Ana nods. “I’ve always wondered if Ben was responsible for Paco hiring me.”
They sit, silent in the memory of Ben. Ana softly traces her finger across a large, angry scar on Daniel’s forearm. “That’s new.”
“Not recent, but new since we last saw each other. I don’t mind admitting, that one hurt. It cut straight through to the bone. Twenty-two stitches and two infections.”
Ana lifts his arm and kisses it. She then takes both of his hands. “Daniel, your mother. I’m so sorry.”
He nods, the electricity of Ana lingering on his arm. “Thank you. Mom’s death wasn’t a surprise, like Ben’s. I was able to spend time with her. She was sick for several years, in and out of treatment, always trying to hide it. Cristina was just twelve when Mom died. My father was completely lost. I stayed home after the funeral to pitch in. He begged me to move back to Dallas to help with my sister.”
“Did you want to move back?” asks Ana.
“Initially no. But I knew it’s what my mom would have wanted. So, I left the magazine, became second father to a teenage girl, and now work with Dad in oil. It sounds crazy, even as I hear myself describe it.”
She holds both his hands and heart, full of compassion.
“But, Ana, what about you?”
“Ask me anything. I think we’ve waited long enough. And just in case you’re curious, no, I’ve never dated Nick,” she laughs. “Admit it, you were wondering.”
“Well, maybe.” He smiles. She knows him so completely and he loves it. “Do you still live in Vallecas?”
“No, I live in the city now. But I still live with Julia’s family. Do you live with your dad on the estate?”
Daniel shakes his head. “I have a place of my own nearby.”
He looks at her face, so open and eager to talk. “Rafa?” he asks.
She takes a breath, smiling. “Rafa works for the Las Ventas arena. He loves his job. He married the sister of a bullfighter and they have three beautiful children. Rafa still lives in Vallecas. It’s changed quite a bit but Rafa would never leave. He helped build a new church there.”
“And your cousin? What was her name?”
Ana gives an awkward chuckle. “Puri. Yes, Purificación is well.”
She adjusts her posture and again takes his hands. A bird chirps from the tree above. “We’ve been apart for so long. Much has changed in Spain over the years. Since the 1940s each decade has been different. Now that Franco’s dead I don’t know if anyone outside of Spain could ever understand what it was like. It’s so complicated.”
She looks into his eyes. “Daniel, I was so foolish. I pushed you away. I said that you could never understand me, yet years have passed and I think you’re the only person I can truly feel myself with. You saw my life. You saw my fear. You do understand me. I’ve imagined and dreamed of being able to speak to you. To apologize and set things right.”
“Trust me,” he says, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “At this moment everything feels really right.”
She shakes her head. “Not exactly. There’s something you don’t know.”
Certainly, there is an argument to be made that, because of our close association with Franco, the kinds of economic and financial support that we’d given Spain, in return for the bases, we had prolonged the Franco period. It might have died a more natural death, in the minds of many people in Spain, if we’d not been there to support that structure. But you had the whole spectrum of views on the U.S. role.
—CURTIS C. CUTTER, U.S. political officer, Madrid (1970–1972)
Oral History Interview Excerpt, February 1992
Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection
Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training
Arlington, VA www.adst.org
140
Ana shakes her hands out in front of her. “I’m so nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous. Just tell me.”
She takes a breath, gathering strength, and begins to whisper. “This was many years ago and I’m not sure you’ll even remember. But Rafa told me that you took photos at the cemetery.”
Daniel nods, remembering his pictures. The picture of the nun with the dead baby anchored his winning contest entry for the Magnum. He tried to share the story of the empty baby coffins with news outlets in the U.S. but no one seemed interested.
“Fuga convinced Rafa that children of Spanish Republicans were being stolen from maternity clinics around Spain. They suspected children were sold to fascist families.”
Ana looks over each shoulder, making certain no one is nearby. “But what they didn’t know is that it involved my sister, Julia.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Julia was pregnant,” begins Ana.
“What do you mean? I took pictures of her baby,” says Daniel.
“You took pictures of one of her babies,” whispers Ana, trying to bind her emotion. “Julia had twins. The birth was premature. Both infants were small, but one was stronger than the other. The doctors told Julia and Antonio that one of the babies had died. They both had deep suspicions but were too frightened to speak of it. The nuns and doctors were so adamant, and given that our parents were considered Reds, Julia was fearful to say anything.”
“Are you saying they stole Julia’s baby?”
Ana nods.
“Jeez,” breathes Daniel, pulling Ana into his arms. “And how is Julia’s daughter now?”
“Lali, she’s okay. When she was little, she had a terrible phobia of being separated from Julia. Growing up in Vallecas had its challenges. I have a recent photo of her . . . but I’m not sure I should show it to you.”
“I’d like to see it.”
Ana opens her mouth to speak but then shakes her head. She leans in to Daniel and kisses him. “I’ve missed you so much, you could never imagine how I’ve felt.”
“Believe me, I can.”
“I don’t want to ruin things.” A tear falls across her face. “But there can’t be any secrets between us.”
“Ana, why are you crying? You won’t ruin things.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” he assures her.
She nods, choking back tears, and reaches in her purse. She hands a photograph to Daniel. “This is Lali.”
Daniel looks at the photo. It’s not Lali. It’s his sister, Cristina.