“Hola, Rafa. Hola, Puri,” smiles Daniel.
Rafa puts a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Texano, I have an opportunity for you to take pictures.”
“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”
“At the graveyard.”
“What’s to see at the graveyard?” asks Daniel.
“Ghosts,” whispers Carlitos.
Rafa hesitates. He looks at Puri and Carlitos before replying. “Well, you see . . . I thought it might be interesting. You could photograph me and El Huérfano.” As if the ignition switch to his idea finally catches, Rafa speaks quickly. “To capture raw portraits of an aspiring matador working in a cemetery. Life before stardom in Spain. You would have pictures of Fuga digging graves contrasted by your pictures of him in his suit of lights. It would be a great story.”
“Your matador is El Huérfano? The orphan?” asks Puri.
“Sí. Texano took great pictures of him,” says Rafa.
Daniel nods. “That’s a great idea, Rafa. I’d like that.”
“Good. Come tonight.”
“Tonight? Oh, I’ve made some plans for tonight. How about tomorrow? I’ll need light for the pictures.”
“Okay. I’ll come to the hotel after my shift at the slaughterhouse. We can go together.”
“Any chance I could photograph you at the slaughterhouse?”
Rafa lights with joy. “Sí, come to el matadero! There is much to photograph there.”
Puri listens to the two boys as they exchange details and location information. Rafa and his bullfighter work at the cemetery. Do they ever bury infants? Are dead children held in the freezer until they’re sent for burial?
Puri thinks back to her orientation at the Inclusa. One of the doctors mentioned that infant mortality rates in Spain are high, too high, in his opinion. He seemed annoyed about it. Are the mothers truly that careless about their health? Would Rafa be able to tell her anything? No, she’d best not ask Rafa. Like her mother says, Rafa talks too much. He shares information with the charcoal delivery men in Vallecas and his friends at the slaughterhouse. Rafa thinks life is prettier with mouths open rather than shut.
“Give Aunt Teresa a kiss for me,” says Rafa. He leaves.
“Give her one from me too,” laughs Carlitos as he scurries back to the hotel.
“Are you here to see Ana?” asks Daniel.
Puri nods. A thought suddenly occurs to her. Could she ask Daniel? He doesn’t know anyone at the Inclusa or the clinic. Could he give her advice?
“May I ask you a question? Do you . . . go to confession?” asks Puri cautiously.
The question takes Daniel by surprise. “Yeah, but not as often as I should.”
“Me neither. I hate confession. They say I ask too many questions.”
Daniel shrugs. “It’s good to ask questions.”
“I think so too!” says Puri.
“I ask questions through photography,” says Daniel. “I take pictures of things and study the photos for answers.”
“And what if you don’t believe an answer that someone has given you?” says Puri. “Is it okay to ask more questions?”
Daniel pauses. “I’ve wrestled with that a bit myself lately. Sometimes I’m wary of the answers.”
“Do you keep secrets?” asks Puri.
“I have. But I don’t like to.”
“Me neither. That’s why I came to see Ana. She knows all about secrets.”
“Does she?”
“Oh yes.” Puri nods. “That’s why I need her help.”
“I’ll tell her you want to speak with her,” says Daniel.
“You’re going to see her?”
“Oh, I just meant that if I happen to see her I’ll mention it,” he says.
Puri looks at him. She nods with certainty. “You’re no good at keeping secrets.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“No, you’re not. You like my cousin,” announces Puri.
“You think so, huh?” says Daniel through his side grin.
“Well, I’ll ask you the question—do you like Ana?”
Daniel leans in close to Puri. “A lot,” he whispers. “Maybe that can be our secret?”
“Trading whispers, Purificación? That’s your name, isn’t it? You’re Ana’s cousin. Shouldn’t you have a chaperone?” Lorenza stands on the sidewalk, brows arching.
Puri’s hands clench. “Mind your own business,” she says.
“Ay, fine. Just think it would be a shame if you were issued a yellow card.”
Puri’s eyes expand with panic. She gives Daniel a bob of farewell and runs away down the sidewalk.
“You scared her,” says Daniel.
Lorenza shrugs. “Did I? Oh well. Ay, I see you have your camera. Maybe you’d like to take a picture of me, caballero?”
He looks at Lorenza. Her uniform is a size too small. Purposely. Her bright red lips and black hair match the flag of the Falange.
“I’m sorry, Lorenza. I’m out of film.” Daniel leaves her on the sidewalk and walks back into the hotel.
104
“I’m feeling fine, cariño. You needn’t worry. I’d love to see your photos.”
Daniel shifts to block his parents’ view. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until I have them all organized.”
“They look quite organized.” His mother smiles. “But I understand. I’ll wait for the full exhibit. Are you sure you can’t come to dinner? We haven’t had much time together. We’re celebrating your father’s contract tonight.”
“He’d rather be with the young people, María. He’s made some friends.”
His mother seems surprised. “Really? Who are your friends? Where are you going?”
Daniel struggles to skirt a lie. “They’re friends of Nick Van Dorn’s. We’re having dinner. They mentioned something about a late event.”
“Probably a flamenco show,” nods his mother.
The note slipped under his door said nothing about a flamenco show. It said:
11:00 p.m.–Tom Collins
“What about breakfast tomorrow?” asks his mother.