The Fountains of Silence(25)

Fear.





23



There’s so much Ana wants to say. So much she wants to ask. Is she being rude? He’s a hotel guest. Should she apologize for not answering his questions? She thinks of the swallowed note, of Julia’s warnings, and decides to say nothing. She must remain silent.

Silence is so tiring.

“Now that you’ve found your way out of the basement”—she points down the hallway—“perhaps you’d like to visit the Rendezvous Room, Se?or Matheson? It’s the hotel’s nightclub. It’s open until four a.m.”

“I’m not really interested in a nightclub.”

“Are you sure?” Ana smiles. “Nick is probably there.”

“Don’t you mean Se?or Van Dorn?” jokes Daniel.

Color drains from Ana’s face. She stares at her feet. “Yes, of course. Se?or Van Dorn. My apologies.”

“Ana, I’m joking. You call Nick by his first name. I want you to call me by mine.”

She stares at his boots, unable to meet his eyes.

“Ana, I wasn’t reprimanding you. You know that, right? I was only kidding.” He reaches out and touches her arm.

A desk clerk approaches. “A telegram has arrived for Se?ora Matheson.”

They both reach for it.

“Your mother asked me to deliver it to her room,” explains Ana, pulling the telegram in her direction.

“I have a key. I’ll put it in their room,” says Daniel, tugging it back toward him.

Ana’s breath quickens. “But your mother, she was very insistent. She might call from Valencia for the message.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll give it to her.”

Ana struggles to find words. “It felt like it might be important.”

“Then you can definitely trust me with it.” Daniel pulls the folded paper into his possession. “Thanks for everything, Ana. And please know, I was only joking.”

Ana nods slowly, watching Daniel make his way across the lobby with the telegram. He reaches the elevator and gives a wave. The fleeting sensation of fun from the basement disappears. The gold elevator doors close, leaving Ana with her one and only companion.

Loneliness.





24



They’re looking at 20 116, Puri’s favorite, the girl she calls Clover. Sister Hortensia grimaces. She stands next to Clover’s bassinet, arguing with a doctor. Across the room, Puri changes a baby’s diaper and strains to hear the conversation.

“It’s been nearly a month. I deserve an explanation,” says Sister Hortensia.

The infant wiggles under Puri’s grasp. She returns her attention to the little boy. He’s a diaper fighter. His short legs are rolls of pink fat. He’s jousting with them and enjoying every minute of it. It makes Puri laugh.

“Purificación!”

Puri stiffens at the sound of her name. She quickly pins the diaper and lifts the baby from the changing table. Worn from combat, he rests his tiny head on Puri’s shoulder.

She smiles and turns to Sister Hortensia. “He’s tired himself out.”

“Put the child down and come at once.”

Puri doesn’t want to put the child down. She wants him to rest upon her shoulder, to feel comfort, safety, and love after the diaper fight. She fears if she puts him down he might develop the trauma of loneliness the doctors describe. But she does as Sister Hortensia instructs. Her first duty is to follow orders.

Puri leans over Clover’s bassinet. The girl immediately responds to her, eyes wide and mouth curving into a smile.

“See, that’s lovely,” notes Sister Hortensia.

“She’s beautiful. Well, they’re all beautiful,” says Puri quickly. They’re not supposed to have favorites. The doctor nods and exits.

“Apparently not beautiful enough. The priest in San Sebastián informs me that there has been a change,” says Sister Hortensia.

“Oh no,” says Puri. “They’re not going to adopt her?”

Puri attempts to conceal her distress. Clover is a special girl who must have a special life. To live amidst the velvet-green mountains of San Sebastián, looking out upon the churning cobalt sea, this is the plan.

And then Puri remembers.

She recalls the article and her parents’ hushed conversation in the kitchen. The floppy Basque beret versus the jaunty military beret. The reported sign, illegally posted on a wall in San Sebastián, that says, PLEASE REMEMBER, THIS IS NOT SPAIN.

The Basque people are an indigenous population with their own language and heritage. El Caudillo wants to unite everyone as Spaniards so the Basque language has been banned and some of their schools have been turned into jails.

Is this the reason Clover is no longer going to San Sebastián? Confused while eavesdropping and even more confused now, Puri wonders. Why is it all so complicated?

“Purificación!” scolds Sister Hortensia. “Stop daydreaming. We’ll need different photos. Have them focus on facial portraits this time.” She points to Clover, swaddled in a pink blanket. “See, like that she’s perfect.”

Sister Hortensia sighs and exits the room.

What does she mean, like that? Puri wonders.