Fatima: The Final Secret. Juan Moisés De La Serna

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

      Surprised by his question, I answered him haltingly:

      “No, but does that matter?”

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      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.”

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