The Fountains of Silence (11 page)

The major thrust, I think, of the Political Section was to give to Washington an idea of how the ordinary Spaniards were living under the regime, how they felt toward it, and what the regime’s relationships with the European countries were. Obviously, Spain’s relations with us at that time were somewhat controversial since there were many people in this country, particularly in the Congress, who felt strongly unfavorable to the Franco regime.

—S
TUART
W. R
OCKWELL
, U.S. political section chief, Madrid (1952–1955)

Oral History Interview Excerpt, October 1988

Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection

Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training

Arlington, VA www.adst.org

One of the amusing things to me was that there was a ministry called The Ministry of Information and Tourism headed by an old line Falangist who I am sure hadn’t had a new idea in a long while. On the one hand he was the chief censor, that’s what information meant. Information did not mean giving out information, it meant control of information.

—F
RANK
O
RAM
, U.S. public affairs officer, USIS, Madrid (1959–1962)

Oral History Interview Excerpt, April 1989

Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection

Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training

Arlington, VA www.adst.org

20

Julia carries a package wrapped in stiff brown paper. Before she arrives at the open door, she hears the baby begin to cry. “
Mamá
is coming, Lali.”

Her husband, Antonio, carries the infant back and forth across the earthen floor. The slight drag of his left foot is a teenage souvenir, courtesy of the Guardia Civil. At fourteen, Antonio and his friends thought they were mature. They shared cigarettes, analyzing Spain’s political straitjacket, and whether Franco was using memories of the war to control the population. Their secret conversation resulted in brutal beatings that cost one boy an eye, another his teeth, and Antonio his gait.

Julia closes the door. A tin kerosene lamp dangles from a wire stapled to the sagging ceiling. Absent the daylight from the door, the only remaining light in the room comes from the primitive lamp and a small broken window.

“Why are you home so early?” asks Antonio, concern striping his face. “And why are you closing the door? It’s too hot.”

Julia kisses her husband and the baby. She sets the papered bundle on a chair and reaches into a crate for a piece of folded fabric. With a flick of her wrists the fabric billows and settles over the scarred wooden table. “Luis sent us out of the shop. An American actress wanted to discuss a custom cape. She requested privacy.”

Antonio releases a sigh of relief. “Let me guess. Ava Gardner.” He shakes his head. “Poor Luis. A request from one of her bullfighter boyfriends, no doubt.”

Julia moves the fat bundle to the table. “
Sí
, but this is why I closed the door.”

She pulls the twine and the corners of the starched paper flower open like an envelope magically unfolding itself. Even in the dim space, the stack of garments shimmers and glows like electric starlight.

“
¡Maravilloso!
” breathes Antonio. “It’s beautiful.”

Julia nods, picking up the
chaquetilla
, the matador’s ornate, cropped jacket. “No sleep tonight. I must finish the beading that lines the edges. Ordóñez comes for it tomorrow.”

Antonio points to a stack of turquoise fabric still in the paper. “And that?”

Julia smiles. “For Rafa’s
torero
.”

“No! Luis let the wild orphan borrow a suit of lights?”

“Not exactly. Last year, Rafa buried Luis’s brother at the cemetery. Luis says this favor is for Rafa, not the
torero
. It’s quite big. I’ll need to alter it to fit.”

“In the spare time that you don’t have. You are a wonderful big sister.”

Julia folds the paper back over the blue suit to conceal it. She reaches for the baby.

“She’s better today,” says Antonio, placing Lali in her arms. “Getting stronger. Her voice is louder.”

“I thought so this morning, but then wondered if I was imagining it.” Julia cradles the infant and sits on a chair for feeding. Lali squeals and bats her tiny fists.

“And you,
mi amor
?” asks Antonio.

Julia nods. “I’m getting stronger too.”

She wishes he could believe her. Julia knows his arms ache with sadness. She wonders if Antonio feels her pain through their embrace as she feels his, as she feels Lali’s. The baby’s cries are haunting, heavy with separation.

Antonio pours water from a bucket into a clay mug and brings it to his wife. He then pours a mug for himself.

Julia looks around the small room and sighs. Strands of hair, wet with sweat, cling to her face. “I tell myself this is temporary. But we work ourselves day and night, and nothing changes. No wonder Ana and Rafa dream as they do. No wonder Rafa idolizes his fellow gravedigger. Rafa says they call him
Fuga
. Escape.” Julia looks down at her daughter. “Of course they want to escape. I often wonder what Mother and Father would tell us to do.”

“They would tell us to stay together, that here in Vallecas we are with our people.”

“But they were teachers, Antonio.
Mamá
would hate Rafa working two jobs and digging graves. He should have gone to university.”

“
Sí
, and my father was a bookseller, murdered in his very own shop. He would hate me being a trash collector,” says Antonio. “He would also hate knowing that his children inherited the pain and punishment of a war. But the tourism coming to Spain, it’s helping the economy. Exposure to foreigners helps too. It makes the people here realize that the restrictions in Spain—it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“But what if that realization is dangerous? Look at Ana.”

“Sometimes the truth is dangerous, Julia. But we should search for it nonetheless.” Antonio sighs. “We’ll keep our heads down, save for a bit longer.” He points to Lali, now fast asleep in her mother’s arms. “And count our little blessings.”

A group of loud male voices approaches from outside. The door opens a crack and Rafa’s voice booms in.

“Antonio! I’m going to the fountain to wash. Then I’ll take Lali.”

Antonio dresses for work and the family shift change. The family works quietly, but in concert. Ana stays at the hotel two nights per week while Rafa helps with Lali. Prior to Lali’s birth, their hardship
and debt were manageable. Julia remembers the sober face of the doctor she saw during her single pregnancy visit.

“Your difficulties exceed your good intentions. How will you manage all of this?” he had asked them, shaking his head.

“As we always have,” responded Antonio. “Together.”

But with time, their debts increase. Families must pay rent on a burial grave. Although the location of their father’s body is unknown, they are responsible for the rent on their mother’s costly plot. If they can no longer afford the rent,
Mamá
’s remains will be hacked up and tossed in a common pit. Julia cannot bear the thought. After their mother’s torture in prison, knowing she rests quietly in her own private space is of deep comfort.

Rafa returns, shirtless and wet from the waist up, water dripping from his dark curls. Antonio hands him the family’s sole towel as he departs for work.

Upon seeing his sister, Rafa freezes. “
Ay
, Julia, why are you home? Is something wrong with Lali?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Luis closed the shop early for a meeting. I’ll finish the jacket for Ordóñez here tonight.”

“Ordóñez?” Rafa’s eyes light up and he moves toward his sister.

“Stop! You must dry off completely. I don’t want you dripping anywhere near this jacket.”

Rafa uses the small, threadbare towel and furiously rubs at his hair and skin. His eyes are glued to the sparkling fabric in his sister’s lap.

“Look at that!
¡Sensacional!
There must be a thousand jewels on that coat. That fabric is so strong, like a shield. How many needles did you break?”

“Too many,” says Julia, looking at her ravaged hands. When needles break, the pieces lodge in her fingers.

“And the pants are in the package?” asks Rafa, pointing to the paper bundle.

Julia shakes her head. “Something else.” She motions for Rafa to open the package.

He peels back the paper and lifts the turquoise jacket. He looks to his sister.

“From Luis. For your
torero
.”

Rafa’s bright smile turns to shock. He carefully lays the old suit on the table, ever so gently, as if it were made of glass. He stands, staring in disbelief.

“Julia,” he whispers. “
Gracias
, Julia.”

Rafa slowly brings a hand to his face. He begins to cry.

21

Daniel wakes to the bleat of a car horn. The clock says 1:00 a.m. His body has still not adjusted to the time change in Spain. The open balcony door welcomes the cooler night air into the hot room. He steps out onto the terrace and looks down at the bustling patio. In Preston Hollow, the entire neighborhood is dark by 10:00 p.m. Here in Madrid, the city’s alive at 1:00 a.m. as if it were barely dinnertime.

He wonders if his parents have arrived in Valencia.

“We’ll only be a few days,
cariño
. You can reach us at the Hotel Alhambra,” said his mother, kissing him goodbye.

“I arranged the car rental you asked for,” said his father gruffly.

Daniel’s stomach complains, reminding him that he missed dinner. He pulls on his jeans and boots. He’ll make his way downstairs and find something to eat.

The hotel lobby buzzes with music and guests.

“Still quite a party here,” he says to the lobby clerk.

“
Sí, señor
. The quiet time is early morning. The city comes alive at night.”

Near the elevators, a narrow opening in the sidewall catches Daniel’s eye. He peers down and sees a stairway. Perhaps it leads to one of the restaurants?

Ben’s words return to him.
I’ve gotten lost in here and I’ve never even made it to the labyrinth beneath. . . . There are several levels belowground in this place.

Labyrinth. The description is too intriguing. Daniel heads down the stairs.

He arrives at the first basement and, sensing a lack of activity, continues down farther. The second basement is darker. The air thicker. Unlike the sparkling upper floors of the hotel, this lower level is not glamorous. Stretches of weathered gray stone line the walls and floors. Gaslight flickers in the primitive fixtures, not yet converted to electricity. It’s more interesting than the fancy lobby. He contemplates turning back for his camera.

After passing several stockrooms, a uniform supply closet, and a large laundry facility, he arrives at a classroom. Rows of chairs face a long chalkboard. A world map, wrinkled with age, is taped to the wall. As he continues down the stone corridor, he passes a bathroom and janitorial facilities.

At the corridor’s end, a light glows behind a square of glass set within a door. Daniel walks toward it and peeks inside. Staff members, clearly off duty, smoke and play cards at a table. In the far corner, a girl sits alone. Her wet, dark curls hang down over her face. She is reading a magazine. The square of glass in the door is a perfect frame. Why didn’t he bring his camera? The girl loops her hair behind her ear and that’s when he realizes. The girl is Ana.

“¿Qué hay, amigo?”
A pair of hands grabs Daniel.