The Fountains of Silence(103)

“My parents are finally divorced,” says Nick. “Mom is dating a college rowing coach. Great guy. Ben told us about your mom. I’m very sorry. I should have sent a card. But I bet your dad is happy to have you back in Dallas. Try as we might, we both ended up in the same professions as our fathers. Isn’t that crazy, Dan?”

“Yeah,” says Daniel, staring out the window. “Crazy.”





135



The arrival at the hotel takes on a surreal, dreamlike dimension. The crescent apron drive, the marbled chessboard foyer with steps up to the circular lobby. It’s completely the same, yet different. An old film ghosts through Daniel’s head and heart. He expects Carlitos to pop out at any moment or Lorenza to stroll by selling cigars and cigarettes. He looks to the corner of the lobby where Ben and Paco Lobo sat for hours. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Ruth handles check-in while a porter takes their luggage. “Is any of the old staff still here?” asks Daniel.

“I doubt it. Maybe one or two.” Nick sighs. “Life’s a river, Dan. It moves and it flows. So, is there anything specific Cristina would like to do?”

Daniel follows Nick’s gaze to his sister, chattering away to the porter handling her towers of luggage. “Well, think of us when we were eighteen. I’m sure Cristina wants to see as much as possible.”

“And what about you?” Nick studies his face. “As much as possible?”

Daniel scans the lobby. The opening to the staircase and the double basements is still there. Dinner with Ana in the staff cafeteria flashes before him. The same narrow elevators are still there. Her reflection in the mirrors blinks through his mind.

“I know you won’t ask, so I will,” says Nick. “I’ve reconnected with Ana since I’ve returned to Madrid. Do you want to see her?”

The question has such an easy answer, yet Daniel stands, frozen. He thinks of his mother’s words, that feeding memories is dangerous.

“Let me rephrase,” says Nick. “I’ve reconnected with Ana since I’ve returned to Madrid. We’re friends. She’s single. Are you single?”

Daniel nods.

“Okay, then. I’ll speak to her.”

“Wait, when?”

“Probably today.”

“Today? That’s so soon,” says Daniel.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of notice. I have to speak to her anyway.”

“How is she?” asks Daniel. “How’s her family?”

Cristina comes running, waving a key. “We’re in suite 760!”

Daniel looks to Nick. He shrugs. “A little bird reminded me.”

“We stayed on the seventh floor when we were here,” he tells his sister.

“Ruth says Ava Gardner used to stay on the seventh floor and that she held wild parties. I’m so excited, I could just burst!” says Cristina, hugging Daniel.

Excited. Is that what he’s feeling? No. It feels more like the old unholy ghost of Spain.

Fear.





136



Cristina unpacks her luggage and chatters nonstop. “Your bag is so small. You did bring shoes other than boots, didn’t you?”

Daniel assures his sister that he brought clothes and won’t embarrass her. He also brought his camera, and for the first time in years he feels an incredible desire to use it.

The layout of the suite is exactly the same. Only the furnishings are different. Two beds are situated in the bedroom. In addition to a radio, there is now a television in the suite and a modern rotary dial phone. The Castellana Hilton crest is gone, replaced by the InterContinental logo.

Eighteen years ago he stood in this exact room, taping photos to the wall. He looks to the floor in front of the sofa, where he and Ana sat for hours after their room-service dinner. He sees the wall where Ana pulled him in for the kiss that never let go. He thinks of the knife and fork she smuggled to the room. It makes him laugh.

“What’s so funny?” says Cristina.

“The amount of luggage you brought,” he replies.

Daniel takes a seat on the terrace. Madrid’s heat wraps him in its arms, stirring anticipation from ash. He’s excited, scared, and nervous. He’s never felt this way, not even during a dangerous photo assignment. Nick seems exactly the same, just a bit more mature. Is his unpredictable nature the same? Will he show up tipsy at the hotel room door with Ana in tow? He hopes not. Should he shower and shave just in case?

Cristina joins him on the balcony. She reclines, lifting her long, dark hair and dropping it to hang off the back of the chair. She closes her eyes.

“It’s so odd,” she says. “I only spent a few months of my life here. But as we drove from the airport, I felt this magnetic tug toward the city. I felt . . . emotional. Do you think I’m having a midlife-adoption-identity crisis?”

Daniel looks at his sister. She doesn’t resemble him nor their parents, but doesn’t stand out in Dallas as different, either. “Well, I think you’re a ways from midlife, Cris. But identity, sure. Roots and heritage, they’re powerful. I’m glad you feel a connection here.”

“It’s more than a connection. I can’t describe it. Maybe I’m just excited to be here. Or excited to be out of Texas. Or maybe I’m creating emotions to fill the gap of Mom.”