me. I looked toward the place she had indicated and saw that the curtains were being drawn at that moment. Yes, that must have been the place where I had heard them raising the shutter earlier, I had no doubt. I thanked her and headed over there with long strides.
I pushed on that glass door and looking over near the windows, I saw that a waiter was finishing drawing the curtains, he still had the cord in his hands.
“Buongiorno, can you give me something to eat?” I asked immediately, trying to pronounce it properly and in a way that he would understand me. He didn’t react as that girl had just a moment ago.
Looking at me in surprise, he replied:
“We don’t have anything at all. This is a coffee shop, there is no food, we’re only just opening,” he told me in Italian of course, but speaking slowly. It was clear that he was used to talking to strangers, perhaps visitors from other countries, because he understood very well.
As I sat there at a table, I said:
“Whatever you have, cake, bread with butter or coffee with some cookies, whatever you want, but surely you have something in there that could placate my stomach,” and I put my hand on my stomach to make it clearer.
He didn’t seem to understand me as well that time, even though I had taken a lot of care when I said it, but turning around and without saying anything, he went into what I assumed must be the kitchen, and immediately came back out with a plate full of pastries.
My eyes widened when I saw that treat. Given my sweet tooth and the hunger I felt, surely I wouldn’t leave a single one.
I held back, but as soon as he left it on the table, I thanked him and took the first one, I wasn’t going to be fussy.
I reached out for the biggest one, which was decorated, it was covered in chocolate. I could not believe how lucky I was while I took my first bite. “Food finally,” I told myself.
I was like a little kid, but I was already feeling very faint, so I said to myself, “Why should I wait before I have more?” and when I’d finished with that one, I took another.
I was starting to eat that one when the waiter approached me. He was holding a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand, which smelled… Aaah! It smelled so good! How wonderful! That made me forget all my aches and pains.
<<<<< >>>>>
Ever since my student days, coffee has been my drug of choice. I’ve never even considered trying any others, even though “certain companions” have invited me to on occasion, I have always been clear, no drugs. They bring a lot of problems, but I had never been able to resist coffee.
Of course I picked up the habit at home, with the coffee my mother made. I’ve never had any quite like it, and of course I dare say, knowing how much mothers love their children, none would consider giving their kids a substandard version of something.
Therefore, if she made me that delicious coffee every morning, well, it was sure to be a decent brew, not that she would give me a lot. Whenever she poured it for me, I would ask her for “one more little splash,” and she would top me up with a few more drops on top of what she had already given me, saying:
“That’s enough to keep you alert.”
That’s how I gradually fell in love with coffee and I’ve never gotten out of the habit. It’s not that I abuse it, but it’s true that I prefer it to anything else.
A warm sip of that coffee that the waiter had given me made me recall that now long ago day and that decision I had made. I had to learn everything I could about those three children, and about what really happened.
Surely they’ll all be stories whipped up by priests. They were Portuguese and when communism was introduced there, someone very smart must have said, “Let’s fight it,” and the plan was surprising at best, they would have to have had a lot of resources to implement it.
Because of what little information I’d been able to glean so far, led by my curiosity, there were people who really believed it, even that “the sun had danced”, what nonsense! How far did superstition go? How can you be deceived like this and believe that nonsense?
But I was ready and willing to discover the deception. I had no idea how difficult that would be, but I had nothing better to do. I would devote myself to it for as long as necessary, because when I set out to do something, I go all in to reach my goal.
On top of that, I had read something about the subject of Fatima, to try to understand “The Documents,” which I had hidden well. It was not until my first vacation, when I had more free time, that I thought I would devote a little time to that topic, to see what I could find out.
“I’m going to Portugal for a few days,” I told my family.
“Son, when did you make that decision? Why so suddenly? Has something happened that you don’t want to tell us about?” asked my surprised mother.
“Mom, I’m older now,” I replied with affection, “it’s high time I made a move and learn something for myself.”
“No, it’s not that I object, but tell me, what part of Portugal will you go to?” she asked in a worried tone.
“I think I’ll go to Fatima,” I said, lowering my voice.
“Whaaat?” said Carmen, “to Fatima? Did I just hear you properly? What business do you have going to Fatima?”
“Well, to Lisbon,” I adjusted quickly.
“I thought I heard you say you were going to Fatima,” she said with a smile. “Will it not be to pray, to get rid of those weird ideas in your head?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked seriously. “We all have the freedom to believe in whatever we want.”
My father, who certainly had an opinion on a matter like that, even if it was not the same as mine, intervened and said:
“Yes Manu, believe, if you can, in whatever you want, in something that’s not right and which I think even goes ‘against nature.’ I didn’t know then what it meant, to not believe, to question everything and to have such absurd ideas, but how can there not be a God who created us, who created everything? That’s impossible.”
“Dad,” I said, “let’s drop the subject, we’ve already discussed many times. You have your ideas, and I have mine, and I don’t think I’m hurting anyone thinking the way I do, and Mom, rest assured that I’ll be careful and nothing bad is gonna happen to me,” I said when I saw how her expression had changed when that topic of conversation had come up.
My mother, who didn’t want to talk about it either, said:
“Do you know that the twins have written?”
“Really? And what did they say?” Carmen asked very quickly, because she wanted to move away from the subject too.
“Well, that they’re doing very well at camp, that they swim a lot and that they’re training for a competition. They both say they’ll win.”
“Well, as always,” said my father, interrupting her, “they’ll
