The Fountains of Silence(33)

Rafa takes his friend by the shoulders. “Tranquilo, amigo. I don’t understand. They asked you to bury an empty coffin?”

Fuga nods. He walks to his bed of straw and kicks it, creating a swirl of dust.

“Who brought it to you?”

Fuga stares at the wall of the shed. “Clinic. Many coffins they bring are too light.”

“The maternity clinic is asking you to bury empty coffins? I don’t understand. Why?”

Fuga whirls to face him. “Because the babies aren’t dead.”





34



“Delivery for room 760.”

760. Daniel’s room.

“Gracias,” says Ana. The hospitality manager drops a box into her basket.

Once in the elevator, Ana steals a glance at the small box. It’s a roll of tape. Grateful for the opportunity to see Daniel, she plans her apology for Puri’s questions.

He opens the door on her first knock.

“Hola, se?or. Hospitality asked me to deliver this.” Ana extends the small box.

“Thanks.” Daniel props the door open with his boot. “Come in for a moment?”

Ana stands, frozen in the hallway. “Does your room need servicing, se?or?”

“Servicing? No, I’d like to show you my photos.”

“Perhaps your drapes need adjusting?”

“No, they’re fine.”

Ana remains outside the door, smiling, until Daniel realizes. She isn’t allowed into his room without a service request.

“Oh, can you help me open the door to the balcony?”

“Certainly, se?or.” Ana shifts the basket from her hip and enters. The suite, already warm, will be sweltering within minutes. She slides the glass door open anyway.

On the floor near the wall is a mosaic of pictures. Daniel waves her over.

“I put them together with Miguel,” he explains. “Each grouping should tell a story. They’ll be easier to see once I tape them to the wall.”

Ana nods, staring at the photos. They do tell a story. In fact, they tell many stories.

“Do you like them?” he asks, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“Sí. Very much, se?or. Especially the photos of the children.”

Ana mentions the children, but she is staring at the photos of the Van Dorns’ dinner party. She gazes at the long, elegant table, the sparkling crystal goblets, the tangles of fresh grapes roped between sterling candelabras. He’s captured it all.

The air in the room is suddenly thick, creeping and pressing in around Ana. She removes a small accordioned fan from her apron pocket. “Is it too hot with the door open, se?or? Shall I turn the air-cooling on?” she asks, fluttering air toward her face.

“No, I’m fine.” Daniel tugs at the center seam of his western shirt. The pearl snaps create a soft pop as he pulls them apart. “So, you got my note.”

“Yes, more ice.” Ana gives a weak laugh, willing herself not to look at him.

Daniel’s gaze is upon her. She can feel it, serious, as if he were trying to capture the moment on film.

“In the note I mentioned an idea,” he says.

“Yes. This is a very good idea,” says Ana. “I like the way the photos are organized.”

“Oh.” Daniel pauses and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. His voice drops in volume. His eyes fasten to hers. “Actually, that’s not the idea I was referring to.”

Alarm bells crash in Ana’s head, while a mixture of hope and fear beats through her chest. Daniel steps in close. His plaid shirt hangs open, revealing a damp white T-shirt beneath.

“I was thinking, well, I guess I was hoping . . . ,” he says quietly.

Ana stares at the photos instead of Daniel. She knows she should step away, but her feet have grown roots through the floor. She should not allow him so close. She should not inhale the smell of his expensive aftershave. But the roots are growing, snaking all the way down to the dark, stone basements.

“I was hoping you might work on a project with me,” says Daniel.

“A project?” Her voice is a whisper. Her fan bats like a butterfly.

“I’d like to create a story about life in Spain, but through the eyes of people our age.”

A story. About Spain. The roots snap. Ana’s heart freefalls into her stomach. Disappointment and relief flood through her in equal parts. “Why?” she asks, tucking the fan and her hope back into the apron.

“To illustrate differences and similarities between us, between the U.S. and Spain.”

Ana steps away from Daniel.

What similarities could he possibly see between them? Daniel can travel anywhere in the world. He is heir to an oil dynasty, lives a life of privilege, and enjoys every freedom imaginable. He can vote in an election, pray to any God of his choosing, and speak his personal feelings aloud in public.

“We could remain anonymous,” says Daniel quickly. “Like Robert Capa and Gerda Taro. You could be Jane Doe.”

“Jane Doe?”

“Sí, Jane Doe means ‘an anonymous woman.’ As Jane, you could provide a lens into Spain that I can’t access on my own. We could work together. You’re a good subject and a good photographer. Look.” Daniel points to two photos on the desk. One is the photo of Ana in the elevator. He hands it to her.