The Fountains of Silence(46)

Daniel thinks on Rafa’s words, on the dimension he sees before him in Vallecas. Beneath his exuberant exterior, Ana’s brother radiates sincerity and heart. “Rafa, would it be okay if I take some pictures?”

“Sure, why not.” Rafa stops walking. “?Madre mía! Is that your car?” Rafa sprints to the vehicle. “Texano, take a picture of me with the car!” Rafa abandons the buckets and leans against the car with a casual air. “Wait! I have to be holding the keys.”

Daniel tosses Rafa the keys and photographs him with the car. His smile is bright, like Ana’s, and contains two gold teeth.

“I’ll give the photo to my girlfriend,” says Rafa. His smile suddenly disappears. “Ay, don’t mention my girlfriend to my sisters,” says Rafa. “Julia doesn’t want us to socialize outside of Vallecas. Besides, if I’m part of Fuga’s cuadrilla, I won’t have time for girls. And what about you?” Rafa grins. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Daniel shakes his head.

Daniel and Rafa move the car to a nearby cemetery, where Rafa assures him it won’t be disturbed. They carry the buckets to the fountain for water, and Daniel takes photographs along the way. Amidst the poverty, there is beauty and camaraderie in Vallecas. People in the street stand tall, unapologetic. They wave Daniel forward with his camera.

The line at the fountain snakes down the road.

“It’s Sunday, the day we wash clothes and bathe,” explains Rafa.

Children crowd around Daniel, slipping their tiny hands into his pockets fishing for coins. When they reach the fountain, Rafa pumps the long arm, sending water sloshing into a wooden pail held by a shrunken white-haired woman.

“Should we carry the bucket for her?” asks Daniel.

“She won’t let you. Besides, that woman is stronger than both of us combined,” says Rafa with a laugh. They fill their buckets and make their way back to the shack.

“Have you heard of Agustín García Malla?” asks Rafa. Daniel shakes his head.

“Malla was a bullfighter from Vallecas. In his very first fight, the bull tore his mouth apart. But he was very brave and continued to fight. He lacked the elegance of some matadors but he was long on courage. In the end, Malla was gored through the heart during a fight in France. You see, Texano, there are many here in Vallecas with rips and tears like Malla. When I need advice or time to think, I go to Malla’s grave. Sometimes I find answers there.”

Daniel thinks on Rafa’s comments. He feels guilty. He doesn’t have to visit a grave for answers. When he has questions, he goes to his parents or teachers. When he is thirsty, he goes straight to his faucet. “And your parents?” he asks.

Rafa looks to him, grief rising quickly to his face. He shakes his head. “War is a thief, isn’t it?” He coughs to clear the emotion from his throat. “And now,” says Rafa, kicking a stone in the road, “we work day and night to pay for our mother in the grave, even though we can never have her back. Life is a strange story.” Rafa’s head and shoulders twitch, as if he were trying to clear pesky flies of memory from his mind.

Daniel has never known theft as Rafa does. He has never sipped from a bucket or bathed in one. He was unprepared for Vallecas. Presumptuous. What an idiot. Did he assume that everyone in Spain lived in apartments or villas? Why didn’t Nick say anything?

He must tread carefully. There’s a thin line between helpful and humiliating. He does not want to humiliate them.

As Miguel warned him, Spain is not his country.





54



Ana’s niece sleeps in a wooden crate instead of a cradle.

“Would you take a photo of Lali, se?or? I know that film and developing are very expensive, but my family would cherish a photograph of her,” says Ana.

Daniel quickly obliges and takes a portrait of the sleeping child.

Four peeling chairs and two wooden crates are placed on the dirt floor around the table. Everyone takes a seat and Antonio pours wine into chipped glasses and dented enamel mugs. Fuga, still wearing the trousers from the suit of lights, does not sit. He stands behind Rafa.

“Again, my apologies for interrupting,” says Daniel. “In Texas, we sometimes visit friends on Sunday.”

Ana nods. Her loose curls are now pinned back and her face freshly scrubbed. Daniel sits across the table from her, making it impossible to avoid each other’s eyes.

“This wine . . . I’ve never tasted anything so delicious.” Rafa sighs.

“It is lovely, thank you, se?or,” says Ana. She recognizes the wine. She’s seen it in the Placita shop of the hotel. The bottle costs more than she earns in two months. She can’t help but think of the money she could have earned from selling it. It must be painful for her sister to drink. Each delicious sip is a step backward from their new apartment.

Julia insists Ana sell all gifts from hotel guests. She eyes the two lavender boxes of candy on the table, desperate to keep them. She reaches across, pulls the ribbon on one and opens it. Julia kicks her under the table. Ana pretends to misunderstand and holds the open box to her sister. Reluctant to offend, Julia takes one of the violet clovers from the box. Perhaps she can retie the bow and still sell it as new.

“In Spain, we generally meet in cafés, not in the home,” says Antonio.

Julia smiles, softening the reprimand. “How is it that you speak Spanish so well?”