88
Puri dries the dishes at the sink, devising a way to raise the topic with her mother.
“I think I’d prefer not to volunteer at the clinic,” announces Puri. “The Inclusa is a much happier place.”
“It’s not your choice. Sister Hortensia has assigned you to the clinic because she believes you will contribute there. You will serve as instructed, dear.”
“But it’s all so distressing. Women can be so irrational.”
Her mother turns from the table. “Excuse me?”
“Of course, not you, Mother. But the other day as I was leaving the Inclusa, a woman stopped me on the street. She was frantic. She said that her baby had been taken for baptism and was never returned to her. It was very strange, as if she thought someone was hiding her baby inside the Inclusa. She gripped my arm so hard it hurt.”
“She took hold of you?”
“Yes. I saw Sister Hortensia in the window and suggested the woman speak to Sister.”
“Did she?”
“No.” Puri shrugs, trying her best to appear casual. “She ran away.”
Her mother turns slowly back to the table. She speaks to Puri over her shoulder.
“Did Sister mention seeing the episode?”
“Yes, we discussed it. We agreed the woman was suffering some kind of mental collapse. Sister told me to pray for her.”
“Yes, you should,” replies her mother quietly. “There is so much misfortune in the world. We must help whenever we can, Puri.”
“Of course. You and Father have set a wonderful example. You took care of Ana and now Julia appreciates all the things you send for Lali. It must be so difficult for Ana without parents. But Sister says that it’s better to have no parents than the wrong parents. I think about that each day when I’m with the children at the Inclusa. I wonder, though: Once children are adopted by the right parents, should they ever know about their wrong parents?”
Puri steals a glance over her shoulder. Her mother sits, a block of erect silence, slowly stirring the spoon around and around in her coffee. And that’s when Puri realizes.
Silence has a voice of its own.
89
Lens: clean.
Film: loaded.
Spare: three.
Flash: just in case.
Suit coat. Tie. Wallet. Passport. Notepad and pen.
A beat pulses through Daniel’s mental checklist. He’s excited, but calms himself with assurance. Ben would only trust him for a minor assignment. There’s no pressure.
Carlitos greets him in the lobby. “You look very nice, señor! But, ay, where is the cowboy belt buckle?” The bellboy pistols his hands.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be back soon. Say, Buttons, can you send word to my parents that I’m with Ben Stahl and will return in a couple hours?”
“Sí, señor. I’ll see that they get the message.”
Ben leans against a marble pillar in the lobby. His clothes are fresh but Ben is not. He hasn’t seen his bed.
“Are you okay?” asks Daniel. “You look rough.”
“Fine. You’re starting the day, I’m finishing it. Just waiting for a pack of due backs and then we can leave.”
Lorenza approaches with the package of cigarettes.
Ben drops a large bill onto her tray. “Thanks, toots. Keep the change.” He turns to Daniel. “So, you nervous?”
Daniel opens his mouth to speak but Ben interjects.
“Don’t mess this up, Matheson. I’m taking a chance on you so you better be on the stick. You have your passport?”
“Yes, but why do I need—”
“You’ll see soon enough. Here, take this.” Ben hands Daniel an official press pass from the Herald Tribune. “This is worth more than gold here. But I’ll need it back as soon as you take the picture. Can’t have you running around Madrid with a Trib pass. You’ll have to wind the roll and give me the film as well.”
If Daniel wasn’t nervous before, he is now. He follows Ben outside. Ben tips the doorman who is holding a prearranged taxi.
“So, sounds like Nick returned the favor in Vallecas, eh?” Ben rubs his index finger across his teeth, brushing them. “I saw him at the club last night. He said you guys were at a dance in Vallecas and some crazy bullfighter wanted to kill you.”
Nick went to a club when they got back? He was practically passed out in the car.
“Nick was drunk,” says Daniel.
Ben nods. “Okay, newsboy. Pop quiz to prepare. Who’s the U.S. ambassador to Spain?”
“John Lodge.”
“Correct. Decent fella. He cares. Who are some of Franco’s guys?”
“Franco’s guys? You mean the Guardia Civil?”
“No, some of his ministers. His minister of information, minister of transportation.”
Daniel shrugs.
“Do you know anything about Franco?”
“Sure. He’s been in power since 1939. Devout Catholic.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “So? He also loves fishing and Fanta. Who cares?”
Daniel thinks back to Ana’s captions and things he’s overheard. He begins to recite: “He’s building the Valley of the Fallen and it’s going to cost millions of dollars. Under Franco, there is no longer freedom of religion. Protestant and Jewish religious services are not allowed outside the home. Nor are their weddings or funerals. It’s a military dictatorship. People in Catalonia and Basque Country are not allowed to speak their native languages. The people are obedient because they’re emotionally exhausted. There’s a tension that exists between history and memory. Some people are desperate to remember but others are desperate to forget.”
Ben nods. “Nice. Anything else?”
Daniel recalls Nick’s offhand commentary and adds, “Franco aims for a ‘Spain of Spaniards’ only. Nick mentioned that some babies being adopted in Spain aren’t really orphans.”
“Whoa, whoa. Nicky told you that?”
Daniel nods. “He said that Franco feels that Republicanism is a heritable disease. So, to rout it out, kids must be raised by Francoists whenever possible.”
Ben’s face is obscured by a cloud of his own cigarette smoke. “Don’t go repeating that on the street. It’s an allegation, a piece of a much bigger story. Look, you didn’t hear this from me and I don’t know where Nick heard it. But yeah, there are whispers of babies disappearing. It began after the war. Children of Republicans were taken as punishment to the parents. But some claim it’s still happening now, that parents are told their baby died when that’s not really the case, that they’re being given or sold to a family that’s deemed more worthy.”