Chapter 42 – Beyond caring?

"What happened here, María?" asked Victoria when she arrived at the hacienda in the morning. She could see the damage caused by the fire all around her, and of course, smell it. "Is everybody all right?"

"Oh, señora, it was really bad. The arsonists tried to burn the house down last night, the same as they did to Don Francisco's, but we were alert and we managed to put the fire out before it could spread."

"Can I talk to Don Alejandro?"

"El señor retired to rest not that long ago. He was up all night, the same as the others."

"What about them?" asked Victoria, pointing to some of the people resting on the chairs in the lounge.

"They have no place to sleep. Their rooms were badly affected by the fire. There is not enough space here for all of us now."

"You should all come to the tavern then. I have a few empty rooms there. Also, I have two spare rooms in my house in the pueblo that you could use."

"Thank you, señora. You are very kind."

"Who is helping you? Are the soldiers looking for the arsonists?"

"No. We sent word to the alcalde, but nothing has been done yet."

"What about Zorro?"

"We haven't seen him. I don't know. He may be busy somewhere else."

"Can I see Diego? How is he?"

"He is resting in his room. La señora is also resting there with him, on the floor. Don Diego has some burns, not too bad. Felipe is worse. His hair caught on fire and he burned his head and his hands trying to put it out. The doctor was here to see him. He left not long ago."

"Oh, no! Poor Felipe!" gasped Victoria, with her hand covering her mouth, horrified. "I think it will be better if I come back later in the afternoon when they are awake. Let them rest. As I said, send the people without rooms to the tavern if they need to rest."

"Thank you again, señora. I'll tell them that now. Goodbye."

ZZZ

"The house is still up. You didn't burn it down like the other one," said Don Miguel looking at the Hacienda de la Vega from the distance. He was riding with some of his men to survey the damage caused by the fire, and was quite cross to discover the attack hadn't work to plan.

"They were ready this time, patrón. They were expecting us," complained Armando, the man who had thrown the burning torch to Felipe.

"Idiots! I told you to make sure the fire spread. He is not going to like this. You know he wants to see the De la Vega's going away for good, whichever way. It would have been better it that happened peacefully if they were forced to sell the property."

"We used more torches this time. But they had removed the curtains and most things that would caught fire from the rooms. And they had buckets of water ready to put the fire out immediately. We tried to burn the stables too this time, but they still managed to get the horses to safety and kill the fire. The only building that burned completely was the barn, where they kept all the hay."

Don Miguel, upset, grunted something unintelligible about Diego de la Vega and then turned his horse, trotting away from them back to his property. The others shrugged their shoulders and followed him reluctantly, not bothering to cover their tracks this time, as they were nowhere near to the damaged hacienda.

ZZZ

Restless, Don Alejandro could not stay in bed for long, thinking he could not postpone the installation of the shutters at the windows, in case the arsonists would try again. So, after a couple of hours of pointless turning and twisting in bed, he got on with that task, even if the hammering could disturb everybody else. When the doorbell rang, he walked to the entrance with a hammer in his hand, about to star nailing some boards at the window frames, over the shattered glass. The last person he expected to find at the door right then was Don Miguel.

"Don Alejandro, how are you? I heard the horrible news. Is everybody all right?" said Don Miguel when the old don opened the door.

"How dare you show your face in here?" he shouted, shaking the hammer menacingly. "Get out!"

"Why? What's wrong?" asked Don Miguel with an affected tone, playing ignorance, aware of the improvised powerful weapon the old don was wielding. He watched it closely in case he would launch an attack with it. "I came to offer you my help."

"You are involved in this somehow! Whatever it is you are planning, it's not going to work. I'm onto you. And you are going to pay for this!" barked Don Alejandro, hardly containing himself so he would not attack the visitor sinking the hammer in his skull.

"I don't know what you are talking about. You are mistaken, señor. I have nothing to do with this!" lied Don Miguel, unconvincingly. "How is your son? I heard he is very sick." He had to confirm the rumours about his memory loss and his paralysis. He needed to find out how sick he really was, and how much he could remember. And he hoped Diego was seriously disabled, for his own sake.

Don Francisco was also awake in the house. When he heard the shouting he came to the door to help his friend, also surprised to find that man there. His self-control wasn't as good as Don Alejandro's, and luckily for the visitor, he didn't have a hammer at hand.

"You! What are you doing here? Get out!" With his good hand, he grabbed the much shorter man's jacket behind his collar and pushed him away, back to his horse.

"Get your hands off me!" he shouted, forced to walk forwards with short steps, on his tiptoes.

"Gladly," said Don Francisco, releasing his grip to deliver a hard kick to Don Miguel's rear end. He fell to the ground, losing his hat, growling with the humiliation. He stood up and considered for a moment to retaliate and punch Don Francisco, but he refrained himself from doing so. He wiped the dust off his clothes slowly, but firmly, with his eyes throwing daggers at his attacker.

"Do you see this?" he asked, pointing at the floating particles of dust creating a small cloud around him. "You are going to bite the dust, amigo."

"As I told you before: go to hell. And do it fast," replied Don Francisco. He looked into the distance, and smiled. "Look: the alcalde is coming. Maybe you would like to explain him how the house caught fire last night."

Don Miguel picked his hat up and dusted the brim slowly before he set it carefully on his head. He smiled and mounted on his horse. Without another word, he trotted away on the opposite way to the alcalde.

"Do you think I can borrow Toronado?" whispered Don Francisco.

Don Alejandro shook his head, smiling, and slapped his friend's back.

"No. But I can lend you Rocinante." They both chuckled while they waited for the alcalde.

"What are you doing awake, anyway?" asked Don Alejandro.

"I couldn't sleep. I am exhausted to the point I can't rest," answered his friend.

"Me too. And we have so much to do. We can try to rest later at siesta time." Don Alejandro shook his hammer again. "I hope he is going to be useful," he added, hopeful, pointing with the hammer to the approaching figure, "because I don't have time to waste on nonsense."

ZZZ

"Good afternoon, Don Alejandro, Don Francisco. I came to say my farewell. I am on my way to San Pedro to purchase a passage on the next ship to Spain. I am leaving Los Angeles for good," said De Soto, coming into the house when Don Alejandro invited him in.

"Are you? The Mexican officials finally kicked you back to Spain, huh?"

"Not quite yet, but nearly. The new alcalde is due to arrive any day now. I received a letter telling me the new governor expects my departure as soon as possible, even before the proposed alcalde arrives here, if it is necessary. As you may know, I would have gladly left this forsaken hole of a place myself a while ago because I don't want to become a Mexican citizen; however, I knew it would look better in my service history if I was deported for my refusal to become Mexican rather than leaving on my own free will. Everyone who does comply with the new government, including you and your son, is a filthy traitor to the Spanish Crown."

Don Alejandro looked at him, deeply upset to hear the same despicable and infuriating sentence once again, clenching his fists in anger because right then, with Diego so sick, he didn't have a choice but becoming one of them even if he didn't really want to. He refrained himself again for the second time that morning, and he didn't say anything.

"Is your son here? Can I see him before I leave?"

"Why are these two so interested about Diego, all of a sudden?" thought the old don, suspicious.

"No. My son is very ill. I don't think the stress of seeing you will make him any good. I thought you came here to investigate who set the hacienda on fire last night. Don Francisco's was also burned to the ground three days ago, and we still haven't heard from you conducting an investigation."

"No, I didn't know anything about it," said De Soto looking around him evaluating the damage to the house. "So, this wasn't an accident?"

"No. Masked men threw torches in a raid. They did the same at Don Francisco's. Luckily, Diego told us to take some preventive measures before he had the accident. You should find out who those men are and what is their purpose burning up our houses, and of course, bring them to Justice."

"That's not my duty anymore, Don Alejandro. From now on, I don't care what happens in this forsaken pueblo, you know? I am beyond caring. I am leaving."

"But you are still the alcalde until the new one arrives! Of course it is your duty!" complained Don Francisco, who had been quiet until then.

"I don't see it that way. Call Zorro for that," he said, sniggering. The two friends looked at each other, unaware De Soto also knew about Diego's secret identity. After all, he had said at the hearing he didn't think Diego was Zorro.

"We think the new landowner, Don Miguel, is involved. The same as Don Manuel," said Don Alejandro. "Don Miguel offered to buy our haciendas too, and we refused. But then only a few days later someone tried to leave us homeless. It shouldn't be too difficult to find out who is behind this."

"Maybe. But it won't be me. So, can I see Diego before I go, then? You said he is very ill. What's wrong with him? Suffering from a headache, as usual?" he mocked.

"Among other things, yes, a headache! A very bad one!" spat Don Alejandro, immensely cross with the alcalde's attitude. "Haven't you heard at all? Diego had an accident."

"Did he? What kind of an accident? What's wrong with him?" asked De Soto, ignoring the old don on his way to Diego's room. Don Alejandro followed him, annoyed at his behaviour. He acted as if he owned the place.

"Leave him alone! He had a concussion and he is very confused. He has lost his memory and…"

"Has he? Really? How convenient is that, right now." He thought it was a trick from Zorro, and losing his memory was a lie so he would not appear anymore in the pueblo. He opened the door to Diego's bedroom with an unnecessary kick, to find his former schoolmate asleep in his bed, with a large bandage around his head, with a small blood stain on one side. "Maybe you are right. He doesn't look very well. What happened?"

"He banged his head badly and Doctor Hernández had to drill a hole in his skull to save him; it is still bleeding. I am telling you, he is very sick, get out of here!" demanded Don Alejandro.

"Wow! Again! He is definitely Achilles," thought De Soto. "He can't die! No matter what his injuries are. A hole drilled into his skull this time? My goodness!"

They hadn't realized Cristina was asleep by the bed on the hard floor, in her improvised uncomfortable bed. She woke up with all the shouting.

"Can you shut up and get out of here? Some of us need to sleep," she complained with her head still covered by the blanket she used to black out the light coming from the once again curtain-less window.

"Oh, Cristina, sorry. We forgot you were here. Come, come with me to my room and sleep in our bed with your mother and Sofía. It will be much better than staying on the floor. We'll take care of Diego, don't worry," offered her father. Cristina, still in yesterday's clothes, pushed away the blanket and stood up to follow her father, still only half awake.

"What about you? Why are you not resting?"

"I couldn't sleep. Don't worry about me, dear."

"What is he doing here?" she asked when she realized De Soto was also in the room.

"Just visiting, señora. Sorry to wake you up" apologized De Soto. Cristina ignored him and passed him by on the way out. If anything, she would like to spit on the alcalde rather that saluting him.

"How did he damage his head? What was he doing?" asked De Soto to Don Alejandro when they were left alone in the room with Diego.

"Get out of here, please." Don Alejandro, about to lose his patience, pushed the alcalde towards the door. Caught by surprise, the alcalde lost his balance and steadied himself by holding onto the chest of drawers, accidentally topping over the vase with flowers which was at the top. The vase crashed on the floor, shattering in a hundred pieces.

"Look at what you have done now!" shouted Don Alejandro, losing it completely. He pushed the alcalde out of the way again and crouched down to collect the larger pieces. With all the commotion and the loud voices, Diego finally woke up. He looked at them with his empty gaze, trying to understand what the shouting was about, and then he focused on De Soto, the closest to him.

"Do I know you?"

"Of course you do, Diego. I am Ignacio De Soto, the alcalde."

Alejandro cleared his throat, cross. "The former alcalde, you mean. You insist you are off-duty, remember?"

"No… You are Judas," said Diego, pointing at De Soto with a shaky unsteady hand.

"Judas?" asked De Soto, puzzled. Then he remembered. "Are you talking about the play we did in Madrid?"

"What play? I don't know about that… but you are Judas, sure… Hey, I can move my hand now!" he exclaimed, excited, looking at it as if he has never seen it before. He was smiling like a kid with a new toy.

"Diego! You can move your hand, that's fantastic!" said Don Alejandro, pushing the alcalde abruptly out of the way for the third time to get closer to his son, making De Soto crash against the set of drawers one more time.

"Yes, and it hurts now," said Diego, pinching it with his left hand. "But it is still very slow, and shaky. Why do I have a bandage here?" he asked, pointing to the dressings that were covering his right forearm. "Something hurts in there."

"Can you feel it? That's kind of a good sign, son. You couldn't feel your arm yesterday at all. Do you remember there was a fire in the house last night and you burned your arm?" Diego, nodded.

"Yes, I remember. I used the water to help the boy. His head was on fire, but I don't remember much else."

"I think you fell again, Diego, on top of a burning torch. You were lucky Cristina put the fire on your clothes out with a rug. You only have superficial burns." Diego looked at him with his inexpressive eyes.

"Did she hit me with it? I vaguely remember that. It hurt," he said, looking more upset than grateful.

"Let me see your eyes." The pupils were still equal in size, but not over-reacting to light as before. "Good, it looks like you are getting better, and so quickly!"

"Better? He is gone bananas!" said De Soto, laughing. "He thinks I am Judas!" The alcalde was puzzled by the whole situation. Someone was trying to burn the haciendas; Zorro was injured, out of action; and Diego could not even remember his own name. However, none of that was his problem, not anymore. And Diego could be faking it. After all, he was a master at deception.

"But you are Judas… and you are a bad person. You sold me to the soldiers," said Diego, looking at him, narrowing his eyes, quite cross. "I don't like you."

"Well, the feeling is mutual, Diego." You, pompous nerd. Of course you like me. Kind of.

"I don't like him either, son," intervened Don Alejandro. "But it is good that you remember him. You met him in Madrid, at University, a few years ago."

Diego was looking at De Soto with his blank stare, trying to remember something. "I must have been boxing with him then. I remember punching his face many times, and it felt so good," he smiled, excited.

"Boxing with me? At University?" laughed De Soto. "In your dreams! I don't think so, Diego. You have never been an action man. And I am sure if we ever get boxing, you won't have the pleasure to punch my face," he said, waving a fist in front of him. He didn't know Don Alejandro knew Diego's secret now, so he didn't mention anything. But it was too obvious to De Soto his old schoolmate was referring to all the embarrassing times when Zorro had punched him in the past. The same thought occurred to Don Alejandro, but he managed to contain his laughter.

"Haven't I?" asked Diego, more confused now. He could remember blurred feelings and situations when he was fighting, but it was all too fainted. "Can I have some water, please?" Don Alejandro was disappointed when he offered the drink to Diego, because although his son could move his impaired hand a little now, he still lacked the strength to hold the glass on his own. Would he ever be able to handle a sword as proficiently as he did before? The Soto shared the same thought as the old don.

"I don't like you, Judas," repeated Diego after drinking some water with some difficulty, as his hand was so shaky than even with his father's help he was toppling the liquid all over his neck and chest.

"Whateveeeeeeer…" said De Soto, circling his index finger at his temple, dramatically. The alcalde considered for a moment if the whole thing was a trick to fool everyone as before, but Diego looked genuinely impaired. Upset after seeing the pueblo's hero so disabled, he decided to go. He could not stand it. "Now, you stay here in La La land, Diego, while I go back to Spain. Good luck with the new Mexican alcalde, Don Alejandro. I think you'll miss my good command and fair government."

"Yes, sure," he said, seeing De Soto out, glad to get rid of the man. But, for an instant, he remembered the old saying: better the devil you know. He rejected the idea quickly. No one can be worse than him. "Enjoy Madrid. Good bye." Good riddance to bad rubbish!

ZZZ

De Soto came out of the Hacienda de la Vega with mixed feelings. Before his departure to Madrid, he had paid a visit to Diego mainly to find out what his plans were under the new regimen: to continue his quest for justice or to give up Zorro all together. De Soto had been busy, comfy in his own little bubble for the last few days, and had missed all the talking about Diego's accident, so he was shocked to find him like that. No hope for Zorro then. It was unsettling to realize how much his own feelings had swung from hating and despising the black figure to admire him so much, as a real person. He would like to leave California safe in the knowledge that the hero would continue helping the soldiers as before, specially that poor, simple, charming fool of Mendoza. Somehow, he was going to miss the sergeant's constant presence once he would be back in Madrid, he was sure of that, as he had grown quite fond of him over the years. Although he would never admit that to anyone. Even less to Mendoza, who would probably fall apart crying, all emotional.

He sighed for a moment, stopping the horse. He turned on his saddle to look back at the hacienda, standing on the stirrups. Then, it was the issue of the arsonists, too. If Zorro's help was out of the question, and he could not care, who else was left to help them? The whole thing stunk to conspiracy. He didn't like Don Miguel, who was clearly a rotten apple, and the two friends were probably right to point at him as the main suspect. He sighed again, sitting back on the saddle, readjusted the pommel of his sword, and slowly turned the horse to head to the Don Esteban's hacienda, now Don Miguel's. He could have a quick look at least. He owed them that. He still had plenty of time to get to San Pedro before the evening.

ZZZ

After De Soto left, Diego was quite agitated. For a while, he had a short period of enhanced perception, the clearest it had been since the accident, when he was more aware of the circumstances around him, and the troubles of his caregivers. Thoughts were trying to swim out of his mental dark waters which were surrounded by the thickest fog, but he could not really remember them no matter how hard he tried. Who was that man who had just left? Why did that man left him with this mixture of feelings, one of clear animosity and the other… what was it? Respect? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything; it was all so frustrating.

And that man who claim to be his father... He was a sorry sight. He looked so exhausted, worried and defeated. Diego wanted to help him, but he didn't know how. Someone had tried to burn his house down with everybody inside. Maybe he could try to help him with that.

"Diego, what are you doing?" asked Don Alejandro when he saw his son trying to get out of bed.

"I need to get out of bed and move a little. I need to remember something. It may help me to walk some steps."

"Do you think so? The doctor said you shouldn't move. He'll be back here soon, I think."

"Help me to get up," asked Diego, with his left hand up and ready. Hesitating, Don Alejandro took a while to make up his mind, but he finally helped his son out of bed. It looked like a good sign that Diego was suddenly so active, and more coherent. Supporting his son, they walked slowly down the corridor to the library, where Diego sat down in one of the armchairs. He looked around the room, paying attention to the large amount of books on the shelves. Books which luckily were not affected by the fire, but should have been taken to the basement, Don Alejandro realized of that too late.

"Are they mine?"

"Yes, Diego, most of them. Some are mine, but most of them are yours. And probably you have read them all more than once."

"Well, if I never get my memory back, it sure would take me a while to read them all again." His father smiled, with a little hint of a chuckle. He squeezed Diego's shoulder from behind his seat. Please, come back to us, son. I need you, he thought, with a solitary tear slipping down his tired face, which his son didn't see.

ZZZZZ