“Well, I’m sorry. I need to stay. Just for a few more weeks. That was the plan.”
His mother comes to him on the sofa. “The plan has changed a bit. We’ll need you at home, tesoro.”
“Are you not feeling well?”
“On the contrary. I’m feeling wonderful.”
“We’ll need you, well, because we have some news,” says his father. “It’s mighty exciting.”
His mother gently takes his hands in hers. “Daniel, my love,” her face fills with light, “it is exciting news. Your father tells me that you knew of our communication with the orphanage, but now it’s confirmed. We’ve adopted a baby.”
123
Ana cries at the table. Lali cries in her box.
“Padre,” gasps Julia, staring at the priest. “Rafa. Fuga. Please, tell me it’s not true.”
“I’m sorry, my child.” The priest leaves their shack, a small man freighted with duty.
Julia turns pale as paper. She reaches for the table to steady herself. Small movements travel through her limbs until her entire body is quaking.
“Julia,” sobs Ana. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t cry. I’m here,” whispers her sister, staring into nothingness. “Father Fernández says they will release Rafa in a few weeks.”
Despite her sister’s pleadings, Ana and Rafa have failed her. It’s not fair of life to ask so much of Julia, to sacrifice so much. The words return to Ana, haunting her heart:
We have five mouths at the table now. No one can lose their job.
The world at the hotel is a fairy tale. That is not our world.
Julia warned her. Repeatedly. But despite the warnings, Ana began to dream from the deepest part of her heart. A trustworthy, honorable young man treated her with kindness and respect. She finally felt safe. She allowed herself to love him. But that was selfish. She put her own hopes and dreams before her family and now they will all suffer because of it.
Ana wipes her tears and lifts her niece from the orange crate, kissing her head and soothing her cries. She must help her sister. She must distract herself from the searing pain of losing her job, of losing Daniel.
The gravity of the situation pushes Julia into a chair.
“I’ll ask Luis if you can help at the shop or clean his home,” murmurs Julia. “Father Fernández says the men are taking up a collection for Rafa. We’ll have to use the money I saved for the apartment.” Julia speaks to the air, making plans aloud.
“Julia,” says Ana.
“Yes, we’ll use the apartment money.”
“Julia,” Ana repeats. But her sister ignores her.
“Aunt Teresa. Yes, Aunt Teresa will help.”
“Julia!”
Her sister’s gaze finally floats to her.
“Lali,” Ana says, touching the infant’s flushed cheeks. “She has a fever.”
124
Rafa leans against the grimy stone wall in the back of the jail cell. Rats gnaw and claw at the soles of his shoes. He wants to go to confession, to be in the sole presence of his dear and trusted priest. Father Fernández understands him. He always listens. He is always interested, always fair.
Rafa closes his eyes. He parts the drapes of the imagined confessional and sits on the smooth wooden bench. He begins his silent confession.
“Hail Mary the Purest,” says Rafa.
“Conceived without sin,” replies the priest.
“Padre, you have supported and guided me since I arrived in Vallecas. I stand now at a crossroads of conscience.”
“What troubles you, my child?” asks Father Fernández gently.
“The concept of sacrifice. You see, I thought sacrifice was doing something reluctantly. But now I question that. My father and mother sacrificed their lives in defense of education. They did it willingly. You have probably heard about my friend Fuga, El Huérfano. He has been promoted to heaven because he made such a grand sacrifice. And, Padre, he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Fuga had . . . a knowing. He sensed lies around the infants and threats around Ana. Even in that final moment, he was aware. I stood there in the field, waiting for El Huérfano to twirl the cape, but he did not. I became confused. I had no idea what was transpiring. But Fuga, he knew. He knew a man stood behind us. He knew the man had a gun. But he did not turn.
“At first, I could not abide this. You see, this was not Fuga, Padre. He would not turn his back to anyone or anything, not fear, not death. So I’ve wondered, why did he not face his opponent?
“I’ve sat in this cell among the rats, Padre, asking questions. I realize this sounds crazed, but when I still my mind, I’ve discovered I can hear Fuga. He brings me thoughts in the dark. And here’s what I’ve discovered.
“Fuga knew that if he turned and ran, multiple shots would be fired. He knew that they might hit the animals or me. So he stood, in majestic stance, his final fight of life, and do you know what?” Rafa’s voice quivers with emotion. “He was not afraid.
“And so I confess, dear Padre, that I feel confused. Fuga is gone. Taken by a bullet. I should feel guilty and full of fear. But somehow, I feel more connected to my friend and more proud of him than ever. Fuga never compromised. He never apologized for who or what he was. His difficult past was not a burden to him but an inspiration.
“My feelings and this communication with Fuga, it leaves me peaceful but also doubting the balance of my own mind. Yet I feel certain that Fuga has been promoted. I can feel him. He is an angel in a heavenly suit of lights. And do you know what he is doing? He is taking care of the children. All the poor children, the forgotten children, the stolen children.
“El Huérfano is taking care of his own.”
125
Daniel lies on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. A light knock sounds at the door. He jumps from the mattress, hoping that somehow it might be Ana.
Carlitos walks into the room and closes the door.
All bravado and mischief have fled from his face. He is no longer an errand broker or bellboy. His bottom lip quivers and his hands shake.
“What is it, Buttons? What’s wrong?”
Carlitos hides his face in the crook of his arm. He begins to cry.
Daniel kneels. “Hey, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” cries Carlitos. “Fuga—El Huérfano—they shot him in the pasture. They’ve put Rafa in jail.”