Fatima: The Final Secret. Juan Moisés De La Serna

arrived at the counter, where a friendly lady asked me what I wanted to see. Still contemplating the craftsman of that amazing door, I didn’t notice her when she said, “Good morning,” nor did I hear the question that she had asked me when she saw me arrive.

      “What a piece of work!” I said absent-mindedly, without realizing that someone was listening to me.

      “What did you say? What do you mean?” she said with a look of surprise.

      “Sorry, I was thinking about something else. May I consult a book?” I asked, returning to the matter that had brought me there.

      “That’s what I’m here for, to provide the desired information to those who need it,” she responded with a smile. “If you tell me what it’s about and if we have it, I can tell you where it is.”

      “Well, the thing is, I don’t know. I’m looking for something, where could I find it?” I said a little quieter, as if I were ashamed, because she was listening to me when I said it, and she saw how awkwardly I was expressing myself, the nerves that I felt wouldn’t even let me speak properly.

      “If you can give me a hint, I’m sure I can help you,” she said smiling.

      “The Secrets of Fatima,” I said promptly, looking at the floor without daring to look at her.

      “It’s on my nightstand,” she answered immediately without stopping to think.

      I was amazed by her response, I looked her up and down, trying to analyze her. “What a way to get my attention!” I thought.

      No, she didn’t seem like one of those girls who like to be noticed, she had the appearance of a serious person, at least from the way she dressed. She wore a gray pleated skirt and a sweater that was also gray, but of a darker shade, with her hair pulled back in a bun. She wore no makeup, which gave the impression that she was a formal and educated person. I didn’t understand why she had given me that answer, which I considered so strange and inappropriate.

      I opened my mouth to tell her that I was serious, but she did not let me say another word as she continued.

      “It’s one of my favorite books and since I first got it, I’ve read it so many times that I know it by heart, but nobody has ever asked for it here in the library, well because I know that anyone who is interested in the subject, goes and buys it in a bookstore,” she was saying quite seriously. I was still surprised by her response, and I was still staring at her.

      “But, the secrets? Secrets? Not the ones that are in the public domain,” I said softly.

      “Wait, there are more secrets? Well that’s got my attention,” she said in a curious tone, leaning her head in closer to me, in order to speak more quietly.

      “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I answered also quietly, not wanting anyone to hear me.

      “Come, I’ll show you everything we have on the subject, to see if there’s anything that will help you in your task,” she answered suddenly, her voice conveying her great enthusiasm.

      Leaving her work station and walking at a brisk pace, so much so that I had trouble following her, we passed through the corridors of the library, until we reached one of the most distant and lonely corridors. It was clear that it was seldom visited. She stopped in her tracks, and turning to me she said:

      “Here is all the material that we have about Fatima, but if you like, when we close the library I can show you a bookstore that I know well, where you might also find something on the subject that may interest you.” She was telling me this while she gestured toward the bookshelves with her hand, where I saw several books, which I supposed would provide me with information about what interested me.

      I was surprised by the way she was talking to me, I wasn’t sure if I had heard her properly that she wanted to accompany me, and puzzled, I asked her:

      “Why don’t you give me the address and I’ll go myself after looking at what you have here?”

      “As I said, it’s a topic that has interested me for a long time and I know where the materials are, on what bookshelf, and if you were to go alone, I’m sure you wouldn’t find it. Well, if you don’t mind me coming with you, of course,” she added.

      As she seemed very judicious to me, we agreed that I would see everything that was around here, and when it was time to go, we would meet by the exit.

      She agreed and left with a spring in her step, back to her work station, and to open that door, which she had closed with a firm push in order to come with me to show me where the material was that I might find interesting.

      <<<<< >>>>>

      That day, I had put on some pants, the oldest I had, and my green plaid shirt, the one I hadn’t worn for a long time and which was so worn that my mother would not let me go out in it. With the sleeves rolled up, I went to meet my companions, well, they would be my companions from today, because I had been assigned to work with them when I told them I would like to help with something.

      The academic year had already finished and we were on vacation and since I had nothing fun lined up this summer, I wanted to do something different.

      One day I’d heard a group of students, in the college quadrangle, who had commented on what they had done last summer, and as it seemed strange to me, I stopped to find out more. I thought I had heard that they had worked as bricklayers, it could not be true, surely I was wrong, so I asked them about it.

      “Yes, what’s so strange? We’ve been fixing the house of some folk who needed someone to lend a hand,” answered one of the girls who was in that group.

      She told me in a normal voice, as if the others also knew what she was talking about, but it seemed very strange to me, I thought she was making fun of me.

      “Wait, what are you telling me?” I interrupted, “You? A bricklayer? What about your nails?”

      “Well it was during the summer, I didn’t have to come to class, so I didn’t need to have them, I didn’t need them long or painted, so I cut them. We do the work with care, we’re professionals after all,” she replied with a chuckle.

      “Professionals of what?” I asked her intrigued, because I saw that the others were watching, and they didn’t laugh at what she was telling me.

      “Hey, if you came here to mock us, you can get lost, we take this seriously,” said the guy next to her, and they all stared at me.

      “But yeah, tell me some more, you have to admit that what I’m hearing is pretty unusual,” I told them so they could inform me about what I’d heard when I was passing them by.

      “Look, if you want to know more, come this afternoon, we have to get going now or we’ll be late for class.”

      And with that, the group disbanded, but before they disappeared, I shouted:

      “What time? Where can I find you? I really do want to know more.”

      “Here at five, be on time!” one of them said as he turned away.

      <<<<< >>>>>

      What incredible memories! One day I have to make a compilation of everything, because although I’m not very old and I have an excellent memory, who knows when it will start to fail me, or what things might happen to me. Although I don’t believe that my life interests anyone, even if out of curiosity, one day I’m going to write down everything that has happened to me. I’ll try to do it accurately, without so many flights of fancy, just as I’m remembering it now. The unfortunate thing is that I’m always so busy that I have no idea when I’ll be able to actually do it, but yes, I am determined and I will do it at some point.

      Browsing through the material that I had taken down to the table, time flew past and I was startled when I noticed a tap on my shoulder. It was her, the librarian.

      “It’s