The Fountains of Silence(11)

—WILLIAM K. HITCHCOCK, special assistant to U.S. Ambassador, Madrid (1956–1960) Oral History Interview Excerpt, July 1998

Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training Arlington, VA www.adst.org





10



The baby finally sleeps. Puri watches her breathe, her tiny fingers pinching the thin blanket. Just a few months old, 20 116 is smaller than most. Puri has a special affection for the infant. Her disposition is always calm and sweet. 20 116 is sin datos—she has no data. Upon arrival at the orphanage, no information was included. After baptism at the Inclusa, she is now María, as are many of the baby girls with no data. But Puri has her own secret name for her. She calls this special girl Clover. She will be one of the lucky ones.

Arrivals to the orphanage take several forms. There are children, like Clover, who have no information. There are children who do have information, notes pinned to a blanket:

He has been baptized Manuel.

Please hold her. She likes to be held.

Baby will not eat. Cries constantly.

God forgive me.



* * *





In addition to the children with and without data, there are new mothers at the Inclusa. The orphanage provides shelter for destitute mothers and their newborns. The women serve as wet nurses for the other infants.

Sister Hortensia says a priest from San Sebastián is coming for Clover. He will deliver her to adoptive parents. She will live along the glistening shores of the bay under the beautiful new statue of Jesus looking down from Mount Urgull. A lucky girl indeed.

Puri walks through the rows of ruffled bassinets. Dozens of babies, all under a year old. This is her favorite part of the job. Auxilio Social, Spain’s social aid program, provides humanitarian relief—giving special attention to widows, orphans, and the poor. It is the duty of every good Spaniard to help those in need.

Puri longs to be a good Spaniard, to support the noble country El Caudillo fought so hard to build. Her work at the Inclusa will prepare her for her ultimate destiny of motherhood. She loves the babies and they return her love. The doctors at the Inclusa advise that infants without physical bond or affection seem to progress more slowly. Puri’s job is to interact with the babies. To rescue innocent children and give them a future—yes, she will be a good Spaniard.

Beyond the window, the sky darkens. Puri has stayed too long with the babies today. She hangs her pinafore apron on the hook and makes her way to the receiving office to collect her purse.

Puri’s eyes land on the square opening in the wall near the door.

The box, it’s called el torno.

Outside, on the busy street, is a private, walled entry to the Inclusa so visitors may access the torno without being seen. The door to the square hatch in the wall is opened and the infant placed on a large plate wheel. When the wheel is turned, the child spins from the outside wall to the inside of the receiving office. When the door to the torno closes, the child becomes an orphan.

This is the standard process Puri is familiar with, unless a nun or doctor brings an infant in through the back door. Like Clover.

Puri once asked about the backdoor arrivals, but was reprimanded. “Being nosy is a sin. Don’t ask so many questions.” She wasn’t being nosy, just curious. There’s a difference. But her mother also says curiosity is a sin.

Puri exits the building. She still has plenty of time. The portales, the large cast-iron gates of the apartment buildings, aren’t locked in Madrid until ten thirty. After ten thirty, you must give three quick claps of the hands, calling into the darkness for el sereno, the night watchman.

Puri has never called for el sereno. She is never out late. She stays in, reading about her bullfighters in the newspaper clippings.

“?Espere!” A woman on the sidewalk rushes to Puri. “Please, please tell me.” She clutches Puri’s sleeve.

“Se?ora, what is the matter?”

“My baby,” the woman whispers. “They sent my baby for baptism. That was two days ago. I’m still waiting. Have you seen him?”

The woman’s grip tightens on Puri’s arm. Puri tries to pull away.

“Where is my baby? Is he inside?” pleads the woman.

“Of course not,” replies Puri. “This is an orphanage.”

Sister Hortensia appears in the front window.

“Come, why don’t you speak to Sister,” suggests Puri.

The woman quickly recoils and flees down the dark sidewalk.

Poor thing, thinks Puri. She’s gone mad.





11



The table stretches the length of the entire dining room. As each course passes, the volume level grows. Twenty faces, illuminated by candles, shift and sway as they talk, creating patterns of light on the plaster ceiling. Summer homes, college alma maters, and who knows whom—each guest chatting, loading their side of the scale.

Ben Stahl, seated next to Daniel, sips his scotch and watches the guests intently. He leans in, his cigarette dangerously close to Daniel’s sleeve.

“All right, newsboy. Give me one word. What do you see here?”

Daniel hesitates, pulling at the noose of his tie.

“Quick, what do you see?”

“Competition,” says Daniel.

“Exactly!” Ben waves in agreement and, in the process, flings ash onto his plate. “A long, dark hallway of fragile egos. Come on, another word.”