The Fountains of Silence (22 page)

52

The man with the club shoves Daniel aside and addresses Ana for validation. “Is it true? You know him?”

Ana nods silently.

Arguing briefly ensues, but a smiling young man with curly hair gives a broad wave. “
Bienvenido
, Americano! What is your name?”

Daniel takes a breath, trying to swallow enough regret in order to speak. “Daniel Matheson. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude. I’m spending the day taking photographs and Nick assured me it was okay to stop by.”

“Nick?” says Ana from the corner.

“Photographs?” The young man beams. “Well, you are lucky, Americano. I’m Rafael and standing in front of you is the next great matador! We call him Fuga but soon he’ll have a new name.”

The shirtless Spaniard with hostile hair stares at Daniel, taking in his height and clothes. His black eyes drill holes, issuing an unspoken warning.

“I can see this is an imposition. I’ll leave. I’m parked just down the street,” says Daniel.

Rafa jumps from his chair. “You have a car?” He runs to Daniel’s side. “No need to leave so quickly. It’s not an imposition. You speak very good Spanish. Come, sit down.” Rafa steers him deeper into the shack.

Daniel stares at Ana and the baby. “I brought you a few things. I’ll leave them.”

From his bag, Daniel retrieves a bottle of wine, two packages of American cigarettes, and a small bundle of white paper tied with string.

Everyone stands in stunned silence until Rafa and Fuga lunge at the table. Rafa tears open the cigarettes and Fuga rips at the white bundle. Yelling and fighting continue until Ana speaks up.

“Stop!”

“Well, if the package is open it can’t be sold,” says Rafa.

“Sold?” says Daniel. “No, these are gifts. The dried meat is from Texas. It’s called beef jerky.”

“I love beef jerky!” bellows Rafa.

“You don’t even know what it is,” says Ana.

“It’s food, so I love it.” Rafa shrugs.

Ana emerges from the dark corner, her voice soft amidst the chaos. “It’s very kind of you,
señor
.”

Her faded dress hangs like a thin scarf on her petite frame. Despite the change in wardrobe and location, she is entirely the same girl from the hotel and the fashion show.

“
Señor
Matheson, this is my sister, Julia, and this is her daughter, Lali.” Ana hands the baby to Julia.

Daniel nods slowly. The baby is her sister’s.

The family resemblance between Julia and Ana is evident. The worry and responsibility Julia carries is also evident, appearing through deep lines on her forehead and around her mouth. Daniel notices Julia’s grated hands. They are hands of hard work, similar to those he’s photographed in the Texas oil fields.

Ana continues the introductions. “This is Julia’s husband, Antonio. And this is my impolite brother, Rafael, and his friend.”

“Fuga’s going to be famous. You should photograph him. We need pictures for promotion,” says Rafa.

Fuga says nothing.

“
Lo siento
, we weren’t prepared for guests,” says Julia flatly.

“
No, soy yo el que lo lamenta
,” says Daniel, apologizing. “I’ll be going. Nice to meet you all.” He reaches into his bag and takes out two
small lavender boxes. “They’re from the shop you took me to,” he tells Ana. “You liked those clover candies so I brought some for you and your sister.” He sets the ribboned boxes on the table.

The quiet weight of awkwardness suddenly materializes, elbowing and crowding its way in. The silence is thunderous. Rafa digs at the dirt floor with the toe of his shoe. Fuga remains frozen, hands balled into fists by his side.

Ana stares at the beautiful boxes from La Violeta. She looks to Daniel. Her eyes fill with grateful, unspoken sadness. Her expression produces a heavy pressing upon his chest. Daniel knows she won’t accept them. He turns to leave before she can object.

“Rafael,” says Julia. “Take
Señor
Matheson to his car. Make sure it’s parked in a safe place. Take the buckets to the fountain for water. When you return, we’ll all have a glass of
Señor
Matheson’s wine together,” says Julia.

Rafa runs to grab the buckets. “Hurry, Americano, before she changes her mind.” He rustles Daniel toward the door. “And you will take the photographs?” asks Rafa.

“If that’s what your friend would like.”

Fuga remains silent.

“Of course he’d like that. Julia, don’t let anyone eat that beef jerky without me.”

Rafa leads Daniel out of the shack.

53

Rafael is a burst of energy. He talks nonstop of his matador friend.

When he pauses for breath, Daniel breaks in. “How long have you lived here?”

“In Vallecas?
Ay
, several years. It’s a special place, especially here in El Pozo del Tío Raimundo.” He swats a fly from his curly hair. “Where in America are you from?”

“Dallas, north Texas.”

The men who’d approached Daniel’s car stand at the nearby corner.

“They don’t like outsiders,” whispers Rafa. “But really, we’re all outsiders. Here in Vallecas we are from many provinces of Spain—Andalucía, Extremadura—but Vallecas is a family of its own. We have to share with our family.”

Rafa sets down the buckets and removes the package of American cigarettes from his pocket. He gives one cigarette to each man on the corner before heading to Daniel’s car.

“You must be brave,” says Rafa. “One Texano against three Vallecanos.”

“Bravery and stupidity are sometimes interchangeable.”

Rafa lights up. “Yes! But fear brings dimension to our lives. Without fear we will never meet courage.”

Daniel thinks on Rafa’s words, on the dimension he sees before him in Vallecas. Beneath his exuberant exterior, Ana’s brother radiates sincerity and heart. “Rafa, would it be okay if I take some pictures?”

“Sure, why not.” Rafa stops walking. “
¡Madre mía!
Is that your
car?” Rafa sprints to the vehicle. “Texano, take a picture of me with the car!” Rafa abandons the buckets and leans against the car with a casual air. “Wait! I have to be holding the keys.”

Daniel tosses Rafa the keys and photographs him with the car. His smile is bright, like Ana’s, and contains two gold teeth.

“I’ll give the photo to my girlfriend,” says Rafa. His smile suddenly disappears. “
Ay
, don’t mention my girlfriend to my sisters,” says Rafa. “Julia doesn’t want us to socialize outside of Vallecas. Besides, if I’m part of Fuga’s
cuadrilla
, I won’t have time for girls. And what about you?” Rafa grins. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Daniel shakes his head.

Daniel and Rafa move the car to a nearby cemetery, where Rafa assures him it won’t be disturbed. They carry the buckets to the fountain for water, and Daniel takes photographs along the way. Amidst the poverty, there is beauty and camaraderie in Vallecas. People in the street stand tall, unapologetic. They wave Daniel forward with his camera.

The line at the fountain snakes down the road.

“It’s Sunday, the day we wash clothes and bathe,” explains Rafa.

Children crowd around Daniel, slipping their tiny hands into his pockets fishing for coins. When they reach the fountain, Rafa pumps the long arm, sending water sloshing into a wooden pail held by a shrunken white-haired woman.

“Should we carry the bucket for her?” asks Daniel.

“She won’t let you. Besides, that woman is stronger than both of us combined,” says Rafa with a laugh. They fill their buckets and make their way back to the shack.

“Have you heard of Agustín García Malla?” asks Rafa. Daniel shakes his head.

“Malla was a bullfighter from Vallecas. In his very first fight, the bull tore his mouth apart. But he was very brave and continued to
fight. He lacked the elegance of some matadors but he was long on courage. In the end, Malla was gored through the heart during a fight in France. You see, Texano, there are many here in Vallecas with rips and tears like Malla. When I need advice or time to think, I go to Malla’s grave. Sometimes I find answers there.”

Daniel thinks on Rafa’s comments. He feels guilty. He doesn’t have to visit a grave for answers. When he has questions, he goes to his parents or teachers. When he is thirsty, he goes straight to his faucet. “And your parents?” he asks.

Rafa looks to him, grief rising quickly to his face. He shakes his head. “War is a thief, isn’t it?” He coughs to clear the emotion from his throat. “And now,” says Rafa, kicking a stone in the road, “we work day and night to pay for our mother in the grave, even though we can never have her back. Life is a strange story.” Rafa’s head and shoulders twitch, as if he were trying to clear pesky flies of memory from his mind.

Daniel has never known theft as Rafa does. He has never sipped from a bucket or bathed in one. He was unprepared for Vallecas. Presumptuous. What an idiot. Did he assume that everyone in Spain lived in apartments or villas? Why didn’t Nick say anything?

He must tread carefully. There’s a thin line between helpful and humiliating. He does not want to humiliate them.

As Miguel warned him, Spain is not his country.

54

Ana’s niece sleeps in a wooden crate instead of a cradle.

“Would you take a photo of Lali,
señor
? I know that film and developing are very expensive, but my family would cherish a photograph of her,” says Ana.

Daniel quickly obliges and takes a portrait of the sleeping child.

Four peeling chairs and two wooden crates are placed on the dirt floor around the table. Everyone takes a seat and Antonio pours wine into chipped glasses and dented enamel mugs. Fuga, still wearing the trousers from the suit of lights, does not sit. He stands behind Rafa.

“Again, my apologies for interrupting,” says Daniel. “In Texas, we sometimes visit friends on Sunday.”

Ana nods. Her loose curls are now pinned back and her face freshly scrubbed. Daniel sits across the table from her, making it impossible to avoid each other’s eyes.

“This wine . . . I’ve never tasted anything so delicious.” Rafa sighs.

“It is lovely, thank you,
señor
,” says Ana. She recognizes the wine. She’s seen it in the
Placita
shop of the hotel. The bottle costs more than she earns in two months. She can’t help but think of the money she could have earned from selling it. It must be painful for her sister to drink. Each delicious sip is a step backward from their new apartment.

Julia insists Ana sell all gifts from hotel guests. She eyes the two lavender boxes of candy on the table, desperate to keep them. She reaches across, pulls the ribbon on one and opens it. Julia kicks her under the table. Ana pretends to misunderstand and holds the open box
to her sister. Reluctant to offend, Julia takes one of the violet clovers from the box. Perhaps she can retie the bow and still sell it as new.

“In Spain, we generally meet in cafés, not in the home,” says Antonio.

Julia smiles, softening the reprimand. “How is it that you speak Spanish so well?”

“My mother was born in Spain,
señora
. She’s from Galicia,” replies Daniel.

The table falls quiet.

Fuga leans over to Rafa. He whispers something and points.

“My friend has a question,” says Rafa. “He’s heard that in Texas you don’t fight the bulls, you ride them. Is that true?” Fuga pokes his shoulder. “Oh, and he wants to know what happened to your hands.”

“Yes, bull riding is popular in Texas.” Daniel avoids Fuga’s menacing stare and the question about his hands. “When is your friend’s bullfight?”

“A week from today. Near Talavera de la Reina.”

Daniel seizes the opportunity to expedite his exit. “That’s soon. We better take the photos now, in time for developing.”

“Yes! Good point,” agrees Rafa. “Julia, we need the rest of the suit for the photos.”

Julia and Fuga are both apprehensive, but Rafa rushes around the small space, gathering pieces of clothing. Ana instructs her brother’s friend to sit. She removes a comb from her pocket and tames his wildly snarled hair. Daniel snaps a picture as Ana dips a soft cloth in the bucket of water and gently cleans the matador’s face.

“The light will be better for the portrait outside. I’m going to find a spot,” he says.

Antonio intercepts Daniel in the doorway.

“
Mucho gusto
,” nods Daniel.

“Nice to meet you too.” Antonio lowers his voice. “For interesting
photos, you should explore the city center. Take your camera to the Inclusa or the hospitals in Madrid. People love photos of children but can’t afford them.”

It’s an odd suggestion. Why would a hospital or orphanage allow him to take photos? Is Antonio being sincere or is it a veiled dig about his expensive camera and being so out of place in Vallecas? The word
Inclusa
, it sounds familiar. Daniel thanks Antonio and steps outside the shack.

A woman standing nearby eyes him as he walks down the dirt road, her stare thick with suspicion.

“Don’t you hurt our Ana,” hisses the woman.

Daniel looks over his shoulder. Is she addressing him? The woman nods and viciously points a finger.

He reaches for a reply, not sure what to say.

“No,
señora
, I would never hurt Ana.”