The Fountains of Silence(66)

“Yeah? Don’t need my help anymore?” he calls after her. “Got yourself a beau? Who is it?”

Ana stops at the door and whirls to face Nick. “Yes, I do. His name is Tom Collins.” She gives a sweet shrug and walks through the door.

Nick scratches his head, confused. “Well, that’s a sorry break, Dan. Sounds like you’ll have to get in line behind this Tom character and then you’ll have to fight our pal Fuga.”

Daniel smiles. Nick’s wrong. Tom Collins just passed him a private message.

He’s definitely staying for the dance.





83



Puri stands on a chair in her mother’s closet, reaching for the box she knows is there. She has snooped before, but at the time, the box didn’t interest her. Jewelry and lipstick were more interesting than files and correspondence about the war. But now more than ever, all things locked and hidden pull Puri. Tonight her parents are with friends for dinner. There’s plenty of time.

She pulls the metal box from the far corner of the shelf and sits down in the closet.

Although the photos are faded, Puri recognizes her aunt. Ana looks much like her. Two sisters—her mother and Ana’s mother—stand together, arms linked, smiles wide. The smile on her mother’s face is spontaneous and carefree. Puri doesn’t recognize the easy expression. It’s foreign and makes her feel uncomfortable, as if her mother used to be a different person. A thick square of folded paper sits in the box. It’s stained and without envelope. Puri unfolds the paper.

    Dearest Sister,

Forgive my hurried hand. Each time I write, it is with the knowing that the end draws closer. The guards remind me daily that the best cure for my suffering is death.

Yet I cling to life. It is my final resistance.

But if you receive this letter, Teresa, I am gone.

Although you are far away in Madrid, you must hide your grief. Hide it well or you will be marked a sympathizer. You will not be alone in your silence. Our country has entered a period of memory hibernation and I fear this “winter” could be long.

You once asked if new schools were worth dying for. I told you they were. I still believe that. Our husbands stood on opposite sides during the war, each defending their convictions. I hold no grudge. But I never fathomed that brutality could exist to this extent. The war is over but the torture continues. A hunting permit is required to kill a rabbit, yet each day I see women tortured and killed at whim. Today, the young daughter of a journalist was dealt such bestial blows she died choking on her own blood.

In many ways, it is the children of our country who will pay for this war—my own included—and for that, I cannot forgive myself. Teresa, there are so many children who are desperate and orphaned. I have seen them tear newborns from a mother’s arms just prior to execution. I know you have long tried for a child of your own, but if you could find it in your heart, dear sister, please give shelter to any that you can. Build a family from the broken pieces.

I’ve begged Julia to stay away but she has found ways to communicate. She will get this letter to you. What indescribable sorrow it causes me, knowing that my elder daughter will sacrifice her childhood to take care of the family. Julia will contact you when appropriate. She understands the necessity of silence.

Take comfort that this silence is not yours alone, Teresa. In the fields, across the mountains, under the streets, and beneath the trees lie thousands of souls, condemned to silence. But one day, far into the future when the pain is less sharp, the voices of the dead will find harmony with the living. They will make a melody. Listen for the music, Teresa. I sing for you, for my children, and for the better day I know will come. Until then, I send you all my love, sister, and my eternal gratitude for helping my children.

Yours, Belén



Puri stares at the faded, handwritten letter. The sorrowful note provides no real answers, but raises an additional question.

I know you have long tried for a child of your own, but if you could find it in your heart, dear sister, please give shelter to any that you can. Build a family from the broken pieces.

Was Aunt Belén telling her mother to adopt a child?

Puri swallows. Broken pieces. Is she one of them? No. It can’t be true.

Or could it?





84



A schoolhouse on weekdays, the dilapidated building now serves as a sweltering dance hall. There are no crystal chandeliers, no champagne fountains, no circulating hors d’oeuvres, and everyone is having a grand time.

Antonio looks through the lens of Daniel’s camera.

“Sí, like that. Turn it slowly to focus,” instructs Daniel. He looks around the room to see what Antonio might see. Fuga stands in the corner in what appears to be an angry exchange with Lorenza. Does Lorenza live in Vallecas?

“I won’t take a picture. I know that film is expensive,” says Antonio.

“That’s okay. Take pictures if you’d like. Do you see Julia?” Daniel points. Antonio finds his wife in the crowd of dancers and snaps a photo.

“Have you taken a lot of pictures in Madrid?” asks Antonio. He hands the camera back to Daniel.

“I have.” Daniel fiddles with the camera, his foot tapping to the music. “I went out to the Inclusa like you suggested.” Mention of the Inclusa triggers Nick’s comment about babies not being orphans. Could that be true? Does Antonio know something?