The Fountains of Silence (44 page)

119

They stand in line for blood.

One following the other, the Crows march to the crowded jail cell. They ask Rafa questions. They ask the same questions again. And again.

“What was your friend’s full name?”

“I don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know.”

They don’t believe him. They hold up a picture of Fuga. Where did they get it?

“How could a man who is weeping, leaking loss from the depths of his soul not know his
amigo
’s name? You’re a liar.”

Rafa reaches through the bars of the cell for the photo. They snap it away. “
Él quería ser torero
,” Rafa tells them. He wanted to be a bullfighter. That’s all. He tells them over and over.

“And you?” they demand.

Rafa hangs his head. I pledged to protect him, he should say. But he won’t. The Crows don’t deserve the satisfaction.

When the Crows step away, a prisoner next to him whispers, “Don’t tell them anything. Say you’re from Andalucía, that you’ll leave Madrid and never come back.”

A man from Vallecas is also in the jail cell. He moves toward Rafa. “He’s right, Rafa. Tell them nothing. You’ve never been arrested. They don’t know you like they know us. Come to the back of the cell where you can’t be seen. They’ll keep you for a few weeks. When you leave,
walk the road south out of Madrid. They’ll follow you for a while. Just keep walking. Eventually, Father Fernández will come for you. He always does. He’ll take you back to Vallecas. That’s how this works.”

Rafa won’t listen. He grabs the bars of the cell, trying to shake them loose as he screams. “Where is he? Please, let me bury his body!”

The man from Vallecas puts a comforting hand on his back.

Rafa can’t bear the thought of Fuga being dumped in a common trench, his limp body salted with the dirt of his own shovel.

“Who is your family?” demand the Crows.

The question drills into Rafa. His family. If they discover who he is, could Julia, Antonio, and Ana all be punished? Will their years of hard-won anonymity in Madrid be ruined?

You know my family, he wants to say. When I was a tiny boy, I watched you murder my father. My parents were respected teachers. You arrested our mother for sewing flags.

And don’t forget the children.

Rafa’s head snaps like a whip. The voice is Fuga’s. It’s clear and close.

This reminds me of our time in the detention hole in the boys’ home. Remember?

Rafa looks behind him. He looks out from the bars.

Not out there,
amigo
. In here.

120

Puri dashes from cabinet to cabinet, opening and closing the drawers.

Where is 1940, the year of her birth? Her parents met and married in Madrid. If they adopted her, it would have been from the Inclusa. Her pulse beats. Her neck is chilled with sweat. How long has she been in the basement? Has Sister noticed the keys are no longer on her desk?

She pulls a file. Year: 1940.

Assigned orphan numbers mean nothing to her. She must look for her parents’ names.

It’s taking too long. She slams the file drawer.

She heads to the next row of cabinets.
Faster, Puri. Faster!
She rounds the corner and hits a wall. As she falls to the cement floor, the iron keys tumble from her hand and clatter to the ground.

Puri looks up. It’s not a wall. It’s the stark white robes.

Of Sister Hortensia.

She stares at Puri. Silent.

“Sister . . .” Puri scrambles to rise.

“No, stay there. I’ve been standing here, listening to you rifle through each cabinet. I knew you were up to something. Don’t compound your filthy sins with lies. What are you looking for, Purificación? Tell me.”

The slap of condescension and the words
filthy sins
spark a familiar anger in Puri. “I’m looking . . . for answers,” she says flatly.

Sister Hortensia opens her arms. “Ah . . . and what would you like to know?”

Sister looms over her, eyebrows raised, waiting. Her expression suddenly softens. She releases a deep sigh and drops her arms.

“Just tell me, child.”

Puri notes the retreat of her grimace, her look of concern. She makes the decision.

“Am I adopted, Sister? And if so, did my parents have to pay a ridiculous sum of money for me?”

Sister Hortensia’s mouth pulls into a tight smile as she nods slowly. “Ridiculous. I see. You are looking for your story, Purificación? Why didn’t you just say so? Well, let us begin. Once upon a time there was a pair of filthy Reds who created a degenerate child. The Reds cared more for themselves than for the baby so they abandoned her. The girl was blessed to be adopted by a wonderful, loving couple. But despite many years of efforts, and even the girl’s own best intentions, she remained rotten on the inside. You see, like her Red parents, she cared more for herself than others—so much that she stole keys to a private file library, trespassed, violated privacy laws, and committed crimes against the country of Spain. Oh dear, how shall the story end? Perhaps I should find the police and let them decide.”

“No. Please,” cries Puri.

“Sí.”
Sister Hortensia nods. “The police or the Guardia Civil will best know how to handle this.” Her voice deepens and she speaks through gritted teeth. “Hand me the keys.”

Puri reaches for the keys and throws herself at the feet of Sister Hortensia.

121

You don’t understand me.
You’re making this harder and it’s hurting me.
How could she say those things? He’s equal parts upset and angry.

Daniel returns to the hotel and Carlitos rushes to his side. “Will she be coming back? Can anything be done?”

Daniel shakes his head. “I don’t think so, Buttons.”

Carlitos balls his small fists. “Lorenza says that Ana is in trouble because she stole something. But I know that can’t be true.”

“Don’t believe Lorenza.”

“
Ay
, of course not! Lorenza and the man from the embassy are making trouble together.”

Daniel stops to face Carlitos.

“Which man from the embassy?”

Carlitos hesitates.

“C’mon, Buttons. I need your help. Which man from the embassy?”

Carlitos leans toward Daniel and points up to the lobby where Nick is sitting. “The one we spoke of, his father. Don Juan. But,
señor
, don’t bother yourself with this. It’s just gossip and whispers from the basement.”

“What else have you heard in the basement?”

Carlitos looks around quickly. He takes a breath. “They say Lorenza flatters Don Juan so he’ll give her American dollars and information. She wants the attention of all the men. Lorenza dated Rafa, but only because Fuga rejected her. Rafa broke up with Lorenza and
now she’s angry. They say Lorenza is jealous of Ana and writes secret notes to scare her. Sweet Ana has no idea it’s Lorenza.”

Carlitos shakes his head dramatically. “So much silliness. But I know something about Lorenza that no one knows.” He nods, beckoning Daniel closer. “Lorenza’s father,” he whispers. “He wears a cape. He’s a Guardia Civil. Of course Rafa doesn’t know. I’d bet a pail of
pesetas
that Ana doesn’t know either.”

Daniel stares at the bellboy, trying to process the information:

Lorenza has been writing notes to Ana?

Rafa was dating Lorenza?

Lorenza’s father is a Crow. Ben’s words return to him:

Steer clear of those fire engine lips. You don’t know who she’s flapping them to.

“Thanks, Buttons. Your help is worth more than a pail of
pesetas
.” He removes a large bill from his wallet and gives it to Carlitos.

His attempts at maturity thin and Carlitos bounces with excitement. He pistols his fingers at Daniel. “Tex-has. Pow! Pow!”

Daniel walks through the lobby to Nick, whose face is still mottled with remnants of the alley incident.

“
Hola
, cowboy,” says Nick. “Rough days, eh?”

Daniel sits to face him. “I spoke to your dad. After your fight he said he owed me a favor. So I asked him to get Ana rehired.”

Truth and regret rise to Nick’s face. “Oh, Dan, I—”

“Don’t worry. I figured it out on my own. Ben filled in the rest.”

“It’s just—Ana and I—we made a promise.” Nick looks around before speaking. “It’s so complicated. The embassy, my mom, it’s embarrassing for both of us.”

“I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” says Nick. His tone softens. “I see your parents together. Your father’s a steady guy, an honorable guy. My dad? Shep’s a lech. I can’t even bring a girl home. He’s awful and
humiliating. It’s a game for him. And sometimes people get hurt. Me. My mother. Ana. Have you spoken to her?”

“Just did.”

“And?”

Daniel shakes his head, struggling to hold his emotions in place. “Nick, talk to her for me. Please. I can’t let things end like this.”

“Sure. I can try,” says Nick earnestly. “I want to help. What do you want me to tell her?”

“Tell her to meet me for dinner. A real dinner. Have her meet me at Lhardy at nine tomorrow. Will you do that? I just need a few hours with her, to talk things through.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

Daniel stares at Nick. Can he trust him? “Nick, promise me you’ll get Ana there.”

“I will. I owe you that and more.”

Nick Van Dorn does owe him. But he just told Daniel that he doesn’t understand. Nick, Fuga, Ana. They all say he doesn’t understand. But he’s sure he does. What is he missing?

“Say . . . Dan,” stammers Nick. “There’s something I want to run by you.”

Laura Beth appears in the lobby. She strides toward them in an emerald-green dress and white gloves. “Well, hello there. Daniel, I’ve asked Nick to show me around Madrid.”

Nick looks to Daniel and shrugs sheepishly.