The Fountains of Silence(111)

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.