“Come.” Ana gently leads Daniel toward the corner. An elderly and shrunken Paco Lobo sits, his cane resting against the table. His suit jacket, once a perfect fit, now hangs large on his reduced frame. “Here he is, Paco.”
The man’s hand trembles as he reaches up to adjust his glasses. He peers at Daniel through impossibly thick cataracts that milk his eyes. “Welcome home, Matheson. You certainly kept her waiting long enough.”
“Am I a stupid man, or what?” says Daniel.
“Very stupid, I think. But Ben disagreed. He always told me, ‘Don’t let her marry anyone, Paco. He’ll be back.’ Ben was your biggest fan, you know.”
“And I his.”
“Of course, who else would let you steal press badges?” says Paco Lobo.
Daniel feels a tap at his shoulder. He turns to find Cristina, holding hands with a young man in a suit.
“Daniel, this is Jaime,” says Cristina.
“Hola, Jaime,” says Daniel slowly, looking to Ana for answers.
The young man is polite, well-spoken, and clearly nervous. He clings to Cristina’s hand tightly.
“Where did you two meet?” asks Ana.
“Jaime is working at the hotel for the summer. He brought my mountains of luggage to the room on the very first day and we just clicked. I’ve told him all about Texas. He’ll be starting university here in the fall. Jaime would like to take me to dinner tonight and sightseeing this week, but of course I told him we’d need your permission.”
Daniel looks at his sister. When did this happen and what is she thinking? Their father would object.
He feels Ana’s hand in his.
“Oh, I guess that’s . . . okay. Actually, I was thinking of taking Ana to Valencia for the weekend. Maybe you’d both like to join us.”
“Really?” says Jaime.
“That is, if your parents approve.”
“I told you,” says Cristina. “He’s the best brother.”
“Enjoy dinner. Be back by midnight, please,” says Daniel.
“Midnight?” says Jaime, confused.
“Mi amor, this is Madrid,” whispers Ana.
Daniel grants a later curfew and his sister exits with Jaime. “Have we been duped?” he asks. “These past few nights, do you think she was really upstairs, jet-lagged?”
“She may have been upstairs, but she wasn’t lonely or jet-lagged,” laughs Ana. She smiles. “Speaking of upstairs, we’re finally on our own for the evening.” She looks up at Daniel, running her fingers along his arm.
He’s suddenly desperate to leave the party. Daniel leans down and whispers in her ear. “Room service or Lhardy?”
“Room service. I’ll bring my knife and fork.”
148
“Don’t worry,” Ana had assured him the next morning. “They won’t give Cristina any information. Believe me, they’ll stick to sin datos. But maybe you’ll learn something.”
Daniel leads Cristina through the gates of the Inclusa. He recounts the story of finding the little boy on the street and bringing him into the office.
“How heartbreaking. Was I just left on the street like that, like Oliver Twist?”
“You were in fine form when Mom and Dad adopted you. You weren’t roaming the street.”
Cristina looks up at the imposing building. “It’s so . . . austere. I can’t imagine our mother coming here,” she says. “But thank God she did.”
The inside of the Inclusa stands quiet, more solemn than Daniel remembers. Their footsteps echo across the weary gray tile to the receiving office. After a few moments a nun enters. “Buenos días. May I help you?”
“We’re here to see Sister Purificación, please.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“I don’t think so. Please tell her that an old friend would like to say hello.”
The nun looks at them appraisingly. “Have a seat in the library. It’s the second door on the right.”
Cristina slips her hand into Daniel’s as they walk down the hall. The hush of the Inclusa inspires whispering. “This is it. My very first home.”
“You okay?”
She nods.
They sit at a table in the stark and lonely library. Cristina’s orange-and-yellow minidress screams with color amidst the drab books clinging to decades of silence. After an extended period a nun appears in the doorway. She does not enter, but stands, peering into the room. She is of medium height, thickset, and plain of face. Her lips purse, as if holding a button within them.
Daniel stands. “Sister Purificación, so good to see you.”
“Hello.” The word is spoken so softly it’s barely audible.
The nun takes a cautious step forward, peering at them.
“It’s been many years, Sister. I’m Daniel Matheson from Texas. We met one summer long ago when I was visiting Madrid. I stayed at the Castellana Hilton. I’m a friend of your cousin Ana.”
Puri looks at Daniel and a nerve near her mouth twitches. Her eyes move to Cristina. She stares, unblinking.
“Do you remember me, by chance?” he asks.
Puri breaks her gaze and turns to Daniel. She does not meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I do.” The fingers on both of her hands extend like a starfish and then ball tightly closed.
“Please, have a seat. This is my sister, Cristina.”
Puri sits down at the table carefully, as if the chair might explode.
Daniel looks to Cristina and nods.
“Good day, Sister. It’s so lovely to meet you. Thank you for taking the time. I’m on a trip down memory lane, you see. Well, I don’t actually have memories, only what I was told by our parents. I came to the Inclusa sometime around spring of 1957. I was sin datos. My parents came to Spain from Texas and Mother desperately wanted another child and—well, that’s too much detail. My parents came here to the Inclusa and you persuaded them to adopt me.”
Puri’s eyes widen. “No, no, I didn’t.”
“Oh, forgive me. Mother always said a young girl spoke very kindly of me. She convinced them that I was worthy and suited for the family. I thought perhaps it was you? If so, you were instrumental in my good fortune.”
“Forgive me if I . . . don’t recall the situation,” says Puri. Her eyes shift to Daniel momentarily and then back to Cristina. “Tell me. Are you happy, child?”