The Fountains of Silence (17 page)

36

A six-year-old boy sees Puri and gestures frantically.

“What is it,
chico
?”

He lifts his small right hand, pinched tightly into a fist. He waves Puri to the corner and opens his fingers.

In the center of the boy’s palm sits a tooth. Puri claps in delight.

“Wonderful! Let me see,” she says.

The boy smiles proudly, revealing a large gap in the front of his mouth.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” asks Puri.

The boy nods.

“
Sí
,” says Puri. “Tonight you will put the tooth under your pillow. Ratoncito Pérez, the mouse that lives in a box of cookies, will visit while you sleep. He will take the tooth and leave a surprise for you.”

Puri wraps the child in a hug as he bounces with delight. The older children at the Inclusa have less chance of being adopted, so Puri dotes on them whenever possible. She loves playing Ratoncito Pérez.

A nun whisks by Puri. “Don’t dawdle. Diapers need changing, babies need bathing and feeding.”

Puri makes her way to the nursery, anxious to share the news of the tooth with Sister Hortensia.

Sister Hortensia stands at Clover’s bassinet, engaged in conversation with a pregnant woman and her husband. Puri enters unnoticed. She tends the babies nearby and eavesdrops in the process.

“My wife is tired of wearing a pillow around her stomach. We’re not sure this feels right,” whispers the man.

Puri is desperate to look at the woman, but knows better.

“This child could be the answer,” replies Sister Hortensia. “She’s still very small.”

“She’s small, but too large to be a newborn, especially if we’re claiming a premature birth. For the large sum we’re paying, we want a newborn.”

“And you shall have one,” whispers Sister Hortensia. “I only present this as an option because your wife feels uncomfortable with the current situation. Let’s discuss this in my office.”

Puri counts their retreating footsteps on the tile floor. She turns to look. It is not the first time this has happened. Sister Hortensia tells her that some couples feel ashamed they cannot conceive. She says societal pressures are such that on occasion, a woman prefers to fake a pregnancy rather than admit adoption. When that happens they must protect the woman’s secret at all costs. It is a sin to reveal someone else’s secret.

Puri thinks of Ana’s family. As children of Republicans they must carry many secrets. How, then, did Ana manage to get a job at the big American hotel?

Clover cries and Puri moves to inspect her diaper. She is relieved the couple did not choose Clover. The man was dough-faced and grim. She did not like the way he mentioned the large sum of money, nor how that prompted Sister Hortensia to ensure his satisfaction. Clover must have a handsome and kind family. She wishes that one of the brave matadors would adopt the child. A notable Spanish family adopting an orphan would be incredibly touching.

The thought triggers last night’s dream. Puri reaches into her memory, trying to retrieve the quickly fading narrative. A tall matador walks toward her, handsome and graceful. He wears a suit of lights in royal sapphire, covered with glimmering gold accents. She looks up at him and smiles. He smiles back. And that’s when Puri realizes. The matador in the dream is not Ordóñez. It’s Daniel, the Texas cowboy she met on the street.

37

Why does the Valley of the Fallen upset Ana?

Daniel stares at the photos, now taped to the wall of his hotel suite. He shouldn’t have asked her to work on the project. It made her uncomfortable. But when they’re speaking and she’s smiling, he forgets that she’s a hotel employee.

He turns to his father, seated on the small sofa. “How was Valencia?” he asks.

“Wonderful city. Beautiful sea. I would’ve stayed an extra day, but your mother wanted to return for the fashion show at the embassy. Speaking of, you should get dressed. Suit and tie tonight.”

Daniel nods.

Martin Matheson rises from the chair. He stands, looking at his son’s photos affixed to the wall. Please. Just one compliment, thinks Daniel.

Instead, his father starts to laugh. He points to the photo of Nick Van Dorn’s scabbed knuckles. “Pretty undiplomatic for a diplomat’s son. That kid’s a handful, huh?”

Daniel shrugs.

His father clears his throat. “What do you make of Ben, the newspaper man?” asks his dad.

“I like him. Seems like a smart guy. Intense about his job.”

“Most journalists are. They want their story and will do anything to get it. It’s a vicious business. Remember that.” His father makes his way to the door.

The word
business
reminds him of the telegram. “Say, Dad. There’s something I want to discuss.”

His father stops. “I know.”

“You do?”

He nods, face full of apology. “Dan, I’m sorry.”

His father’s sincerity smooths his annoyance.

“I was waiting for you to tell me,” says his father. “I understand hiding it from your mother. She loves Laura Beth. She’ll be so hurt.”

Laura Beth? His dad thinks he wants to talk about Laura Beth?

“Dad—”

“I know all about it. Someone told your uncle. Laura Beth, she’s just confused. Graduation was overwhelming. You two make a fine couple and she’s from an excellent family. Don’t fret, I’m certain—quite certain—she’ll change her mind.”

A fine couple? They had nothing in common. They only dated a few months, during which she also kissed other guys. Does he know that Laura Beth felt his mom was “too ethnic” and therefore their families weren’t a suitable match?

“It’s okay, Dad, there were problems.”

“Every relationship has problems. Speaking of . . .” His father pauses, as if carefully gathering words. “Daniel, your mother and I have had a bit of a tough time lately. Give her a little extra room if you can. It’s important to her that you’re happy here in Madrid.”

The request takes Daniel by surprise. A tough time? What does that mean? His mind returns to the telegram. He wants to ask questions but something about his father’s expression tells him not to. His dad’s tone, it’s kinder than usual, intentionally easing up on him.

“Okay,” says Daniel.

“Thanks, partner. We’ll leave for the embassy in fifteen minutes.” He exits the room.

Daniel stares at the door. His father can be headstrong and, sure, their father-son dynamic has been tense for the past few years. But things have never been strained between his parents.

What did he mean by a tough time?

38

The American embassy is built of blocky white sandstone. Its posture conveys a mix of durability and refinement. A large red, white, and blue flag, along with its forty-eight stars, salutes above the entry.

“Welcome to the embassy, Daniel. So glad you could join us.”

Nick’s father, Shep Van Dorn, greets them in a formal receiving line at the entrance. Van Dorn shakes his hand and looks to Daniel’s mother.

“Good evening, María. My, you look gorgeous. Are you sure you’re not in the fashion show tonight?”

Ever polished and professional, Shephard Van Dorn is cut from different fabric than his son. Nick stands amidst a group of pretty young women in the corner, and when he sees Daniel, he whistles loudly. The girls laugh at his inappropriate gesture. Nick’s father does not.

“Well, how about that,” laughs Nick. “Cowboy traded his boots for a suit. Lookin’ good, Dan.” Nick’s enthusiasm, fueled by wine, entertains the group through introductions.

“I’ve arranged to bend the rules. They’re going to play some Elvis in the hotel club tonight. You should join us,” says Nick.

Like bikinis, Elvis and his gyrating hips are considered indecent in Spain.

Daniel nods absently and looks around the room. He longs for his camera to capture the tight feel of the event. Although it’s a diplomatic affair with attendees from many different countries, the atmosphere feels distinctly American to Daniel, as if he could be at an event in Dallas.

The young women, wearing crisp taffeta dresses and white gloves, are debutante daughters of American diplomats, moguls, and military officers. They attend colleges like Wellesley and Bryn Mawr. Their dresses are different colors, but Daniel fears their destinies are probably similar. They will make advantageous marriages and be listed within the coveted Social Register in their city of residence. But is that what they really want?

Daniel looks at his mother. He’s grateful that she’s different, that she maintains Spanish customs at home, even though he knows it makes things difficult for her among the Dallas society crowd.

“Your mother, is she descendant from nobility in Spain?” the society writer from the
Dallas Morning News
asked during his job at the paper.

Attachment to a sovereign title significantly boosts your intrigue in society circles. Some Dallas residents hire genealogists hoping to unearth a long-dead baron in the family who might grant them admission to the right club.

Women in Dallas follow society news like a trader follows stocks. Laura Beth spoke ad nauseam of the forthcoming debutante ball for Henry Ford’s granddaughter. Daniel knows his association with Laura Beth’s family brought a sense of society connection to his mother. It brought him a sense of fatigue, as does the embassy fashion event.

He spots Ben Stahl at the edge of the room, deep in conversation with Paco Lobo. Just as Daniel starts toward them, he’s ushered into the main hall.

Waiting in the large salon are over a hundred chairs, neatly ordered in rows. Daniel seats his mother and takes the aisle chair next to his parents. A host introduces the event and the fashion designers. The lights dim.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” says his mother.

Daniel nods, but disagrees. It must be incredibly hard to be a
diplomat. He would be terrible navigating endless formal events and discussions. As women sashay down the aisle in a myriad of dresses, his mind wanders to the pictures taped to the wall in his hotel suite.

The audience releases an audible gasp.

“Stunning,” whispers his mother.

Daniel returns his focus to the front of the room. A young model in a shimmering pink gown has taken center stage. She turns slowly, showcasing the narrow dress, and this time Daniel pulls a breath. The posterior of the dress is missing, revealing the woman’s entire back and waist. The fabric clings to the sides of her slender torso and dips suggestively, meeting in a shallow V just above the sacrum of her lowest vertebrae. Her olive skin is flawless and glistens under the lights. Daniel’s eyes are fastened to her back. He’s desperate to photograph the subtle curve and gentle hollow. She rotates and his eyes travel across her small waist, up to her neck. She glows, as if lit from within. Her black hair is swept away from her face, with a few spiraling pieces left to frame her high cheeks, dark eyes, and full mouth.

She walks down the center aisle.

She turns every head.

She is undeniably beautiful.

And then he realizes.

She is Ana.