The mystery - short Story

The priest began the prayers in an incomprehensible Latin but with tones not totally unknown because despite his young age he had begun the routine of daily mass from the hand of the grandmother from always, or rather from when the memory allowed him to return to the past.
For a few months I had asked him to sit as close as possible to the altar. And she accepted how she accepted everything even though she would have preferred to sit back to pray the rosary in silence while the priest spoke in that strange and ceremonious language that sounded sacred. He looked askance at the grandmother counting the accounts advancing with mathematical precision always reaching the last nugget ten seconds before the offertory was started. While the grandmother kept the rosary in a leather wallet that had a decorative image of the Virgin of Fatima, it sharpened the senses as the moment approached and he wanted to be an eyewitness to that mystery that everyone spoke about but nobody could explain.
Today they had found a couple of spaces available in the second row of benches varnished and painted with the same dark brown tone of the altarpiece. Besides, before leaving the house, she had stolen a couple of droplets of the rose water drops that her grandmother had to treat the evil eye. He definitely felt fully prepared to face the mystery. When the crucial moment arrived everyone in the congregation, kneeling down, looked down at the ground in a sign of respect. The defiance of the grandmother's teachings of who learned to distinguish the boundary between good and evil, and running the risk of being condemned to be cooked in a pail full of hot oil for all eternity kept the gaze fixed on the host, containing the breath, without moving, eyes open without concealing the intention. The words sounded but he did not hear them, for with all the power of concentration that seven years of life allowed him, he was dedicated to his mission. And the moment of the Our Father arrived. It was then that he finally moved and let out a breath full of disappointment. There must be an explanation, he thought, another mass without being able to witness the magical union of the spirit possessing the sacred form.