The Fountains of Silence

I clung to books and words because, unlike people, they’d never abandon me.

Silence has a voice of its own.

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.

Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly.

Some were desperate to remember and others were desperate to forget.

Sometimes the truth is dangerous… But we should search for it nonetheless.

... I’m not running around blaming anybody. I’m doing the work. Which is what, exactly? Letting it hurt.

We have only died if you forget us. —anonymous epitaph SPANISH CIVIL WAR MASS GRAVE

He doesn’t carry the disease of fear.” “It’s easy to be fearless when you have nothing to lose,” says Julia.

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.

You must be brave,” says Rafa. “One Texano against three Vallecanos.” “Bravery and stupidity are sometimes interchangeable.” Rafa lights up. “Yes! But fear brings dimension to our lives. Without fear we will never meet courage

There is a tension that exists between history and memory, señor. Some of us are desperate to preserve and remember, while others are desperate to forget.

Some friendships are born of commonality. Others of proximity. And some friendships, often the unlikely ones, are born of survival. Rafa and his friend are comrades of hardship. They refuse to speak of the boys’ home in Barcelona. It was not a “home.” It was a hellhole, a slaughterhouse of souls. The “brothers” and “matrons” who ran the institution took pleasure in the humiliation of children. The mere memory is poison.

Thousands of babies were stolen from their parents during the Franco dictatorship in Spain, but the story was suppressed for decades. Now, the first stolen-baby case has gone to court. The trial is expected to last months. As Lucía Benavides reports from Spain, it’s a dark part of Spanish history that is finally getting more recognition. Between 1939 and the late 1980s, it is alleged that over 300,000 babies were stolen from their birth mothers and sold into adoption. —LUCÍA BENAVIDES

The perfect word is like the perfect camera angle. It expresses the true nature of the situation. Change the camera position slightly, and the picture tells tales.

We have only died if you forget us.

The sweet girl in Madrid... It probably wouldn't have worked. The divide was too wide. Memories are hungry, tesoro. You musn't feed them. I'd hate to think that a teenage fling might leave you alone for the rest of your life.

No money, no cradle. Earnings pay rent on their mother's grave. If payment is not made, her body will be dug up and thrown in a common trench.

And so I confess, dear Padre, that I feel confused. Fuga is gone. Taken by a bullet. I should feel guilty and full of fear. But somehow, I feel more connected to my friend and more proud of him than ever. Fuga never compromised. He never apologized for who or what he was. His difficult past was not a burden to him but an inspiration.

Valencia. City by the sea, birthplace of her favorite painter, Sorolla. Hotel guests speak of Valencia’s tranquil beauty, fragrant orange trees, and rolling blue waters. What does a large body of water sound and smell like? Ana wonders. Landlocked, fenced by circumstance, she has never seen the sea. She sees Spain only through images on postcards that guests collect in their rooms. If she transfers to the hotel business office, perhaps one day she too will walk along the beach in Valencia.

Look at you two. That- is the truth.

Like the character of Daniel, I wanted to understand. I wanted to reciprocate the affection, comprehension, and compassion that the people in Spain had shown toward me and the history within my books. As my research progressed, I realized that the refrains were accurate. Not only is it difficult for an outsider to understand, I often found myself asking, “What right do we have to history other than our own?

Rafa blinks, blocking the painful memories, hiding his collapsed heart beneath a smile. “Buenos días, señora. How may I help you?” he asks the customer. “Blood.” “Sí, señora.” Give them their blood. For more than twenty years, Spain has given blood. And sometimes Rafa wonders—what is left to give?

This is your time, Dan. Grab it and run. Do the stuff you see in the movies. It’s the stuff no one gets to do. But you can do it, Matheson. I don’t want you calling me in ten years whining that you should have done this and should have done that. As the saying goes, it’s later than you think.

Yes, most are very happy. But they have no parents.” Sister exhales her annoyance. “It is better to have no parents than the wrong parents.

Ana remembers the teachings of the Sección Femenina: “Do not pretend to be equal to men.” They also teach that purity is absolute. Women’s bathing suits must reach the knees. If a girl is discovered in a movie theater with a boy but no chaperone, her family is sent a yellow card of prostitution.

Doll. Dame. Kitten. Baby. American men have many terms for women. Just when Ana thinks she has learned them all, a new one appears. In her English class at the hotel, these words are called terms of endearment.

She worries about the older children. Newborn babies are the most desirable for adoption. It is more difficult to find homes for the older orphans. If the child’s parents or grandparents were known to be Spanish Republicans, those who opposed Franco during the war, then the child must be rehabilitated and reeducated as a rational human being. Puri heard one couple tell Sister Hortensia that they didn’t want a child who had been “circling the drain.” They said they wanted an infant—“a bright, fresh canvas.