The Secret

Chapter Seven

                      © 2013 by tore56789 (GOS) All rights reserved.

The priest nodded, as the man gave another cough, and cleared away more blood, “Reckon my insides are totally rotted out at this stage.  Anyhow, I want to do right now, what I didn’t do then.  I want to give you something which is going to amaze you Father, with the hope you can pass it on to the right people.” Then after pausing for breath, and expressing to the priest how all he had spoken about had exhausted him, he said, “Go to the press.  You’ll find at the bottom on the left a scratched metal box. Remove the tray, and you’ll find at the bottom a small white box labelled, S.O.M Standing for: Seamus O’Malley.”

He recalled how he could hear the man’s breathlessness, as he examined the box, something which looked military.  Also he could hear loud at times, the wind tapping hard against the window, as if a force other than it wished to enter.  “Hope the lack of light won’t be a problem to you Father.  If you want you can switch on the overhead light.  I just prefer sitting here with the bedside lamp, as it’s less painful on the eyes.” Again the cough, hoarseness, echoed out, as if life was being choked from the bedridden man.

“No, I can manage Sean.  But thank you.”

“Father, can a soul come back?  Say is there a way I can say ask for leave –like in the military, to come back and visit my family?”

He stifled a laugh, when he heard that so suddenly, from the direction of the bed to the back of him, as he removed carefully what looked like loaded magazines of rifle bullets, (possibly rounds for an M16 rifle) covering what he assumed was the box –since it had the right shape, and appearance, from what the man described.

Hearing such words hadn’t been the first time.  It had happened previously. The first time was when he was a neophyte.  A woman of her eighties had said more or less those same words.  And the leading priest, been prepared for such, had replied with, a man in his late sixties, who from time liked his drink a lot. “Mary, as long as you have lived a life that made God proud.  Any desires you have can be fulfilled in his Kingdom.  This is after all your reward for living your life to His Son’s teachings, set down by His ordinance.”

Thank you Father. That is good to know.”  The woman had smiled.  Only moments before she had received Last Rites, and then like as if she was made of clockwork, frail like a dead leaf, she just closed her eyes, as if finally the mechanisms of life had played out.  That same priest had said after to him as they drove away, “I say this to make their passing and their families, less traumatic. (His voice was musical, like his origin, the Liberties part of Dublin city) It might be a little different than what we’re taught.  But sure Father, a lie for the sake of good, never did anyone any harm?  Sure it didn’t?” After that, he remembered, the elderly priest –who didn’t look himself like he had too long for the world, took a small bottle of Teachers out of his pocket, offered it to him, and when he refused, took a good swallow of it back with a sigh.  The night had been a cold wintry one after all in County Dublin.

And then as he got hold of the box and was taking it out, he said, “Sean, as long as you have lead a life with a good heart.  Set out to do good over evil. God will grant you your wishes.” He answered, amazed how easily one could alter truth.  Just like that old priest had done those years before.            

“That is a load off my mind knowing this Father.  I just want to see them from time.  Check up on how they’re doing.  Maybe give them support, comfort.  I have told my Mary Ann she needs to move on after I’m gone, for the sake of the girls.  Find a good decent man.  She says she won’t do this.  That she’ll manage.  But maybe Father you can convince her otherwise. Point her in the way of a good caring person, someone who would look after both her and the kids?”  He then finished with a laugh, which again was entangled with mucus. “She’s a strong woman, a good woman.  But sometimes too stubborn for her own good.”

“I’ll do what I can Sean.  As you know they are lots of bachelors, single gentlemen around here, who would make your wife a good match.”

And with that, the man beamed a smile, as if he was rewarding a child something fantastic. “Open it Father.”

The priest did.  Inside he saw what looked like a tainted dark blue piece of glass, about the size of an I-Phone, or slightly smaller, as this could have easily fitted into the palm of his hand, with a little leeway to spare.  But besides that, it didn’t look like anything special –just a colourful piece of perfectly smooth glass.

“Take hold of it,” the man propped up in the bed said looking at him again in the same way.

He did. And as soon as held it, it started to glow.  He saw the entire face suddenly fill up with detail, small icons.

“I’ve worked out it gets its power from the electricity in our bodies.  Amazing technology wouldn’t you say?  When you consider it goes back to Roswell in 1947.  When about all we had back then had been these big old vacuum tubes.”  Then after a pause, “Touch any one of those icons Father to the right hand side.  They represent strange tools.  I could never fully figure out just exactly what they might have been used for?  But I assume put a power tool in the hands of a stone age man, and he would be none the wiser,” he said with a laugh intended, but this quickly manifested in a deep cough, and more blood coming up.