The Fountains of Silence(94)

The gravity of the situation pushes Julia into a chair.

“I’ll ask Luis if you can help at the shop or clean his home,” murmurs Julia. “Father Fernández says the men are taking up a collection for Rafa. We’ll have to use the money I saved for the apartment.” Julia speaks to the air, making plans aloud.

“Julia,” says Ana.

“Yes, we’ll use the apartment money.”

“Julia,” Ana repeats. But her sister ignores her.

“Aunt Teresa. Yes, Aunt Teresa will help.”

“Julia!”

Her sister’s gaze finally floats to her.

“Lali,” Ana says, touching the infant’s flushed cheeks. “She has a fever.”





124



Rafa leans against the grimy stone wall in the back of the jail cell. Rats gnaw and claw at the soles of his shoes. He wants to go to confession, to be in the sole presence of his dear and trusted priest. Father Fernández understands him. He always listens. He is always interested, always fair.

Rafa closes his eyes. He parts the drapes of the imagined confessional and sits on the smooth wooden bench. He begins his silent confession.

“Hail Mary the Purest,” says Rafa.

“Conceived without sin,” replies the priest.

“Padre, you have supported and guided me since I arrived in Vallecas. I stand now at a crossroads of conscience.”

“What troubles you, my child?” asks Father Fernández gently.

“The concept of sacrifice. You see, I thought sacrifice was doing something reluctantly. But now I question that. My father and mother sacrificed their lives in defense of education. They did it willingly. You have probably heard about my friend Fuga, El Huérfano. He has been promoted to heaven because he made such a grand sacrifice. And, Padre, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Fuga had . . . a knowing. He sensed lies around the infants and threats around Ana. Even in that final moment, he was aware. I stood there in the field, waiting for El Huérfano to twirl the cape, but he did not. I became confused. I had no idea what was transpiring. But Fuga, he knew. He knew a man stood behind us. He knew the man had a gun. But he did not turn.

“At first, I could not abide this. You see, this was not Fuga, Padre. He would not turn his back to anyone or anything, not fear, not death. So I’ve wondered, why did he not face his opponent?

“I’ve sat in this cell among the rats, Padre, asking questions. I realize this sounds crazed, but when I still my mind, I’ve discovered I can hear Fuga. He brings me thoughts in the dark. And here’s what I’ve discovered.

“Fuga knew that if he turned and ran, multiple shots would be fired. He knew that they might hit the animals or me. So he stood, in majestic stance, his final fight of life, and do you know what?” Rafa’s voice quivers with emotion. “He was not afraid.

“And so I confess, dear Padre, that I feel confused. Fuga is gone. Taken by a bullet. I should feel guilty and full of fear. But somehow, I feel more connected to my friend and more proud of him than ever. Fuga never compromised. He never apologized for who or what he was. His difficult past was not a burden to him but an inspiration.

“My feelings and this communication with Fuga, it leaves me peaceful but also doubting the balance of my own mind. Yet I feel certain that Fuga has been promoted. I can feel him. He is an angel in a heavenly suit of lights. And do you know what he is doing? He is taking care of the children. All the poor children, the forgotten children, the stolen children.

“El Huérfano is taking care of his own.”





125



Daniel lies on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. A light knock sounds at the door. He jumps from the mattress, hoping that somehow it might be Ana.

Carlitos walks into the room and closes the door.

All bravado and mischief have fled from his face. He is no longer an errand broker or bellboy. His bottom lip quivers and his hands shake.

“What is it, Buttons? What’s wrong?”

Carlitos hides his face in the crook of his arm. He begins to cry.

Daniel kneels. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” cries Carlitos. “Fuga—El Huérfano—they shot him in the pasture. They’ve put Rafa in jail.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“From Lorenza,” sniffs Carlitos. “El Huérfano is dead.”

“What? Does Ana know?” he asks.

“Lorenza said she does,” nods Carlitos. “Ay, I hate Lorenza. This is probably all her fault.” Carlitos stamps his foot and trembles with tears.

Daniel soothes Carlitos as best he can, trying to navigate his own emotions and the impulse to run to Vallecas.

The telephone rings. It’s Nick.

“Is it true?” asks Daniel.

“Unfortunately. A man from Vallecas was in jail with Rafa and heard the story. They shot Fuga through the back.”

Daniel sits with his ear to the receiver, stunned. “Where is Rafa? We need to go to Vallecas.”

“Dan, you’re not thinking straight. Fuga and Rafa are considered criminals. Rafa doesn’t want the authorities to know who he is or that he lives in Madrid. That could endanger his entire family. Once he’s released, he’ll probably disappear for a while. And Fuga, he was considered a vagabond. They’ve probably dumped his body in a ditch somewhere with the Protestants.”