Memoirs of Father Germain: A Spirit Tells the True Story of
His Last Existence

By Edgar Crespo

An orphan before age five, Germain spends two years living alone on the seashore in seventeenth century France. The fishermen call him "little prophet" since he can always foretell impending storms. One fateful day he strays into a castle of monks-and is not allowed to leave. The monks educate him and he is proved to be an excellent student, but he suffers from their cold and unfeeling ways.

As a young man, Germain eventually takes his vows becoming a priest in the Catholic Church. He settles in a poor village with his faithful dog, Sultan, and it is here that he consoles the humble and oppressed-sometimes risking his life for their sake. As his reputation as a virtuous and holy man spreads, even royalty arrive for absolution of their crimes.

Father Germain teaches love of the Creator and mankind with a belief that even the most hardened heart can be turned toward goodness. He exposes church hypocrisy and is persecuted by his superiors; yet he continues to teach according to his conscience.

Memoirs of Father Germain is the touching, true account of this beloved priest's life relayed to the writer Amalia Domingo Soler of Spain. These stories of intrigue, adventure, human emotion, and morality will provide you with tremendous love, inspiration, and hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 16, 2006
• ISBN: 9780595826735

Edgar Crespo

Edgar Crespo is a fourth-generation Spiritist and was the director of a Spiritist center for many years. He attended the University of Hawaii and had a career in civilian government. Crespo and his wife, Yolanda, have been married for more than thirty years and live in Florida.

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By the Seashore

When life’s deceptions overwhelm you, when doubt tortures your mind, go to the seashore, and if there is left one atom of sentiment within you, if the fibers of your soul are moved by the marvelous and spectacular scene there, sit in the sand, contemplate the waves with their mantles of clear foam, listen attentively and comprehend what the waves are saying with their eternal murmur, and you will see how unconsciously your thoughts will elevate, searching for the cause of such a grand effect.

Father Germain

1

Remorse

With great sacrifice and blessed pleasure, I celebrated my first sacrifice of the mass! I was born for a religious life, harmonious and contemplative.

How pleasing it was for me to teach the faith to the little children! How delightful it was for me to hear their little voices, some out of tune, others shrieking, some so soft, but all so pleasing to me because they were as pure as their innocent souls.

Oh, the evenings! The evenings in my little village will always live in my memory! What tender and poetic moments they were for me, the times when upon leaving my beloved rectory, accompanied by my faithful dog Sultan, I went to the cemetery to pray before the cross of stone for the souls of the faithful that slept around me.

The children followed me at a distance and used to wait for me by the door of the house of the dead. When I finished my prayers I left that mansion of truth and remembering the divine words of Jesus, I said, Come to me, little children. Immediately they surrounded me, all of them yelling, and playing, encircling me affectionately and asking me to tell them stories; sitting by an old and venerable olive tree, with Sultan at my feet, the children played with his ears while my faithful companion suffered with resignation, their juvenile display of affection.

Letting them do what they wanted, I was very happy to be surrounded by those innocent creatures, which looked at me with genuine admiration. They said to each other, Let’s play dead with Sultan, Father will not admonish us. My poor dog let them drag him by his tail, while playing dead. When they finished playing, as a treat, they gave him part of the food they had with them. After a while order was again established, everything became calm, and then they sat around me listening attentively to the many stories of miracles I told them.

Sultan was the first to signal when it was time to go back to the village, by standing and barking, getting the attention of the children. Then, with much dancing and jumping, we all returned to our quiet homes. This is the way I passed many days, many months of peace and love, ignoring that there were criminals in the world. After a while, Father John died and I inherited his parish, with it came new obligations that disturbed the dreams of my nights and the tranquility of my days.

It had always bothered me without knowing why, to hear the sins of others in confession. I found that it was too heavy a load to guard the secrets of others. My soul being openhearted and reflective was tormented by the weight of the sins of others. But Father John’s demise obliged me to sit in the tribunal of penance, or better said, The tribunal of human conscience. Then life horrified me. How many sad stories! How much disenchantment! How many crimes! How many iniquities!

One night, one which I’ll never forget, while preparing to go to sleep, all of a sudden Sultan anxiously got up, looking at me intently, he got up on the arms of my chair and looked at me, as if saying, Do not go to bed, someone is coming. About five minutes later, I heard the sound of the hoofs of a horse at a gallop. A few moments later, my old companion Miguel, the church caretaker, came to me saying that a man wanted to speak to me.

I went outside with Sultan who smelled the man and then sat down defensively by my feet. It seems like I still see my visitor. He was a man of medium age, with a sad and somber look. He looked at me and said, Father, are we alone?

Yes, what do you want? I asked.

I want you to hear my confession, Father.

Why do you come looking for me, when you have God? I asked.

God is too far away and I need to hear a voice that is closer, he said.

Does not your conscience tell you something? I then asked.

It is because I listen to it that I come to you. I see they have not lied when they said that you are an enemy of confession, the man said.

It is true, the horrors of people’s lives I find oppressive. I only like to hear the confessions of children because their sins make the angels smile.

"Father, listen to me, because it’s charitable to give advice to those that ask for

it."

Talk, I said, And may God inspire both of us.

Pay close attention, he said. A few months ago among the tombs of the cemetery in the city of…they found the body of a man with his skull crushed. They tried to find the assassin, but it had been in vain. Until finally, a man showed up at the tribunal of justice and declared that he was the one who had killed the man found dead at the cemetery. I’m the judge for this case, the law condemns him to execution since he confessed, and I cannot condemn him.

Why? I asked.

Because he is innocent.

How, if he is confessing?

Because I swear to you that he is not the murderer.

How can you state that?

Because the slayer of that man was I.

You?

Yes, Father, me. It’s a long story and very sad. The only thing that I will tell you is that I took vengeance into my own hands and on my secret lies the honor of my children. But, my conscience will not let me sign the death sentence for a man I know is not guilty.

Is the confessor suffering from some mental disorder? I asked.

No, he’s perfectly sane. I tried to declare him insane, but medical science proved otherwise.

Then do not feel remorse because regret of another crime has likely made him confess to this one. No one gives his life to justice without having been an assassin himself. Go peacefully, and fulfill human justice because the remorse of that poor individual has made him see that Divine law has to be fulfilled. I promise that I’ll talk with that poor person, and, to make you feel better, I’ll divulge to you what he tells me. Regarding yourself, do not forget the Fifth Commandment of the Law of God, ‘Thou shall not kill,’ I said.

My presentiments were not wrong. A few days later, I talked with the prisoner in his last moments. I said to him, Speak, God is listening.

Then, full of tears, he told me the following, Father, how sad is the life of a criminal. It has been ten years since I killed a poor young woman, and her shadow has always followed me. I still see her, here between us both! I got married to see if by being with someone, and not alone, I would lose that horror which was slowly killing me. But whenever I went to caress my wife, the sight of that woman would come between us, her face blurring the face of my wife. When we had our first child, it was not my wife holding the baby, but she who held him. I traveled, I plunged into all manner of vices, and have spent days and days in church. But, wherever I went there she was, even in church, where her face took the faces of the saints, always her. I do not know why I’ve not had the courage to kill myself. So, when I heard that they had not found out who had killed that man at the cemetery, I gave thanks to God, so that I could say that I had killed him and take the blame. This way I could die, by accusing myself of that crime.

Why have you not confessed your crime before this?

Because there was not enough proof that was convincing. I had covered up the murder in such a way that, there were no clues left. But men do not see what I see! She is here, and she looks at me with anger. Do you not see her, Father? I wish to die so that I will not see her!

On the day of the execution, on stepping up to the gallows, the prisoner told me, In place of the hangman, I see her. Father, ask God that I will not see her after death, if it is true that the dead see into eternity. Then they hanged him.

To allay the fears of the murdering judge I told him what that other Cain (the condemned man) had said. When I finished, he sadly said, Father, of what worth is human justice compared to Divine Justice? The death of that man is avenged before society and he will rest in eternity, but me? Father, when will I rest?

A year later, the judge entered an insane asylum, never to come out again. And I, who have been made the depository of so many secrets, the unwilling judge of the morals of so many criminals, and the confidante of so many inequities, live depressed by the weight of human frailties.

Oh, where are the quiet afternoons of my parish? No longer do my prayers resound at the feet of the cross of stone. Where are those children that played with Sultan? One had died, the others are now full grown; now all men. Perhaps some may be criminals. They say that I’m so good, which I am not, and many sinners come to tell me their misfortunes and I have come to realize that remorse is the only hell of mankind.

Dear God, inspire me! Guide me towards the path of goodness, and since I get despondent over hearing the sins of others, may I not lose my sense of reason, by always remembering those sins of my own, because where in this world would you find a person without regrets?

Father Germain

2

The Three Confessions

Beloved manuscript, faithful depository of the most ultimate secrets of my soul! After God, you are my confessor. The world does not know me, you do. To you, I present myself just as I am, with all my faults and regrets. Before you, I am a man. In the eyes of society, I am a priest like other men on earth.

Many believe that I am faultless. Dear God, why do they ask for the impossible? Why do they require from the anointed of God, the strength of a giant? Because I am so small, like the rest of the men on the earth!

Social laws, how absurd they are! I passed many years without knowing them, happy with my fortune; celebrating the mass, teaching the church doctrine to children, walking about with my old faithful companion, Sultan, delivering pious lectures. Those were my only pleasures. Only when I had to fulfill one act of my sacred ministry did I feel a cloud of sadness come over me. Oh, when I sat in the confessional! I looked with anguish at the faces of the penitents as they confessed their misfortunes, and at times terrible secrets, as I suffered a thousand deaths. When I would leave the confessional, I would flee to the countryside, running like a madman. There, I threw myself to the ground and asked God to take away from my memory what I had heard. At times, God heard my requests and a serene sleep would overpower my senses. Then my faithful Sultan would wake me up, pulling gently at my habit. I would then feel weak, as if I had just had a strong fever. Remembering vaguely the strange happenings, I then returned home, where my faithful companion Miguel, waited anxiously for me.

Never did I like the tumult of the great cities. I always preferred my quiet parish. Nevertheless, as if it were my expiation and even though I refused to live in the great city of N…it’s prominent inhabitants came to look for the priest in the parish, and women of noble birth and men of lordly social positions would come to my humble church so that I would give them their nuptial blessings. As I would look at those joyful couples smiling with happiness, without knowing why, I felt pain in my forehead and in my heart. When they all left and I remained alone in my temple, it appeared to me like a grave, and I, the cadaver buried in it.

I kept to myself these impressions, telling no one, because the common people and my envious companions (other clergymen) would have said that the devil was tempting me, although I knew that Satan did not exist.

Educated in the most austere and rigorous surroundings, without ever knowing my mother who had died giving birth to me (I had been told); I was a child of the ministry. I grew up in a religious community, which is like a flower without water, like a bird without wings. I was obligated to always obey, without any right to ask questions. Till one day, they told me, You will be a minister of God and you will flee from women, because they serve Satan to tempt man. I was filled with superstitious terror because I wanted to look worthy in the eyes of God.

I started reading. I read a lot and I discovered (albeit too late) that the sacrifice of Catholic priests is contrary to the laws of nature (celibacy), and everything that is against the laws of God is absurd. But I remained silent. I admired the valor of the religious reformers, but I did not have the courage to follow them. So, I sacrificed myself to the institution I belonged in order to fulfill my delicate mission.

The day that I became thirty-five years old, the children of my parish entered into my church marching like a troop, and persisted in delivering to me, flowers, fruit and milk, honey and butter. While I was happy among my adoptive family,

one I could never have created, there arrived a document from the city of N

from the director of a school for young ladies of nobility. It said that the next day he would be sending fifteen of his students so they could receive from me spiritual advice, be closer to God’s table and so participate in the Eucharist. Without knowing why, my heart started beating fast, a warmth came over my cheeks, and even though I tried to control myself, that entire day a sadness overcame me.

The following morning, a line of carriages surrounded my humble church, and very pretty girls, from twelve to fourteen years of age, came forth like a flock of pigeons, flying to the cheerful nest of the Christian Church, where the simple altar had been adorned with pretty perfumed flowers. How appropriate it seemed to me, that like the wild flowers from the meadows, these girls were like white flowers in the garden of Life. Precious girls! Smiles of the world! Hope of mankind! Why, had they been sent to this poor parish?

I looked at all of them, but only noticed one. She was a pale girl with long black, curly hair. When she walked, she seem to bend easily like wilted lilies. When she prostrated herself by the confessional altar, the scent of the white jasmines that crowned her forehead reached my senses, and it upset me. The girl looked at me firmly, and said with a sad voice, Father, when a person is confessing, is it proper to say what they think to their confessor?

If it’s something bad, yes. If good, no.

To love, is wrong? she asked.

To this I could not give a quick answer. I looked at her and I did not know what I was reading in her eyes. Then I placed my hands on my chest, to contain the palpitations that I felt, and replied with a grave tone, To love is good, but, at times it is not always good. One should love God, we should love our parents, we should love our fellow man, but, there are other passions in the world which you now do not understand and in these, to love is a transgression.

I love God, I love my parents, and my brothers, and…a man, she said.

You are too young to love any man, I told her.

I have read that for the heart there is no age, and it’s been a year that I’ve loved him, she said.

Instead of answering, I remained silent. The name of that man, I did not want to know. But the girl continued, It was a year ago when my sister Adela was married, and wishing to be blessed by a saint, she received her marriage vows from you!

From me.?

Yes, from you. You are famous for being honorable. I came with my sister and since that day..

What?

Since that day I think of you, and how to get to see you, and be able to talk to you. I am the one who insisted in coming here, so that I could ask you if it is a sin to think of you?

What happened to me then, I do not know. I closed my eyes but it was useless, that witch of a girl, that enchanting youth, full of ingenuity and passion, had revealed a world of happiness impossible for me. Her voice caressed my soul, but I had enough firmness to dominate my sentiments, and I told the young girl, You cannot love a priest, my child, because he is a man who does not belong to the world. Pray with fervor, so that God will apart from you that fatal illusion, and ask God to pardon you, as I do.

Feeling blinded and overwhelmed by diverse and contrary emotions, I left the confessional. I asked God to rid me of sight, so that I would not suffer. But, I saw only her! The pale girl with the black curls stayed engraved in my mind for a long time. This disturbed my sleep and my prayers, always reminded of her by the perfume of the jasmines, which had crowned her brow.

Eight years later, a well-dressed man arrived at my parish and asked to see me, and said, Sir, come with me, my wife is dying, and she does not want any other confessor but you.

I followed him and without knowing why, I thought of that girl with the black curls.

We came to a palace, where the young man accompanied me to an apartment covered with large purple curtains, and in the bed was a woman who cried weakly. They left me alone with the sick woman, and then she said, Look at me, do you not know me?

My heart had already recognized her, and to be truthful, I had not forgotten her, but I had the firmness of will to tell her, The One who has to know you is God in His Kingdom, the men of the earth are nothing.

She then said, I have not forgotten you. It’s been eight years since I told you that I loved you. They say that I’m going to die, and I want to tell you that above all others upon this earth, I have loved you.

I looked at her for a moment, looking into those eyes where passion still shined. I mentally blessed her, and I crossed myself, trying to put something between her and myself. Fleeing that place of pending death, I ran, but actually from myself. I returned to my parish, where in silence I pondered on that love which had been offered, and which I had no right to enjoy.

Two years later, a plague overcame that nearby city, and many families came to my parish in search of its healthy climate. But they brought the disease with them. The church bell pealed with melancholy, as if to say to the peasants, Death is among us. Meanwhile, they continued coming.

Among them, one night, there arrived the coach of the Duke of…accompanied by his wife, and many servants. The following day, within a few hours the Duke died. When I arrived to give him the last rites, it was already too late. A lady came out to me, crying silently. I retreated, stupefied. It was she, that young girl of the black curls and pale skin, who I had thought dead for the past two years.

She understood my astonishment, and said with a sad voice, God has been good to me. I feel that now, I will die following my husband. You, who received my first confession, now more than likely will receive my last. I have had only one secret during my lifetime, and only committed one sin, if to love, is a sin.

I could see by the color of her complexion that the fever of the contagious disease was already within her, and I ran like a madman to ask science for the life of that woman who had loved me so much, and, whom I also had loved. But science, did not listen to my imprudent pleas and two days later, the young Duchess died. Before her death, she told me, I wish to be buried in the churchyard of this town. I wish to be by your side at least in death, since I was not able to be with you during life!

What mysteries guard the human heart!

When I threw a fistful of dirt on her grave during her burial I almost felt happy. How egotistical man is!

When that pale girl, crowned with white jasmines full of innocence and love, had offered me the cup of life, I rejected that nectar of happiness. I envied the man who would eventually take her to the altar.

So when that noble woman told me that she was going to die still loving me, I envied her rich family. They were able to receive her last breath and were capable of giving her remains a luxurious and splendid funeral.

But, when that woman was alone with me (her family feared contagion of the disease) she asked for a place in the cemetery of my parish. I knew now that no one could take from me her ashes (because she had left it written under her signature in her will that her body not be taken from the humble grave she requested). I received her last words with magical ecstasy. Her first confession was to tell me she loved me, and her last confession was to tell me she worshiped me all her life.

Not for an instant, did I part myself from her remains. The unfortunate inhabitants of my parish, decimated by the fever, frightened by the death toll, and since the gravedigger had also died, the few that remained alive did not want to touch the dead. Between Miguel and I, we deposited in a grave, the remains of the pale woman. After we were done, Miguel left me, while Sultan stayed and sat by my feet. It was then that I surrendered my heart to the happiness of love.

By loving a dead person, I did not break my sacred vows. Nevertheless, I cried for my lost youth, my weakness in not protesting my vows and for not affiliating with the Lutheran church, and uniting myself with the pale girl with the black curls in the bonds of matrimony. I would have created a family worthy in the eyes of God. Comprehending in a few hours, what I had not been able to in twenty years, I then breathed a tremendous sigh of relief.

I, who have known so many secrets! Who have seen so many women unmasked, when confiding to me their infidelities and straying! I, who have seen so much fickleness, can now appreciate with the value of the immense love of that woman, who had only seen me four times in her life, and when she had learned to love, she had loved me!

I covered her grave with flowers with great pleasure! I took care of it with saintly delight! The heart of a man is always like child! Not a day, not one day, did I ever fail to go to the cemetery because there was the love of my life!

Many winters passed, the snow covered her tomb, and also left white my head, but my heart always stayed young. Always the warmth of that most pure sentiment, maintained within me, the saintly fire of that immense love. Mother, sister, wife, and child, she comprised all of them for me! It’s only just, that one should pay with interest, one’s sacred debts of love.

If I have progressed somewhat in this world, I owe everything to her, to the girl with the pale cheeks and black curls.

Sitting by the side of her tomb, I learned the worth of the Lutheran reform while under the shadow of a willow tree by her grave. I erased the shadows that covered my imagination. I recognized the insignificance of the church of man and how great is the universal temple of God!

Love! Such a powerful sentiment and a creative force! You are the soul of Life, because you come from God. Priests without families are like dry trees! And God does not want sterile sacrifices, only Progress and Universal Love!

Father Germain

3

The Hooded One

Dear God, how sinful I must have been in my past incarnation! I am sure that I have lived before and will live again tomorrow. There is no other explanation for the continued contrariness of my existence. God is Just and is Good, and He does not want the last of His sheep to go astray and a spirit gets weary like the weariness of my soul from having suffered so much.

What have I done in this world? Suffer! What about my poor mother who either died giving birth to me, or someone killed her, or she was told to remain silent regarding my birth!

Who knows? A profound mystery has concealed the circumstances of my birth. Who gave me my first nourishment? This I do not know. I do not even remember any woman rocking my cradle. My first laughter made no one smile; the only thing that I remember about my early years was having men dressed in black (the monks) around my bed when I woke up. Not one word of tenderness did my ears hear, nor one caress did I receive. The only thing I recall is being left alone in a spacious room with the parents (beautiful dogs from Terranova) of my faithful Sultan. They were my only companions.

During the afternoon in the summer time, the hour of siesta, my greatest pleasure was to lay my head on the body of Zoa (Sultan’s mother), and that patient animal remained still and quiet, the whole time that I rested.

These were the only pleasures of my childhood. No one ever punished me, but no one ever told me, I am pleased with you. Only Zoa licked my hands, and only Lion (Sultan’s father) pulled me by my habit and then started to run, as if saying, Come run with me! I ran with both of them, and then I felt the pleasures of life!

When I left the confinement of the monastery, not one tear was shed for me. They only told me, Fulfill your obligations. As a remembrance of my childhood, they gave me Sultan, then but a playful puppy. I then entered an era of my life that was less sad than my youth but still, was always sad.

Being a lover of justice, my honest ways upset my companions, who pointed their fingers at me as being contrary and bothersome. So they confined me to a parish where I spent more than half of my life. When calmness came over my mind, and a sweet melancholia left me submerged in mystical meditation, it is then that my soul enjoyed some hours of serene moral sleep.

Then, I would be called away to the neighboring city to bless a marriage, or receive a confession from some one dying, or render assistance to a criminal offender awaiting execution; always busy, never being able to carry out any plans of my own to conclusion, no matter how simple they might be. I have always been an inoffensive soul, loving children, consoling the grieved, and fulfilling faithfully the vows that I had taken. Why this dull struggle? Why do these conflicts continue? If my spirit has no right to be like other individuals in this existence, why has God (Who is all Love) made me live this terrible lonely way? Oh, my own torments tell me I have lived before! If I did not believe in a past life, I would have to negate God! And I cannot negate Life. But, oh, how I have suffered! Only one time was I able to do what I wanted, giving vent to my spiritual energy, and how happy I was!

Oh God, the forces of my soul cannot be made useless in one short plane of existence. I will live tomorrow; I will return to earth again and be a man of my own free will! I proclaim that I will not be living among men subordinate to rigid methods. I will proclaim Your glory in the academies and universities, and in all the temples of knowledge, and in all the laboratories of science! I will be one of your priests, one of your apostles, without any other promises but to follow the laws of Your Gospel!

I will love, because You have taught us to love. I will create a family because You said Grow and multiply. I’ll dress the orphans, as You dress the flowers of the valley. I will give shelter to travelers, like You shelter birds in the branches of Your trees. I will spread the light of Your Truth, like You spread warmth and Life, with Your multiple suns in Your infinite universes. Oh yes, I will live again, because if I were not to live tomorrow, I would be denying Your Justice, dear God!

I cannot be but a simple instrument to carry out the will of others, because why have You given me knowledge and free will? If everything fulfills its job in the universe, then my initiative will fulfill its job as well. I have never been happy with man’s laws! When, when, will I be permitted to live?

How many times dear Lord, have I gone to hear the confessions of accused felons awaiting execution? However, if I could have, I would have taken those poor men to my parish, and shared what little bread I had with them! How many suffering spirits have confided in me their secret thoughts? And many times I’ve noted more ignorance, on their part, than criminality! Poor disadvantaged ones!

One night as I rested on my cot, with Sultan as usual at its foot, I was neither asleep nor awake, but all the time thinking of her, my adored deceased one, the pale girl with the black curls. When all of a sudden Sultan sprang up growling, and he put his paws on my pillow looking at me, as if saying with his intelligent stare, Listen but I did not hear anything. I pulled on one of his ears and said, You are dreaming my friend, but he continued looking at me, when in the distance, I heard noise. Then, I heard the galloping of many horses that made the houses in the parish tremble.

I heard a hard knocking on the rectory door. Miguel, the caretaker, got up and hurriedly went to see whom it was. He then came to me and said with some fright, Sir, they are coming to apprehend us! There are many soldiers with their captain at the door, and he wants to see you!

Let them enter, I responded.

Shortly, a captain with crude features, but honest-looking, came before me and said, I am sorry to bother you, Father, at this inconvenient time disturbing your sleep but a prisoner escaped from jail several days ago. He was to go to the town of Tolon to finish out his sentence. We have been looking for him without any luck. So, we have come here to look for him at the foot of these mountains that are near your parish. We have been told that you own a dog that has a fine nose for scent, and that nothing can escape him. I am here to borrow your dog to see if he can find the prisoner. I also have been told that you love this dog very much, so I promise that he will come to no harm.

I looked at Sultan and said to the captain, No problem, we will wait till dawn, in the meantime rest the remaining two hours of the night here in my parish, and before the sun rises I will call you.

I have orders to waste not one minute in my search. And I will not do so! said the captain.

I, who did not want them to find that poor soul, looked at Sultan attentively. He seemed to understand my thinking and he moved his head as if agreeing with my thoughts. Then he got his collar made of leather with steel points on it, and he pushed his head into it. The captain, looking at what he had done said, What a wonderful animal! Shortly after they left, I remained behind praying to our Supreme Being, so that on that one occasion, my faithful Sultan would not discover any trace of the prisoner.

The following day in the late afternoon, the captain in a bad mood came to me and said, I bring bad news, and I have not found the prisoner and have lost your dog! In the one hour when we stopped to rest, he disappeared and that’s something that I am really sorry for because he is a dog who is priceless. How intelligent he is! We could have been here hours ago, but we were looking for your dog.

I asked the captain to have dinner with me, and he commenced to tell me about the task that was ahead of him. During this time, not knowing why, I did not feel disturbed by the absence of Sultan. After awhile, we retired for the night. I left my door half open to my room and I laid down and started to read when about nine in the evening, Sultan presented himself. I took off his collar and he caressed me gently. Afterwards he placed his head between my knees and started to growl softly. He pulled on my cassock and looked at me, as if saying, Come with me!

I thought of the escaped criminal, and said to myself, ‘no matter what happens, I am going to follow Sultan and take some provisions with me.’ I took some bread, wine and a bottle of scented water, and a lantern that I hid under my cape. I left making the least noise possible.

Meanwhile, Miguel slept soundly.

When I found myself in the country, I felt my being overcome by extraordinary emotion. I stopped briefly to give thanks to God for these moments in which He granted me complete liberty of action. I felt agile and my eyes could see farther than usual. It was a beautiful spring time evening, and the multiple stars in the sky looked like an army of suns who were celebrating in the sky a festival of lights. They were so brilliant that their luminous rays came down to earth. It seemed as if Mother Nature was allying itself with me to do a good deed; everything seemed to be smiling and my soul did too. But Sultan was impatient, and he disturbed my moment of meditation by pulling on my cape with all his strength. I followed him and soon found myself in some deep woods close to our local cemetery. All the while Sultan had been guiding me, my lantern and I seemed so insignificant compared to all that darkness.

I followed him into a dark large cave, and within its depths was a pile of dry branches in the shape of a pyramid. Behind that foliage was a man who seemed dead he appeared so still. He looked awful, almost nude, rigid and frozen! The first thing that I did was to put the lantern down on the floor with the bread, the wine, and the water and, with great effort I tried to pull him from behind those branches. I succeeded in pulling him towards the center of the cave.

When I got him well situated with his head on a bunch of soft branches, Sultan started to lick the chest of that poor creature. Then taking a cloth, I started to clean him, applying the scented water I had brought, to his face. I pressed my head to his chest and felt a weak heartbeat. Sultan in the meantime tried to do what he could to revive that poor man, licking him all over and rubbing against that sick one with his head. Finally, that almost dead creature opened his eyes, but closed them shortly thereafter, breathing with great anguish.

I then sat on the floor gently placing his head on my lap, and asked God for the resurrection of that poor creature. God heard me and the sick one opened his eyes, and feeling himself caressed, looked at me with great astonishment. He also looked at Sultan who was warming his knees by laying on them. I placed by his mouth the gourd of wine I had brought and told him to drink. I did not have to ask again. He drank with eagerness and again he closed his eyes as if trying to organize his thoughts. He then tried to get up, and I helped him by holding him by his waist and placed his head on my shoulders. At the same time, I broke a piece of bread and presented it to him, telling him, Make an effort to try and eat. The sick one devoured the bread and drank feverishly.

Drinking again, he asked me, Who are you?

A person that cares for you very much, I said.

Who likes me? How? No one has ever liked me.

I like you and I had prayed to God so that your pursuers would not find you because I believe you are the one who was to go to the prison in Tolon.

The sick man was shocked and looking at me with firmness, told me with a hoarse voice filled with distrust, Do not fool me because if you do, it will cost you dearly. I am a man of iron.

And he wanted to get up but I held him down and told him, Do not worry, I want to save you. Trust in me. Some day you will thank Providence for my help. But now, tell me how is it that you find yourself here?

Because I know these mountains well, and I told myself when I escaped from the jail, that I would hide out in one of its caves and live there for a while, but I did not count on hunger. Plus I don’t know what other sickness I may have, I have terrible headaches, like the pounding of hammers in my head. So I threw myself where you found me and covered myself with some branches that I found. After, I don’t remember anything and if it were not for you I would be dead.

Do you think that you have enough strength to walk?

Now, yes, I do not know what has happened, since I have always been a man of steel. And he briskly got up.

Well hold on to me, and let’s get out of here. What is your name? I asked.