Author's note: Please remember that the timeline in this story jumps back and forth. Some scenes are present day; some are up to three months before present day.
Chapter 6
June 14th
It wasn't the sun that awoke Diego the morning after the storm. It was the birds.
Dozens of birds descended in a flock and attacked his carefully laid out row of coconuts that had collected their fill of rainwater.
He got up quickly to find he could only move slowly and stiffly. Trying to swat the birds away from his precious stash of water and food, he faltered with every step. His body just wasn't responding properly. Before he could accomplish shooing the birds away, they had done their worst. He looked around and not a single coconut contained a drop of water. Most had huge chunks of the meat eaten away as well.
There were small depressions in the sand here and there that still had pools of freshwater in them and he went quickly to try to retrieve as much water as he could. A quick look at the skies told him it could be days or longer before rain would come again and he couldn't afford to waste a drop. The skies also told him he had slept late, much later than he would have thought.
"I must have been more tired than I thought," he said out loud to the few birds that remained nearby, perched on rocks, just looking at him. "And you," he pointed a finger at them accusingly, "are responsible for this mess. You should be ashamed of yourselves."
But the birds just looked at him.
"Hmm," he said as he warily approached the one closest to him, "you, are different, aren't you?" he said quietly to the reddish-billed bird that had caught his eye. "I think I shall have to write a detailed description about you for Padre Benitez. He would love hearing about —" He stopped and sighed. "No paper. No ink. Yet another problem." He turned to look at the vegetation growing behind him and said, "But I think I can remedy that by tonight. At least one small part of civilization will reach this lonely outpost – the written word!"
So he set about trying to find just the right items he required to make the things he needed.
When the evening settled down upon the island that night, Diego had accomplished a great deal. He'd managed to construct some crude tools from an assortment of rocks he'd found. Handles for them he'd made with the help of a bit of the precious rope by unraveling the cords and wrapping them around bits of straight pieces of wood.
Striking some of the obsidian-like rocks he'd found, he had created some nice sharp stones that he could use for several purposes, one of which was a nice shave. "No use looking like Robinson Crusoe, even if I am out here living like him." But when he tried his homemade razor, he was very disappointed and decided to wait for something better.
Combing the beaches for the next few days provided him with some curious objects and some debris that was obviously from the Perro Salado. One such find was invaluable. A three-inch length of a flat piece of metal attached to a much larger piece of sailcloth.
"Ah! At last! This will do nicely for a knife, once I hone an edge to it." Diego set about to do just that. He worked for hours getting the small piece of metal turned into a knife. One small piece broke off in his hand from it, and even for that, he gave thanks. The smaller piece would do nicely for making a hook. Fish would be a welcome change from the coconuts he'd existed on for days.
Diego's days started to develop a pattern. He would search for food and whatever else he could find on the beaches in the morning hours. As the sun rose to its zenith in the sky, he would have a meager lunch, with either coconut milk or water. During the afternoon hours, he would rest, keeping out of the hot sun as much as possible.
His body was getting quite a tan. He was wearing only the remnants of his pants. One leg had been torn anyway, so he'd decided to cut both legs off at the knee with his newly crafted knife. It was definitely cooler this way and he could always use the cloth for other things like laying it out to catch any dew that formed.
He was beginning to become concerned once more about his water supply. No more rain had fallen. The small water hole was filling less quickly each day and he knew soon he'd have to dig another. Remembering the efforts that had cost him, he was not looking forward to it.
Strangely, his spirits never faltered. Somehow, he knew it was just a matter of time before he was rescued or figured out a way to get off the island and back to Los Angeles. He never once doubted it. But then, he'd never been one to get discouraged easily.
He did miss Victoria and his family though. His thoughts constantly went back to them and he would speak to them out loud as he worked at his tasks. A night did not go by without "Victoria" being the last word he said to the night sky overhead.
The days melted into weeks and the weeks started to tally up into months. He wasn't exactly sure of the date, for there were days when his thoughts had been elsewhere and he just hadn't paid much attention to the celestial signs he knew so well. But he had a pretty good idea of how long he'd been on the island.
He could certainly tell it had been a while from the beard forming on his chin. At first, he'd used his knife to keep himself looking like a civilized human being. But after a few mornings of that, he'd given up the fight and had just let the beard grow. He wondered at the sight he must present. Shirtless, in the briefest of pants, tanned and bearded, he was sure his own father would have a difficult time recognizing him. Laughing out loud, he thought of how his appearance would scandalize Victoria. Well, at least, he didn't have to worry about that. However he was rescued, by his own hand or that of others, he would have plenty of time to get presentable before she set eyes on him.
September 30th
The Tesero dropped anchor off the coast of the most likely island, according to Big Jim, that Diego might have been able to swim to during the storm. His men searched the island from one tip to the other as Victoria watched from the ship, hoping for their signal that Diego had been found.
As the men arrived back on board, she could read the disappointment in their faces. They, too, wanted to find the young man, if for no other reason than to please the señorita.
In the days that followed, they searched three more islands, and each evening when the men came back onboard, Victoria grew more and more depressed. Big Jim could see the optimism seeping from her and vowed to himself all the more that he would find Diego, if not for Diego's or Don Alejandro's sake, but for this young señorita that he'd grown so fond of on this journey.
The men, too, were taking their cues from the señorita. They discussed it nightly amongst themselves and they agreed they had to try harder, search longer. The man had to be out here somewhere. She had been so sure. So had those Portuguese sailors, remember? They had talked of him as if he was quite capable of surviving being stranded on one of these islands. Yes, and those islands a bit further south, they could be a new place to search. The currents could have been disturbed by the storm. And so their conversations went.
Sometime later, Pepe came up to his father to discuss the men's thoughts. He laid out their beliefs in an orderly fashion and before long, father and son were pouring over the maps with new ideas. They plotted currents and examined the possible islands within a reasonable distance from where the ship went down according to the few survivors.
Victoria left her spot along the railings where she kept a lonely vigil almost every night and walked over to where the two were deep in discussion as to their next step.
"So where will we try tomorrow?" she asked.
"Hola, Señorita. We were just talking about that," Pepe answered brightly. He had not yet been infected with the pessimism of the others. "Look! These islands here could be the ones!"
"Big Jim? What do you think?" she asked hopefully, with just a bit of fear creeping into her tone.
"I won't lie to you, Señorita. Our odds are shrinking every day that goes by nowadays. We've been searching this area almost two weeks now with not a sign of anything to do with the ship. I would have thought if we were in the right place, something would have been found on the beaches by now. But, Pepe's right. Those islands may be a good bet. I hadn't thought of them until now. They seemed too far to the south. But if the currents were driven by the storm and the currents that run along here," he pointed to some light curvy lines that had been added to the map in the areas that were water," then just maybe…" He let his voice trail away as he rubbed his chin.
"Are we close to those islands?"
"Yes, Señorita, well, close according to sea terms anyway. We can be in that area by late tomorrow evening, if the weather holds. Checking the sky, he said, "And it looks as if it should." He stood and put a light arm around her shoulders. "Why don't you turn in and get some sleep. We start afresh tomorrow in a different area, and you don't want to be tired if we start coming upon any signs."
She smiled up at him and encircled her own arms around the big man to hug him. She'd grown quite fond of this pirate in the last few weeks. How she thanked the Holy Mother that he'd come to her aid! What would she have done without him?
The cabin was the only place on the ship where she could be totally alone. She was hardly ever there except to sleep because being alone was really not what she wanted right now. Preparing the men's meals was a blessing for her, not work. It kept her from dwelling on all the possibilities of how this voyage would end, and there was only one that was acceptable to her, finding Diego, and finding him alive.
She closed the door and maneuvered around the small room, getting dressed for bed and maintaining her balance as she did so. Those sea legs Big Jim had asked her about had been slow in coming to her, but she'd found them at last, at least on deck. But here in the small cabin, it seemed the motion was more pronounced. At least it was to her.
She snuffed out the candle and pulled the covers up to her throat, hoping the rocking of the ship would help her sleep tonight.
But sleep didn't come for quite a while. Thoughts of Diego lying dead on a deserted beach, floating dead in the water, hurt and bleeding on a constructed raft – those were the images that flitted through her mind as she tossed and turned. She felt helpless. All she wanted to do was get to him, find him. Yet he was always floating just out of her reach. He was thirsty, hungry, hurt – dying!
She woke up suddenly. The darkness was complete all around her and no sounds met her ears except the sound of the waves hitting the sides of the ship.
It was then that she began crying. The tears came freely and she did nothing to hold them back. There was no one to see, no one to care. There was no comfort for her in any deep recess of her mind, no reason to see why she should even try to stem the flow.
She cried until she had no tears left and she was gasping for breath with each new sob. She knew her eyes were red and her face all puffy and she didn't care. Tomorrow, she would look as if she had had just the type of night she was having. But tomorrow might be the day that her tears would at last have their reason.
She pounded the pillows in frustration and thought, "Madre de Dios What will I do if we find him dead? How can I go on living!"
How would she ever be able to tell Don Alejandro! How would he go on without Diego? How would the pueblo go on without Zorro?
"How can I live without them both!"
It was the thought that brought fresh tears until at last exhaustion had its way with her. The tears on the pillow and the wet streaks on her cheeks lay as testament of the turmoil inside her as, at last, she drifted off into the deep sleep her body needed.
September 22nd
Don Alejandro entered the office of the Alcalde with hesitation governing each step.
De Soto looked up from his papers in greeting. "Don Alejandro! To what do I owe a visit from you today? Hmm?" He leaned back in the chair, lifting it off the front legs and balanced that way, regarding Don Alejandro with interest.
"Alcalde De Soto, I have an announcement for you and I think you might just want to make this announcement to the pueblo later on." Alejandro still looked down at the floor as if he'd rather be anywhere but where he was at this minute.
"Announcement? Ah! So! You are now willing to admit to what everyone else knows is true. You son is dead?" De Soto tugged at his mustache with one hand to keep himself from smiling.
Don Alejandro shot the Alcalde a hard look. "No, that's not exactly it. I am referring to this." He reached in his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope and handed it to the Alcalde. He had only brought the first page of Diego's message with him. It contained the information about Zorro. The second page he had not been willing to share with anyone. That remained under lock and key in his bedroom.
"What's this?" De Soto said as the legs of the chair settled back onto the floor. He quickly looked at the writing on the front of the envelope, but said nothing and proceeded to take out the letter.
After scanning through the first two paragraphs, he calmly folded the letter as it had been and handed it abruptly back to Don Alejandro. "Interesting. Another of Don Diego's exploits in the literary world, no doubt," he said disdainfully.
"What! You mean you can't recognize the ring of truth in that!" Don Alejandro was surprised. He had thought De Soto would jump at the chance to reveal the truth about his son.
"Truth!" De Soto laughed. "Truth," he repeated with a sneer. "Don Alejandro, have you retreated so far from reality that you believe this nonsense?"
"Yes, Alcalde, I do," Don Alejandro said with a hint of warning in his voice. "Not only do I believe it, but I want the pueblo to know about this. I want my son to have his glory for what he did for them. I want the world to know that he was Zorro, a hero to the people!"
"First of all, Don Alejandro, you've got all that wrong and you know it. Zorro is a mere outlaw, a paltry villain of the lowest degree. And if you had any sense about this at all, you would know that this letter is a bunch of wild dreaming on Diego's part. Do you not realize that Zorro has been seen twice since Diego went missing? That alone should convince you that your letter is a piece of poorly written fiction." De Soto went back to shuffling his papers, effectively dismissing Don Alejandro.
"Oh, Alcalde, I'm well aware of the two 'appearances of Zorro' and I can also explain them. It was Felipe that people saw. Felipe has been helping Diego with the deception from the beginning." As the words tumbled out of his mouth, he felt a tinge of alarm. Diego might be dead, but his need to let the truth about his son be known had just caused him to implicate Felipe in Zorro's deeds. Don Alejandro looked fearfully to De Soto for his reaction.
"Felipe?" De Soto laughed as he snorted out the name. "Felipe, that slip of a boy that can't even speak! Surely even you can come up with a better story than that! Now, if you don't mind, I have a pueblo to run!" De Soto rose and held out a hand toward the door.
Relief swept over Don Alejandro for a moment, and then his emotions and thoughts swung once more back to his desire for the appropriate recognition for his son. "Just think about it. I'm sure you'll begin to see, as I did upon reflection, that it is very possible and very probable that this letter is exactly the truth. Diego would not lie to me in a letter such as this. You have to believe that much at least," Don Alejandro said indignantly.
When De Soto continued to ignore him and look over the papers spread before him, Don Alejandro struck the desk with the flat of his hand, sending papers and quills flying. "De Soto! I want my son to be recognized for all the good that he did for this pueblo! If you have any sense of self preservation, you will see to it!"
"Don Alejandro." De Soto stood, straightened his jacket, and came around the desk to stand nose to nose with the caballero. "I am going to overlook your threat this once in consideration of the recent death of your son, but if you persist in this, I'll have you thrown in jail. And," he chuckled, "if Don Diego was Zorro, and I can't even believe I let the words pass my lips, then there will be no Zorro to save you this time! Is that clear?" His words were said with great controlled calmness.
Don Alejandro sighed. "Then I will go to the people, the people who loved him. But I will see justice for his memory just as he saw to it that there was justice for the people of Los Angeles. He deserves that much!" With that, Don Alejandro turned on his heel and stalked from the room.
Just outside the door, his resolve left him. "Oh, Diego, my son, how will this pueblo ever survive? How will I?" He rubbed his left arm as he leaned against the wooden door. A look of surprise stole over his face and without a word, Don Alejandro de la Vega collapsed to the ground.
