

“Well, you don’t know that, and it’s always good to learn new things,” he replied.

“But Dad, I already have enough to deal with in my study books,” I protested to get out of it, “and I don’t have much spare time, do you really want to complicate my life further?”

“Look, no more talk, I’ve seen an academy where they’re going to start teaching classes in that language and I thought it was interesting. I’ve been thinking about it on the way home and I think it would be good for you,” he responded, answering the question definitively in that way he did when he didn’t want to continue talking about something.

My grandparents were eating at our house that day, and my grandfather intervened immediately, agreeing with my father saying:

“These boys never want to make any effort, with the beauty of studying and a language is always interesting.”

“Grandpa,” said Chelito, “beauty, beauty, sometimes it’s very difficult and boring what you have to read, and then there’s all the work they give you, why is it needed? I don’t get it.”

“Listen child, I’m sure that, even though you don’t understand it right now, when you grow up you’ll understand, and you’ll thank your parents who have made you study.”

“But why don’t you study as a grown-up? That’s when you need it,” she insisted.

“Look, what would you think if your Mom only gave you food when you were older? How would you grow?” Grandpa asked her.

“But it’s not the same Grandpa, otherwise I would get very hungry and I would surely even die,” said Chelito very seriously.

“Well, it’s the same thing with your studies, you have to start them when you’re young and build upon them as you grow up. Look, young Manu,” he said looking at me.

“Grandpa, I’m older now, please call me Manuel,” I said, half angrily.

“But why do you want me to call you that? Then what do you have to call me?” he said in a surprised tone.

Everyone at the table laughed and he went on.

“Okay Manuel, because you’re so old you have to learn new things, so I think what your father says is right. English is interesting, I would have loved to have learned it, because sometimes I couldn’t read a book because I didn’t know it, and I had to settle for not knowing the content.”

Tono, who had been eating quietly, which is rare for him, but since today there was a Russian salad, which was his favorite dish, said to Grandma, as he did whenever she made it:

“Nana, you’re the best cook in the world.”

Since it made Mom look a bit sad whenever he said such things, he would always thoughtfully say:

“Well, you too Mom, don’t get upset, you do other things well, you know that.”

“There can only be one who’s the best, who is it?” they asked him in jest.

“It depends on what food you make Mom,” he said softly, “when you make lentils they don’t turn out very well, admit it.”

It was true that he’d never liked them, and whenever she prepared them, he had to force himself to eat them, because Mom said that he couldn’t leave them; his body needed iron and that’s what lentils were full of.

“I’m not a nail Mom, why do I want iron?” he would protest so he wouldn’t have to eat them.