The Fountains of Silence: Chapters 41–78

But keeping the drawer of secrets tightly locked doesn’t mean she condones the dictator or the Falange.

America’s Distinguished Sons—Nicholas Van Dorn, son of embassy diplomat, and Daniel Matheson, son of Texas oil baron, attend the fashion gala at the U.S. Embassy.

Bound by the sacramental seal of confession, Rafa knows the Vallecas priest will not divulge his sins.

The small square window slides open and through the latticed screen, Rafa sees the silhouette of Father Fernández.

“For these and all my sins, I ask pardon of God, penance, and absolution of you, Padre,” he recites.

He feels lighter, grateful to be absolved of sin.

Puri prattles on until the priest interrupts her.

Following penance, the priest imparts absolution.

He is venturing out of bounds.

It’s a sensation that’s uncomfortable, foreboding. The nerves at the base of his neck ignite, sending caution signals to his mind.

He is well outside of Madrid amidst a large slum of squalid shacks.

The children shriek and wave, playful and exuberant.

The rabble of children, tempered by the man with the club, stand back with wide eyes.

The procession of fledglings and whispers trails down the street laden with pits and holes.

The pale dirt road is lined with small chabolas, crumbling barrio shacks, connected by crisscrossed clotheslines.

Snatches of flamenco guitar float over the crumbling roofs, interrupted by the irate screams of a woman.

Arguing briefly ensues, but a smiling young man with curly hair gives a broad wave.

No need to leave so quickly. It’s not an imposition.

Amidst the poverty, there is beauty and camaraderie in Vallecas.

His hair, the color of black crude oil, is parted on the side and slicked expertly back from his strong, architectural face.

Ay, look at the maestro! Quick, let’s take the photos before the children come running.

But he eyes Daniel with such contempt it won’t make for a good portrait. So Daniel instructs Fuga to look toward Ana, who stands nearby. Fuga’s expression eases and Daniel snaps the photos in profile.

Upon his return to the hotel, the lobby feels opulent to Daniel. Too opulent. It’s the way he feels when he returns from the oil fields to their estate in Preston Hollow.

The portly, bald gentleman wears wire-rimmed spectacles and nurses a fat cigar as if it were his last meal.

“Intrepid. That’s the perfect word for you. I like it.”

“Why not? It’s a symbol of reconciliation, right?”
Ben laughs hard and loud, which leads to a fit of coughing. “Reconciliation? Where’d you hear that, Matheson?”
“I didn’t. I was just wondering. The hotel magazine makes it sound like it’s a tribute, but it seems to upset some people.”

Although large and imposing, the building is otherwise unremarkable.

I send another letter, not to disturb you, kind Sir, but simply to appease my conscience.

His father’s brother is a pragmatic man, who rarely expresses emotion or concern.

“Caballeros, you have heard of my amigo who will fight this Sunday near Talavera de la Reina.”
“You mean your amigo whose bowels will be punched open by a mangy bull calf?”

These amateur village capeas, we know they are the only way to be seen by benefactors and ranchers. They are often the only way for an amateur to meet a bull. The road to Las Ventas arena in Madrid is long, amigos. But for one aspiring torero who seeks a benefactor and entrance into the world of the corrida, it begins this Sunday. Support this young bullfighter at his first capea.

One of the infants was sent to a requesting priest in Bilbao. The file on the other child is more cryptic.

The moment Daniel is seated with his parents at Lhardy, a waiter appears and ceremoniously lights the ivory taper candles on the table.

A few months ago your mother became pregnant. We were both shocked and elated but said nothing. It seemed too good to be true and we wanted to consult the doctors before sharing the news.

The tension at the table is palpable.

“At the back of the sanctuary, I have left three votive candles. Take them with you. Help your matador follow the proper ritual.”

“The torero must have an empty belly. That way it’s easier for the doctor to sew him back together if the bull tears holes in him.” The little boy smiles and nods, proud of his macabre knowledge.

The woman in 248...sleeps with her makeup on (evidenced by her pillow), and has a penchant for mystery (books with “Murder” in the title by someone named Agatha Christie).

He dons an ill-fitting amber suit.

His long arms, ungainly for a common man, are an asset for a torero. The muleta cape handles more easily and melodically with elongated arms.