The Third Secret

FORTY-TWO

MEDJUGORJE, BOSNIA-HERZEGOVINA

6:30 P.M.

Michener found two rooms in one of the newer hotels. The rain had started just as they left Jasna’s house, and they’d barely made it to the hotel before the sky exploded into a pyrotechnic display. This was the rainy season, an attendant informed them. The deluges came quick, fed by warm air off the Adriatic mixing with frigid northern breezes.

They ate supper at a nearby café crowded with pilgrims. The conversations, mostly in English, French, and German, centered on the shrine. Someone remarked that two of the seers had been in St. James Church earlier. Jasna was supposed to appear, but had failed to show, and one of the pilgrims had noted it was not unusual for her to remain alone during the daily apparition.

“We’ll find those two seers tomorrow,” he told Katerina, as they ate. “I hope they’re easier to get along with.”

“Intense, wasn’t she?”

“She’s either an accomplished fraud or the genuine thing.”

“Why did her mention of Bamberg bother you? It’s no secret the pope was fond of his hometown. I don’t believe she didn’t know what the name signified.”

He told her what Clement had said in his final e-mail message about Bamberg. Do with my body as you please. Pomp and ceremony do not make the pious. For me, though, I would prefer the sanctity of Bamberg, that lovely city by the river, and the cathedral I so loved. My only regret is that I did not see its beauty one last time. Perhaps, though, my legacy could still be there. But he omitted that the message was a last statement from a pope who took his own life. Which brought to mind something else Jasna had said. I have prayed for the pope. His soul needs our prayers. It was crazy to think she knew the truth about Clement’s death.

“You don’t actually believe we witnessed an apparition this afternoon?” Katerina asked. “That woman was strung out.”

“I think Jasna’s visions are hers alone.”

“Is that your way of saying the Madonna wasn’t there today?”

“No more than she was at Fatima, or Lourdes, or La Salette.”

“She reminds me of Lucia,” Katerina said. “When we were with Father Tibor, in Bucharest, I didn’t say anything. But from the article I wrote a few years ago, I remember that Lucia was a troubled girl. Her father was an alcoholic. She was raised by her older sisters. Seven kids in the house and she was the youngest. Right before the apparitions started her father lost some of the family land, a couple of sisters married, and the remaining sisters took jobs outside the home. She was left alone with her brother, her mother, and a drunk father.”

“Some of that was in the Church’s report,” he said. “The bishop in charge of the inquiry dismissed most of it as common for the time. What bothered me more were the similarities between Fatima and Lourdes. The parish priest in Fatima even testified that some of the Virgin’s words were nearly identical to what was said at Lourdes. The visions at Lourdes were known in Fatima, and Lucia was aware of them.” He took a swallow of beer. “I’ve read all of the accounts from four hundred years of apparitions. There are a lot of matching details. Always shepherd children, particularly young females with little or no education. Visions in the woods. Beautiful ladies. Secrets from heaven. Lots of coincidences.”

“Not to mention,” Katerina said, “that all of the accounts that exist were written years after the apparition. It would be easy to add details to give greater authenticity. Isn’t it strange that none of the visionaries ever revealed their messages right after the appearance? Always decades pass, then little bits and pieces come to light.”

He agreed. Sister Lucia had not provided a detailed account of Fatima until 1925, then again in 1944. Many asserted that she embellished her messages with later facts, like mentioning the papacy of Pius XI, World War II, and the rise of Russia, all of which occurred long after 1917. And with Francisco and Jacinta dead, there was no one to contradict her testimony.

And one other fact kept circling through his lawyerly mind.

The Virgin at Fatima, in July 1917, as part of the second secret, talked about the consecration of Russia to her Immaculate Heart. But Russia at that time was a devoutly Christian nation. The communists did not rise to power until months later. So what was the point of any consecration?

“The La Salette seers were a total mess,” Katerina was saying. “Maxim—the boy—his mother died when he was an infant and his stepmother beat him. When he was first interviewed after the vision, he interpreted what he saw as a mother complaining about being beaten by her son, not the Virgin Mary.”

He nodded. “The published versions of the La Salette secrets are in the Vatican archives. Maxim mentioned a vengeful Virgin who talked of famine and compared sinners to dogs.”

“The kind of thing a troubled child might say about an abusive parent. The stepmother used to starve him as punishment.”

“He eventually died young, broke and bitter,” he said. “One of the original seers here in Bosnia was the same. She lost her mother a couple of months before the first vision. And the others have had problems, too.”

“It’s all hallucinations, Colin. Disturbed kids who have become troubled adults, convinced of what they imagined. The Church doesn’t want anyone to know about the seers’ lives. It totally bursts the bubble. Causes doubt.”

Rain pounded the café’s roof.

“Why did Clement send you here?”

“I wish I knew. He was obsessed with the third secret, and this place had something to do with it.”

He decided to tell her about Clement’s vision, but he omitted all reference to the Virgin asking the pope to end his life. He kept his voice in a whisper.

“You’re here because the Virgin Mary told Clement to send you?” she asked.

He caught the waitress’s attention and held up two fingers for a couple more beers.

“Sounds to me like Clement was losing it.”

“Exactly why the world will never know what happened.”

“Maybe it should.”

He didn’t like the comment. “I’ve spoken with you in confidence.”

“I know that. I’m just saying, maybe the world should know about this.”

He realized there was no way that could ever happen, given how Clement had died. He stared out at the street flooded with rain. There was something he wanted to know. “What about us, Kate?”

“I know where I plan to go.”

“What would you do in Romania?”

“Help those kids. I could journal the effort. Write about it for the world. Draw attention.”

“Pretty tough life.”

“It’s my home. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

“Ex-priests don’t make much.”

“It doesn’t take much to live there.”

He nodded and wanted to reach over and take her hand. But that wouldn’t be smart. Not here.

She seemed to sense his wish and smiled. “Save it, until we get back to the hotel.”