The Fountains of Silence(18)

Sister Hortensia appears in the garden. She walks slowly around the edge of the grass, hands hidden beneath her thick white robes. Only her face is exposed, framed by the starched coif of her habit. Are nuns also susceptible to rickets?

Sister Hortensia is squat, with a strong jaw softened by gentle eyes. Sister devotes her entire existence to the protection and care of the orphans. She is firm with the children, yet kind. Some young mothers at the Inclusa whisper about Sister Hortensia. They prefer Sister Pilar, a woman of their own age, with a loving laugh and patient heart.

Although Puri respects Sister Hortensia, a tiny part of her fears her. If what the young mothers whisper is true, Sister Hortensia has tremendous power. And now, out of the corner of her eye, Puri watches the wooden rosary swing from Sister’s robes as she moves closer. A small boy tugs at Puri’s hand, pulling her attention to the children. A little girl tries to braid her hair. A third child climbs onto Puri’s back.

“Good afternoon, Sister,” greets Puri. Sister Hortensia nods and then stops, staring at her. Puri feels the nerves beneath her skin begin to tiptoe. She glances down at her apron. It’s smeared with diaper cream and talcum from the nursery. Cleanliness is a sign of spiritual purity. “I’m sorry, Sister.”

Sister gives a forgiving nod, turning her gaze to the row of olive trees. She speaks without looking at Puri. “I saw you from the window yesterday. A woman approached you on the street. What did she say?”

Puri is eager to share the odd experience. Perhaps Sister will have answers.

“She was confused. She was told that her baby had been taken for baptism. The child was never returned to her. She asked if he was here.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“Well, I explained that he could not be here, that this is an orphanage. And then she scurried away. I think the poor woman was suffering emotional distress.”

“Indeed,” agrees Sister Hortensia. “Pray for her,” she says, and walks away.

Puri nods. She wants to ask if emotional distress can be prayed away like polio, but tucks the thought aside. She asks too many questions.





17



“Welcome back, se?or!”

Carlitos greets Ana and Daniel at the entrance of the hotel. “No telegram yet,” he announces.

“Gracias, Carlitos,” says Ana.

The round upper lobby of the hotel brims with people, all chattering in English. Daniel sees his mother, as well as Shep Van Dorn and Ben Stahl, the reporter.

“It’s the monthly luncheon for the American Club of Madrid,” whispers Ana.

A voice appears from behind. “And what are you two doing?”

The voice belongs to Nick Van Dorn. He stares intently at Ana. “Hello, Ana,” he says, and then nods to Daniel.

Daniel nods in reply, noting Nick’s unbroken gaze toward Ana.

“Buenas tardes,” says Ana quietly. After an elastic pause, she adds, “I was on errands for the Mathesons. I’m sorry, but I’m in a rush. I have a task to finish for Se?ora Matheson.”

“Thanks again for your help,” says Daniel.

“My pleasure, se?or.” She turns and darts through the crowd.

“How do you know her?” asks Daniel.

“Just a friend,” replies Nick. “Come on, have lunch with us.”

Daniel eyes the men in suits and ties. “I’d better change first.”

“Nah, then you’ll be boring like the rest of us. Let the girls think you’re the Marlboro Man.”

Daniel follows Nick to the circular upper lobby, where beverages are being served. Waiters balancing silver trays of sangria thread through dozens of well-heeled guests. Nick helps himself to a drink.

“Most of these people are families of American diplomats or officers from the U.S. air bases,” explains Nick. “The hotel is constantly hosting functions for them.”

Daniel spies Paco Lobo, the hotel’s resident guest, petting the bilingual parrot that serves as the lobby mascot. He’s about to reach for his camera when he hears the laugh.

It belongs to his mother. It’s not her real laugh, it’s the one she uses when she’s nervous. Turning toward the counterfeit sound, Daniel sees Shep Van Dorn regaling his mother with a story.

Nick lets out a breath of disgust upon seeing his father. “Where’s your dad?” he asks.

Daniel shrugs. “Probably working. He’s always working.” And somehow always working against me, thinks Daniel. He’d love to tell his father about Miguel and the camera shop but knows he’d dismiss it as a waste of time.

He follows Nick through the crowd toward Ben.

“Do you know who Ben’s talking to?” asks Nick. Daniel shakes his head.

“That’s Max Factor Jr., the Hollywood cosmetics mogul. He and his wife are staying at the hotel. Franco allows some of the Hollywood studios to shoot movies here.” Nick approaches, close enough to listen but not interrupt.

“When I saw the black winged hats and long coats, I assumed it was a costume and they were filming,” says Factor with a laugh. “I was going to mention our new product line.”

“Trust me,” says Ben, “the Guardia Civil are not actors. Where did you see them?”

Daniel takes a step closer. His stomach drops a step back.