1-1e) At Day's End

Probably never was a Station like that ever said in the church at San Sebastian de Garabandal. Never such feeling of heart, such desire and need to take shelter near the Person who was truly there close to them—the Living God, full of love, powerful and hidden in His ways, and certainly the Author of all that had just happened.

The schoolmistress felt herself more a mother than ever toward her students, who were leaning on her like frightened little birds, seeking protection. They whispered the prayers:

Long live Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament . . . Our Father . . . Thy will be done , . . Forgive us our sins. , , Lead us not into temptation . . . Deliver us from evil!

The prayer of their five souls in the dark and deserted church was a real Compline [Compline is the last hour of the Divine Office, the official daily prayer of the church; the proper time for its recital is nightfall. This prayer has the purpose of offering the day just concluding to God and petitioning his protection against the unknown dangers of the coming night.]at Garabandal on that June Sunday that had begun a Sunday like any other.

The light of day dimmed. Time for evening prayer. On that day and at the same time as at Garabandal, just as it has been happening for centuries in the Church's countless monasteries and convents, great numbers of souls consecrated to God were saying before Him the liturgical prayer for the end of the day.

As the day ends we pray to you, Creator of the Universe, to be our Guardian and Defender according to Your great mercy . . .

Guard us as the pupil of Your eyes; in the shelter of Your wings, protect us ...

Let Your Holy Spirit descend upon us, Lord our God
.

The girls did not understand the meaning of the word Compline, but one can do many things without knowing how to define them.

When we had finished saying the Station, we went to our homes.

It was already more than nine at night, and my mother had told me to come home during the day. [It would be expected, and very proper for Aniceta to watch like this over her only daughter. In Garabandal the nights are really dark with the streets hardly lit up. And although the people were of upright morality, a girl like Conchita had no business being in the village at such a time.]

And on that day it was dark when I arrived.

When I got home, my mother said to me, Didn't I tell you to come home before dark?

Very frightened because of two things—for having seen the figure so beautiful, and for coming home late—I didn't dare to come into the kitchen.

And I leaned against the wall, very sad.

What a picture. The young girl In the fresh radiance of her twelve years, leaning against the wall in dismay, trying to support with the softness of her look the unlikeliness of her words.

And I said to my mother, I have seen an Angel!

The acid response of Aniceta (Photo at right) could be expected: Is that all? On top of coming home late, you come saying these things!

And I answered again, But it's true I have seen an Angel.

The replies, and the replies to the replies continued between the daughter and her mother. Aniceta, less sure each time in her refusals, finished being much inclined to admit that her daughter, that daughter for whom she lived and whom she watched over with extreme care, must have really experienced something.[I have come across a new version of what occurred on that memorable afternoon. It comes from Pilar, the mother of Mari Cruz,, and was taken down on a tape recorder in the kitchen of her home —without her knowing it— on the afternoon of July 25th, 1964:

«We never fought with each other . . . And it happened one day, a Sunday, the 18th of June. I was at the laundry with a cow that I was keeping at the house. (Pilar took the cow to water at the laundry, as was her custom, so that it could be stabled, since night was falling) There J met Angelita, the wife of Fael, and I don't know who else . . . She said to me:

—But what happened to Mari Cruz?

—What's happened? lFhat's happened? —I answered— What's she done?

—But you don't know about it then? That she says she has seen an angel.

—An angel? Oh, what a thing! This frightened me. I thought that she had done something bad. After that, I went on walking while thinking, "Is it possible that that girl is going around saying these ridiculous things about angels and church affairs?" (The atmosphere in Mari Cruz's home must not have been especially religious. Conchita lets an observation escape in her diary about Mari Cruz' father Esmlastico, who does not go much to mass.)

While walking I met Mari Cruz right here by Sinda's home. I was irritated and I said to her:

—Listen, Mari Cruz, what are you going around saying here?

—What do you mean nothing? They told me at the laundry that you have seen an angel . . . Look, I am going to give you a beating, since you are too grown up to say these things...

While I was saying this, Jacinta, who was there, answered:

—Yes, ice really saw him.

—May God be praised. —I said— You are also mixed up in this? What a shame. Most Holy Mary. Young girls of your age!

And that day I gave Man Cruz a good scolding; but I didn't scold her after that.»]

PHOTO: Conchita in front of her home

Years later on April 8, 1967, during the great tests, doubts, and contradictions, Aniceta said to the Argentine priest Julio Meinvielle, who had come up to Garabandal with Jaime Garcia Llorente from Seville: [Reverend Julio Meinvielle, a prominent figure among Argentine Catholics, had heard and read about Garabandal in his country. As soon as he could, he took a plane to Madrid and Jaime Garcia Llorente picked him up at the airport and took him straight to Garabandal. There the perspicatious priest contemplated, prayed, and listened . . . And his impression was decidedly favorable. He said to his companion Jaime on the return trip, Garabandal will be the banner of the counter-revolution.]

«I recall seeing Conchita when she came back to the house after her first apparition. She came completely transformed. Even the voice had changed, and this struck me greatly. It was like another voice, a very soft voice. And she smiled with a gentleness in her face.»

Loli came home with her sister Amaliuca, who was a year younger. They were afraid, expecting a scolding for returning late. In the San Sebastian homes there was strict discipline with young girls, and especially about returning home before dark.

When they arrived, their mother was already in bed since the poor woman had worked hard all day long. They went upstairs to her bedroom and knocked softly on her door, Loli behind Amaliuca.

PHOTO: Loli's mother, Julia, on left with Loli.

—Mama, they whispered.

— Yes, mama, mama, Julia answered sharply, What time is this to get back home? What do you think this is? I ought to give you a beating.

— We are late because Loli has seen an angel.

—An angel? Not a devil? You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Get going, eat your dinner and get to bed. I'm tired. Don't bother me.

The girls went downstairs and ate. Then Loli, as was her custom, went to the house of her maternal grandmother who lived next door to sleep with her since the woman lived all alone. (This is the house now occupied by the remaining members of the Mazon-Gonzalez family.)

Before going to bed, the grandmother and her granddaughter were in the habit of saying together the prayers of the Scapular of Mount Carmel, and they started this again on the night of June 18th, 1961. But the grandmother soon noticed something unusual in the child who was on her knees leaning against her, trembling like a frightened little bird. (Loli was quite small at that time.)

—Child! What's happened to you?

—Grandmother, I've seen an Angel,

—What? You've seen an Angel? Are you all right? Come on now!

The little girl insisted, and with such a tone of excitement that the grandmother, although not yielding her entire belief, was partly convinced.

The recitation of the Our Fathers and Hail Marys continued, and everything ended as usual with the ancient and beautiful invocation that had to resound like never before on that night:

GRANDMOTHER: Be our consolation. The way most powerful.

LOLI: Give us your loving protection, Mother of God, Our Lady of Mount Carmel.

[I was finally able to learn also from Jacinta how the meeting with her parents took place on the night of the first apparition:

«On returning home, I couldn't hide our seeing the Angel . . . My mother and my brother took it as a joke. They couldn't believe it, and tried to convince me that the best thing to do was forget it ... When I said that the Angel had wings, my brother replied that it had surely been one of the big birds that he has seen at times in the Pena Sagra mountains — not being used to them, we had been frightened, and the scare had made us see strange things . . .

My father interrupted to say, / don't want to take a serious matter like this for a joke. I don't know what occurred, but 1 know Jacinta well. And I know that if she says that she has seen an Angel, something like this happened.

We didn't discuss the thing any more thai night. When I was alone, I couldn't stop thinking of what had happened in the Calleja.»]

That was at 9:3O at night.

Later that night we didn't speak any more about it.

It was an ordinary night, just like any other.

The four girls at the site of the first apparition.

Conchita states this in her diary, but we can be sure that for the four girls of Garabandal that night could not be an ordinary night, just like any other. It might have been that in the external aspects of eating, bedtime, etc., but within the hearts of the four girls, that night had to be quite different, stirring up their feelings and desires. They could still remember the beautiful vision of the calleja, and it filled them with such joy. But with it there was mixed the anxiety of many unanswered questions——these two above all: