The Fountains of Silence

by Ruta Sepetys

  “Yeah, it’s probably wise to get confirmation first.”

  “Explain it to your friend and maybe you can speak to her sister. I’ll have a private meeting with the attorneys.”

  His “friend.” That’s how his father refers to Ana. He has no idea what he’s feeling, or has felt, for so many years.

  “Well, this is mighty unexpected. Does Cristina suspect something?”

  “Not at all. She’s having a great time.”

  “Good. Well, this is an international call so I’ll let you go. As you can imagine, I’ve got a lot to process.”

  “You and me both,” says Daniel.

  145

  “Ruth, come sit by me. Daniel, you sit next to Ana,” says Cristina, playing Cupid. She eyes the new couple with a knowing smile throughout dinner.

  “She has no idea that we’re talking about her,” says Daniel.

  “She’s adorable. And I think your father’s suggestion is wise,” says Ana. “I don’t know how a test could be conducted in Texas with Antonio here, but perhaps Nick could help? I think Julia would feel more comfortable with testing abroad. It will give her a bit of time. She’s terrified that a family member or friend might see Cristina in Madrid. She fears they’ll think she gave up the child. Or worse, that she could be punished somehow.”

  “She’s not the one who should be punished. Madrid’s a big city, but I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. We could do some sightseeing in other towns. But will she and Antonio agree to meet with me?”

  “Yes. And of course they’ll want to see Cristina somehow. Nick had an idea and said he’d put something together. Julia and Antonio will be present, but Cristina won’t know anything.”

  Daniel nods, trying to sift through it all yet remain casual at the table. “This is all so crazy.”

  “I know. It doesn’t feel real. But guess what,” whispers Ana.

  “What?”

  She leans in close. “We’re in a restaurant together.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement.

  Daniel looks at Ana’s dark eyes and soft hair, her full lips and delicate hands. Each feature is a frame of its own. The light above accents the soft angle of her neck. She wears a maroon dress that clings and drapes to distraction.

  She’s right. They’re finally in a restaurant together. He wishes they could be alone for the evening. He wants to order room service and sit on the floor, with Lola Flores singing through the radio. He wants to stay awake all night, catching up. He wants to kiss her.

  Ana reaches beneath the table and takes his hand. “I know,” she whispers. “Me too.”

  146

  Daniel waits in the lobby of the hotel. He orders coffee, hoping to revive for the afternoon. He probably looks like Ben, disheveled and untied by the snapping fingers of Madrid. For two nights he’s stayed awake with Ana in the lobby long after Cristina says she’s jet-lagged and heads to the room.

  Last night Ana convinced him they should steal down to the basement.

  “No one will see us. We can sit in the cafeteria at our corner table. It will be quiet.”

  They sat at their corner table, they talked at their corner table, they held hands at their corner table until the sparks between them were so fierce that he pulled Ana onto his lap. A flustered employee discovered them and called a supervisor.

  The thought of it makes him smile.

  Daniel stands as Ana enters the lobby with Julia and Antonio. The shape of Julia’s face, her eyes, they’re the same as the little girl who used to hide in his truck, the same as the young woman who offered him the window seat on the plane.

  “Bienvenido, caballero,” says Antonio.

  Their greetings are genuine and warm, but Julia’s face carries the ceaseless weight of secrets. Her eyes snap like a camera shutter across the lobby.

  “I wasn’t certain we should come,” says Julia.

  “I chose a private table in the back,” says Daniel.

  “Gracias,” replies Antonio, taking a seat. “I told her we must come. What Ana has told us is what our hearts have told us for years.”

  Daniel removes a photograph from his wallet. Heart pounding, he passes it to Julia.

  “¡Ay, Dios Mío!” Julia’s hands tremble. She begins to cry.

  “Virgen Santa,” breathes Antonio. “Rafa’s matador, he was right all along.” They stare at the image, nodding.

  “You call her Cristina,” says Antonio.

  “Sí. Cristina María Alonso Moya Matheson.”

  “Muy guapa,” sighs Julia.

  “My father said Cristina’s file at the Inclusa claimed she was sin datos,” says Daniel. “The Inclusa told my parents that Cristina’s birthday is estimated around March twenty-second but Ana tells me that Lali’s birthday is February twentieth.”

  “The twins were premature. They were so tiny,” says Ana. “Daniel and I now wonder if they intentionally separated the birth dates? Maybe the Inclusa wanted people to think they were adopting a child closer to a newborn?”

  “And maybe they wanted to put physical distance between twins,” says Daniel.

  Julia wrings her hands in her lap. “Señor Matheson—”

  “Please, I’d prefer if you both call me Daniel.”

  “Daniel,” begins Julia. “Please know that we accuse you of nothing. So many years have passed. You were just a boy. But your sister and my daughter look to be identical. I held the girls in my arms shortly after they were born. I kissed them both, as a new mother does, from head . . . to toe,” she emphasizes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  He nods. “Of course.” His nod halts and his eyes expand. “Wait. I do understand.”

  “¿Sí?” asks Julia. Her hands clasp with attendant hope.

  “Sí, her baby toe.”

  “Which foot?” asks Antonio.

  “Her left foot. I call it the little clover,” says Daniel.

  Antonio claps his hands to his knees. Ana wraps an arm around Julia.

  “Is that correct?” asks Daniel.

  “Sí,” says Antonio. “Years ago, when Rafa and Fuga believed something was happening, they thought it might involve hundreds of children.”

  “Once Spain transitions maybe the adoptions will be acknowledged in some way,” says Daniel.

  Julia smiles. “You’re an optimist. For now the acknowledgment will be between us. Please, let’s proceed carefully,” says Julia.

  “I think my father would like that too. But there’s a complication. I’m not sure if you know, but when I met Ana eighteen years ago—” Daniel takes her hand.

  “Amigo,” says Antonio, laughing. “Trust me, we know. We know!”

  “They know,” agrees Ana. “They’ve put up with my crying for years.”

  “Ay, how she lamented. ‘Daniel, her Daniel,’ like The Lovers of Teruel!” says Julia with a flap of her hand. She pauses, then releases a genuine smile. “But truly, I’m so happy for my sister.”

  “So, you see, I don’t want to keep our families apart,” says Daniel.

  “We appreciate your patience. Julia and I will certainly discuss it,” nods Antonio.

  “Nick says there’s a reception in the Toledo Room of the hotel this afternoon,” says Ana. “Apparently, many people will be mingling so you can see her and it won’t feel forced.” She turns to Julia. “Cristina’s stunning and speaks lovely Spanish. But you must brace yourself. She’s quite American.”

  “I don’t care what she is,” whispers Julia. “She’s my daughter.”

  This was a fascinating period to be there because to watch a country that has been almost 40 years under a dictatorship gradually turn itself into basically a very successful democracy is, from a professional point of view, a fascinating thing to watch.

  —WELLS STABLER, U.S. ambassador to Spain (1975–1978)

  Oral History Interview Ex
cerpt, February 1991

  Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection

  Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training

  Arlington, VA www.adst.org

  147

  “I don’t think I ever saw this part of the hotel,” says Daniel.

  “Like the Placita, the Toledo Room is preserved from the original palace,” Ana explains.

  “You were going to give me a full tour years ago but we became distracted with other things.”

  “Which I’m hoping happens again soon.” She smiles.

  “Hola, buddy!” bellows Nick from the hallway. “Come with me.” He corrals Daniel down the corridor to the Toledo Room and throws open the door.

  “¡Bienvenido!” cheers a small group of people.

  Daniel looks around. Who are they welcoming? Wait—him? The reception is for him?

  A Spanish guitar begins to play. Cristina runs to him with excitement.

  “Please don’t be mad. I know you hate being the center of attention, but when Nick suggested a little welcome-back gathering, I thought it was a fun idea!”

  A round table with food and drinks sits in the center of the lavish blue room. Nick greets fellow diplomats from the embassy. Daniel cringes, hating parties, but he knows why Nick organized this one. Near the door stand Julia and Antonio.

  “Got a little surprise for you,” says Nick, pulling him across the room. Carefully displayed on the wall is a selection of his photos from 1957. The hotel. The exotic streets of Madrid. The Van Dorns’ dinner party. Rafa. Fuga. Vallecas. Nick. Ana. Standing proudly next to the photographs is an elderly man with bushy gray eyebrows.

  “Miguel?” asks Daniel. “Miguel, is that you?”

  The man opens his arms and the two photographers reunite with an embrace.

  “Miguel, it’s so good to see you! I’ve thought of you so often. I can’t believe it, you kept my duplicate photos, after all these years?”

  “Sí. A promise is a promise. I also have these photos.” Miguel lifts a copy of National Geographic from the table. “We followed you through the years, Texano. Ana would run to the shop and ask questions about your photos. Together we dissected every detail and made markings on a map to follow you. Caramba, we worried.” Miguel puts his hands on Daniel’s shoulders. His voice rolls low with emotion. “What a journey you’ve been on. I am so proud of you, amigo. Capa would be proud too.”

  Daniel doesn’t care that his eyes are welling for all to see. Like Ben, the man in front of him believed when others didn’t. He gives Miguel another hug and in the process spots Julia and Antonio speaking to Cristina. The conversation appears light and happy. Cristina, ever affectionate, reaches out and touches Julia before she leaves and heads toward the photos. Julia’s joy is radiant, even from afar. Ana smiles and squeezes his arm.

  Nick regales a press attaché with stories about the photos.

  “Look at my busted face!” says Nick. “I had two sinus surgeries after that beating. But you should have seen what Danny boy did to the other guys. He took that picture from the front seat of a taxi on the way to the hospital.”

  Daniel looks at his self-portrait, taken after the fight, in the mirrored elevator. Staring back at him is an eighteen-year-old kid, standing tall, bloody, and unapologetic, ready to charge against the wind.

  Miguel’s hand touches his back. “Ay, still the same,” he says quietly.

  Cristina approaches the group. “Who’s the smoking man in so many of the pictures?” asks Cristina. “Is that Ben? Your Ben?”

  The smoking man. Daniel looks at a photo of Ben, alone on the dance floor. He moves to a beat entirely his own, life pouring in and out of him. He lived hard and played harder. He did the work.

  “Yep, that’s Ben. You met him once when you were little. He’s the one who got me in at the magazine. They needed a bilingual photographer for some projects in South America.”

  Cristina points to the photo of Fuga. “And who’s the bullfighter?”

  Fuga sits in the back seat of the car before the capea. Hordes of smiling children from Vallecas press against the window. Fuga’s hand touches the glass, returning their love and respect.

  “Oh, man, that guy was mythic,” says Nick. “He ate fire for breakfast. So angry and mean.”

  “No,” says Daniel. “Not at all. He was much more than that. He was special.” He reaches out and touches the photo of Fuga, recalling the matador’s concern for Ana and his belief about the stolen children.

  “Come.” Ana gently leads Daniel toward the corner. An elderly and shrunken Paco Lobo sits, his cane resting against the table. His suit jacket, once a perfect fit, now hangs large on his reduced frame. “Here he is, Paco.”

  The man’s hand trembles as he reaches up to adjust his glasses. He peers at Daniel through impossibly thick cataracts that milk his eyes. “Welcome home, Matheson. You certainly kept her waiting long enough.”

  “Am I a stupid man, or what?” says Daniel.

  “Very stupid, I think. But Ben disagreed. He always told me, ‘Don’t let her marry anyone, Paco. He’ll be back.’ Ben was your biggest fan, you know.”

  “And I his.”

  “Of course, who else would let you steal press badges?” says Paco Lobo.

  Daniel feels a tap at his shoulder. He turns to find Cristina, holding hands with a young man in a suit.

  “Daniel, this is Jaime,” says Cristina.

  “Hola, Jaime,” says Daniel slowly, looking to Ana for answers.

  The young man is polite, well-spoken, and clearly nervous. He clings to Cristina’s hand tightly.

  “Where did you two meet?” asks Ana.

  “Jaime is working at the hotel for the summer. He brought my mountains of luggage to the room on the very first day and we just clicked. I’ve told him all about Texas. He’ll be starting university here in the fall. Jaime would like to take me to dinner tonight and sightseeing this week, but of course I told him we’d need your permission.”

  Daniel looks at his sister. When did this happen and what is she thinking? Their father would object.

  He feels Ana’s hand in his.

  “Oh, I guess that’s . . . okay. Actually, I was thinking of taking Ana to Valencia for the weekend. Maybe you’d both like to join us.”

  “Really?” says Jaime.

  “That is, if your parents approve.”

  “I told you,” says Cristina. “He’s the best brother.”

  “Enjoy dinner. Be back by midnight, please,” says Daniel.

  “Midnight?” says Jaime, confused.

  “Mi amor, this is Madrid,” whispers Ana.

  Daniel grants a later curfew and his sister exits with Jaime. “Have we been duped?” he asks. “These past few nights, do you think she was really upstairs, jet-lagged?”

  “She may have been upstairs, but she wasn’t lonely or jet-lagged,” laughs Ana. She smiles. “Speaking of upstairs, we’re finally on our own for the evening.” She looks up at Daniel, running her fingers along his arm.

  He’s suddenly desperate to leave the party. Daniel leans down and whispers in her ear. “Room service or Lhardy?”

  “Room service. I’ll bring my knife and fork.”

  148

  “Don’t worry,” Ana had assured him the next morning. “They won’t give Cristina any information. Believe me, they’ll stick to sin datos. But maybe you’ll learn something.”

  Daniel leads Cristina through the gates of the Inclusa. He recounts the story of finding the little boy on the street and bringing him into the office.

  “How heartbreaking. Was I just left on the street like that, like Oliver Twist?”

  “You were in fine form when Mom and Dad adopted you. You weren’t roaming the street.”

  Cristina looks up at the imposing building. “It’s so . . . austere. I can’t imagine our mother
coming here,” she says. “But thank God she did.”

  The inside of the Inclusa stands quiet, more solemn than Daniel remembers. Their footsteps echo across the weary gray tile to the receiving office. After a few moments a nun enters. “Buenos días. May I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Sister Purificación, please.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “I don’t think so. Please tell her that an old friend would like to say hello.”

  The nun looks at them appraisingly. “Have a seat in the library. It’s the second door on the right.”

  Cristina slips her hand into Daniel’s as they walk down the hall. The hush of the Inclusa inspires whispering. “This is it. My very first home.”

  “You okay?”

  She nods.

  They sit at a table in the stark and lonely library. Cristina’s orange-and-yellow minidress screams with color amidst the drab books clinging to decades of silence. After an extended period a nun appears in the doorway. She does not enter, but stands, peering into the room. She is of medium height, thickset, and plain of face. Her lips purse, as if holding a button within them.

  Daniel stands. “Sister Purificación, so good to see you.”

  “Hello.” The word is spoken so softly it’s barely audible.

  The nun takes a cautious step forward, peering at them.

  “It’s been many years, Sister. I’m Daniel Matheson from Texas. We met one summer long ago when I was visiting Madrid. I stayed at the Castellana Hilton. I’m a friend of your cousin Ana.”

  Puri looks at Daniel and a nerve near her mouth twitches. Her eyes move to Cristina. She stares, unblinking.