Antonio claps his hands to his knees. Ana wraps an arm around Julia.
“Is that correct?” asks Daniel.
“Sí,” says Antonio. “Years ago, when Rafa and Fuga believed something was happening, they thought it might involve hundreds of children.”
“Once Spain transitions maybe the adoptions will be acknowledged in some way,” says Daniel.
Julia smiles. “You’re an optimist. For now the acknowledgment will be between us. Please, let’s proceed carefully,” says Julia.
“I think my father would like that too. But there’s a complication. I’m not sure if you know, but when I met Ana eighteen years ago—” Daniel takes her hand.
“Amigo,” says Antonio, laughing. “Trust me, we know. We know!”
“They know,” agrees Ana. “They’ve put up with my crying for years.”
“Ay, how she lamented. ‘Daniel, her Daniel,’ like The Lovers of Teruel!” says Julia with a flap of her hand. She pauses, then releases a genuine smile. “But truly, I’m so happy for my sister.”
“So, you see, I don’t want to keep our families apart,” says Daniel.
“We appreciate your patience. Julia and I will certainly discuss it,” nods Antonio.
“Nick says there’s a reception in the Toledo Room of the hotel this afternoon,” says Ana. “Apparently, many people will be mingling so you can see her and it won’t feel forced.” She turns to Julia. “Cristina’s stunning and speaks lovely Spanish. But you must brace yourself. She’s quite American.”
“I don’t care what she is,” whispers Julia. “She’s my daughter.”
This was a fascinating period to be there because to watch a country that has been almost 40 years under a dictatorship gradually turn itself into basically a very successful democracy is, from a professional point of view, a fascinating thing to watch.
—WELLS STABLER, U.S. ambassador to Spain (1975–1978)
Oral History Interview Excerpt, February 1991
Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection
Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training
Arlington, VA www.adst.org
147
“I don’t think I ever saw this part of the hotel,” says Daniel.
“Like the Placita, the Toledo Room is preserved from the original palace,” Ana explains.
“You were going to give me a full tour years ago but we became distracted with other things.”
“Which I’m hoping happens again soon.” She smiles.
“Hola, buddy!” bellows Nick from the hallway. “Come with me.” He corrals Daniel down the corridor to the Toledo Room and throws open the door.
“¡Bienvenido!” cheers a small group of people.
Daniel looks around. Who are they welcoming? Wait—him? The reception is for him?
A Spanish guitar begins to play. Cristina runs to him with excitement.
“Please don’t be mad. I know you hate being the center of attention, but when Nick suggested a little welcome-back gathering, I thought it was a fun idea!”
A round table with food and drinks sits in the center of the lavish blue room. Nick greets fellow diplomats from the embassy. Daniel cringes, hating parties, but he knows why Nick organized this one. Near the door stand Julia and Antonio.
“Got a little surprise for you,” says Nick, pulling him across the room. Carefully displayed on the wall is a selection of his photos from 1957. The hotel. The exotic streets of Madrid. The Van Dorns’ dinner party. Rafa. Fuga. Vallecas. Nick. Ana. Standing proudly next to the photographs is an elderly man with bushy gray eyebrows.
“Miguel?” asks Daniel. “Miguel, is that you?”
The man opens his arms and the two photographers reunite with an embrace.
“Miguel, it’s so good to see you! I’ve thought of you so often. I can’t believe it, you kept my duplicate photos, after all these years?”
“Sí. A promise is a promise. I also have these photos.” Miguel lifts a copy of National Geographic from the table. “We followed you through the years, Texano. Ana would run to the shop and ask questions about your photos. Together we dissected every detail and made markings on a map to follow you. Caramba, we worried.” Miguel puts his hands on Daniel’s shoulders. His voice rolls low with emotion. “What a journey you’ve been on. I am so proud of you, amigo. Capa would be proud too.”
Daniel doesn’t care that his eyes are welling for all to see. Like Ben, the man in front of him believed when others didn’t. He gives Miguel another hug and in the process spots Julia and Antonio speaking to Cristina. The conversation appears light and happy. Cristina, ever affectionate, reaches out and touches Julia before she leaves and heads toward the photos. Julia’s joy is radiant, even from afar. Ana smiles and squeezes his arm.
Nick regales a press attaché with stories about the photos.
“Look at my busted face!” says Nick. “I had two sinus surgeries after that beating. But you should have seen what Danny boy did to the other guys. He took that picture from the front seat of a taxi on the way to the hospital.”
Daniel looks at his self-portrait, taken after the fight, in the mirrored elevator. Staring back at him is an eighteen-year-old kid, standing tall, bloody, and unapologetic, ready to charge against the wind.
Miguel’s hand touches his back. “Ay, still the same,” he says quietly.
Cristina approaches the group. “Who’s the smoking man in so many of the pictures?” asks Cristina. “Is that Ben? Your Ben?”
The smoking man. Daniel looks at a photo of Ben, alone on the dance floor. He moves to a beat entirely his own, life pouring in and out of him. He lived hard and played harder. He did the work.
“Yep, that’s Ben. You met him once when you were little. He’s the one who got me in at the magazine. They needed a bilingual photographer for some projects in South America.”
Cristina points to the photo of Fuga. “And who’s the bullfighter?”
Fuga sits in the back seat of the car before the capea. Hordes of smiling children from Vallecas press against the window. Fuga’s hand touches the glass, returning their love and respect.
“Oh, man, that guy was mythic,” says Nick. “He ate fire for breakfast. So angry and mean.”
“No,” says Daniel. “Not at all. He was much more than that. He was special.” He reaches out and touches the photo of Fuga, recalling the matador’s concern for Ana and his belief about the stolen children.