The Fountains of Silence

by Ruta Sepetys

  Nick’s face loses animation. “That’s not your little sister,” whispers Nick.

  “Yes, that’s Cristina. And hey, eyes off. She’s eighteen, but barely.”

  “No, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know exactly what you meant.” Daniel laughs. “You haven’t changed at all, Nick.”

  “Buenas tardes, Señor Van Dorn! I’m so happy to finally meet you!” says Cristina. Her extended hand hovers, ungrasped, while Nick just stares. “Oh, forgive me, we’re in Spain!” she says. “We’ll kiss on the cheek, of course.”

  She turns to greet Ruth. “Buenas tardes, I’m Cristina Matheson. Daniel’s sister.”

  “Such a pleasure to meet you, Señorita Matheson,” says Ruth. “I work for Mr. Van Dorn. On behalf of the embassy, welcome to Madrid.” Ruth retrieves a massive bouquet of flowers from the chair.

  “¡Qué bonito! Gracias!” says Cristina.

  While the women chat about the flowers, Nick’s brow twists in confusion.

  “What is it?” asks Daniel.

  “Nothing.” Nick looks from Cristina to Daniel. “I guess I’m . . . just surprised that so much time has passed and we’re all adults.”

  * * *

  Daniel takes in the scenery as Nick drives them to the hotel. Things have changed. Women wear pants and sleeveless tops on the street. There are cars of every color. Foreign magazines appear on corner newsstands.

  “You still fighting?” asks Nick.

  “Fighting?” calls Cristina from the back seat.

  “He means boxing,” replies Daniel.

  “You didn’t know, Cristina? Your brother’s a brawler. He hits harder than any drink,” laughs Nick. “Don’t tell me you never threw a punch while on assignment, Dan. You had to protect your camera gear, right?”

  “Well, maybe once or twice. What about you, Nick? Are you still fighting?” Daniel laughs.

  “Of course I am. Life’s a fight. Speaking of, I’m sure you read about Shep and the New York campaign scandal. What a doozy. But somehow the guy always lands on his feet.”

  Daniel thinks of the letters he wrote to the embassy and the State Department about Shep Van Dorn. Nothing came of them. Nick is right. Guys like Shep always seem to land on their feet. He should have decked him when he had the chance.

  “My parents are finally divorced,” says Nick. “Mom is dating a college rowing coach. Great guy. Ben told us about your mom. I’m very sorry. I should have sent a card. But I bet your dad is happy to have you back in Dallas. Try as we might, we both ended up in the same professions as our fathers. Isn’t that crazy, Dan?”

  “Yeah,” says Daniel, staring out the window. “Crazy.”

  135

  The arrival at the hotel takes on a surreal, dreamlike dimension. The crescent apron drive, the marbled chessboard foyer with steps up to the circular lobby. It’s completely the same, yet different. An old film ghosts through Daniel’s head and heart. He expects Carlitos to pop out at any moment or Lorenza to stroll by selling cigars and cigarettes. He looks to the corner of the lobby where Ben and Paco Lobo sat for hours. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat.

  Ruth handles check-in while a porter takes their luggage. “Is any of the old staff still here?” asks Daniel.

  “I doubt it. Maybe one or two.” Nick sighs. “Life’s a river, Dan. It moves and it flows. So, is there anything specific Cristina would like to do?”

  Daniel follows Nick’s gaze to his sister, chattering away to the porter handling her towers of luggage. “Well, think of us when we were eighteen. I’m sure Cristina wants to see as much as possible.”

  “And what about you?” Nick studies his face. “As much as possible?”

  Daniel scans the lobby. The opening to the staircase and the double basements is still there. Dinner with Ana in the staff cafeteria flashes before him. The same narrow elevators are still there. Her reflection in the mirrors blinks through his mind.

  “I know you won’t ask, so I will,” says Nick. “I’ve reconnected with Ana since I’ve returned to Madrid. Do you want to see her?”

  The question has such an easy answer, yet Daniel stands, frozen. He thinks of his mother’s words, that feeding memories is dangerous.

  “Let me rephrase,” says Nick. “I’ve reconnected with Ana since I’ve returned to Madrid. We’re friends. She’s single. Are you single?”

  Daniel nods.

  “Okay, then. I’ll speak to her.”

  “Wait, when?”

  “Probably today.”

  “Today? That’s so soon,” says Daniel.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll give you plenty of notice. I have to speak to her anyway.”

  “How is she?” asks Daniel. “How’s her family?”

  Cristina comes running, waving a key. “We’re in suite 760!”

  Daniel looks to Nick. He shrugs. “A little bird reminded me.”

  “We stayed on the seventh floor when we were here,” he tells his sister.

  “Ruth says Ava Gardner used to stay on the seventh floor and that she held wild parties. I’m so excited, I could just burst!” says Cristina, hugging Daniel.

  Excited. Is that what he’s feeling? No. It feels more like the old unholy ghost of Spain.

  Fear.

  136

  Cristina unpacks her luggage and chatters nonstop. “Your bag is so small. You did bring shoes other than boots, didn’t you?”

  Daniel assures his sister that he brought clothes and won’t embarrass her. He also brought his camera, and for the first time in years he feels an incredible desire to use it.

  The layout of the suite is exactly the same. Only the furnishings are different. Two beds are situated in the bedroom. In addition to a radio, there is now a television in the suite and a modern rotary dial phone. The Castellana Hilton crest is gone, replaced by the InterContinental logo.

  Eighteen years ago he stood in this exact room, taping photos to the wall. He looks to the floor in front of the sofa, where he and Ana sat for hours after their room-service dinner. He sees the wall where Ana pulled him in for the kiss that never let go. He thinks of the knife and fork she smuggled to the room. It makes him laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” says Cristina.

  “The amount of luggage you brought,” he replies.

  Daniel takes a seat on the terrace. Madrid’s heat wraps him in its arms, stirring anticipation from ash. He’s excited, scared, and nervous. He’s never felt this way, not even during a dangerous photo assignment. Nick seems exactly the same, just a bit more mature. Is his unpredictable nature the same? Will he show up tipsy at the hotel room door with Ana in tow? He hopes not. Should he shower and shave just in case?

  Cristina joins him on the balcony. She reclines, lifting her long, dark hair and dropping it to hang off the back of the chair. She closes her eyes.

  “It’s so odd,” she says. “I only spent a few months of my life here. But as we drove from the airport, I felt this magnetic tug toward the city. I felt . . . emotional. Do you think I’m having a midlife-adoption-identity crisis?”

  Daniel looks at his sister. She doesn’t resemble him nor their parents, but doesn’t stand out in Dallas as different, either. “Well, I think you’re a ways from midlife, Cris. But identity, sure. Roots and heritage, they’re powerful. I’m glad you feel a connection here.”

  “It’s more than a connection. I can’t describe it. Maybe I’m just excited to be here. Or excited to be out of Texas. Or maybe I’m creating emotions to fill the gap of Mom.”

  At times his sister displays surprising insight for her age. Sometimes it’s as if she’s observing and commenting on her life from above, rather than living inside it as an eighteen-year-old girl. He raises his camera and takes her picture.

  * * *

  Nick calls and insists on taking them for a late dinner and a brief walk
ing tour. He says nothing of Ana. Daniel feels too awkward to ask. When they return to the hotel, it’s after midnight. They’re exhausted but Madrid is just beginning to rouse. Nick and Ruth suggest an outing the following day for Cristina.

  “Ruth and I will take you to the Prado Museum and for tea at the Ritz.”

  “And what about Daniel?”

  “I’ve imposed on Dan to take a meeting tomorrow afternoon,” says Nick. “He’ll join us for dinner.” Nick looks to Daniel, his face completely sincere.

  “Tom Collins will meet you at the Sorolla garden tomorrow at three,” says Nick.

  137

  Daniel arrives an hour early, telling himself that he wants to photograph the gardens and fountain. He also tells himself he’s not nervous, he’s not sweating, and he’s not hopeful. So much can happen in eighteen years. She’s probably an entirely different person. Maybe he’s an entirely different person. That’s normal, isn’t it? Ana told him that he couldn’t understand her. How could he understand her now, with nearly two decades between them?

  Visitors stroll and linger amidst the lush, richly scented gardens of the museum. The trickling sound of the fountain is familiar, the figures still whisper, but the courtyard has been slightly altered. The bench they sat upon is no longer there. New benches have been added. He momentarily worries, unsure where they’re supposed to meet. The feeling resembles an anxious dream, but one you’re able to wake yourself from. They no longer have to hide, he reminds himself. They can be friends openly. Yes, they’ll be friends.

  He chooses a bench that allows him to remain slightly concealed while still having a view of the entrance. This way, he’ll see Ana before she sees him.

  The hour approaches. He feels nauseous.

  His mother’s words return and issue warning. The divide was too wide, tesoro. I’d hate to think that a teenage fling might leave you alone for the rest of your life.

  He sets his camera on a ledge and wipes his palms down the sides of his jeans. This is crazy. He should leave.

  He doesn’t want to.

  They’ll say hello, speak awkwardly for a few minutes, and then properly close a door that’s been open way too long.

  Ana. He feels her before he sees her.

  Daniel stands, locking his eyes to the archway draped with ivy and blooms. She walks through the entrance, aglow. Her dark hair swings and lifts in waves as she turns, looking toward their fountain. The skirt of her flowered dress sways about her legs, dancing above her high heels. And then, as if in slow motion, she turns toward him.

  They stand, suspended within the eighteen years between them. The moment is a fraction. An instant. Ana’s face flares with an enormous smile. She takes a step toward him. Then another. Her stride is suddenly longer, quicker. She’s running. His heart vaults as Ana jumps into his arms. His face is in her hair. Her arms are around his neck. She’s kissing him. She’s crying. He feels her drawing deep breaths against his chest. He pulls her closer, spiraling her small hips beneath his arms.

  She looks up at him, her face awash with joy and tears.

  “Hola, Daniel.”

  He gently takes her face in his hands.

  “Hola, Ana.”

  138

  “It’s crowded here. Let’s go to El Retiro,” she whispers, threading her fingers through his.

  They head down the stairs to the Metro. The platform is clogged with passengers.

  Women look twice at Daniel and Ana knows why. He’s more handsome than ever. Same lean build with jeans and boots, but an older, more alluring version of his rugged teenage self. Some men soften and stretch with years. Daniel’s jawline and cheekbones are more defined. His shoulders and arms cut broader. His disobedient hair is now fashionable.

  He catches her staring and laughs. “Do you approve?”

  “Definitely,” she breathes. “Quick, let’s catch this train before it departs.” Ana pulls Daniel by the hand into a throng of people boarding a car. The door closes, sandwiching the passengers together.

  Instead of grasping the metal handrail, Ana grasps Daniel. The air inside the car is heavy with heat. A trickle of sweat make its way from Daniel’s hairline down to his ear. They stand so close a sheet of paper could not slide between them.

  “Is it too hot for you?” whispers Ana.

  He leans down to her. She feels the wisp of his breath on her ear. “No. It’s perfect.”

  Ana gazes at him with an elated smile. “I’m so happy you brought your camera. I’ve been a faithful reader of National Geographic, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Sí. The librarians must have thought I was obsessed with travel or that I was some sort of detective. In one of your photos from Buenos Aires there was a faint reflection of you in the glass.”

  “You saw that?”

  “I not only saw it, I asked the librarians for a magnifying glass. I sat there with the magnifier trying to pull you out of that photo.” She runs her hand along the seam of Daniel’s shirt. “I researched photography to decipher your thoughts. In the beginning, your shots were aggressive, pushing so far into life that it scared me. The aerial photos.”

  “Sitting on a helicopter skid. Stupid. Early on I pushed boundaries and always tipped toward ten. Felt like I had something to prove, I guess.”

  “If your photos had horizon lines I learned that meant hope and possibility. A quiet photo meant you were sitting, contemplative, waiting for the moment to come to you.”

  “Kinda like I’ve been waiting for this moment?”

  She runs her finger down his nose and lips to his chin. “I can’t believe it. You’re really here. I haven’t slept. I’ve been too excited.”

  “Me neither. I was so nervous at the museum I felt sick.”

  “How do you feel now?” she asks.

  Daniel takes her hand and presses it flat against his chest. Ana’s eyes expand.

  “Exactly. If my heart beats any harder or faster, we’re in trouble,” laughs Daniel.

  139

  Daniel watches Ana’s graceful steps and bright smile. He would follow her to Retiro Park or through a seam in space. He feels like he already has. And suddenly, it all feels worth it.

  By the time they arrive at the park, their conversational ease is reestablished. They hold hands as if they never parted.

  “Since Nick and Ruth are at the Prado with your sister, I thought this would be convenient. It’s very close.”

  “Yes, I want you to meet Cristina.”

  Ana’s lips give a small smile. “Let’s find a quiet spot to talk. It’s such a beautiful afternoon.”

  The sun shines amidst a clear blue sky. Ana leads him to the El Parterre section of the park and chooses a bench under a bouquet of sculpted cypress trees.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t stop looking at you.” She laughs, putting her hand on the side of his face. “Yes, you’re older, but you look the same.” She weaves her fingers up the back of his neck. “Your hair’s a bit longer.”

  Her hand on his neck is silent yet breaking. “You look the same too. Better.”

  “No more gold tooth. That was a happy day,” she says.

  “Have you had a lot of happy days?”

  “Some. I’m lucky for the ones I have. After you left, I got a job. Do you remember Paco Lobo?”

  “The quiet man who lived at the hotel and adopted a village?”

  “Lives at the hotel,” corrects Ana.

  “Still?”

  “Yes. Paco needed a bilingual assistant for a project team. He hired me and put me through business school.”

  “That’s fantastic! That guy was a mystery to me. I couldn’t figure out if he was retired or what business he was in.”

  “Ben didn’t tell you?” Ana’s voice drops to a whisper. “Paco hunted Nazis.”

  “What?”

  “After
the war, some Nazis received new identities in Spain. Paco came to track them down and report their locations. He reported to Ben and Ben reported to someone in New York. Speaking of Ben, I was so sad to hear of his passing.”

  The mention of Ben calls emotion to the surface. “Yes. It was so unexpected, just knocked me to my knees. We’d grown close over the years and he was a great mentor. He even visited me on overseas assignments. I had just seen him the month prior.”

  Ana nods. “I’ve always wondered if Ben was responsible for Paco hiring me.”

  They sit, silent in the memory of Ben. Ana softly traces her finger across a large, angry scar on Daniel’s forearm. “That’s new.”

  “Not recent, but new since we last saw each other. I don’t mind admitting, that one hurt. It cut straight through to the bone. Twenty-two stitches and two infections.”

  Ana lifts his arm and kisses it. She then takes both of his hands. “Daniel, your mother. I’m so sorry.”

  He nods, the electricity of Ana lingering on his arm. “Thank you. Mom’s death wasn’t a surprise, like Ben’s. I was able to spend time with her. She was sick for several years, in and out of treatment, always trying to hide it. Cristina was just twelve when Mom died. My father was completely lost. I stayed home after the funeral to pitch in. He begged me to move back to Dallas to help with my sister.”

  “Did you want to move back?” asks Ana.

  “Initially no. But I knew it’s what my mom would have wanted. So, I left the magazine, became second father to a teenage girl, and now work with Dad in oil. It sounds crazy, even as I hear myself describe it.”

  She holds both his hands and heart, full of compassion.

  “But, Ana, what about you?”

  “Ask me anything. I think we’ve waited long enough. And just in case you’re curious, no, I’ve never dated Nick,” she laughs. “Admit it, you were wondering.”

  “Well, maybe.” He smiles. She knows him so completely and he loves it. “Do you still live in Vallecas?”