The Heart Has Its Reasons

by Maria Duenas

  At midafternoon on Saturday the caravan of campers returned to the city with Daniel, having been blessed with wonderful weather for pitching tents on the beach. They had raced, sung songs, eaten rations heated on the fire, and built sand castles, and the more daring among them had even swum while the locals observed them from a distance as if they were a platoon of aliens. On arrival, a handwritten note under Rachel’s door awaited them. Daniel Carter was required at the Harris’s home. Urgently.

  For the umpteenth time in the last couple of days, a kitchen table served as the base of operations. Daniel sat at one end, his face worried and his appearance untidy: wearing a pair of shorts and a khaki-colored shirt lent to him by one of the young Navy officers, his face burned from the sun, and his disheveled hair still full of salt and sand. At the other end sat Nieves in uniform with his black notebook before him, exhaling the first puffs of smoke from the cigar he’d just lit. Leaning on the counter equidistant from both of them, Loretta Harris smoked a cigarette in silence, alert and attentive.

  Everything was organized and needed to be settled that very same evening, at the dinner which the base commander and his wife were going to throw for a select group of guests. The sooner the better: it was preferable to catch them off guard rather than wait any longer for the tremendously muddled matter to get even worse.

  As if he were training a spy, Nieves, with the precision of a neurosurgeon and the Farias cigar between his fingers, detailed to Daniel Carter the exact manner in which he’d have to proceed if the situation required it. For starters, at no moment was he to mention that the person responsible for his stay in Spain was a professor who had decided never to return to the One, Great, and Free Fatherland of Franco, nor that Daniel had been staying in Madrid for six months at the house of an anarchist’s widow, nor that he was preparing a PhD dissertation on a leftist writer, regardless of whether he had received the National Prize for Literature. Nor should he mention his time among union workers in Pittsburgh, or that he’d completed his education on the basis of loans, or that one of his first notions of that distant place called Spain was acquired from reading For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway, that novel of dubious ideology whose main character was an American professor who ended up as a blaster in the ranks of the International Brigades, defending the Republic against Franco in the Sierra de Guadarrama.

  It would, however, be a good idea to dwell on his father’s dentistry practice and his mother’s talent at the piano, her multiple charitable activities, and her blood relation to a conservative congressman from the state of Wyoming, even though it was a second cousin whom Daniel had last seen fourteen years ago at a funeral. Regarding his religion, if he were asked, it would be best for him to simply say that he was a Christian: no need to go into detail regarding his growing agnosticism or the Methodist church his family attended. As for his academic education, in the event he was asked, the best would be for him to openly show his admiration for Spanish literature before the twentieth century, concentrating if at all possible on heroes, saints, monks, and romantics. El Cid Campeador, Saint John of the Cross, and Fray Luis de Leon could be praised without trouble; liberals, Regenerationists, or those tending to favor foreign ways were better left on the sideline. Exiles: absolutely forbidden to mention them. And as for Ramon J. Sender: not a single word.

  “And regarding Professor Don Domingo Cabeza de Vaca, Heroic Carlist Soldier and Wounded Knight,” Nieves concluded after expelling the smoke from the last puff of his cigar, “you can talk all you wish, until the early hours of the morning.”

  After listening to that string of advice, which showed a thorough knowledge of all aspects of his life, Daniel Carter didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, he felt uncomfortable and hurt on seeing his intimacy assaulted, his interests distorted, and the personal decisions that he’d agonized over annulled.

  On the other hand, he was forced to admit that they had done impeccable work. After all, he was the one who’d asked for help, without putting restrictions on the methods. Either he accepted the hand he’d been dealt, or he could return to his homeland the same way he’d come—alone.

  Chapter 29

  * * *

  Nieves and Loretta Harris decided to gather everyone together on the evening of Holy Saturday. FRIENDSHIP DINNER was the reason that was posted on the door of the residence of the base commander. They were both aware that this wasn’t the most suitable date, but trusted that those concerned would interpret the hasty invitation as merely a case of intercultural clumsiness by foreigners who knew next to nothing of their host city’s social customs.

  That very same afternoon, a couple of soldiers hand-delivered the imposing invitations with the U.S. Navy’s blue-and-gold seal. Approved by the wife of the base commander, the list of guests was meticulously drafted by Nieves. It included the powers that be, the Spanish military high command, and a good number of couples of a certain pedigree; no one with influence, money, or a good name could be left out. The invitations were received with a universal sense of bewilderment, but not for a second did any one of them consider not attending.

  For the majority of those convened, it would be their first face-to-face with those intriguing foreigners. Thus, the hours before the event were a mad hubbub for a great many of the invitees, especially the ladies, who (ignorant of its scheming and underlying purpose) urgently summoned their hairdressers and became frantic trying on various outfits in succession, discarding some as too excessive, others as too prudish, wondering what the hell one had to wear in order to fit in at such a gathering.

  The men, for their part, received the invitation with surprise—not without concealed relish, for they knew that only the local cream of the crop had been included. It would be an unbeatable opportunity to strengthen relationships, consolidate business matters, learn the latest gossip on the juiciest affairs. In short, to keep the always profitable machinery of social relations well greased.

  In the Carranza home the situation was no different. Marichu, the mother, in hair curlers and petticoat, blowing the nails of her newly completed manicure, hesitated between wearing a dazzling peacock-blue cocktail dress or a more demure ensemble in coral tones. The pharmacist, unconcerned, killed time solving a crossword puzzle in the living room, knowing that all he had to do at the last moment was to have a quick shave and put on his tuxedo. Nana, meanwhile, paced about the house fuming while she pondered a way to trick her daughter into taking her with them. There was nothing she could do; however, no sooner had the couple walked out the door than a bouquet of flowers arrived bearing a card from Loretta in which she apologized and requested a rendezvous for lunch the following day with the promise that she would fill Nana in on all the details. In reality, she wanted to keep the old lady as far away as possible from the scene.

  At eight o’clock the guests started arriving at the Harris residence. A magnificent buffet awaited them, something extremely chic and unusual in the Spain of 1959, where the annual income per capita was about three hundred dollars. The good relationship that Loretta enjoyed with the wife of the commander of the Rota base as well as Nieves’s close contacts had helped to make up for the scarcity of American products in the area. Waldorf salad, wild salmon fillets, New England lobster with butter sauce, and other imported delicacies arrived in refrigerated boxes bouncing aboard a military vehicle. Next to the victuals were several stacks of white porcelain plates with blue-and-gold borders bearing the U.S. Navy seal. Nothing was lacking.

  Although Commander Harris had found out only on the previous day what his wife and subordinate were plotting, he trusted their competence—and he never snubbed a good party. As the guests were welcomed, she, charming in an intense red dress, greeted everyone, while he, his great bulk ensconced in a uniform with four stripes on its cuffs, received them with a grin. Both made an effort to put their best Spanish to use while Louis Armstrong’s trumpet played in the background. Nieves remained in the background as well, in a
ccordance with his rank.

  The ladies’ clothes and jewelry shone sumptuously as they sized up one another’s finery and threw looks like darts at each other, while from the corners of their eyes they observed the modern décor of the American base commander’s residence. As for the men, the standard attire was military uniform or tuxedos, although some, either clueless or ignorant, had showed up in their everyday suits, a terrible blunder that would remain engraved in the memories of their embarrassed wives.

  With a couple of imperceptible glances at the rest of the gathering, Nieves indicated to the Harris couple who the Carranzas were. The elegant woman in the blue dress who laughed amid a lively group was the mother; the father, that distracted man curiously inspecting those strange paintings in which lines and geometric shapes crossed without rhyme or reason. They would not lose sight of them, although for the time being they’d leave them alone, not wishing to overwhelm them from the very start.

  They all went up to the buffet, serving themselves from the different platters with feigned naturalness, by and large ignorant of what on earth they would be eating. To the country of markets and grocery stores, inns and taverns, the serve-yourself fashion had not yet arrived, and the business of having to choose a little from here and a little from there and afterwards eat standing up turned out to be diabolically complicated for Spaniards. The inability of most to hold at the same time plate, fork, conversation, and drink was evident, and more than a few, after several tries, decided to throw in the towel and abandoned their meals after a few bites, preferring to go hungry rather than see one’s food splattered on some lady’s cleavage or spilled on the floor.

  A while later, a new exchange of glances between Nieves, Harris, and his wife served as a sign to indicate that it was open season. With an ingenuous question regarding the chemical composition of the famed painkiller with vitamins known as Calmante Vitaminado, Loretta corralled the pharmacist into one corner of the room and plunged him into an intense and somewhat incomprehensible chat about Spanish and American medicines. Almost simultaneously, at another corner of the room, the base commander had positioned himself in such a way that when some clumsy oaf was about to spill his drink and ruin Marichu’s peacock-blue dress, with an agile movement the commander practically caught the glass on the fly. In so doing, he not only saved the dress’s integrity but also managed to generate a series of thank-yous from her that served as an excuse to initiate a conversation.

  Neither the pharmacist nor his wife could later recall in detail how the two conversations developed, but the truth is that Aurora’s father suddenly found himself with a dazzling proposal to supply his pharmacy with two hundred penicillin capsules, the most sought-after medicine in that backward and shortage-prone country. Practically at the very same moment, the mother was delighted to accept an invitation to attend the Seville Fair in the company of the U.S. military’s top brass stationed in Spain. Nieves was draining his seventh tequila as he observed both scenes delightedly from the rear guard while calibrating the next step of his plan.

  Once the acrobatics of the buffet were overcome, the alcohol and rock and roll loosened up the atmosphere, mixing laughter with the clinking of glasses, while the horse-trading and gossip continued and some couples made an effort to adjust their dance steps to the beat of that strange music that invited movement. Nearby, a local official was busily trying to grope the wife of a lieutenant commander who was already impressively drunk.

  The Carranzas continued to be seduced by the personal charm of Commander and Mrs. Harris, who until then had remained on opposite flanks and now began a surreptitious attempt to converge in response to a signal from Nieves, who, after making sure all four were together, slipped into the kitchen and from there out into the garden. Bringing two fingers to his mouth, he ripped the night apart with a piercing whistle. Five shadows emerged on the spot from a nearby house, two bodies in formal dress uniforms, two in cocktail dresses, and one in a tuxedo.

  The quintet’s entry momentarily hushed all conversation.

  “Good evening, my dears!” Loretta called out from some point in the living room.

  The men, handsome and tanned from camping by the sea, were an imposing sight. Their wives looked spectacular in dresses that revealed a display of arms, shoulders, and deliciously golden cleavages. Daniel, with a toned face and his always unruly hair subjected to a good dose of mineral oil, looked impeccable in a tuxedo. He quickly swept the room with his eyes and spotted the Carranzas next to the Harrises. Initial step completed; let’s keep moving forward and on to the attack, he thought, with a knot gripping his stomach.

  The hosts received the party of five with an enthusiasm bordering on euphoria, in part because that was the plan, and in part because both spouses had been drinking for more than two hours straight without a trace of moderation.

  “Danny, my dear, you look absolutely gorgeous!” Loretta exclaimed with one of her horsy laughs. She practically elbowed her way through the crowd until she reached him.

  “Dear Loretta, you look stunning. Thank you very much for this spectacular party,” Daniel said, greeting her in well-practiced Spanish.

  Afterwards, he kissed her hand gallantly. As if the two had adored one another since the beginning of time.

  So far, his participation was coming along perfectly. Step one, entrance, reconnaissance, and positioning. Step two, a warm greeting to the hostess to get himself noticed. Step three, Commander Harris. Let’s go for it, he ordered himself.

  Witnessing the bear hug that the commander of the American naval base himself bestowed upon Daniel, whom just a few days earlier Aurora’s parents had snubbed, her father choked on an ice cube from the scotch he was drinking and his wife noticed a slight cold sweat on her back that almost ruined her silk dress. With his three initial objectives covered, Daniel finally felt more relaxed. A handful of Spanish ladies crowded around Loretta, intrigued by this handsome young man. Figuring that he was available, they rushed to sniff out the prey, since they all had a marriageable daughter, niece, or younger sister ready to make such a stunner happy. Not to mention his evident closeness with the charming American couple who were treating them to the best party they could recall in years. To Daniel’s good fortune, no one recognized him as the tormented stranger who for days had been melting out of pure love for the daughter of the couple who were now standing in a corner of the room, whispering in dismay.

  Everything was unfolding according to plan, but on perceiving the group of females hovering around Carter, captivated by what Mrs. Harris had said about him and trying to attract his attention with flattery and clever remarks, Nieves’s alarm button went off. This hadn’t been foreseen. He and his coconspirators had assumed that they’d only have to convince Aurora’s parents that Daniel was worthy of their daughter—not that he wasn’t some kind of libertine or amoral boor.

  What Nieves was not counting on was that Commander Harris’s hug and his wife’s effusive show of affection would suffice to dispel any mistrust among those gathered. He also realized that all the instructions he’d given the young man about how to behave or what to say and not say regarding his life were non-issues. No one was interested. The simple fact that the kid appeared in society endorsed by the Harrises altered his status from outrageous upstart to object of desire.

  Nieves spotted the Carranzas with a hurried glance. They’d moved to a corner, ill at ease, out of sorts, not knowing quite what to do. Daniel, meanwhile, remained in the middle of the hall, flanked by the hosts, holding the empty gin-and-tonic glass—the contents of which he’d just downed in three gulps—discreetly concealing his amazement at the excessive praise that Loretta, at the top of her voice and in exuberant Spanish, was heaping on him, his ancestors, and his formidable professional prospects.

  Nieves knew then and there that it was time to act. The pharmacist and his wife were so disconcerted that they’d lost all power of reaction. He had to help them, but there
was no time for subtleties or subterfuges. For this reason, he circled the room with swift steps and placed himself behind the couple without their noticing his presence. He then stealthily moved in closer to them, until his face was right next to Marichu’s right ear and the pharmacist’s left one. And after taking the seventh Farias cigar from between his teeth, he delivered his message.

  “Either you go up to the Harris’s group and stake your claim, or the commander’s wife will be the one to nab the gringo for her daughter. Chop-chop.”

  Not even the jab of a knife would have spurred Marichu Carranza on more effectively.

  The druggist was trying to figure out where on earth that fellow dressed in a U.S. Navy uniform had come from, when his wife grabbed him by the hand and dragged him toward the group surrounding Daniel.

  Once more Loretta took care of the rest.

  The party finally ended in the garden at four o’clock in the morning with everyone dancing La Conga de Jalisco around the residence. Nieves watched the scene, satisfied, while he took a final swig of Tequila Herradura straight from the bottle. Mrs. Harris led the conga line and a long, motley stream of bodies with the unlikeliest shapes followed behind: Daniel clutching his girlfriend’s mother; the pharmacist Carranza raising his legs clumsily as he grabbed onto the tuxedo jacket of his future son-in-law; and a local politician sweating profusely with his bow tie undone and shirt half unbuttoned as he moved along, sandwiched between Vivian’s prominent buttocks and Rachel’s prodigious bosom. The commander of the joint U.S.-Spanish naval base closed the parade, not yet aware that he’d scored one more in the list of historic agreements between the governments of Spain and the United States after the Pact of Madrid.

  • • •