There’s silence on the line. “Did he actually show up in Vallecas?” asks Nick.
“You knew he would. You told him to. He even brought gifts. Rafa adores him and talked him into driving them to a bullfight on Sunday.”
“Ana, I’m so sorry,” replies Nick. “I was lit. You have every right to be mad. We were sitting at the table and Dan was asking about you, and suddenly I thought, Wait, why not? Ana deserves some fun for a change. I pegged Dan for a coddled rich kid, but he’s not. He’ll speak his mind and, man, he’ll take on a fight. I think he’s a really good guy.”
“He is a good guy, Nick. So just leave him alone. Please don’t create problems.”
“Ana, I don’t create problems. I try to solve problems. You know that.”
She does know that, but it doesn’t matter. She quickly hangs up the phone.
58
“¡Buenos días, señor!” calls Carlitos. He sprints to the front door to meet Daniel. “A telegram has arrived this morning for Señora Matheson. Does she want it delivered to her room or shall I give it to you?”
Daniel sees the telegram and tries to resist. He can’t. “Thanks, Carlitos. I’ll give it to her.” He puts it in his back pocket and exits the hotel.
* * *
“Texano!” says Miguel. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Me neither. But I have some photos that need rush processing. They’re for Ana’s brother.” Daniel sets two rolls of film on the counter.
“Photos for Rafa?”
“Yes, his friend is an aspiring matador.”
“Aren’t they all,” laughs Miguel.
“Well, this one has an amateur fight on Sunday. So when I was in Vallecas, Rafa asked me to take some photos.”
Miguel looks intently at Daniel. “When you were there, did you see it?” He points to the Robert Capa photo of the children in front of the bombed building. “That photo you admire. Capa took that in Vallecas.”
“Really?”
Miguel nods. “There are many unique frames in Vallecas.” He looks at the film on the counter. “I generally let the prints dry for several hours. If you want to come back before I close, they might be ready.”
“That’s fine. I’m heading to take photos of the Inclusa.”
“What sort of photos could you take at the Inclusa?”
Daniel shrugs. “Ana’s brother-in-law, Antonio, said I might find it interesting.”
“¿Por qué?” presses Miguel. “I think you misunderstood.”
“Something about people not being able to afford photos. I guess I’ll find out.”
Daniel heads to O’Donnell Street. The Inclusa, a large buttercream-colored building, spans an entire block. Flanking both sides of the arched sandstone entry is an inset figure of an infant with empty eyes, arms outstretched, and palms open. Although large and imposing, the building is otherwise unremarkable. Why would Antonio send him here? There is nothing to photograph. Perhaps, as Miguel suggested, it was a mistake?
He walks down the side street of the Inclusa. A chorus of young voices jingles in the distance. As he reaches the edge of the building, he sees dozens of children at play in a large garden. Young women wearing white dresses and black pinafore aprons supervise the children. The children are clean and tidy, their hair neatly combed or tied in ribbons. They are jubilant and appear healthy, a much brighter scene than orphanages in America. Maybe that’s why Antonio sent him? Could this be the orphanage his parents are donating money to?
Daniel snaps a picture.
A billow of black and white appears in the distance within his viewfinder. A nun. He turns and quickly walks away before anyone spots him. Was that the sister he saw with the dead child? He looks at the surrounding buildings. They are medical facilities. Clinics. Hospitals. Was the nun with the baby walking to a clinic or to the Inclusa? Were the Guardia Civil escorting her?
As he turns back onto O’Donnell Street, Daniel sees a small boy, standing near the entrance of the Inclusa. His shoulders quiver and his face is streaked with tears.
“¿Estás bien, chico?” asks Daniel.
The little boy shakes his head. His trembling lips, holding tight to his sorrow, open and release a deep sob.
Daniel kneels quickly to the boy on the sidewalk. “Hey, there. ¿Qué pasa?”
The boy clutches a wrinkled note in his shaking hand. He extends it to Daniel and through a rush of tears issues the heartbreaking pronouncement:
“My mamá doesn’t love me anymore.”
59
Puri rushes through the aisle of file cabinets, hoping to find more information. She must hurry. If she doesn’t join the other aides outside, someone may notice she’s missing.
The questions remain fixed in her mind, but she’s limited in whom she can ask. If the Inclusa wants to find homes for the children, why are the adoption fees so high? What are the huge sums of money used for? Were the dough-faced man and his wife with the pillow willing to pay two hundred thousand pesetas for a child?
Perhaps she could ask the priest these questions. But the priest may reprimand her again for speaking of others instead of herself. Or maybe she can ask the doctor who brings newborns through the back door of the Inclusa? She cannot ask Sister Hortensia. If she does, Sister will know that she looked at a file without permission. But Puri’s concern for the children surpasses any guilt about snooping. If her access to the file room continues, perhaps she can reference files from some of the recently adopted children.
Puri knows she can’t ask her mother. She will scold her curiosity. She will say what she always says:
Estamos más guapas con la boca cerrada. We are prettier with our mouths shut.
She opens the last cabinet on the end. The folders are labeled GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. Near the back of the drawer are multiple files marked RESOLVED. Puri pulls a file.
She flips through memos and arrives at a handwritten letter addressed to a doctor.
Dear Dr. López,
I send another letter, not to disturb you, kind Sir, but simply to appease my conscience. My wife said the child she gave birth to was bald and had a red birthmark on his arm. The deceased infant shown to us was larger than our son, had a bit of dark hair, and did not have the marking on his arm. You and Sister Hortensia advised that grief over our child’s death was clouding our recollection. But is it possible that perhaps there was some mistake? Perhaps it was the child of another couple that died? Of course we infer no accusation of you or your clinic, simply an honest error. We anxiously await your reply and hope you will help us pursue the matter in more detail.