Chapter 4

Left

The fever had receded after three days, but Diego wouldn't wake up.

Lucía undid the first button of his black Zorro shirt. She'd been postponing this and now regretted it; one thing her abuela always said was indispensable when helping someone heal, was keeping them as clean as possible, but damn, she'd never done this herself, it was always the old india who would roll up her sleeves and get on with it, while the granddaughter waited in a corner literally looking the other way.

Second, third button.

"Now this would be a really bad time for you to come around, so you better… not."

All buttons off. Time to cut here and there to get rid of that rag.

Should she look? She didn't want to. But she wanted to.

"You're being ridiculous. Be professional... all right."

Shirt off and away. Boy, did he look… good, despite the arm wound, which was starting to get somewhat better. With cloth, soap and fresh water, she cleaned the area around it, then down his arm, then the other arm, then his neck, chest and torso. The dread of him waking up all of a sudden and awkwardness being ensured, started to fade away and was replaced by a sort of calm, by a feeling of just being glad to aid not just somebody, but him. Him. But why was he special? She'd have done the exact same thing for anyone, wouldn't she? And he was Zorro, sure, that is special. But there was something else too.

It felt cozy, it felt right.

"Don't mind me. I'm being silly."

The stubble in his jaw was already pretty visible. Then her eyes rested on his lips for a bit too long and…

It was best to get over and done with it quickly.

(…)

"Can you hear me? Diego? It's strange… now that you're here, I realize how lonely I've been in this house since my abuela died. Do you ever talk to yourself? I do sometimes. You have a deaf mute servant, don't you? Maybe you talk to him even if he can't hear you, same way I'm talking to you right now. I wonder if he actually is a deaf mute or if that's his alibi, same way Diego… well, you are el Zorro's alibi, all quiet instead of a swashbuckler, ha? Is that difficult, living a double life? You're playing this… real life game of chess. Do you like chess? I have a feeling you do. I don't, but I'm pretty good at checkers. Are you listening to me, Diego? Can you hear what I'm saying? Move your hand if you do… hm… My abuela used to say there's a place between life and death that only few people get the chance to visit and return to tell the tale. Are you in there? Will you tell me that tale when you come back? It's weird, you don't even know me and I feel like I know you by now. I mean, I did see you with a… less than conventional… arrangement of clothes on, but just because I had to. It's just… your face and your presence feel so familiar to me by now. Maybe I'm exaggerating or making things up. What I mean to say is… I'm glad I found you. My God, your father must be worried sick, why hadn't I thought of that? Do you think I should…? Well I don't know if he knows you're Zorro, what explanations will I give him? No, you better deal with that yourself, I'm just here keeping your remedy fresh, thank you very much, this one looks a bit dry already, we'll have to change it in a minute. (Let's change it now. Where's the…? Here.) Maybe you'd think it's funny, but for my abuela (I know I name her a lot, I'm sorry but she was the only family I ever knew) for her, the spirits of nature and those of our ancestors where the ones working behind the properties of the plants; at the same time, she'd pray to the Virgin Mary and the saints for her recipe to work out. It's an interesting mix. (We have to throw this away. Hm, this is looking way better). But I think… well good thing the inquisition is not in style anymore. No, I do believe God exists. Do you? I just don't know if it's in the spirits or in the Church or where. Maybe she was right after all and we should hang on to both just in case. Or maybe God is in the connections we make with people. In this… little space in between… us. What would you tell me if you woke up all of a sudden? Where am I, who are you, what happened, where's Tornado? Or maybe that other thing you've said, about my eyes. I never knew why until I was 15 or 16 years old. It's a predictable story, really, nothing too shocking: my mother was an india, a servant, and my father one of her masters and long story short, here I am. He was from Europe but I'm not sure where: Spain, France, Germany, I don't know. The eyes are the only thing I ever got from him, to be honest. Never met him, but it doesn't matter. (All right, that's a good amount.) Diego… I like your name: Diego. Can you hear me? Fight, please, it's what you do. Fight for yourself this time. Don't go away, don't follow the light or anything like that. Just follow… my voice. I'm here, Diego. Stay with me."

She held his hand in between hers. It was warm.

(…)

A banging on the door woke her up. It was the middle of the night, she couldn't just open up, who would it be, he… he was all right, he was breathing, more banging on the door and she crawled out of the improvised cot with a hundred birds swarming inside her head, every single one of them fearing a different thing.

"Who's there?" she asked through the closed door.

A male voice replied:

"Good evening. Are you the granddaughter of the healer?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"It is you. My master's wife is very sick. They have tried everything, except for your grandmother's arts and-"

"Those arts were lost forever when she died."

"You know that is not true. My master will pay any price you ask. I was instructed not to go back to San Rita without you, so please, señorita, she's dying… please."

Lucía turned to Diego, then to the door, then to Diego again.

She'd rejected this kind of request before. She could do it again. Couldn't she?

"Señorita?"

But Zorro wouldn't. He wouldn't just pass on the chance to help, when he knew he was able to.

"Well I'm no Zorro and I don't really know if I'm able to..."

"Excuse me? Please speak louder and please, we need to leave now."

After Tornado led her to him, she wouldn't have walked away and done nothing. She couldn't do that now.

"On one condition."

"Anything."

"I have to be back in less than… sixteen hours."

"As you wish."

"All right. Give me a moment."

She changed the medicine in Diego's head and arm; the tea prescription was for three days only, so he didn't have to take it anymore. She tucked him in with another blanket, left a bowl with water and another one with bread beside him.

"If you wake up while I'm gone, you are the absolute worst." She brushed his hair with a hand: "That'd be better than not waking up at all, though."

As she walked to the door carrying two baskets full of healing stuff, she turned to see him one more time:

"I'll be back in no time."

The coachman wouldn't have been able to see anything past the door as Lucía emerged and closed it quickly behind her back. The carriage was right there, it was an elegant one. Luckily, el Zorro's black horse was nowhere to be seen.

"Shall we?"

"Let's go."

(…)

Note: I hope the first part wasn't too awkward to read XD Or maybe my intention was actually making it awkward, teehee! Also, the "little space in between" line I took it literally from the movie "Before sunrise" which I love. And I read the Inquisition was actually ended a bit after the 1820's, but my stories are not very historically accurate so oh well. Thanks for reading and reviewing (*wink*)