The Secret

Chapter One

                       © 2013 by tore56789 (GOS) All rights reserved.

                                                  THE SECRET

                                 A town in present day County Cork

Father O Brien was sitting beside a cosy going fire, watching a program about UFOs, and there strong connection they had in the Bible, when his housekeeper, Mrs Flynn entered, wearing an apron over her dress, her hair tied up in a bun. (The bun was only for the priest’s address, to make housekeeping easier.  Once back at her own place, she would let her long red hair back down again) Her face rarely for a 54 year old woman showed a smile, and now was no exception.  Her reason for venturing into the room, was really just for a final check on the old priest, before leaving for her home at 8pm, which it was now a quarter to.

“Father, that’s an odd programme for someone like yourself to be watching?”  She mentioned, as she shovelled more coal onto the fire from a brass bucket next to it, seeing as the flames had gone down a little.  She could observe the 68 year old man was well taken with what he was watching.  And she made the comment, just as a so called expert on the programme was trying to ram home the idea –that he believed –and it wouldn’t take a lot of imagination for others to do likewise –that Angels were ancient astronauts.  And for this hypothesis to make any sense, one only had to replace the Angel’s wings with a present day jetpack.  And any person in 2011 could look like an Angel to a civilization away less advanced.  It even quite happily boasted that the wings were misleading totally.  And only placed there because the observers couldn’t envisage something more extraordinary outside of their realm of thought –suggesting, we described things from the build-up of our own knowledge. So a plane would be a bird, and so on.  (The program even used this to ram home –how this explanation tucked up very nicely the mystery surrounding the strange bird shaped gliders found in Egypt, and carved by the ancient Egyptians.  That what they constructed, probably wasn’t like what they really observed)

The program had gone from that expert –who looked like he never missed a Star Trek convention in his life – with an Einstein egghead appearance, back to the presenter, a man with a well spoken British English accent in his thirties (BBC accent), with dark hair, a blue shirt, and an annoying habit of pushing his slightly too long hair back from his face.

When the priest spoke, the presenter of the programme was just after saying, how Angel in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, all translated to the same meaning: Messenger? Again it saw this as part of the puzzle?  “One thing I have learnt as a priest Mrs O Flynn is to never dismiss anything.”

“That’s a strange thing from a man of the Cloth,” she said, standing back up. “So you’re saying Father now, you believe in all this poppy-cosh –alien visitors?  Next thing you’ll be telling me Jesus Christ.”  After mentioning His name she blessed herself, asking of Him for forgiveness, for speaking His name aloud. “Was an alien?”

With that, the priest turned to her, just as the SKY TV channel (on satellite, and cable) went into commercials.  “Mrs Flynn, surely you must have asked yourself from time, how with all that vastness of space out there, how we can even dare to presume we are the only life forms around.”  The man gave a soft laugh, “For all we know now, somewhere in some galaxy billions of light years from where we are there could be two people, like us, having this same conversation.  And like us, they will follow a religion.  As no doubt like on Earth, they will have umpteen to choose from.  As it’s only natural to presume God will exist.  As their ancient ancestors too would have needed to believe in some unearthly presence to explain away all the mysteries of the world they saw around them.” He stopped for breath, just before finishing with. “Don’t you agree with my hypothesis?”

Mrs Flynn didn’t know what to say, hearing such coming from a man of the Cloth! (A man of God!) Her world since her husband passed away from acute alcoholism, some ten years earlier, and her only son left home running off with an unholy woman –a divorcee –had been devotedly placed in religion.  In fact, she thanked God and her fate in Him, from stopping her from seeking out the drink too for comfort those years ago.  As it would have been easier to get drunk and blame herself for been a bad mother, and a wife, than to face up to the tougher reality that was life.

Looking at the priest now, rage met her, when it scrapped into her being a religious man was laughing at all she had placed her life in. “Father, next thing you’ll be telling me there’s truth in all that scientology nonsense, them people over there in Hollywood are big into. I’m surprised a man-like-yourself –all that you represent, can proudly sit there and boast such things?”  She stopped to shake her head.  “I’m sure the bishop of Cork would be mortified.  Not to mind the Papa himself in Rome.”

Without his housekeeper been aware of it, the very mention of the work Papa, had fuelled his reprisal, and just as the programme came back on, the priest said, “Mrs Flynn, all I’ll say, any person who holds narrow minded notions, is themselves but a fool.”  He looked at her a moment, like as if he was having this conversation with her in the Confessional Box.  And when he observed some hurt on her face, he turned back to the TV, as commercials ended.

"Anything else Father, before I leave,” she asked after a moment.  Her face looking a bit hurt.

“No, think everything is satisfactory.  Thank you.”

“All right then.  I’ll be going.  And I’ll see you in the morning, Father.”

“Very good, and may God look over you till then,” he said back, without turning away from his programme –to further send home his annoyance towards her.

And with that the devout Catholic woman slipped into her coat in the hall, placed on her scarf around her head, and then after a final check everything was okay around the house, exited out the main door, where her car waited outside on the stony gravel front, next to the chapel.  A floodlight on the wall of the chapel too would light her way, positioned so that in faced the priest’s home, and designed to trigger and stay on for about thirty seconds, when anyone walked a few feet from the front door.  Getting in, she viewed her discourse with the man, as just another day of looking after him.  Tomorrow, something else he did or said, would probably anger her also.  It just came about from the combination of their two personalities. If he was a priest who prayed, and asked her to join in, and confronted her with scripture, they would have gotten on a lot better! In truth, she would have preferred if he was like his predecessor –as he was a true man of God, in her eyes.  She didn’t feel at ease with men of the Cloth, who held onto New Age ideas.  As it her mind, they were one step away from denying, Christ had even given His life for us.         

And with that, she drove down the tarmac path, past the chapel, and away down the slope towards the chapel entrance.