Disclaimer: All the characters in this chapter belong to the copyright holders at Zorro Productions. I don't make any profit from writing this story other than the personal enjoyment of putting my words on paper, and I paid my dues to the copyright holders for the pleasure of watching the newly-released DVD.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." The opening words of confession floated across the wooden lattice that separated the padre from the penitent. He recognized the familiar voice and waited expectantly to hear what sins had brought Mendoza to the confessional.
"Father, my heart is filled with hatred. I know I must forgive but I can't. I just can't. He left me behind to be tortured and killed, he ran off to save his own skin." Was there a quiver in Mendoza's voice as he spoke? The padre couldn't tell but this was not Mendoza's usual confession. "What happened my son? Tell me what has troubled you so," he responded.
Mendoza's thoughts went back to that day in the plaza. The Emisario passing judgment on them. There was no hope. It seemed he would see both Mendoza and the alcalde dead by this time tomorrow. They had each been left to spend their final hours as they wished but with no hope of reprieve or escape. The Emisario had made it clear that as bad as it would be to die, he would make it horribly worse for the one who remained if either tried to escape. He set them "free" counting on their loyalty to each other to keep them from trying to make a run for it. When Mendoza saw the alcalde coming back into town with the soldiers and Resondo's dead body, something broke in him. He couldn't get over the sudden realization that the alcalde really had betrayed him.
"All he cared about was himself. A soldier is used to taking orders, even to risking his life to carry out a mission but this is different. He left me behind to save his own skin, knowing what the Emisario would do to me when he returned. When I hear his voice, I hate him. He cheated me twice and I forgave him. But this I cannot forgive. I cannot forget. I hate him." The last words were bitter. Mendoza felt the spaces in the wood beneath him that were worn down from many knees. His faith had always brought him through in the past. He had turned to it again when he felt overwhelmed by the violence and depth of these new feelings.
"My son," responded the padre, "there are many things in this world that are evil but we must never lose sight of God in the midst of them. There are worse things than physical death. It is a more terrible thing to die spiritually through hatred and bitterness than to be run through with a sword or hung by a noose. And our Savior warned us that unforgiveness brings torment to the heart that harbors it. You did well to come today."
Mendoza raised his eyes to the lattice through which the voice of the padre came. A little bit of light came through as well and he could just make out the silhouette of the padre's head. He waited for the padre to continue. Could there be an answer, some words that would undo the damage to his heart?
"My son, the Holy Word tells us of Joseph, a young man who was betrayed by his own brothers. They sold him to be a slave to strangers. He was torn away from his family and his home. Was this not a betrayal?"
"Si" replied Mendoza.
"And then, after he had served his master faithfully for years and had risen to a position of respect, he was falsely accused of the very crime that he had refused to commit. But no one would listen to him, no one would believe him. He was thrown into prison. Was this not a betrayal?"
As the padre paused, Mendoza again answered, "Si."
"Then, in prison," the padre continued, "the young man was again faithful. He served the other prisoners according to his orders. One day, he had a chance to help a prisoner who was going to be released. He begged the man to remember him and to help him get a new hearing after he was set free. But the man forgot him and two years went by. Do you think Joseph would understand what you have gone through?"
Mendoza had been listening to the story and had to stop and think for a moment. Yes, the young man must have had thoughts of bitterness, too. Did he hate his brothers? Mendoza thought of how he had never known his own family. Did he have brothers and sisters? Growing up as an orphan, he had reached out to the army to be a family to him. Perhaps some of the pain came from the fact that he had believed that if he had served faithfully enough, the alcalde could be like a father to him. He expected a father to give orders and be hard to please. But he had believed that with time, especially with this new alcalde, he had hoped that his faithfulness and loyalty would be noticed and rewarded with, if not affection, at least with a respect, a camaraderie, that would have been deeper, more meaningful, than that of superior officer and soldier. For a moment, he had even thought it had happened. He remembered De Soto's arm around his shoulders as he talked of the house he would build for Mendoza with the lottery money he had won. It had seemed for a moment that he had found respect for his dreams, encouragement to be all he could be. Also when he had tried out for a promotion. At the memory of this, Mendoza unconsciously clenched his fists. Both times the alcalde had betrayed him. De Soto had used inferior materials and cheated him out of his money as his architect, and then he tricked him into losing the promotion. Suddenly, Mendoza realized that the padre was still waiting for his answer.
"Yes, he would understand." The words were short and clipped as the bitter memories washed over him and tightened around his heart.
"Then let his words comfort you now in this time of distress. Let them hold out a light to show you the way to healing. That prison was not the end for the young man. Soon thereafter, he rose to a position of greatness and was a blessing to many people. When he met his brothers again, he was able to say to them, "When you sold me into slavery, you meant it for evil, but God used it for good." He could forgive them because he saw that God's goodness was greater than their evil. The alcalde betrayed you, but your life is not over. Although he was wrong to betray you, yet God used it to save the lives of Don Alejandro and Don Diego. Can you look at that greater good and find it in your heart to forgive the injustice that was done to you?"
Mendoza thought of the de la Vegas. They had always been kind to him and treated him with respect. He tried to imagine what would have happened if the alcalde had stayed in town. Don Alejandro and Don Diego would both be dead. He and the alcalde would be dead as well. Mendoza let out a sigh. "Si" he said. "I will forgive him."
As Mendoza exited the church, the afternoon sunlight warmed his face and cheered his heart. It was good to be alive, he thought. In the end, he was alive, the de la Vegas were alive, everything was back as it had been. He would focus on that and forget the past. He walked over to the tavern. Perhaps Victoria had made a fresh batch of enchiladas. There was nothing like a good meal to make one appreciate being alive!
A number of soldiers from the detachment that had accompanied the Emisario were milling about the plaza. Their orders had placed them under his complete command but now with his death, they were unsure of their relationship with the local authorities. As Mendoza entered the tavern, he saw the alcalde motioning to gather together the soldiers. A flicker of worry crossed Mendoza's mind. Was the alcalde planning some new betrayal? No, he could not allow himself to think such thoughts. He crossed through the doors and entered the tavern.
Meanwhile, the alcalde had led the soldiers into his office. As they stood in rank before him, he spread out across his desk a parchment adorned with an official seal at the bottom. "As you can see," he stated firmly "I received my commission and this post directly from the king. Therefore, I am your new commanding officer until you receive orders to the contrary. You will live in the barracks and go out on patrols according to my orders. Are there any questions?"
The soldiers looked at one another, finally ending with all gazing at Emilio Sanchez. A life-long soldier, he was the most senior among them and the unofficial spokesperson when they needed one. "No sir. Do you have any orders, sir?"
"Yes," replied the alcalde. "I have seen that your training and weapons are more modern than those of my lancers. This may be just what is required to finally catch that renegade bandit, Zorro. The alcalde moved over to a map on the wall and began to point at different sections. "You will start your patrols tomorrow in groups of three..."
Author's Note: It's taken me months to work up the courage to actually put a story down in writing and post it for others to read. This is my very first attempt so I'm really looking forward to getting feedback and reading your reviews. Thanks in advance!