The Fountains of Silence: A Novel

“María Alonso Moya Matheson was born in the Galicia region of Spain but raised as a Spanish American in Texas. In public, his mother is the wife of an oil magnate and appears completely American. She baked fundraiser cakes for the Eisenhower campaign. She supports the Hockaday School and the Junior League, and is accepted by the socialites of Preston Hollow and Dallas at large. At home, his mom speaks to him only in Spanish. […] Many of their servants have Spanish heritage. His mother makes certain that Spanish food and customs are fixtures in his life.” 

This description of Daniel’s mother illustrates her dual identity. Despite her attempts at fitting in, baking cakes and supporting the Junior League, her overall behavior is too “ethnic” for Dallas high society. Yet her adherence to Spanish customs gives her son, who has never been to Spain, an affinity for her homeland.

“‘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. […] Of course they want to escape. I often wonder what Mother and Father would tell us to do.’” 

Julia’s words to her husband reflect her frustration with the conditions in which they live. Julia is exhausted emotionally and physically from her attempts to keep the family safe and together, and she worries about her siblings and their dreams, and how those dreams could get them into trouble.

“Do others in Spain have ghosts in the attic of their mind? Do they try to face them as he does? The door to the attic creaks constantly, beckoning Rafa with a long, crooked finger back to his childhood. Back to the war. On the dark attic stairs he passes buildings exploding with bombs, a man with a crater for a nose, bellies swollen with hunger, and the ‘brothers’ from the boys’ home, rubbing their fat palms together.” 

Rafa wonders if he is the only one haunted by memories of war, its aftermath, and the abuses he suffered at the hands of the church. This daily struggle to conquer his ghosts drives him mad; the journey to overcome them will define his character.

“What similarities could he possibly see between them? Daniel can travel anywhere in the world. He is heir to an oil dynasty, lives a life of privilege, and enjoys every freedom imaginable. He can vote in an election, pray to any God of his choosing, and speak his personal feelings aloud in public.” 

Ana is incredulous at Daniel’s assertion that they are similar in any way; she feels angry but does not express this anger. As always, Ana holds her tongue.

“The mantra of bullfighting is ‘To become a bullfighter, you must first become a bull.’ Fuga has long been a bull. He has courage and strength to battle any man or beast and remarkable finesse while doing it, but sometimes Rafa worries his friend lacks the inherent grace required of a torero.”  

Fuga is almost feral, a wild animal himself, and his only company is Rafa. Rafa worries that though this wild, feral quality makes him successful in the face of danger, Fuga does not have the showmanship and elegance required to be a popular bullfighter.

“The young women, wearing crisp taffeta dresses and white gloves, are debutante daughters of American diplomats, moguls, and military officers. They attend colleges like Wellesley and Bryn Mawr. Their dresses are different colors, but Daniel fears their destinies are probably similar. They will make advantageous marriages and be listed within the coveted Social Register in their city of residence.”

Daniel’s internal monologue reveals his contempt for American society. He dismisses the young women as being all the same, somehow drab, with similar destinies. This quote also sets up the contrast still to come when Daniel sees Ana in the designer dress at the embassy fashion show.

“Hands up. Elbows low. Move your head. Left-hand jab to the face, right-hand punch to the body. Dodge. Breathe out when you punch. They’re brawlers, not boxers. Broken nose. First man down. Keep your feet moving. Always look at your target. Pivot. Stay alert but stay calm. Throw the hard punch when you’re sure you can land it.” 

When Ben asks Daniel to help Nick, who is being assaulted in the alley behind the hotel, Daniel’s training in boxing comes to the surface. The sensitive photojournalist and kind and loyal friend doesn’t shy away from a physical fight.

“What is the cost of silence? If she remains quiet about her suspicions, is she granting acceptance of what is happening? If she imposes silence upon Ana and Rafa, what is that telling them? That she is ashamed of their parents?” 

Julia never expresses herself fully in words; however, her internal narrative has much more in common with Puri and Ana than any of them knows. Julia takes refuge in silence, terrified to be the cause of any more violence or pain. In doing so, she denies herself the possibility of being close to her siblings or seeking comfort and understanding from them.

“Bless me, Padre, for I am full of rage. I am seen by many but understood by few. My heart, so capable of love, is instead lined with hatred for our country’s leader. I detest that the coins I earn bear his image and the phrase ‘Caudillo by the grace of God.’ I detest that my future is determined by the past. I detest that I am made to feel unworthy and unable to pursue my heart’s desires. I dream constantly of leaving Spain, of being wanted, yet the hands that have reached for me have never loved me. My sole intimacy is with silence and the taste of tears.” 

Ana’s confession, which remains unspoken, reveals the ways in which the silence that traps her has affected her. Ana is generally cheerful and quiet, but this inner monologue, like Julia’s, reveals the anger she carries with her, every day, everywhere.

“The pale dirt road is lined with small chabolas, crumbling barrio shacks, connected by crisscrossed clotheslines. Daylight shines through the threadbare clothes pinned to the lines. They look more like gauze than garments. Elderly residents with thick brows and faces engraved by hardship rest on chairs outside the doors. […] A woman appears and dumps a bucket in a trench on the side of the road, sending streams of reeking sewage rolling down a well-worn canal.” 

Daniel’s first encounter with Vallecas is captured both on camera and by his own astonished eyes. Shocked at the poverty he sees, he cannot believe this is the same Spain he has seen in Madrid, where everything is clean and bright. In Vallecas, Daniel comes face to face with the truth about Spain under Franco.

“Daniel has never known theft as Rafa does. He has never sipped from a bucket or bathed in one. He was unprepared for Vallecas. Presumptuous.” 

Daniel’s embarrassment at his unwelcome and uninvited presence in Vallecas reveals that he is beginning to understand, at least in part, how his privilege as an American has blinded him. Daniel rebukes himself for his naïveté, echoing Ana’s silent rebuke in a previous chapter.

“‘Ana, I owe you an apology. I didn’t recognize you at the fashion show. […] It must have been horribly uncomfortable with me showering praise and introductions when in fact we had already met and interacted on several occasions.’” 

Mrs. Matheson’s apology to Ana for not recognizing Ana at the fashion show is both heartfelt and gracious. This apology, made privately but honestly, reinforces the idea that Mrs. Matheson is more than a Dallas socialite. 

“‘Lhardy is magical. It’s been open for over 100 years. They say that Queen Isabel II used to steal away from the palace just to eat at Lhardy. Of course, I’ve only been on errands to the foyer for a cup of broth or a croquette, but the doorman and staff are always lovely. […] Waiters stand behind screens, so not to interrupt the guests but to watch and tend to their every need.’” 

All of Ana’s hesitance and silence falls away as she describes the famous Lhardy, a restaurant in Spain known for its gourmet food and glamorous atmosphere. Her enthusiasm provides a glimpse into her real self—the self she will later have the freedom to become, when Franco dies.

“He loves the narrow, cobbled side streets of Madrid, the plate-glass windows with piles of pink shrimp, dried tuna, and advertisements for squid cooked in their own ink. He loves that the walls of every café on the Calle de Victoria are pasted with faded posters of bullfights and portraits of matadors. He appreciates the convenience of the Metro and that so much of life in Spain is lived outside, instead of inside […] In Madrid, Daniel finally feels adult, free to pursue what inspires him, and able to navigate the world on his own.” 

Daniel’s admiration for Madrid, and his sense of connection and comfort there, represents his Spanish heritage as well as his growing affection for Ana. His musings ignore, however, the underside of Spain that he encountered in Vallecas. 

“With slow and graceful steps, El Huérfano emerges. His gaze is strong and steady, showing reverence to the animal, acknowledging the exchange about to begin. He allows adequate distance and gives the cape a subtle twirl. The cow charges. At the last possible second, Fuga snaps the cape high and away, allowing the cow’s horns to pass so close to his torso that Nick gasps. Subsequent passes are completed with similar strength and grace, eliciting an ‘Olé’ from a few men.” 

Fuga’s first capea lays to rest Rafa’s worry that Fuga does not have the necessary grace to be a bullfighter. Indeed, Fuga’s performance is amazing, garnering admiration from both the Spanish and the American spectators.

“‘In the fields, across the mountains, under the streets, and beneath the trees lie thousands of souls, condemned to silence. But one day, far into the future when the pain is less sharp, the voices of the dead will find harmony with the living. They will make a melody. […] I sing for you, for my children, and for the better day I know will come.’” 

This passage comes from a letter from Julia, Ana, and Rafa’s mother to her sister, Puri’s mother. Despite the torment she endured, she still believed that change would come, and encouraged her sister to believe this as well.

“‘He’s building the Valley of the Fallen and it’s going to cost millions of dollars. Under Franco, there is no longer freedom of religion […] It’s a military dictatorship. People in Catalonia and Basque Country are not allowed to speak their native languages. The people are obedient because they’re emotionally exhausted. There’s a tension that exists between history and memory. Some people are desperate to remember but others are desperate to forget.’” 

Daniel recites everything he has learned about Spain to Ben before he arrives at Franco’s palace. He quotes Ana at the end, when he says that some are desperate to remember while others wish to forget. 

“Attendants and domestics have been part of Daniel’s life since birth. They fade into his background, like Franco’s security guards. They are silent witnesses, seemingly blind and deaf to all conversations and indiscretions. But they are not blind and deaf. Everything is noted.” 

Although Ana agrees to have dinner with Daniel—despite the possibility of getting caught and losing her job—Daniel’s inability to see what is under his nose still frustrates her. Daniel is blind to the staff as people, not because he is inconsiderate or rude, but because they are part of the background of his everyday life. He doesn’t appreciate what they see and the things they know about the hotel guests.

“‘This is your golden hour. Rent the Buick and whisk her off to the Costa Brava. Roll the windows down and feel the sun on your face. Walk along the beach together. Take pictures. Stay up late and sleep in later. Wake up with sand in your hair, sand in your pants. Don’t come back until you run out of money.’”

Ben’s advice to Daniel after Ana is fired is inspired by Ben’s own regret for not seizing the moment as a young man. His advice is also unrealistic: Ana could never do these things with Daniel; not in Spain, and not in 1957.

“‘You know my family,’ he wants to say. ‘When I was a tiny boy, I watched you murder my father. My parents were respected teachers. You arrested our mother for sewing flags.’” 

Rafa’s internal responses to repeated questions from the Guardia Civil after Fuga’s death indicates Fuga’s anger and frustration. He remains silent, however, and in so doing protects his family from any repercussions from his arrest.

“Instead, he remained miles away, both in geography and relationships. Photography kept him on the road, making it easy to be alone. He hopped from assignment to assignment, continent to continent.” 

This description of Daniel after leaving Spain indicates Daniel’s acceptance of the silence of Spain, as well as his acceptance of Ana’s command to leave her alone. It is clear that Daniel tried to lose himself in his work, and it is equally clear that he never got over losing Ana.

“‘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.’” 

This is the only response Puri makes to Daniel’s repeated questions after his return to Spain. She engages in the same doublespeak that so frustrated her as a young woman, an indication of the way in which she has become fully complicit—against her will—in the system she questioned.

“During my study and examination, the fragile tension between history and memory emerged. Some were desperate to remember and others were desperate to forget. I was haunted by the descriptions of the war—and also war after war. Hunger, isolation, fear, and the socialization of silence. Suffering emerged the victor in Spain, touching all sides and breaking many hearts.” 

Sepetys explains her interest in Spain here, which is reflected in the characters she created and the story told through them. She noticed the “socialization of silence”—from which comes her title for the book—and notes that the line between wanting to remember and wanting to forget only makes people more uncertain, and therefore hesitant to speak.