The Fountains of Silence by Ruta Sepetys

RANK O RAM , U.S. public affairs officer, USIS, Madrid (1959–1962)
    Oral History Interview Excerpt, April 1989
    Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection
    Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training
    Arlington, VA www.adst.org

20
    Julia carries a package wrapped in stiff brown paper. Before she arrives at the open door, she hears the baby begin to cry. “ Mamá is coming, Lali.”
    Her husband, Antonio, carries the infant back and forth across the earthen floor. The slight drag of his left foot is a teenage souvenir, courtesy of the Guardia Civil. At fourteen, Antonio and his friends thought they were mature. They shared cigarettes, analyzing Spain’s political straitjacket, and whether Franco was using memories of the war to control the population. Their secret conversation resulted in brutal beatings that cost one boy an eye, another his teeth, and Antonio his gait.
    Julia closes the door. A tin kerosene lamp dangles from a wire stapled to the sagging ceiling. Absent the daylight from the door, the only remaining light in the room comes from the primitive lamp and a small broken window.
    “Why are you home so early?” asks Antonio, concern striping his face. “And why are you closing the door? It’s too hot.”
    Julia kisses her husband and the baby. She sets the papered bundle on a chair and reaches into a crate for a piece of folded fabric. With a flick of her wrists the fabric billows and settles over the scarred wooden table. “Luis sent us out of the shop. An American actress wanted to discuss a custom cape. She requested privacy.”
    Antonio releases a sigh of relief. “Let me guess. Ava Gardner.” He shakes his head. “Poor Luis. A request from one of her bullfighter boyfriends, no doubt.”
    Julia moves the fat bundle to the table. “ Sí , but this is why I closed the door.”
    She pulls the twine and the corners of the starched paper flower open like an envelope magically unfolding itself. Even in the dim space, the stack of garments shimmers and glows like electric starlight.
    “ ¡Maravilloso! ” breathes Antonio. “It’s beautiful.”
    Julia nods, picking up the chaquetilla , the matador’s ornate, cropped jacket. “No sleep tonight. I must finish the beading that lines the edges. Ordóñez comes for it tomorrow.”
    Antonio points to a stack of turquoise fabric still in the paper. “And that?”
    Julia smiles. “For Rafa’s torero .”
    “No! Luis let the wild orphan borrow a suit of lights?”
    “Not exactly. Last year, Rafa buried Luis’s brother at the cemetery. Luis says this favor is for Rafa, not the torero . It’s quite big. I’ll need to alter it to fit.”
    “In the spare time that you don’t have. You are a wonderful big sister.”
    Julia folds the paper back over the blue suit to conceal it. She reaches for the baby.
    “She’s better today,” says Antonio, placing Lali in her arms. “Getting stronger. Her voice is louder.”
    “I thought so this morning, but then wondered if I was imagining it.” Julia cradles the infant and sits on a chair for feeding. Lali squeals and bats her tiny fists.
    “And you, mi amor ?” asks Antonio.
    Julia nods. “I’m getting stronger too.”
    She wishes he could believe her. Julia knows his arms ache with sadness. She wonders if Antonio feels her pain through their embrace as she feels his, as she feels Lali’s. The baby’s cries are haunting, heavy with separation.
    Antonio pours water from a bucket into a clay mug and brings it to his wife. He then pours a mug for himself.
    Julia looks around the small room and sighs. Strands of hair, wet with sweat, cling to her face. “I tell myself this is temporary. But we work ourselves day and night, and nothing changes. No wonder Ana and Rafa dream as they do. No wonder Rafa idolizes his fellow gravedigger. Rafa says they call him Fuga . Escape.” Julia looks down at her daughter. “Of course they want to escape. I often wonder what Mother and Father would tell us to