Portugal Journal: Fatima Story 4

10/6 Saturday, Lisbon.

Our concierge, Maria Santos Pinheiro, of Pensão Residencial Estrela do Mondego, walked to Fatima, she said it took her four days. She slept in pilgrim hotels along the way. She said she went because of a promise she had made. She wouldn't say what.

I asked how the custom began, the walking on the knees. She doesn't know how, or when, but said that when people make promises because something bad happened in their lives, and then they just do it. They fall to their knees and walk.

She said there's a big (holm oak) tree on 93 Azinheira, near there where the Lady appeared there at the Capelinha das Aparições (Chapel of the Apparitions, where three shepherd children saw the Virgin Mary in Cova da Iria, Fátima), in 1917.

She said that people took bits of the tree, they even took the land, until there was nothing left. The faithful finished off what the anticlerical liberal factions couldn't destroy, when they cut down the wrong tree in 1922.

On 13 May, when Our Lady first appeared, and every month until October 13, people walk from all over Portugal for the Peregrinación to the Santuário de Nossa Senhora de Fátima. She said "I like it better on the 12th at night, because of all the candles. And everyone waving white handkerch1efs. There's a song the people sing when they go there." 

The  maid begins singing El Adeus de Fátima, as she makes the beds. It's a very touching, if droll, song, perhaps it is a fado, and I am moved to tears.

Ó Virgem do Rosário, da Fátima Senhora. De Portugal Rainha, dos homens protectora. Ó Virgem do Rosário, da Fátima Senhora. Do Vosso Santuário, forçoso é ir-me embora. Uma prece final, ao deixar-Vos Mãe de Deus. Viva sempre em minha alma este grito imortal: Ó Fátima, adeus! Virgem Mãe, adeus!

On 12 June, Maria said, "On my birthday it's very joyous. And when you're there when you see Fatima, it's very touching. I cried and I cried," she said.

Thousands and thousands of people attend the services, and most of them have walked to Fátima on foot. The Virgin is paraded around the courtyard on a raft of white flowers, and everyone singing O Fátima, Adiós! while waving a sea of white handkerchiefs. Even the rosaries are white.

"The house where the shepherd children were born, is still there", she said. Milagros, the candles... You've got to believe in something." she said. "Heads legs children—that's what the Milagros are made for. You make a wish and you throw it in the fires that burn day and night."

Maria said that sometimes when people get married, they leave their flowers at Fátima for no special reason, other than for a blessing.

She said there's a lava-pés, a place where you wash your feet, and then the nuns will bandage your feet. She said that it's a recent custom, not an old one.

She explained, Our lady was brought to the Basilica on 13 May and was there until 13 October. When she was brought back, we sang a special song, Fátima, adeus! because she went around the world.  People pray with the rosary, they pray for whatever they want, there is no set thing that they pray for. Whether or not they believe, it doesn't matter.

Now the maid is singing it too because she doesn't believe. I left 1,000 escudos with Maria to buy us two heart milagros at Fatima, next May, one for me and one for my aunt Canice, whose heart keeps rhythm with the help of a new pacemaker.

Portugal Journal: Lisbon London SFO
Independence Day, Fatima, Portugal
Portugal Journal: Lisbon to Fatima 3
Portugal Journal: Lisbon 2
Portugal Journal: arriving in Lisbon 1
Azores Journal: Terceira, São Jorge

Independence Day, Fatima, Portugal

Pilgrims line up at the square, wearing kneepads, commercial, and homemade, Some pilgrims wear towels wrapped around their knees others wear polyester pads. Brown, to hide the dirt, and the blood.

It's raining. Men hold umbrellas over their wives, or mother's heads as they shuffle their way down the hill to the fountain. It's called an indulgence. Mostly Portuguese women. The sight is so bizarre, and so moving, we too want to join their ranks. Fall on bended knee. But I wouldn't last long. Too many falls from horseback.

They traverse the courtyard, a half a mile, perhaps three quarters of a mile on their knees, then up the steps to the church, praying all the wile. Everyone fumbles their rosary beads. Some wail, and beat their chests. Pull their hair. I have never see the outpouring of so much collected grief. People praying for a miracle, or divine intervention.

There are several altars to choose from. The one to our left, is situated before a perpetual flame of indulgence candles. it's a huge vat, an Inferno smelling of honeybees. I ask, do the fires ever go out? Nothing prepared me for this.

People toss in armloads of candles—40 to 500 at a time into the flame. Some people light them first, most do not. The beeswax, drips and hisses like snakes. It is so hot, the rain has evaporated from this station of indulgence.

My aunt Canice lit her candle first, with her cigarette lighter, but it went out. Probably from a profound lack of oxygen. My candle wouldn't stay lit either. It probably means bad luck—or too many wishes. When the candle goes out, your wish is not granted, it's like a vast birthday party for the dead.

10/5/2001
10/15/2015

Portugal Journal: Lisbon to Fatima 3
Portugal Journal: Lisbon 2
Portugal Journal: arriving in Lisbon 1
Azores Journal: Terceira, São Jorge

Portugal Journal: Lisbon to Fatima 3

10/5/2001 Lisbon-Fátima: We took the metro to bus station to Fátima where we're on the blue line, things aren't clearly marked and it isn't easy negotiating as there's so much lack of information etc. We miss the bus to Fátima. 

My cousin and aunt are too slow in the morning and again we missed a significant portion of the day. It's raining and we're wet and miserable.

Yesterday was a total waste in that they all were so late getting ready, it was noon before we even got out the hotel door. I said to them previously, if you want more time in the morning, just tell me and I'll go out by myself but as usual it didn't happen.

Then my aunt wanted to go to the bank. Sinead had to go with her. So Sean and I went on ahead, only to get caught by the trolley inspector, who insisted that my 24 hour pass, which I just bought, was no good. We been told so much conflicting information from the information people were beginning to feel ripped off.

This is the third time it's happened and so I began to holler and scream and we missed our bus stop and had to walk two miles back to the Monastery of Jerónimos and we missed Sinead. 

Sean was tired, and I wound up carrying him on my back for blocks. I was exhausted by the time we got to the monastery I wanted to cry, but I had to maintain face, and not have a meltdown, for Sean's sake. 

I sat in the hot sun waiting for them for 4 and a half hours. They'd ignored our Plan B to meet at the information booth and went on inside. I was pretty upset.

The upshot is that I ran through the monastery and cloisters, through the back door, so I didn't have to pay, I managed to get to the Museum of Archaeology, but the Celtic stuff was in storage so that was a waste of time.

There were two stone Celtic warriors with torcs, shields, and bigotes. I asked a docent about them, and he took pity on me, and guided me to the library. I looked up and cross-referenced some postcard photos. There was lots of gold, but mostly plain gold. No La Tène culture, I slogged through Portuguese anthropology books, and discovered it was easier to read Portuguese, than to speak it.

Then we went onto the Torre Belém. By this time it was 4:35PM and the guard wouldn't let us in so I guess I won't get to see the inside. Altogether, it was a shitty day. The very two things I wanted to see most. I hope today improves. Blame it on the full moon.

It's 115 km from Lisbon to Fátima. At Fátima, believers board the bus. Imagine plays on the radio. We are sardines, soaked through to the skin. A young cancer survivor, with the bug-eyed beauty of Sinead O'Connor, boards the bus. Was she one of the lucky ones?

At Fátima, I gazed into the eyes of a young boy, olive skinned, and old before his time. My indulgence, for all the living and the dead of the World Trade Center, I buy candles to light their way.

added, rev. 9/17
the story continues:
Independence Day, Fatima, Portugal
see also Fatima Notes
AFTER READING BROWNING’S SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE

Portugal Journal: Lisbon London SFO 5
Portugal Journal: Fatima Story 4
Independence Day, Fatima, Portugal
Portugal Journal: Lisbon 2
Portugal Journal: arriving in Lisbon 1
Azores Journal: Terceira, São Jorge