The Fountains of Silence (54 page)

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?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“You were raised speaking Spanish in Texas?”

“Yes, Mother was from Galicia and insisted that we speak Spanish.”

“And you’ve been raised in the Catholic Church?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“And how are your parents?”

“Mother died six years ago.”

“Oh, dear girl.” Puri’s face pinches with distress.

“My brother and father have done a wonderful job, though.”

“Is your father still working in oil?” she asks.

“Oh, you remember our father?” asks Daniel.

Puri pauses, then shakes her head quickly. “Many oil men were in Madrid at the time.”

“Yes, our father is still very successful in oil,” says Cristina. “Daniel works with him . . . well, he was a great photographer but quit when Mom died. He came home to help raise me.”

Puri nods carefully. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. I graduated in May with high honors, Sister, and I’ve been accepted to Vanderbilt University. I had my debutante ball last year.”

Puri’s face brightens. “My, how wonderful. What a blessed child you are. Such a lovely young lady with a caring and successful family. Your future sounds plentiful with opportunity.”

Daniel watches Puri. She’s sincere but solemn. Detached. He
vaguely remembers her as a giddy girl, someone who asked a lot of questions. But something has stolen the light from her eyes. Puri must favor her father’s side. She’s Ana’s cousin, but looks nothing like her. Puri must see the resemblance between Cristina and Lali. Does she pretend not to? Is that why she seems so unnerved by their conversation? Of course she has no idea that he has reunited with Ana.

“If my birth parents ever came to inquire about me, would there be record of it?” asks Cristina.

Her question pains Daniel. He has to tell his sister.

Puri shakes her head. “As you said, you were
sin datos
. You arrived with no name, no information. You were likely issued a number. Upon your adoption, a birth certificate was created. In Spain, the adoptive parents are listed as the birth parents.”

Cristina nods acceptingly. “Would it be possible to take a tour of the Inclusa? I’d like to see where I slept and played.”

“There’s not much to see. Our Inclusa is much quieter these days. We don’t have nearly as many children. If you were here for a short time as an infant, you would have been in the nursery,” says Puri. “But if you’d like, I can ask someone to guide you through.”

Puri enlists the help of a young aide to assist Cristina.

“I’ll wait here for you,” he tells his sister.

Puri rises to leave.

“Sister Purificación. Please, stay a moment?”

149

Puri sits, staring at Daniel. He’s relaxed. Quietly confident. So handsome. And so unaware.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says.

Puri manages a smile.

“I’m wondering, Sister. Are there many adoptive families who come from outside of Spain?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” shrugs Puri. She carefully rests her clasped hands on the table. “
Señor
Matheson, what a beautiful life your sister has. Clearly, she wants for nothing and every opportunity lies before her. It brings me indescribable joy to see how profoundly she has benefitted from adoption. That’s not always the case.”

Daniel looks at her and Puri’s nerves begin to tingle. Why does he stare like that? Could he know something? She feels compelled to fill the space.

“You mentioned you were here before. Do you remember our former director, Sister Hortensia? Sister has gone with God, but was responsible for most of the adoptions.”

“Yes, I vaguely remember her,” says Daniel.

“She would have placed your sister. She placed so many. Plenty have returned looking for her”—she clears her throat—“and I imagine many more will come.”

Daniel says nothing, just nods. Silence continues to tick between them.

The look on his face. Discomfort. “Are you unwell,
Señor
Matheson?”

“Forgive me, Sister. I’m very well, just a bit disappointed that you don’t remember me. I came here with a lot of questions. I still remember the day we spoke in front of the hotel. You told me I was terrible with secrets and that I liked your cousin Ana. You were right. I did like Ana. And you were also right—I’m terrible with secrets. I don’t like them.”

But he has no real intimacy with secrets, thinks Puri. His genes are true to his name.

“Sister, could you have known who Cristina’s birth parents were?”

Puri’s face fills with sadness. She still does not know who her own birth parents are. “You speak of knowing,
Señor
Matheson. The time you speak of, I would have been a teenager, a frightened teenager, at that. My ‘knowing’ was probably quite limited. Through my own struggles I’ve learned that knowing is something that evolves. What we think we know can be quite far from the truth. If we continue to seek and ask questions, we may one day find our way into the answers. But sometimes the answers only lead to more questions.”

Daniel sits, absorbing her words. “Speaking of questions, what if one day I was to reunite with Ana . . . permanently.”

Puri smiles wide. Her face is completely transformed by authentic joy. “Oh, that would be wonderful! Ana is a beautiful human being. She deserves every happiness.”

“I agree. Of course I have no way of knowing how things will progress. But I’m hopeful.” Daniel shrugs and smiles. “I’m just trying to imagine the blending of our families—Julia, Antonio, Rafa, my father”—he pauses—“Julia’s daughter, Lali, together with my sister, Cristina. I’m told they’re the same age.” He gives a questioning look. “Perhaps they’ll have things in common and become friends?”

Is Daniel speaking hypothetically or does he really know something? He’s treading suspicion, searching for air between a break in the waves. She knows exactly what it feels like and she feels badly for him. He has
the desire to search and turn over rocks, but also the fear of what might lie beneath. Fear. It’s kept her mute and alone for many years.

“Friends,” says Puri quietly. “Yes, maybe they could be friends. Maybe one day we could all be friends.”

Daniel pauses. “Forgive me for saying so, Sister Purificación, but your path to the religious order has surprised me. But I’m happy you have found contentment,” he says.

The familiar twinge appears inside Puri. He speaks of contentment. He is probably well acquainted with it. He pursues his questions with a rigor of authority. He is never chastised, threatened, or laughed at for seeking explanation. Puri hears the threatening words of Sister Hortensia.

God is calling to you through these questions, Purificación. Rather than sharing your sinful queries aloud, you will devote yourself to contemplation and prayer. You will.

Puri rises to leave. Yes, she sees it all around him. Handsome and kind Daniel Matheson knows contentment, so he assumes she does as well.

“It’s not contentment,” says Puri, walking to the door. “It’s a vocation, from the Latin
vocare
, ‘to call.’ It’s a calling—to love and serve. We all choose to live out our vocations in different ways. Your father has a calling to oil. Your sister mentioned your calling to photography. Our former director, Sister Hortensia, she had a calling to orphans and placed so many of us.”

Daniel’s brow lifts in surprise.

“Yes. Any life choice involves sacrifice. Perhaps you’ve discovered that? I chose to enter this order seeking God, not explanations. So, you see,
Señor
Matheson, after many years of questions and prayer, I finally felt a calling of my own. And my calling was to silence.”

“But, something you said,” begins Daniel. “It resonates with me. You said that knowing is something that evolves, that what we think we know can be quite far from the truth.”

“Yes.”

“But what if we actually
do
arrive at certainty? In your opinion, Sister, once we discover the truth”—he stares at her—“what should we do?”

A note of hope rings through Puri’s heart.

He knows.

She walks back to the table.

“When you discover the truth, you must speak it aloud and help others to do the same,
Señor
Matheson. Truth breaks the chains of silence.” Puri puts a trembling hand to her chest. Her voice drops to a whisper.

“It sets us all free.”