The Secret of Fatima by Peter J; Tanous Page A

gremolata of parsley, lemon, and garlic.
    Hungry, they ate without talking and finished quickly. When the waiter approached again, they were thinking about dessert. But his smile was gone; he was frowning.
    â€œPadre,” the man blurted in Italian. “There is a man next door—he’s my neighbor—and he is ill. Can you help?”
    â€œOf course,” said Kevin.
    Kevin translated for Katie what he’d said and rose from the table.
    â€œI’m going with you,” she said. Katie threw her napkin on the table and leapt up.
    They followed the waiter out of the restaurant, crossed the street, and started climbing the rickety stairs of a rundown two-story building to the second floor. The waiter led the way.
    In an open doorway to an apartment, an elderly woman, wearing a knee-length flowery dress and a cloth headpiece, stood waiting. “Oh, please come,” she begged. “The doctor will be here soon.”
    The bedroom was dimly lit. Several elderly people with sad faces surrounded a bed where a gaunt man lay under the covers. His face was scrunched up, and his eyes were closed. Clearly he was in pain.
    â€œHe’s dying,” the woman whimpered.
    Kevin asked for some water and prepared to administer Last Rites.
    Pointing at Kevin’s black suit and turned collar, one of the mourners mumbled something. The woman who’d let them in turned to Kevin and said, “Oh, Father, the man isn’t Catholic. He’s Jewish. This is his family. I am their friend.”
    Kevin nodded to the family members around the bed. “What’s his name?” he asked.
    â€œJacob,” an elderly woman replied. “I’m his wife.”
    In the semi-darkness Kevin moved to the head of the bed. He stood by the old man who was now opening his teary eyes. Raising his right hand, Kevin placed it over the man’s head and began to chant:
    â€œ Ma she bayrach avoteinu, Avraham, Yitzak, v’Yaakov, Moshe, Aharon, David, u ’Shlomo, hu yivarech v’rapayethaholeh Jacob. Ha kadosh baruch hu, yimaleh rachamim alav lehachalemo u ’larapoto u’ hachazeko …”
    At the sound of Hebrew the man’s eyes lit up. The family members sighed and bowed their heads.
    Katie looked completely bewildered. One of the relatives, sensing she didn’t understand what was going on, accosted her and spoke in English. “My dear, the priest is conferring the Jewish blessing on the sick. Let me try to translate … May he who blessed our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Moses, Aaron, David—and others — may he bless and heal the sick person, Jacob .”
    The woman added, “How wonderful that this man of God knows Jewish traditions! Bless him!”
    Kevin continued the ritual he’d learned so well while studying Hebrew. He prayed God would hear him in the language of the Old Testament.
    Jacob’s eyes now gazed into Kevin’s while continuing to chant. “… ulhachayoto v’yishlachlom’ hayra rifuah shlaymah minhashanayim leyrmach avarav ushesa gidav betoch sh’ar choley …”
    As Kevin finished the prayer, the man reached over and took his hand. Kevin kissed the old man’s forehead.
    Just then a middle-aged bearded man in a black suit arrived and immediately began tending to the patient. He examined the old man, exchanging a few words and preparing an injection. After the shot had been administered, the doctor rose and called for an ambulance.
    When Katie and Kevin prepared to leave, the family members came forward offering their thanks. The doctor broke through, grabbing Kevin’s arm. “You’re indeed a man of God, Father,” he said softly. “Please accept my gratitude.”
    Kevin and Katie walked down the stairs and followed the waiter back to the restaurant. There was still time for dessert. Katie grinned. “You’re just full of surprises. You know Hebrew? You never told