Behind the green wooden doors and the beautiful carvings on the stone facade, there were secrets, and great amounts of devotion.

The Convent of Santa Teresa for Carmelite nuns in Coimbra, Portugal, the work of Frei Pedro da Encarnação, opened its doors long ago, on June 23, 1744, perhaps under the same intense heat as on that July day in 1977, when two men were patiently waiting for the doors to open once more.

When the hinges of the heavy door turned, a Teresinha, a Carmelite nun, appeared and welcomed them warmly. It was such a pleasure to welcome these two important men, finally paying the convent a visit. Her white habit and the dark wimple hiding her hair gave the nun the benevolent, maternal air befitting the saintly women devoted to the service of God since a most tender age.

“Your Eminence, what a joy to have you here!”

“Thank you very much, Sister. The pleasure is mine. This is my assistant, Father Diego Lorenzi.”

“How are you, Father Lorenzi? Please come in. Follow me.”

The Venetian patriarch had come to say Mass in the church of the Carmelite nuns. It was a standing commitment of his, which he had already performed several times.

The kind abbess welcomed the two visitors.

“Your Eminence, you can’t imagine what an honor it is to have you here,” the old nun said, walking slowly and with difficulty. “Sister Lucía is waiting for you. She has expressed her desire to talk with you and to ask for your blessing after Mass. ”

“Of course. It will be my honor, Sister.”

After Mass, Albino Luciani and Diego Lorenzi walked through the convent corridors, guided by the same nun who had welcomed them. They crossed through the enormous iron grate that reached to the ceiling and enclosed the cloister. In that jail-like atmosphere, the Carmelites received visits from relatives and friends. The prelate from Venice and his assistant, however, weren’t going to meet Sister Lucía through those annoying bars, which made obscured faces and caused more bitterness and pity than religious piety in a meeting between Christians. Don Albino Luciani and Father Lorenzi entered the Carmelite cloister under the arches that helped mitigate the summer heat outside.

“Very baroque, Don Albino,” Lorenzi said, trying to relieve the heavy silence of those corridors.

“Yes,” Luciani agreed, smiling. “No architects were involved in building this place. It was the work of a discalced Carmelite priest, more than two centuries ago.”

“That’s right,” the sister confirmed. “We are so pleased to have Your Eminence honoring us with your erudition about our modest convent.”

“Please don’t exaggerate, Sister.”

“Oh, Your Eminence. Your great humility is well known even here,” the sister protested, her hands raised in a sincere gesture.

“Please don’t make me blush, Sister.”

“Nothing could be further from my intention, Your Eminence. But it’s true that this convent is more than two hundred years old. Unfortunately, it hasn’t had an easy existence, and only recently has had active, future projects.”

“The republic,” Don Albino reminded his assistant, by way of explanation.

“How was that?” Lorenzi asked, feeling he had missed something.

“His Eminence is referring to the establishment of the Portuguese republic in 1910. That same year, on October 10, the convent was violently invaded and all the nuns were thrown out.”

“Incredible!” Lorenzi exclaimed.

“Actually, Father Lorenzi, the republicans were only continuing a brutal tradition,” the sister added. “The dissolution of religious orders had already started during the monarchy with the rise of liberal politics. This convent was kept open under a special license granted by Queen Mary II, valid until 1910. I didn’t really mean to get into a political discussion, Father Lorenzi, but this is my understanding.

“In the face of those calamities, the nuns sought shelter with relatives and friends, later joining Carmelite convents in Spain. But by 1933 conditions in Portugal were more peaceful; certainly there was less animosity toward religious orders. Three of the nuns who had been thrown out came back to Coimbra and tried to restore the Carmelite community. Since the convent was occupied at that time by the military, the sisters had to rent a house and faced many hardships. In 1940 it was rumored that the military was going to abandon the convent, and the sisters did all they could to get it back. That finally happened in 1947. Of those who’d been expelled, only two were nuns still alive. One of them was our reverend mother, who in due course received the keys to the convent.”

“It’s a very moving story, Sister,” Luciani remarked.

“I’m sure Your Eminence already knew it.”

“I did, but this is the first time I’ve heard it directly from a Carmelite nun from Coimbra. And I appreciate it very much, Sister.”

Beyond the cloister, the three of them continued their tour through the interior corridors of the convent, behind the high walls that helped preserve a sort of somber freshness against the implacable sun outside.

They reached a smallish room with a pious, austere décor-just a simple oak table and a bookcase with a few books, some old chairs, and several pieces of furniture that had seen better days, probably going back to the founding of the community. They stopped to look at the large, stark crucifix that dominated one of the walls-just two crossed pieces of rough wood, with no figure of Jesus-infusing the room with a holy air.

“Sister Lucía will be joining you soon. Would you like something to drink? Perhaps a cup of coffee or a soda?”

“I’d like some coffee, Sister, if you’d be so kind,” Don Albino said.

Father Lorenzi also accepted, and they both remained seated, waiting for Sister Lucía.

“We’ll finally meet Sister Lucía, Don Albino! I’ve heard so much about her,” Lorenzi said, with sincere admiration.

“So have I, Lorenzi. Fátima means a lot to the Church. It’s very hard to know exactly how everything happened and why. But her visions were connected with decisive events. And she is still keeping a secret.”

“The third secret.”

“Yes, the third secret.”

“Could it be the most important?”

“The others were very important. There was only one secret, but Sister Lucía divided it into three parts, and then revealed only the first two. That unknown part is what’s being called ‘the third secret.’ ”

“The first two parts of the secret of Fátima referred to the First World War-a hellish vision-and to Russia ’s adoption of Mary’s Sacred Heart. Sister Lucía never wanted to reveal the third secret to anyone.”

People were naturally curious. Who wouldn’t want to know the third secret of Fátima? It was rumored that it had to do with terrible cataclysms, perhaps even the Apocalypse, the end of the world, the extinction of the human race. People fond of secrets and conspiracy theories rejoiced. The Church had to be prudent, and tried to avoid promoting unnecessary scandals.

“Sister Lucía has lived thirty years in this convent,” the Venetian patriarch observed.

“A whole life devoted to Jesus Christ.”

“Like ours. Like many. It’s a despicable sign of vanity to think we’re more deserving for devoting our lives to the Lord. No matter how much evil comes to us, all that counts is whatever good we can do for others.”

“Wise words, Your Eminence,” they heard a feminine voice say.

Sister Lucía, unannounced, dressed in the habit of teresinha nuns, had glided into the room without a sound.

“How are you, dear Sister?”

“Fine, Your Eminence, by the Lord’s grace.”

Lucía knelt to kiss the cardinal’s hand.

“Please, Sister, we are the ones who should kneel before you,” Don Albino said in perfect Portuguese, Sister Lucía’s mother tongue. He could have chosen Italian, English, French, or Spanish, since they both spoke all of these.