Juan Moisés De La Serna - Fatima - The Final Secret

Finally, I saw a sign that filled me with joy: “Spanish Border.” Why would it say that? Everyone passing this way on this side of the border already knows they’re on Spanish soil, it’s obvious that it’s the border of Spain. At last I had reached it, I was about to enter Portugal. I assumed that they would also announce that we were at the “Border of Portugal” on their side, and I thought, “What now? Nothing Manu, just go ahead.” When I handed my papers to the border guard, he looked at me and asked me if I was going alone.

As the question surprised me, I must have had a strange expression on my face or something, because he immediately asked me:

“Is der someting wrong frien?”

But since I didn’t understand him very well, I had to ask him to repeat himself, and I asked him:

“Where are you from? You’re not Galician are you?”

He laughed and told me he was Andalusian:

“No, not Galician.”

“From where?” I asked, out of courtesy, aware of how many hours they spend there alone.

“From a real’ small town called Roquetas del Mar in da province of Almeria,” he replied.

I tried to remember, because at that moment I couldn’t quite recall where it was, but it seemed to me that it was in the South so I said:

“You’re kind of far from home.”

“Der’s a funny side to what dey command,” he said in his peculiar accent.

“And what’s that?” I asked him.

“Well, for dat reason, sendin’ me to the other side of the country, der’s nowhere furder away, what dya tink?” he said looking annoyed.

“You’ll not be able to see your family often then,” I said, because I didn’t know what else I could talk to him about.

“What are ye sayin’ man? I’ve been here for two years witout bein’ able to go down, what dya tink ‘o’ dat?”

“What do you mean by go down?” I asked surprised. I wasn’t really getting any of what he was saying.

“Well, jus’ dat, if we’re up here, my land will be down der, come on, I tell ya!”

“I still couldn’t quite understand him with that strange accent, but looking like a prankster, he laughed, and repeated:

“Up and down, it soun’s loike a game for chilren. So, wher are ye goin’? Is it that you’re not satisfoid wit’ Spain and yer off to anoder country? Surely ye don’ know my part of Spain,” he said to me. He seemed to want to keep talking.

“No, you’re right,” I replied.

“Well before ye get goin’ somewhere else, maybe you should get to know our own place. Look, I’m not one for showin’ off, but there ain’t nothin’ like my Andalusia.”

And he kept talking and talking. Uncertain about how to get out of this, my gut was telling me, “He’s not going to tire of this and let me continue on my way.”

And he went on saying to me:

“Why dontya take the cer and make for Andalusia? You’ll see such lan’scapes and places that they don’ have der in Portugal.”

“Do you know Portugal?” I asked him.

“Not at all, mid-air!” he told me. “What for? I’m satisfoid enough wit’ Spain and I’d loike to get to know da whole ting, I was at anoder border post for five yers.”

“Where?” I asked trying to be polite.

“Well, it wer real’ different from dis, der was no way to rest der, trucks and cers were always passin’ by, and they never stop comin’ even at lunchtime.”

“But where was it?” I asked again.

“On da French boarder, Hendaye it were called, such a cute name,” he replied.

“But I’m sure it’s better here,” I said.

“Yes, true dat, I can certainly assure ye, and listen, I love it so much I’ve even married one ‘o’ ya,” the man was telling me.

“Really?” I said a little incredulous. “How did you manage that? Well, Galician girls are known far and wide, when it comes to sweetness, no one beats them, they have that reputation.”

“And dis one is, so I couldn’t let her get away,” he said to me very excitedly.

As it was clear that he wasn’t going to stop, because I think what was going on was that he was bored and had found a captive audience to listen to him, I said:

“Hey, how far is it from here to Lisbon?”

“You’re going there?” he asked me surprised. “Well a good ole long way, and why are ye going der?”

I was getting tired of people asking me that and I must have frowned at him.

He noticed and returned the documents to me, adding:

“Sorry for me lack ‘o’ tact. Bye. Be careful on da road now ye hear? And remember dat der in Portugal, dey fine ye for everyting, have a good day.”

“I’m sure they will if I do something wrong, but I don’t intend to. Thanks, I’ll be very careful,” and with that I left.

Already a little more confident, I continued until I arrived at Fatima, with nothing else in my head but the matter that had brought me there: to find something here that I was looking for.

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I had gotten up early. I didn’t need to touch the alarm clock. My body clock, as they call it, was accurate. When it reached five o’clock, I already had one eye open, although when it was a holiday or I was on vacation and didn’t have to do anything, I stayed in bed a little longer.

That never stopped me from being an early riser though, that has been my habit since my student days, when I would get up to spend some time reviewing the lessons we had in advance so I could attend having recently read them.

I have subsequently continued to do the same thing in life, because whenever I’ve had to do something, when I start it early, it seems that I get more out of the day. I also had the habit of taking a siesta after lunch, only for half an hour, but enough to rest and get up with new strength for everything that I had left to do that day.

Before leaving the guest house, I would have a fleeting breakfast, something I had learned how to do the day before. They told me that it didn’t matter that I was going out at such early hours, that they always left some cookies and a coffee pot with warm coffee prepared in case anyone ever needed it, as well as a jug of cold milk, in case they didn’t want to drink the coffee black.

They also let me know where I could find it, because it wasn’t in the dining room, since it was still closed at that time. It was down a hallway, toward the middle of it. There was a broad area there, it looked as if it had been built specifically for that purpose.

I headed for that hallway very early and I immediately saw the table all set up. It was round, the kind of table they call a Camilla table. It was covered with red fabric and a white tablecloth, with a brazier underneath it to keep everything warm. On top of it, in one corner, was the coffee pot and next to it, a jug of milk covered with a crocheted doily, those that I knew well from my grandmother’s house, work that she loved. There were little pieces she had made throughout her whole house. Well, they were in mine as well, because on every birthday she managed to bring a new one, for a coffee table or to throw over a chair, saying that the one we had was already very worn.

I took a glass from among those that were sitting there upside down on a tray and I poured myself a coffee, and then a little milk and two teaspoons of sugar, as was my habit. I never took a coffee without them, even though it made Chelito say that I was the greediest in the house. I took two cookies and drank my coffee, almost in a single mouthful. It went down so well, so warm, then I left nibbling at the cookies.

I went out into the street and saw no one there. It didn’t surprise me at that hour, everyone would be asleep. What’s more, the door could only be opened from the inside, so there was no need for anyone to be on duty, people could only leave, no one could enter.