The Fountains of Silence (27 page)

66

“Welcome back,
Señora
Matheson. I hope you enjoyed Toledo,” greets Ana at the entry to the suite.

“We did, thank you. It was lovely and very warm. My father used to say, ‘When God made the sun, he hung it over Toledo.’”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too,” says Ana. “You telephoned that you’d like assistance unpacking your bag?”

“Please. My husband’s as well. We’ve just returned and Martin is still downstairs.” She steps aside to allow Ana into the room.

As she points out the luggage to be unpacked, Mrs. Matheson notices the telegram, placed squarely on the desk. Her voice falls tense. “Oh, when did this arrive?”

“I am not certain,
señora
, I did not deliver it.”

Daniel’s mother opens the telegram and quickly scans its contents. She turns her back to Ana. She stands motionless for several minutes.

Ana thinks of Daniel and how upset he was about the telegram. She recalls the touch of their fingers as his hand turned to grasp hers. What if she hadn’t let go? When he confided in her she wanted to do the same. She wanted to explain things, the threatening notes, to tell him everything.

Ana moves
Señora
Matheson’s expensive shoes to the suite’s closet. The jeweled satin pumps are marked
PERUGIA
in gold scroll along the instep. Her black hat has a label that reads
SCHIAPARELLI
. Ana turns from the closet and María Matheson stands, hands nervously clasped as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“
Señora
Matheson?”

It takes a moment for her to begin. “Ana, I owe you an apology. I didn’t recognize you at the fashion show. Martin, my husband, advised me of my error after we left. It must have been horribly uncomfortable with me showering praise and introductions when in fact we had already met and interacted on several occasions.”

Ana does not want an apology. She does not want the lump swelling in her throat.

Daniel’s mother continues. “It’s bothered me for days.” She extends a hand and steadies herself on a chair. “Ana, I’ve been consumed with personal difficulties of late, and my preoccupation has obviously left me insensitive to others. I’m so sorry. My dear, please believe me when I tell you that you are beautiful, no matter what you are wearing.”

Ana’s eyes expand with shock and tears. “
Gracias
,
señora
,” she whispers.

They stand, absorbing the exchange. Daniel’s mother reaches for the desk and seats herself in the chair.

“Oh my,” says Daniel’s mother. “Look at us, both emotional. We can’t have that.”

“No,
señora
.”

“Well, then.” She takes a deep breath. “Let’s move on. My husband and I would like to take our son somewhere special for dinner tonight. What do you know of Lhardy?”

Lhardy.

Señora
Matheson has mentioned the one restaurant that Ana is desperate to visit.

“Lhardy is magical. It’s been open for over a hundred years. They say that Queen Isabel II used to steal away from the palace just to eat at Lhardy. Of course, I’ve only been on errands to the foyer for a cup of broth or a croquette, but the doorman and staff are always lovely. At Lhardy, everything is refinement,
Señora
Matheson. Waiters stand
behind screens, so not to interrupt the guests but to watch and tend to their every need.”

Ana realizes she is blathering. “Of course, you must consult the concierge for his opinion as well,” she says.

“I see no need. Not after that glowing recommendation. Please ask the concierge to make a reservation for nine p.m.”

“Yes,
señora
.”

Lhardy.

Tonight Daniel and his parents will dine at Lhardy. Tonight they will taste the delicious
cocido a la madrileña
under flickering gaslight and sip a full-bodied
Rioja
.

Ana swallows hard. Tonight Daniel may learn the truth.

67

“¿Estás ahí
, Miguel?” calls Daniel into the empty shop.

Miguel emerges from behind the curtain. “
Hola
, Texano. Feeling better?”

“
Sí, gracias
. I’m sorry I left so quickly yesterday. You said you wanted to discuss my photos?”

Daniel removes the stack of pictures from his bag and lays them on the counter in pre-organized configurations.

“I’d like to discuss your photographs, but also how you captured these images.”

Daniel shifts his feet. “Oh, the photos from Vallecas?”

“
Sí
. I recognize Ana and her family. They invited you?”

“No. That was an error on my part. Someone gave me the address and suggested I visit. I didn’t know it was inappropriate,” Daniel says. “I do now.”

“And how did you earn these people’s trust to allow you to photograph them?”

“We talked as I walked through the village. They seemed happy to have their pictures taken. That’s one of the reasons I came back so soon. I’d like to have reprints made so I can give each person their photo this weekend.”

“That’s very generous of you,” says Miguel, as Daniel hands him the negatives.

“Thank you for making the enlargement of Rafa’s friend. I gave it to Ana.”

“I couldn’t resist. The image called for it. Who is he? In your photo he looks like a true matador.”

“He’s a friend of Rafa’s, someone he trains with.”

Miguel’s large brows descend over his eyes. “Trains? Trains where? They’re not entering breeders’ pastures, are they?”

“I don’t know.”

Miguel looks at Daniel’s photos, spread out before him. “It’s a hard life there. I’m sure you saw. There’s no running water, no facilities, only fountains. There is beauty in Vallecas, but you have to have the eyes to see it. Your photos, they show a strong human spirit. I hope the judges of your contest will recognize that.”

Daniel looks at the photographs. They’re portraits of everyday life. People in lines at the fountain, a woman weaving a basket in the doorway while a cat prowls a hole in the roof. The raven-haired girl examining a cut on her knee. Ana washing Fuga’s face. Her baby niece asleep in a wooden crate.

“What are your intentions with these photos,
amigo
?” asks Miguel.

“My intentions?”

“
Sí
. You are assembling a story. Are these really for the contest you mentioned or for something else?”

“They’re for the contest,” says Daniel.

Miguel nods. “Just remember that images without explanation are easily misinterpreted.”

“Like the nun with the baby?”

Miguel puts up his hands and steps back from the counter. “
Ay
, I know nothing of that.”

Can that be true? Miguel lived through the war. He’s developed thousands of photos. He understands that the images that speak the loudest are often the most curious, controversial, or dangerous.

“Miguel, I really want a photo of the Guardia Civil for my contest submission. They’re so menacing, like human crows, pecking at the population. The right image could make a real statement about authority and power in Spain.”

“It could also land you in jail. Don’t even try.”

“I did try, but was apprehended.”

Miguel’s face loses color. His voice is a whisper. “You were apprehended? Trust me, you don’t need that photo.
Por favor
. Forget about it.”

“Forget about it? Is that what Capa would have done?” asks Daniel.

“We don’t know. Remember, Texano, Capa’s dead.”

68

The moment Daniel is seated with his parents at Lhardy, a waiter appears and ceremoniously lights the ivory taper candles on the table. His mother loves extended meals. Three to four hours is not uncommon and that’s a long time to be in a suit. Daniel appreciates fine food, but prefers Texas backyard suppers where he can relax in the grass and wait for the stars to reveal themselves.

Thick red curtains drape the windows in the mahogany-paneled dining salon, while gaslight dips and quivers in lamps suspended from the walls. His mother orders a glass of sparkling cava; his father, vermouth from the Lhardy tap.

“Daniel,” says his mother. “You don’t have to keep your hands under the table. I know everything. The Van Dorns sent a beautiful Spanish fan as a gift of gratitude.”

The Van Dorns sent a
thank-you
gift for a fight? Is that a common occurrence in their family? Daniel slowly lifts his hands from beneath the tablecloth. The small remaining scab is now a deep black.

His mother releases a gentle smile. “Really,
cariño
, a mother always knows.”

But knows about what, Daniel wonders. Does she know her telegrams have been opened? Does she know about Laura Beth?

“I received a few cables from the office,” says his dad. As his father recounts the updates from his colleagues in Dallas, Daniel considers what his friends at home might be doing. The guys are probably seeing a picture show at the Majestic. The girls are probably at Titches Tea Room.

Although he thinks about it, Daniel doesn’t miss it. His genetic
connection to Spain feels deeply inscribed. He loves the narrow, cobbled side streets of Madrid, the plate-glass windows with piles of pink shrimp, dried tuna, and advertisements for squid cooked in their own ink. He loves that the walls of every café on the Calle de Victoria are pasted with faded posters of bullfights and portraits of matadors. He appreciates the convenience of the Metro and that so much of life in Spain is lived outside, instead of inside. He enjoys his photography mentor, Miguel, the monologues from Ben, and most of all, his exchanges with Ana. In Madrid, Daniel finally feels adult, free to pursue what inspires him, and able to navigate the world on his own.

His mother reaches across the table, interrupting his thoughts. She takes his hand. “I’ve begged your father not to tell you, but perhaps you’ve figured it out. I’ve been sick,
tesoro
.”