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“Whatever you want. Let’s go to wherever you’re talking about.”
We went to the Rúa da Raiña and in surprise I said:
“So where are we going?”
At that point, we passed by the door of a coffee shop, and she said:
“Look, this looks like a good place to get a coffee, what do you think?”
I liked the place too, although in reality it didn’t matter to me, so we entered and asked for one right there at the counter, which really surprised me.
I had assumed she would take advantage of the fact that we would be sitting quietly to show me what she had just told me about, but I was wrong, she didn’t want to sit down at all. When I proposed it, she said:
“No, this way is faster.”
When it was served to us, she started drinking it immediately. I saw that the coffee was steaming and I asked her:
“Are you in such a hurry that you can’t wait for it to cool down a little?”
“Wait, you’ll see,” she said, smiling, and she did not say another word.
She drank all the coffee that was left in the cup in a single sip. I don’t know how she could tolerate it and not burn her throat, because there was no one who could have drank mine at least like that, it was just too hot.
Indicating with her hand that I should hurry, she headed for the exit, so my full coffee was left untouched in the cup. I did not want to burn myself, besides, curiosity had already gripped me. What could Pilar want to show me that would suddenly make her hurry so much?
I followed her out of the coffee shop, and of course because she knew where she was going, her steps were firm, yet I didn’t understand anything and I looked all around me, and before I knew it, we had arrived at the University library. She immediately greeted the two people at the door, it was obvious that they were old acquaintances.
“Hello Pilar! Here for information again?” asked one of them.
“Yes!” she answered. “I know you’ve received something interesting, and I’m going to keep an eye on it.” We kept walking until we got into a big room.
“I’d never come here before,” I said looking at the place. “I’d visited the public library, yes, who in Santiago de Compostela doesn’t know it? This place though, I didn’t even know it existed. Where are we?” I asked.
She smiled at me softly:
“Shhhh! You can’t talk here.”
I shrugged a little embarrassed, because for a few moments I’d forgotten that talking is prohibited in libraries. Of course, given all the time I’ve spent in them, I was almost always alone, so I didn’t have to make any effort to keep quiet. Since I didn’t have anyone to talk to, how was I going to do it?
At that moment, I don’t know why, I remembered one time when I was occupying myself with a book that I had in my hands in the Vatican library, and that nun approached me and asked me:
“Can I help you?” and I immediately realized that she had asked in English.
I looked at her surprised and thought, “How strange! Why have you asked me like that?” Then I answered:
“No, thank you.” I was of course trying to pronounce it properly, in the same language that she had spoken to me, English. It’s a problem that I’ve always had, even though my teachers have always told me:
“Manuel, you know how to assert yourself very well,” but when I’ve had to speak it, I’ve always been indecisive, fearing that the person who was listening to me wouldn’t understand me, because I was pronouncing things wrong.
The nun gave me a pamphlet, and turning around, disappeared into the aisles of the place. Surprised, I looked at what she had given me, I opened that pamphlet to see what it was when I saw in large letters, “FATIMA.”
I got up as if propelled by a spring to look for her, but it was useless. There were a lot of people sitting there, priests, the odd nun, and I looked at them closely, to see if the nun who had spoken to me was among them.
But nothing! I couldn’t recognize her because I’d not taken notice of how she was dressed, and here there were different uniforms, or habits as I believe their clothes are called, some dressed in blue, others in black, still others in white, which surprised me. What would they be doing here? Why were they not at their convents?
Well, since it was none of my business, I let it go. Since the pamphlet was in my hand, I looked at it more closely. It was written in English, and I thought, “How would she have known that I was looking for information on this subject?” I could not get over my astonishment, but even more so when I read on the pamphlet, “Pilgrimage to Fatima.”
<<<<< >>>>>
Now, being here with Pilar, uncertain about what she was going to show me, I asked her:
“How do you find out about any new information?”
“I’ve been working on this for many years, so I know all my counterparts, and if there’s a new one somewhere, I try to visit them and become friends with them, that way I know that when something comes to them about the topics they know interest me, well they let me know straight away,” she said quietly.
“And what subjects are those that interest you?” I asked at that moment.
“Shhh!” she said. “You’ll see it now.”
She went to a bookshelf and took down what she wanted, so determined that I was sure she already knew that it was there. We both went to the reading area and after sitting, I looked curiously at what was written on the book she had just taken, which read: “Latest Research on Fatima.”
“Oh, so you’re still researching the topic?” I asked a little surprised.
“And you’re not?” she returned the question. “Surely you haven’t dropped it, am I wrong?”
I put on that half smile, as if I had been caught out. I answered:
“Sure, I never dropped it.”
“I already knew you hadn’t changed. When you start with something you like, you never leave it,” she said, approaching me so I could hear her properly, because she spoke to me very quietly.
We spent a good while there reading, the time that remained until closing time. We went for a walk when we left. Even though it was a little chilly, we went to the Plaza do Obradoiro.
When we arrived, Pilar stood there in the middle. I watched her, not understanding anything of what she was doing.
“Why have we come here?” I asked at that moment.
“Each stone contains its secret,” she told me very seriously, pointing to the Cathedral.
I didn’t understand what she meant by that and I asked her:
“Pilar, what do you want to tell me? I don’t understand any of this.”
She got very serious and answered:
“Time erases everything, but there are secrets that need to be to recovered and spread.”
I still wasn’t understanding anything and I asked her to please clarify it for me.
“Who built it?” she asked me suddenly.
“Well, they say…”
“No!” she said and didn’t let me finish. “That might be who ordered it to be built; who paid for the construction; who controlled this territory when it was built, or was it simply someone later, who said, ‘Isn’t this lovely! This is mine,’ but truly, who built it? What man spent his time chipping at the stone for hours and hours for someone else to then claim it? And it could possibly have been someone else entirely who built it here. We’ll never know that, but despite our ignorance, here it is, one stone resting on another, and in turn supporting another, thus forming the entire structure, which seems monumental, but they are simply that, a collection of stones performing a function.”
As she had been saying that, she’d approached the wall and touched that stone she was talking about with her hand and continued:
“How many drops of rain have fallen on it in the time it’s been standing here? How many hours of sun has it had to endure? And here it is, standing firm where they placed it, without moving despite the inclemency of the weather. How much has it experienced? We’ll never know.”
I continued listening to her, but without understanding anything she was saying to me, why was she talking about a stone like that? I was perplexed until I said:
“Hang on! Sorry Pilar! You lost me a while ago, what are you getting at? What are you trying to say? I don’t understand.”
Taking a breath with resignation, she said:
“We all have to be like that, be in the place they have put us, and comply fully with what they entrust to us.”
“But what do you mean? Who puts us? Look, when I leave my house there’s no one to tell me whether I should turn to the right or to the left, I do what I want,” I was saying.
She interrupted me to ask me:
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” I affirmed emphatically, but I was a little confused. How strange it was! Surely she wanted to tell me something but didn’t dare to, that’s why she was making so many detours.
I felt the cold already starting to bother my throat a little, so with a distracted motion, I raised the collar of my jacket. Tightening her coat at that same moment, she said:
“Yes, we have to leave it for another day, if we’re not going to catch a cold.”
“No, wait, no!” I said. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that, you have to tell me what this is all about.”
“Look!” she answered, watching me, “if you’re not busy on Monday, let’s meet at this same spot at five, does that work for you?”
“Monday? Why not tomorrow, it’s Friday? How can I wait that long?”
“The rest of the days are impossible for me, and I think it will be good for you to think about all this a bit, so you’ll surely understand why I told you about it,” she said very seriously.
Turning around, she left purposefully, but I overtook her and said:
“Wait! I’ll walk you to your house. It’s too late for you to be going alone.”
“I always go alone, I’m used to it, it’s better that we separate here, at this place, and it’ll be here where we’ll meet again on Monday, at five o’clock on the dot, don’t forget,” she said to me.
I stayed there for a while, watching as she walked away down Rúa de San Francisco. I turned around, approached the wall of the Cathedral, and touched the stone she had touched, as if to understand what she had been saying to me.
I was there for a few moments, then I withdrew my hand saying to myself, “If someone sees me, they’ll wonder… what am I doing?” but looking around the square I saw that I was alone, that everywhere was deserted and I touched it again.
I waited a moment, suddenly I saw something that I didn’t understand, it was a field. I looked closer, and it was as if I were getting closer to it, I saw some men who were working. I was very surprised. They were chipping at stones, some big piles, they made them into equal sizes, it didn’t seem difficult for them and they seemed happy.
I didn’t understand it, suddenly it was all gone, I stopped seeing it, it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
I looked all around me in surprise, there was no one there, I was alone in that empty square, I didn’t understand a thing.
I had no idea what had just happened so I started walking, and leaving that place, I went home at a brisk pace so I could warm up, since the temperature had dropped, and there was a cold breeze that left my face frozen.
<<<<< >>>>>
LÚCIA, the seer of Fatima, had she died on May 31, 1949 at the Institute of the Sisters of St. Dorothy in Tuy? Or on February 13, 2005, at the convent of Santa Teresa in Coimbra?
That was what the documents that fell into my hands that day were about. It was a surprise, I had never found anything like them, I had to study them thoroughly. This was unheard of, unexpected and strange, how could such a thing happen in this day and age?
There were many secrets around that seer, too many I would say, but every time I try to find an answer in my search, to clarify something, another question arises. It seems that there are hidden interests, that do not want facts as simple as the lifespan of a person to be known.
How is that possible? That will not stop me from striving to find the truth. These setbacks that I encounter only make my curiosity to discover what actually happened grow deeper and deeper.
What seems to have no contradictions is that when she was at the Institute of the Sisters of St. Dorothy in Tuy, she once fell ill and Mons. José Alves Correira da Silva, the bishop of Leiria, seeing her delicate state of health, ordered her to write down that secret so that it would not be lost if something happened to her.
It is also known that she wrote the document in January 1944 and sent it to the bishop with the warning that it not be published until after her death or at least not before 1960.
All this information that I already knew from other documents I had studied; I was now confirming with the ones I had here in my hands. So by taking all of this into consideration, who was the Lúcia who died on February 13, 2005?
Of course it could not be the same Lúcia. What was going on? Who was behind all this mess? I found it very interesting to continue.
I started to look at everything more closely, it couldn’t be. According to these files, it was not very clear no matter how you looked at it, because looking at the dates carefully suggests that this sister Lúcia had taken her vows at the Carmelites of Coimbra on May 31, 1949, what a coincidence! That is exactly the date Lúcia’s death is recorded, coincidence? Or is it proof that there are two Lúcias?
And if so, who set everything up? Explanations have to be found for such unusual events. If she had died, why would her life have been extended so strangely creating a double, a substitute? What for? Who could have done it? Who would benefit from it if she were still alive?
All these questions came to my mind all of a sudden, why the church? It could only have been the church; why would they have covered up that the true seer Lúcia died in 1949?
There are secrets that cannot be hidden forever, so now I will try to uncover evidence that I’ve been finding in my research, which surely will intrigue more than one person and intrigue them a lot. People might wonder what stake I have in it? My answer is that I don’t, but it’s always good to know the truth.
Why is there such controversy surrounding whether or not the third secret is authentic or false? There are things that are difficult to establish, but if we try to find the answer, we will find unexpected surprises, because it seems that anyone who has been interested enough to try to clarify everything is met with such adamant resistance that sometimes the barrier is insurmountable. But every wall has its little hole where you can slip through, to continue burrowing and gradually discover the path, where events have developed, with all of their twists and turns.
What is truth? And what is deception? I just pose the question, if that sister Lúcia, who I have no doubt was the person who had written in that little book that was now in my possession, had kept it in that hiding place.
Why wouldn’t she have searched for it afterwards? Could she have forgotten? I refuse to believe that, it wouldn’t be better to think that it was because she had died, at least that much is clear to me.
<<<<< >>>>>
I turned on the light, I was back in my room. I had calmed down while I’d had dinner with my companions.
I decided to face the surprise. I climbed onto the chair, and when I touched it once again, my heart began to beat rapidly.
It seemed to me for a moment that it was going to burst out of my chest, given how nervous I was again, but being brave I decided not to prolong the situation any further.
I picked it up very carefully, lowered it and sat on the bed. I prepared to unwrap that little book that I had carefully covered earlier with my handkerchief.
I already had it in my hand, it was small, less than a quarter the size of my hand, of course I’ve always had very large hands, but yes, the book was very small compared to those that I was used to reading, those study books that I’ll never know why they always try to make into big tomes that are so difficult to handle. This however was so small that at first I thought it would be a kid’s book.
