Fatima: The Final Secret

But on that day, when I left home to go to the Student Residences, I didn’t think about all the work that I now had to do for myself. I had to make an effort to be clean, since my clothes piled up in the laundry hamper, without me knowing how to put on the washing machine, even though they wanted to show me at home.

My older sister tried hard to tell me over and over that everything was simple, you just had to hit that button. Yes, of course, but what about the detergent? When should you use it? And how much? The washing machine was women’s work, that much was clear, only they understood it.

There are some things that are very difficult to understand compared to how simple they were at home. Going into the closet, everything was in its place, clean and ironed, just waiting for me to reach in and take it. I don’t know about other mothers, but mine always had everything under control, nothing I needed to go to class or to go play with friends was ever dirty or wrinkled. I had left things unrecognizable when I returned home after of an afternoon of games, but she took care of it. She never explained to me how she did it, it seems that mother’s days last longer. Maybe they have more time, because it’s ridiculous how much they have to do.

How I’ve missed her stews since I left home, especially her superb “Caldo Gallego,” or “Galician broth,” which sings to you on cold winter days, how she gets my shirts ready with their starched collars and even polishes my shoes. How could she have removed the mud that I left my things covered in when I returned from my games?

The truth is that I never thought about it, she must know everything, where would she have learned it? As far as I know, an electrician has never come to my house to fix an outlet, not that I can remember, and me with my fixation on pulling the cord without giving it a thought. I pulled them out of the wall, tore the whole plug right off, as she said to me:

“Manu again? Son, please be careful.”

But when I needed it again, it was fixed. If only she was at home, there was no doubt who had bothered to fix what I was damaging, and who always covered my books? Of course it was her.

“Mom, this is broken,” I would tell her, “can you fix it for me?”

There she was with her smile saying:

“Go get it, it’s alright.”

“Mom, I’m having trouble with this, can you help me because I have to finish it?”

“Let’s see! Look, this is how it’s done,” she would tell me and stop whatever she was doing to show me.

“Mom, this one, or the other?” and she would help me as if I were the only person in the world. Of course, now that I think about it, she did the same for my brothers and sisters, and I think to myself, how many hands did she have? How could she spare time for everyone? On top of this, she painted. I really don’t know when she found time for it.

Sometimes in the morning, I saw that she had, there in the corner where she didn’t want anyone to touch anything. I would contemplate one of those paintings that she had created. Such color! Where would she get them from? I always asked myself. Why did I never see her painting them? I only ever heard her, when I was little, say:

“Manu, don’t touch, that’s been freshly painted.”

She would tell me in a serious tone, the one she used when she said something important and that all children know so well. We did our best to obey, fully aware that she wasn’t joking.

But if I’d just gotten out of bed, did she do it while everyone else slept? I got the answer when I got a little older. It was actually when we were all asleep and the house had already fallen silent. When she had finished the multitude of tasks, when she had prepared the clothes that we all had to wear the next day, she started painting. She said it helped her to rest and be fresh the next morning.

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We went out onto the street, she closed the door firmly, then she locked up. I was surprised that such an ancient and huge door had such a small key, and looking I noticed that the lock, the opening that served as the lock in ancient times, was now just an ornament, because of its size. The key that would have been used must have been very large, surely those iron keys that weighed so much could certainly not be carried in that small bag, where I saw that the librarian kept the key.

She headed confidently toward one of the side streets. She moved so fast, just as I had seen her move through the corridors of the library and it was difficult for me to keep pace with her. Although I tried, I had no choice but to say:

“Please Miss, a little more slowly or I can’t follow you, you’re going very fast.”

She looked me up and down as if she wanted to take an X-ray and muttered:

“Hmmm! What kind of young man are you! Tired after such a pace, really? Surely you prefer to be sitting for hours, without realizing that your body needs to move to make you feel good and so that the passage of the years will not be noticed in the bones,” she replied as she slowed down slightly.

“Yes,” I mumbled softly, but in reality, what had I answered? That I had spent the day sitting or that my bones were already beginning to claim my attention? In my younger days, I would play sports practically every day, now I had to take a pill some days to be able to withstand the pain, especially in the knees, which I think wasn’t due to a lack of walking, but rather the endless hours I spent sitting.

She was right, what she had said was correct. I forced myself to follow her without protesting again, when I suddenly thought that I had been sitting the whole time, looking for information in those books that I’d taken from the shelves that she had indicated, but from there I could see her back at her work station, where I had noticed that there was nowhere for her to sit. She’d been standing the entire the time.

“What strength!” I thought. “‘I would not have endured it. Well,” I reasoned as an excuse, “she’ll be used to it; a specific result of the years she’s been doing this kind of work.”

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.