Juan Moisés De La Serna: Fatima: The Final Secret

Fatima:

The

Final

Secret

Juan Moisés de la Serna

Translated by Daniel J. Ruddy

Publisher: Tektime

2019

“Fatima: The Final Secret”

Written by Juan Moisés de la Serna

Translated by Daniel J. Ruddy

1st edition: November 2019

© Juan Moisés de la Serna, 2019

© Tektime Publications, 2019

All rights reserved

Distributed by Tektime

https://www.traduzionelibri.it

The reproduction of this book, either in full or in part, is prohibited, as is the incorporation thereof into any computer system and its transmission in any format or by any means, whether electronic, mechanical, by photocopy, by recording or any other means, without the prior written consent of the publisher. The infringement of the aforementioned rights may constitute an offense against intellectual property (Article 270 et seq. of the Criminal Code).

Please contact CEDRO (the Spanish Center for Reprographic Rights) if you need to photocopy or scan any portion of this work. You can reach CEDRO through the website: www.conlicencia.com or by phone at (+34) 91 702 19 70 / (+34) 93 272 04 47.

Foreword

The sun had not even risen when I heard the alarm, half-asleep I stretched out my arm and with an accurate whack, I turned it off and the ringing stopped. I decided to go back to sleep after turning around in bed, remembering that we were on vacation.

Why would the alarm have sounded? Surely it was a mistake. Wrapping myself up to the head, I let myself drift back into that blissful early morning doze.

Dedicated to my parents

Index

CHAPTER 1.

CHAPTER 2.

CHAPTER 3.

CHAPTER 4.

CHAPTER 5.

CHAPTER 6.

CHAPTER 7.

CHAPTER 8.

CHAPTER 9.

CHAPTER 10.

CHAPTER 11.

CHAPTER 12.

CHAPTER 13.

CHAPTER 14.

CHAPTER 15.

CHAPTER 16.

CHAPTER 17.

CHAPTER 18.

CHAPTER 19.

CHAPTER 20.

END OF THE BOOK

The sun had not even risen when I heard the alarm, half-asleep I stretched out my arm and with an accurate whack, I turned it off and the ringing stopped. I decided to go back to sleep after turning around in bed, remembering that we were on vacation.

Why would the alarm have sounded? Surely it was a mistake. Wrapping myself up to the head, I let myself drift back into that blissful early morning doze.

Vacation, a magic word, I did not have to go to class. Everything had gone by so fast this year, in a way that no other year ever had. Before I knew it, the academic year was over. It seemed like it was just yesterday that I was getting up, when I nervously went in to see which tutors would teach me this year and eager to meet my coursemates, some of whom I hadn’t seen all summer, because they had left. That being said, I had also spent a few days with my family in Sanxenxo, where my grandparents had taken it upon themselves for years to rent a cottage for everyone.

This summer, Dad said that our days at the beach had to be cut short, a colleague from the office had come down with something and he had to cover for him, and of course he was not planning to be alone at home, who would make him dinner? And who would prepare his clothes?

Everyone at the beach understood. Who wanted to be at the beach anyway? We still remembered that last year we could not enjoy any more than two or three days, the rest were rainy and the weather was terrible. It was so bad that we could hardly go out onto the street, so no one protested at the prospect for this year, because we would have a better time at home anyway. At least if the weather was bad, or a friend came to visit or we went to their house, it meant that the time was not as boring as it had been there.

The twins, being of the same age, always entertained themselves, they never got bored, but I didn’t have any friends around here, even though I think it’s been five years that we’ve been coming here to the same beach, “La Praia de Silgar,” in Sanxenxo, in the province of Pontevedra.

“A mellor Praia de Galicia,” or “The best beach in Galicia,” according to my grandparents in their thick Galician tongue.

There were always lots of girls, so my two sisters had friends to have fun with, but there were never any boys my age, which is why I was always the one who stayed with Mom, Dad and my grandparents, bored, never knowing what to do.

“Let’s have a little game of chess,” my father would say when he saw me there.

It was a game that he liked a great deal, and I think he had taught me since I was a child so that he could have someone to play with. Of course, to play with him, I had one condition, “That he had to let me win at least once,” which he almost always did in the first game.

I would be encouraged, and put all my effort into seeing if I could do it again, and we would play a few more rounds, but I would not repeat my luck again, and despite my efforts I would lose one game after another.

“I’m not playing anymore, it’s very boring to always lose, you cheat me,” I would say angrily.

“Manu, you already know how to play well. If you want to strive and beat me, you don’t have to move so fast, you have to stop to think about the next step, and consider what consequences the move you’re about to make might have,” he told me very seriously.

“Come on, what are you saying? Dad, it’s just a game, why do you want me to think so much about it?” I answered, already annoyed.

I would get up at that point and it would be over. He already knew that there was no way I would continue and he would leave me until the next time he would see me wander around bored

“Right! Shall we play another little game?” he would say trying to keep me somewhat entertained.

Grandma and Mom would go for a walk on the beach, with their feet in the water, whenever the waves let them. Grandma said that it was very good for the circulation, that she noticed how her varicose veins would stop giving her grief when she did it. I had no idea how they could handle that cold water.

Grandpa was the brave one in the family, because there were days when he was the only one who dared to get in there. After taking a little dip, as he called it, he would take a few quick runs up and down to dry himself off when he got out, and then he would sit on his blanket, that old blanket that Grandma had given him just for the beach, which he brought, “So as not to be soiled with sand,” as he put it. He spread his blanket across the sand under the shadow of the canopy over his head, which had managed to create some decent shade, and which sometimes also sheltered us from a good downpour, those which fall in the summer without any warning.

It consisted of four poles of about five feet in length, and a large square tarpaulin with some ropes. When we got there, we all helped him assemble it. We used the “Canopy,” which was his name for it, to eat peacefully in the shade, so as not to get sunburned. I didn’t really understand why we were going to the beach to get some sun and then having to get underneath the canopy, but I admit that it was great for the twins, and for the little one, since they could quietly have their nap under there.

Grandpa would read his newspaper, as he did every day. He said that, although he was on vacation, he had to be informed of the news that was making its way around the world. When he saw me there bored, not knowing what to do, nor with whom to spend time, sitting alone trying to entertain myself playing with the sand, he would watch me as he used to do, lowering his head a little and peering at me over his glasses. Looking serious he called to me.

“Manu, can you come here for a moment? I need you, can you help me?”

I went to see what he wanted and he took me by the arm so that I would bend down and he would make me sit next to him on the blanket. He would tell me softly so that no one would hear him: