The Fountains of Silence(56)

Ana’s eyes expand with shock and tears. “Gracias, se?ora,” she whispers.

They stand, absorbing the exchange. Daniel’s mother reaches for the desk and seats herself in the chair.

“Oh my,” says Daniel’s mother. “Look at us, both emotional. We can’t have that.”

“No, se?ora.”

“Well, then.” She takes a deep breath. “Let’s move on. My husband and I would like to take our son somewhere special for dinner tonight. What do you know of Lhardy?”

Lhardy.

Se?ora Matheson has mentioned the one restaurant that Ana is desperate to visit.

“Lhardy is magical. It’s been open for over a hundred years. They say that Queen Isabel II used to steal away from the palace just to eat at Lhardy. Of course, I’ve only been on errands to the foyer for a cup of broth or a croquette, but the doorman and staff are always lovely. At Lhardy, everything is refinement, Se?ora Matheson. Waiters stand behind screens, so not to interrupt the guests but to watch and tend to their every need.”

Ana realizes she is blathering. “Of course, you must consult the concierge for his opinion as well,” she says.

“I see no need. Not after that glowing recommendation. Please ask the concierge to make a reservation for nine p.m.”

“Yes, se?ora.”

Lhardy.

Tonight Daniel and his parents will dine at Lhardy. Tonight they will taste the delicious cocido a la madrile?a under flickering gaslight and sip a full-bodied Rioja.

Ana swallows hard. Tonight Daniel may learn the truth.





67



“?Estás ahí, Miguel?” calls Daniel into the empty shop.

Miguel emerges from behind the curtain. “Hola, Texano. Feeling better?”

“Sí, gracias. I’m sorry I left so quickly yesterday. You said you wanted to discuss my photos?”

Daniel removes the stack of pictures from his bag and lays them on the counter in pre-organized configurations.

“I’d like to discuss your photographs, but also how you captured these images.”

Daniel shifts his feet. “Oh, the photos from Vallecas?”

“Sí. I recognize Ana and her family. They invited you?”

“No. That was an error on my part. Someone gave me the address and suggested I visit. I didn’t know it was inappropriate,” Daniel says. “I do now.”

“And how did you earn these people’s trust to allow you to photograph them?”

“We talked as I walked through the village. They seemed happy to have their pictures taken. That’s one of the reasons I came back so soon. I’d like to have reprints made so I can give each person their photo this weekend.”

“That’s very generous of you,” says Miguel, as Daniel hands him the negatives.

“Thank you for making the enlargement of Rafa’s friend. I gave it to Ana.”

“I couldn’t resist. The image called for it. Who is he? In your photo he looks like a true matador.”

“He’s a friend of Rafa’s, someone he trains with.”

Miguel’s large brows descend over his eyes. “Trains? Trains where? They’re not entering breeders’ pastures, are they?”

“I don’t know.”

Miguel looks at Daniel’s photos, spread out before him. “It’s a hard life there. I’m sure you saw. There’s no running water, no facilities, only fountains. There is beauty in Vallecas, but you have to have the eyes to see it. Your photos, they show a strong human spirit. I hope the judges of your contest will recognize that.”

Daniel looks at the photographs. They’re portraits of everyday life. People in lines at the fountain, a woman weaving a basket in the doorway while a cat prowls a hole in the roof. The raven-haired girl examining a cut on her knee. Ana washing Fuga’s face. Her baby niece asleep in a wooden crate.

“What are your intentions with these photos, amigo?” asks Miguel.

“My intentions?”

“Sí. You are assembling a story. Are these really for the contest you mentioned or for something else?”

“They’re for the contest,” says Daniel.

Miguel nods. “Just remember that images without explanation are easily misinterpreted.”

“Like the nun with the baby?”

Miguel puts up his hands and steps back from the counter. “Ay, I know nothing of that.”

Can that be true? Miguel lived through the war. He’s developed thousands of photos. He understands that the images that speak the loudest are often the most curious, controversial, or dangerous.

“Miguel, I really want a photo of the Guardia Civil for my contest submission. They’re so menacing, like human crows, pecking at the population. The right image could make a real statement about authority and power in Spain.”

“It could also land you in jail. Don’t even try.”

“I did try, but was apprehended.”

Miguel’s face loses color. His voice is a whisper. “You were apprehended? Trust me, you don’t need that photo. Por favor. Forget about it.”

“Forget about it? Is that what Capa would have done?” asks Daniel.

“We don’t know. Remember, Texano, Capa’s dead.”