Diego moaned as he opened his eyes, wincing as bright light hit them. Struggling to force his lids to remain open, he felt his eyes water. His view of the room was blurry. What happened? Where was he?
Finally, his eyesight cleared, and he was able to look around the room--his room. Then, he noticed Ignacio DeSoto sitting next to his bed. Memories flooded his mind. He remembered the intense pain of a bullet entering his chest and the wild ride home to the hacienda before passing out from the blood loss. What had happened since then?
His hand started towards his head to check for the mask before he stopped it. To check to see if it had been removed would only be a conformation for DeSoto. Noticing the slight hand movement, the alcalde smiled.
"I'm sorry, Diego, but your mask was removed almost a week ago. I'm also sorry it's me your waking up to, but I finally managed to convince your father, Victoria, and Felipe to get to some sleep. I'm glad to see that you are awake. We came close to losing you a few times. Rest some more while I go wake up Doctor Hernandez." Nodding, DeSoto marched out of the room.
Diego lay in his bed, shaking. What had happened? DeSoto obviously knew his secret, but seemed unconcerned by it. Diego found it amazing that he was in his own bed instead of a jail cell--or hanging from the end of a rope!
"We should wake them," he heard Dr. Hernandez argue as two sets of footsteps approached his bedroom.
"No, I want you to make sure he's all right before we bother them. You know that they have not had enough sleep. I also wanted a chance to talk to him alone before they all surrounded him," DeSoto answered as they walked into Diego's room.
"It's good to see you up, young man. You gave us all quit a scare. I am so thankful for that medicine you made up. I'm not sure I'd been able to help you without it. It took your fever down almost immediately!" Dr. Hernandez was exuberant, an odd state for him. Diego shifted uneasily on the bed. "Now, let me get a look at you to see how you are coming along."
"Medicine?" Diego asked weakly, wondering at the words as well as the attitude. Shouldn't the good doctor be questioning how a young don managed to get shot on the same day as Zorro?
"Yes, Felipe said you had been working on making it from some tree bark. What ever it is, it's amazing." Diego did not bother to ask any more questions. His head hurt enough without trying to sort through information that made no sense. He knew what medicine the kind old man was talking about now, but he did not understand how or why Felipe would give it to the doctor. How were his injuries explained to the doctor?
Hernandez answered that question himself when he was done examining him. "Diego," Dr. Hernandez began, his tone serious. "I want to thank you for everything you have done for this pueblo. I give aid to the soldiers, too, and I know that your body is covered in more scars than any of them combined. I know--with your station in life, you could live the life of leisure you've always pretended to live. I--I cannot thank you enough for choosing to fight for justice instead."
Diego, his mouth hanging open, watched as the doctor quickly left the room. DeSoto chuckled. "Yes, Diego, the secret is out--at least to a few people. Most everyone, including Mendoza thinks we've ridden--that is Diego and I have--to see the governor over some bond issues. Few believe that Zorro was really hurt. After all, Zorro is indestructible, you know." Diego winced at the words. Sometimes he did not like the people's attitudes towards him. Making him something more--or less--than human was one of those he did not enjoy.
DeSoto sat back into his deserted chair. "I must warn you, though, that Don Alejandro and Señorita Victoria might not be as thankful as Hernandez. They have both been angry, hurt, confused, and a few other emotions this week--that's how long you've been unconscious--six days. Victoria threatened to kiss you until your toes curl or to kill you painfully when you awakened, and, to be honest, I'm not sure which one she will do. Your father will either hug you and cry or yell at you so loudly that they will hear him in the pueblo."
Diego sighed, closing his eyes slowly, not wanting to "see" a truth he could not deny. "And you know."
When he forced himself to look, he found a large grin covering DeSoto's face. "Oh, but I've known for over three months, Diego. I've already worked my way through all of those silly emotions. I've been just praying that you would awaken," he answered, a slight mocking lilt to his voice.
"Three months?" Diego opened his mouth, but no words came out of it. The man before him had tried many times to kill and capture him, but after finding out the identity of the man behind the mask, he had done nothing. It made no sense. It did not seem possible.
"That is a long time," said a stern voice from the doorway. Diego turned his head slowly to see Victoria, his father, and Felipe standing there. Don Alejandro's attention was focused on the alcalde, and Victoria refused to look in his direction, although he could sense her desire to do so. Only Felipe's eyes met his. He wore a smile, but Diego could see his exhaustion. "Why didn't you do anything to him? Arrest him and hang him, which has been your desire since you arrived? You've played your game long enough, DeSoto. None of us have figured it out, but maybe now we will know. What do you plan to do to my son, Alcalde?" Alejandro's anger could be felt in the room. While it was currently directed at DeSoto, Diego knew he would soon find it
DeSoto held up a hand, shaking his head. "I've refused, Don Alejandro, to answer any of your questions until Diego regained consciousness. I was going to tell him first, but why don't you all come in, and I'll share it all at once. I originally planned to let Diego decide what he wanted you to know, but I do not believe he's going to have any secrets left after each one of you get done with him!" Looking at his family, Diego agreed.
"First, Don Alejandro, let me assure you that I have not been playing any games, and if I wanted to do something to your son, I would have done it along time ago," DeSoto began. "I know that Diego told you all a little of my background--the economic struggle of my parents, and the hard work I had to put in to succeed at the university. Even as a smile child, I always wanted more, and I did not always play fair to get it." Looking down at his feet, he shook his head. "I even stole my little sister's Christmas presents!"
He smiled tightly at the look on Victoria's face. "I admit that I am responsible for my own actions, Señorita, but my parents were not great examples. They hated each other, and they played games using my sister and me as pawns. I wanted to be my mother's favorite, but Fernandina had been given that privilege. I was my father's favorite, but mother had the soft hands and the beautiful voice. My father had hard fists, and he did not believe in spoiling a child with praise."
Diego winced, and he suspected everyone else in the room did, too. DeSoto continued to talk, ignoring their sympathy. "Since I watched my parents always justify their petty, childish actions, I learned how to do it, too. I could always justify my actions to myself, having some distorted view of the world and myself. Like my parents, I believed it owed me something."
"With Resendo," he said as he turned away from them. He stopped at the window farthest from the bed and looked out of it. "I was able to get a clear portrait of myself, and for the first time, I did not like what I saw at all. Resendo made decisions with no good reason--my execution, for example. Everything was about power to him, and I could see that same hunger in me. He became my looking glass, and the reflection revealed a monster."
Turning to look at Diego, DeSoto walked towards his old enemy. "His decisions were similar to those I had made in many ways. I had done the same actions many times. I realized when I saw the Z carved in his check--oh, how I smiled at that sight--that I had no respect for him. Yes, I feared him, but that did not make me want to follow his orders. I was thrilled at Zorro's behavior, and I cheered him on, hoping that he would drive Resendo out of our pueblo! Everything I had accused the people of Los Angeles doing, never understanding why the people loved Zorro, I did. It was only under direct threat of death that I looked for Zorro, and even then I--I understood what the people felt. I wanted him to win."
Diego listened with amazement, never believing that DeSoto would ever allow himself to be so vulnerable. Finally, he could understand the alcalde's dramatic shift in character. It had been real, even though Diego had tried to deny it, tried to find some mistake in the act.
Realizing the truth, Diego's heart began to sing. Finally, a leader of great character was leading Los Angeles. Zorro could relax, perhaps even retire and have the family he wanted.
"After Resendo's death," DeSoto continued with a sad smile on his face. "I felt relief, and tried to justify my actions again. I was not a coward like Don Diego, I told myself--sorry, but that is what I told myself. I was just trying to look after the people." DeSoto snorted at his own comment. "I could not justify my actions this time. I could not forget what I had felt and learned. I tried. I really, really tried."
He turned to face the caballero who had spoken out against him the most over the years. "I'm sorry, Don Alejandro, but I went to Resendo's funeral out of military duty and a sense of glee. The turnout for the funeral amazed me. When his Lieutenant had been buried, only those of us required to be there were. When the emissary died, the entire pueblo turned out, and not out of a sense of duty or joy, but out of respect for you and for Diego. I was awed. I knew how the people felt about him, but I also realized what they felt for you for the first time. I'd always told myself that your wealth had more to do with the reverence the people showed you than anything else you did. That day, I saw that the people were not there for your wealth, but to comfort you in your grief. You had the esteem I so craved, but you did not get it from inspiring fear. You did it by showing respect for them and for their needs. You cared for them so they cared for you."
DeSoto laughed again, but it was a sound of pain. "I tried to forget that lesson, too. Every night became torture, as I forced myself to crawl into bed. There were some nights that I fell asleep at my desk where I sat doing paperwork so I could avoid sleeping. Every night, I dreamed of different ways I could die. I dreamed that Mendoza followed orders--I could not figure out why he had not. I've treated him terribly over the years. I dreamed of Resendo laughing and laughing and laughing as he killed me by some new, horrifying method. I felt as if I were going mad. I tried to avoid the office where so many memories of him were. So, I started to talk to the people. I do not know why, but I actually began to listen to them. Their needs became clear in my mind, and I wanted to help them." He pulled gently on his beard. "Then, I realized that I could. After all, I was their leader, the one chosen to help by the King himself!"
"Then, one month to the day, the nightmare changed, and I was standing out in your garden." Diego heard his father softly catch his breath. They all knew what had happened in the garden. DeSoto's lips trembled as he spoke. "Resendo was ready to kill again, as I had dreamed every night, but he was not aiming at me this time. He was aiming at Diego. I reached for my gun and found it was missing. I stood there, knowing that I was going to have to watch him kill Diego. He was talking, like he did that day, only this time he got to finish what he was saying. 'When I kill Diego de la Vega,' I heard him say, 'I also kill . . .'"