Chapter 11

The small knoll just to the east of Hacienda de la Vega was shaded at the top by a single huge maple tree. Beneath the shade of that tree stood four tombstones: those of Don Alejandro's parents, his wife Elena, and the unnamed baby daughter who had died within an hour of her birth, followed just a few minutes later by her mother. Now there was a fifth grave, newly dug, holding a simple wooden coffin…and Don Alejandro de la Vega's heart.

He stood tall and straight beside the open grave, determined not to lose his composure...not now, with half the pueblo watching him. His left arm was around Felipe's shoulders, and Felipe's right arm was around his grandfather's waist. In all honesty, Alejandro wasn't quite sure who was supporting whom. His right hand was grasping Victoria Escalante's left one, and he could feel the emerald ring she now wore openly on her third finger, at his insistence…Elena's ring…the one he'd thought lost for over a year. All that time, it had been on a ribbon around Victoria's neck, hidden from sight, the symbol of a love, a promise and a hope that now would never be fulfilled.

Alejandro had heard a couple of whispered comments from people standing behind them. They wondered why Victoria was standing with Alejandro and Felipe, like a member of the family. Of course, by now most of the pueblo knew the basics of the story: that Don Alejandro, Don Diego, and Victoria had been kidnapped in an attempt to get information on Zorro from Alejandro or Victoria. So most of their neighbors and friends accepted Alejandro's decision to have Victoria stand with the family. There were a few people, though, who obviously thought she was usurping a more privileged position than "someone of her class" should expect to receive, regardless of the circumstances surrounding her presence at Diego's death.

Oh, well.

There were slightly more than 700 people living in and around El Pueblo de la Senora de la Reina de Los Angeles. There had to be at least half of them gathered around Diego's gravesite. Many of them had stood outside the small mission church during the funeral mass, and had walked behind the wagon carrying Diego's coffin all the way from the pueblo to the family cemetery behind the hacienda…nearly three miles. Others had simply gone straight to the cemetery plot, and were waiting solemnly and patiently when the funeral procession arrived.

So many people. Diego would be embarrassed by such a display just for him, if he could see it. Oh, Son, how I wish you were here to see it.

Just then Padre Benitez came forward to begin the graveside service. Alejandro pulled Felipe a little closer to his side, and felt Victoria tremble as her hand gripped his just a little tighter. The padre began to speak.

"I first met Don Diego de la Vega in Spain. We wrote back and forth after he returned to California, until I came to Los Angeles as your new priest two years ago. I knew Diego as a young man with a brilliant mind…a true scholar.

"From the time I first arrived in this pueblo, Diego went out of his way to make me welcome. We were friends, and I will miss our discussions of science, philosophy, the arts….

"I've watched the way Diego interacted with people, and the ways people interacted with him, too. I think it's safe to say that Diego de la Vega was a man many of us took for granted. He was a quiet man. He always seemed a little shy. He was modest to a fault.

"I've heard a lot of jokes over the past two years about Diego's habits: his fascination with books, his poetry, his lack of interest in "more manly arts". Yet has anyone else noticed how many of those jokes began from something Diego himself said? He never seemed to appreciate his own abilities. In fact, he was often the first person to make light of something he'd accomplished, or to make fun of his "lazy" lifestyle.

"But Diego de la Vega was far from lazy. He spent many hours each week writing and publishing the Los Angeles Guardian. He came to the mission school faithfully twice a week, and spent at least half a day there teaching science and arithmetic to the more advanced students. He would read to the younger children, and when Diego read a poem, or discussed an essay, it never failed to become real to the students. He awakened a love for learning in every child he taught."

Padre Benitez turned to Don Alejandro and spoke directly to him. "If Diego had remained at the university until he had graduated, I don't doubt he could have gone on to teach there himself. He had a love of knowledge, and a love for sharing knowledge, beyond anyone I have ever known. He once told me that of anything he had ever done, the accomplishment that made him the proudest was watching a child's interest in learning be kindled by something he had been able to say or show to that child."

Don Alejandro could barely see the padre through the tears he kept trying to blink back. He felt Felipe's shoulders shaking, and knew his grandson, like him, was remembering the hundreds of hours Diego had spent teaching a small deaf boy how to read and write, and how to use signs to communicate in a world full of people who could both hear and speak, and who thought that because he couldn't do either, he had to be too stupid to learn anything else, too.

Alejandro pulled his thoughts back to the words the padre was speaking.

"Diego was a very special person. I realized a long time ago that there was more to him than he let most people see." The padre's face grew even more somber, and he looked around at the crowd of people in front of him. "In fact, he often went out of his way to work in the background, without drawing any attention to the things he did for people.

"Because of that, I've asked a few of those people to step forward this afternoon to share their memories of Diego."

The first person to move up beside the padre was Sergeant Mendoza. He made no effort to hide the tears running down his face as he spoke about his friend.

"Don Diego was my friend. Do you know what that really means? Think about it. He was a caballero. I am just a simple soldier…a peasant. I have no real education. I can barely read and write. Yet, Diego never treated me like a "simple soldier". He always made it seem like he was the one being honored by my friendship.

"He…he never laughed at me when I said something stupid because I didn't understand the fancy words he was using. Well, at least if he laughed, it was never in a mean way. He would always take time to explain what he had thought was so funny, and why. Then he would explain what he had really meant. Then we would both have a good laugh about it, together. Padre Benitez was right. Diego was a natural born teacher."

Mendoza looked at Don Alejandro as he spoke the next words. "I am a better soldier, and a better man, because of the things Diego taught me. He made me think about things I never bothered to think about before. He once told me, 'As a soldier, you cannot stand and fight for the things you believe in, if you don't know what you believe, and why you believe it.' He made me think about those kinds of things."

The sergeant's mouth twitched into a hint of a wistful, ironic smile. "I thought that was a strange thing for someone like Diego to say. After all, I mean, well…I have trouble picturing Diego ever being in a fight like that!"

Alejandro's mind wandered back over twenty-five years, remembering a day he had broken up a knock down, drag out brawl between Diego and three other caballeros' sons at a fiesta. The other three boys were all older and bigger than Diego, and seven year old Diego was rapidly losing the battle when his father heard the commotion and came running around the corner of the building to see what was going on. Diego was on the ground, two of the older boys holding him down while the other left him with one of the biggest shiners Alejandro had ever seen.

But the three older boys hadn't gotten away unscathed. Two of them sported black eyes almost as big as Diego's, and the third had a bloody nose.

After Alejandro had broken up the fight and escorted the older boys to their respective parents, he went back around the building to find Diego again. The boy was sitting on the ground with a scrawny, wild-looking calico cat in his lap. He was petting the cat, and gently removing a huge number of burs from its coat.

"They were being mean to her, Papa. They rolled her over and over in a big pile of burs. They said they were doing an ex-experiment to find out how many burs could a cat get in its fur at one time. I had to stop them, Papa! They were hurting her! And that's not a real experiment either!"

I wonder which he was more upset about that day: the burs in the cat's fur, or the other boys' idea of what an experiment was.

Alejandro brought his mind back to the present as Sergeant Mendoza stepped back into the crowd. A peasant woman, probably about 45 years old, came forward next. Alejandro recognized her only as one of the vendors who frequented the weekly market in the plaza. He thought she sold lace.

"When my husband died three years ago, I didn't know what I would do. Don Diego came to see me one day about a week after Tomas died. He was such a nice young man. He gave me ten pesos and offered to drive me into the plaza and back so I could get anything we needed that day.

"He also asked about Tomasito. Tomasito was eight at the time, and had been going to the mission school for a couple of years. I told Diego that Tomasito would not be going back to the classes. I needed him to help on the farm.

"Don Diego sat there for a minute. He told me he knew Tomas really liked his classes, and didn't really want to be a farmer. He talked the padre into offering Tomasito a job. Tomasito would be able to stay in school, and would be earning a peso a week for helping the priest around the mission.

"Then he motioned to a lace doily I had sitting on the table, and asked if I had made it. He went on to ask me several questions, then asked if I'd ever considered selling lace at the plaza market. I hadn't, before then. But the pesos I've earned since then from my lace, added to the peso Tomasito gets every week, has been enough for us to live on. And he's still gotten to go to school like he wanted.

Tomasito overheard two of the padres at the mission one day just a few months ago. One of them spoke Tomasito's name and he listened to see what they were talking about.

"The padre hadn't needed, or even wanted a helper when he offered Tomasito that job. Don Diego had given the padre a bag of pesos, and told him to use them for Tomasito's pay for as long as they lasted, then to come to him for more.

"Today, because of Don Diego, Tomasito can read and write and do arithmetic. He has been working in the mission vineyard and wants to gradually switch our property from ordinary farm land into a vineyard, and eventually have our own winery. He has already planted a few grape vines on our property. Next month he will officially be apprenticed to the padre in charge of the mission's vineyard. He is happy and excited about his future. All thanks to Don Diego's generosity.

One after one the people came forward.

An old farmer told how Diego had helped him locate a good spot to dig a well, and then came back to show him how he could use some of the water from that well to water his fields. As a result, he'd seen a drastic improvement in his crops, and thus also in his income.

A young mother told how she had sent for the doctor one day when her baby was desperately ill. But Dr. Hernandez was out of town. Diego had been in the tavern and overheard the conversation between Senorita Victoria and the distraught father of the baby. He interrupted them and asked a few questions. Then he left the tavern leaving his uneaten meal behind. He paused only long enough to tell the peasant to wait for Dr. Hernandez to return. In the meantime, he'd go to their house and see if there was anything he could do to help. By the time Dr. Hernandez could be located and sent to the young farm family, Felipe had appeared with some kind of medicine Diego had picked up in Spain, and administered it to the child. Within and hour of the doctor's arrival, the child's congestion had broken and her temperature was already coming down.

Another half dozen people spoke before Padre Benitez held up his hand to stop anyone else from stepping out. "Those are just a small number of people whose liveshave been changed by the actions of the quiet, unassuming man we all took for granted. But there are more.

"Except for Diego's family, I would like for everyone here to sit down on the ground for just a moment." He waited quietly until they had done so. "I would like everyone here to just sit for a moment and remember Don Diego de la Vega. Ask yourself what he ever did for you." He waited again.

"Now, if you can think of something Don Diego did that had a major effect on your life, please stand up. But please, I only want you to stand if Diego's act was something that drastically changed your life for the better in some way. "Little things" don't count for this."

The padre motioned to Don Alejandro, Victoria , and Felipe to come stand beside him. As they turned back around to face all of the people, Don Alejandro's legs almost gave out, and all three of them broke down and just stood there, tears running down their faces. Out of over 300 people, there were less than a dozen still seated on the ground.

TBC