Fatima: The Final Secret. Juan Moisés De La Serna

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Love, I didn’t exactly say through the streets, he can take me to La Coruña or sometimes to Sanxenxo, to the beach, when I’ve retired.”

      “I see!” she said, “and why would you want to go to Sanxenxo alone without us?”

      “Well, I’ll explain later,” said my father. “Look Manu, alright, I’ll let you get it, but you have to promise me you’ll always go slowly. I have three sons and I want to keep them for a long time.”

      “What about us?” said Chelito.

      “Well, you’re both daughters, are you not?” said my father with a smile, which I took as an indicator that the tension had passed, and I could breathe easy and start eating. I hadn’t eaten anything yet, not even a spoonful of that delicious food I had on my plate, which my mother had made and which smelled so good.

      “I’ll foot the bill!” said my grandfather, who until that moment had been silent listening to us all.

      “You?” said my grandmother in surprise, “with what expenses? Keep quiet you and get on with your dinner.”

      “Well that’s going to cost a few pesetas,” my grandfather added.

      I sat there not knowing what to say. The truth is that I hadn’t thought about that, because I was only asking for permission, but I’d not decided to do it yet. I assumed they wouldn’t give me their permission, at best they would say that I could get it in the future.

      My mother, unable to contain herself anymore, spoke up, saying:

      “Have you all lost your minds? The boy comes up with some nonsense, and now you all support him. What he has to do is focus on his studies, and drop all these unnecessary flights of fancy, because if he neglects them now, what will he ask for next? And of course if we give it to him, what happens to the others? What kind of an example is he setting for his brothers and sisters?”

      “Don’t get upset Mom,” said Chelito, “I’m not going to ask you to let me drive, it’s too difficult. I’ve watched Dad when he’s doing it, and he has to keep looking at the road for the whole time, and doing things with his hands and his feet at the same time. He can’t even talk so he won’t be distracted, like he always tells us.”

      “Right!” said my father, “no more talk on the subject, you can get it, and you Dad, we’ll talk about that. I don’t think you should bear that expense; we’ll see where we can get the money from.”

      My mother was going to protest again, but she looked at my father and continued eating, but with a scowl on her face, which made it clear that she did not agree.

      <<<<< >>>>>

      It was my first solo trip. I had already been on one trip behind the wheel with my father at my side. For the first one, we went to La Coruña. He had to do some paperwork and he wanted me to show him how I drove. He was very nervous, but he saw that I was good at driving defensively, well, for a rookie.

      “Manu, I’m sure I’ll get there quicker if I get out and continue on foot,” he said at a certain point, trying to put on a forced smile, to disguise the tremendous nerves that were clearly plaguing him.

      “Dad, I don’t want to rush,” I answered, because I wanted to conceal my fear that he didn’t like how I was driving, and he wouldn’t let me do it again.

      “No, you’re doing well, going like this we’re sure to get there tomorrow, but it’s better late than never,” he answered, “we’re not in a hurry.”

      “What if I pressed down on the gas pedal a little more?” I asked softly to see what he would say.

      “Well, a little bit, yes,” he answered me, although it was obvious by his voice that he was still nervous. I also looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and saw that he was clutching the seat so tightly, that I thought, “If he continues on like this, he’s gonna break it for sure,” but surely that gave him peace of mind and that’s why he did it.

      I was so careful on the gas pedal that it wasn’t even perceptible. I was putting my foot down at times, but because my feet are so big, I was afraid that at some point, I would press on it too much and the car would go faster than it should.

      “You have to be more relaxed,” said my father, “you’ll end up breaking the steering wheel with how tightly you’re gripping it, and stop looking in the rear-view mirror all the time, don’t you see that nobody is behind you?”

      With my fear rising, I answered:

      “But if I don’t look, I won’t know if anyone is following us, and I can’t let them pass.”

      “Well, look at it from time to time,” he added patiently.

      When we were arriving in La Coruña, he told me:

      “Pull into the curb, carefully and then stop, but first hit the turn signal. Never forget that little detail. That’s how you warn whoever is behind you, so they can be mindful of your maneuver.”

      I did it and he got out of the car. I didn’t know why, but he came around the vehicle to the door at my side. Opening it he said:

      “Son, let me do it. I don’t trust the streets of the city, it’s more dangerous here, although I have to admit you’re not doing badly at all.”

      I got out and changed my seat. That was my first big trip. I felt such fear! Such nerves! But I managed to take him and get there without any problems. That was the important thing. Of course I don’t know how much my mother would be praying at home until she saw us appear, because she knew that I was going to be the one driving and she didn’t trust me.

CHAPTER 4.

      “How could my father have let me take that trip?” Remembering that long ago day, I still wonder to this day. He has always been very cautious and has never let us do anything that could be risky. Even if I had to hammer a nail into the wall, he would say:

      “Give it here! I’ll do it, surely you’ll hit your finger with the hammer.”

      “Honey!” said my mother whenever she would hear him, “if you don’t teach him, he’ll never know how to do anything.”

      “He’ll learn when he’s a grown-up,” he said smiling.

      “But Dad, when will I be a grown-up in your eyes? I’m taller than you, and I’m almost two meters tall,” I would say when I heard him say that I wasn’t old enough to do something yet.

      “Well, the fact that you’re tall doesn’t mean that you’re a grown-up, that’s not the same thing,” he would answer me. The conversation would be over and he wouldn’t explain anything further to me.

      “Gramps! When was my father a grown-up?” I once asked my grandfather.

      “Ah, have we reached this point already? Seems to me that I’m the grown-up here,” he answered jokingly.

      “Well, if Dad’s not old enough, I’m screwed. I’m never going to be grown-up,” I said.

      “And СКАЧАТЬ