Ana opens the narrow closet and runs her hand across his clothes. His jeans are not from Neiman-Marcus. They have a leather patch on the back pocket that says Blue Bell Wrangler. She tries to adjust the jumbled hangers but they put up a fight. As she removes the hanging clothes, she discovers the cause. Stacked from top to bottom in the back of the closet are the countless towels Daniel has requested—requested so she would come to his room.
She smiles and removes them so he’ll ask for more.
His toiletries in the bathroom are housed in an expensive leather travel kit. A single bottle, his shaving tonic, sits on the bathroom counter. Ana brings the glass bottle, marked Old Spice Holiday Edition, to her nose. It’s the scent she smelled the very first day in his room, the scent she smelled on the Metro, and the scent she smelled in the courtyard at the embassy. It’s masculine and steady, like Daniel. It smells of leathery cloves and herbal woods, with hints of sweet tobacco. Ana removes a thin handkerchief from her apron and dots a tiny pop of the aftershave on it.
Holding the fabric to her nose, she walks into the living area of the suite. She’s happy that Daniel is with Rafa and hopes she’ll get to see him when they return to Vallecas. If only Julia could understand. Daniel is different. He’s kindhearted, genuine, and honest. He didn’t have to share his fears about his parents but he did. Each time they’re together, Ana cares less about the recommendation letter and more about Daniel. Thoughts of Julia’s disapproval bring the threatening notes to Ana’s mind. She whisks the thought away.
A lone chair is placed in front of the wall containing Daniel’s photographs. Ana sits in it. The images are evocative, full of story and truth. The captions come to her immediately. She walks to the desk to retrieve a piece of hotel stationery. And that’s when she sees it.
Sitting in the trash is a Western Union telegram. It’s addressed to Daniel from someone named Laura Beth.
It’s torn apart.
76
While the others prepare, Daniel and Nick stand at the back of the car, eating lunch from the trunk.
“Ben has a photo assignment for me tomorrow,” says Daniel.
“That’s swell. What is it?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. But I trust him. Ben’s on the up and up.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely not on the up and down, if you know what I mean. Poor guy won’t admit it, but he’s been desperate to find a girlfriend in Spain. He hangs on at the clubs even after I’ve left. So that tells you something.”
“He works hard. He probably needs to unwind,” says Daniel.
Nick removes a flask from his shirt pocket and takes a swig.
“Rafa seemed surprised to see you,” says Daniel.
“Yeah, it’s been a while.”
He turns to face Nick. “So, let’s hear it. Why’d you send me out to their house last weekend? Kind of a wise-guy move, if you ask me.”
Nick laughs. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“Not me. It was embarrassing for Ana.”
“Nah, she loved it.”
Daniel shifts his feet. “She loved it or you loved it, Nick?”
Nick raises his hands in nervous surrender. “Honest. I could tell you were interested, but she can’t socialize at the hotel. Did it all turn out okay?”
Daniel nods. “Listen, if you have eyes on Ana, be a man. Tell me to step aside.”
Nick speaks slowly and directly. “We’re just friends. I’ve told you that, Matheson.”
“So you won’t mind if I spend time with her?”
“No. But remember, this isn’t the States. You can’t just drive up in your nice car, sweet-talk the parents, and take a girl out. All dates have to be chaperoned. Families are involved, the whole thing.”
Daniel thinks of his parents. “Ana’s family, what’s the story there?”
“Her parents were part of the intellectual crowd who opposed Franco. They both wound up dead, and the kids are terrified they’ll eventually be punished as well. Let’s face it, Franco wasn’t exactly forgiving after the war. Ana’s older sister had to carry the load. And Rafa.” Nick whistles and shakes his head. “He had it the worst. He was sent to some reformatory joint up near Barcelona. He and his crazy matador friend were there together. From what I gather, they were tortured. And I’m not talking beat up in an alley by some debt-collecting thugs. I mean really tortured. The two of them escaped somehow and nearly died in the process. We’re a couple of pansies next to those two.”
Daniel thinks on Nick’s words. Rafa was tortured? He exudes such warmth, enthusiasm, and determination. He doesn’t have an ounce of bitterness.
Nick lights a cigarette. “Listen, Ana is beautiful. But if you’ve got some rich boy fantasy of a girl from the other side of the tracks, step back. You and I both know our parents want us with debutantes from families on the Social Register. But if you’re looking to have a real conversation and you’re willing to take it slow, Ana’s a girl that you’ll never forget—if you can get around her sister and brother-in-law.”
Daniel nods. “The brother-in-law, Antonio, already sent me on a fool’s errand. Probably hoped I’d get lost and never return.”
“Oh yeah?” Nick laughs.
“Yeah. He sent me to some huge old orphanage. He said I might find a story there to photograph.”
Nick’s eyebrows lift. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to prove it.”
“Prove what?” Daniel asks.
Nick exhales a mouthful of smoke. “That some of the babies they’re selling aren’t orphans.”
We also had the Basque-Spanish orphans program. We sent a couple of orphans to the United States, alleged orphans. They were no orphans, no question about that. It wasn’t that they didn’t have family to take care of them. That was an interesting time.
—WILLIAM W. LEHFELDT, U.S. vice consul, Bilbao (1955–1957)
Oral History Interview Excerpt, April 1994
Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection
Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training
Arlington, VA www.adst.org
77
Puri cannot eat. She cannot sleep. Why is a dead baby in the freezer at the clinic instead of the morgue? She sits on her bed, knees to her chin, arms spiraled around her legs. There are explanations:
The corpse is being used for medical study.
The infant recently died. Burial is forthcoming.