It was two days before Doctor Hernandez let Diego do much more then sleep. Victoria and his father had both visited him during his few hours of wakefulness, but none of them mentioned the past or Diego's memory loss. Usually, they read to him as he ate soup Victoria had fixed for him. The only hint he had of current events was late yesterday afternoon. His father, close to tears, had muttered something to Victoria about a fox not being able to help keep Citizen Friaz from the lash this time.
How a fox could help, Diego did not know, but it appeared to make sense to Victoria. She had become upset enough to leave the two de la Vegas alone for almost an hour. When she walked back into his room, just before he went back to sleep, he could tell that she had been crying. Diego had seen a few public whippings in Madrid, and they had turned his stomach. He could understand why Victoria would cry at such an event taking place in Los Angeles.
Sitting at the dinner table, with his father, Victoria and Doctor Hernandez, Diego happily noticed that the mild nausea was finally absent. The mild pounding in his head was wonderful compared how it felt the day before, and light was no longer hurting his eyes. He was well on his way to a complete recovery, except for his total loss of memory of seven years of his life!
It was frustrating. His memory had been one of his most wonderful strengths. His father had always laughed at the sheer knowledge Diego stored in his brain, and now seven years were gone.
Looking in the mirror earlier had been a shock. Don Alejandro, Victoria, and Doctor Hernandez had not been the only ones to show the ravages of time. There were lines under his eyes he could not remember, and he thought he spotted a few white hairs beginning to show. His eyes were the biggest surprise to him; they looked far too old, even for a man in his thirties. What had happened to him over the years?
Noticing everyone's discomfort, Diego smiled. "I would tell everyone some jokes, except I'm sure all I know are horribly outdated, even here in California." Everyone smiled at him as they relaxed. "That's better," he said. "I think it would be terrible for Maria to walk out and find that we have just moved this wonderful food around on our plates."
Everyone immediately began eating, and Don Alejandro started the conversation. "How is Citizen Friaz doing, Doctor?"
Hernandez sighed as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "The scars will not be pretty, Don Alejandro, but he will heal."
Slowly, hoping he was not unknowingly breaking some unknown current social custom, Diego hesitantly asked what the man had done to be sentenced to a lashing, especially in Los Angeles. At his father's surprise look, Diego said, "I saw a few in Madrid, but crime there is far worse. I've never even heard of anyone being sentenced to a beating here in California."
Everyone looked very uncomfortable, and he feared that he had displayed bad manners in asking, but finally his father answered. "Diego, I called you home from your schooling early because Los Angeles, and California, had changed a lot in the years you were gone."
He shifted uneasily in his chair. "Surely, it didn't change that much."
His father did not return his weak smile. "Citizen Friaz's back will be a reminder to him that he forgot to pay a tax to the alcalde."
Diego sat down his spoon. "A tax? Most of the peasants cannot afford to pay any taxes, Father!"
"I know, my son. I know, but they are taxed and taxed and taxed and taxed. Our last two alcaldes have been more interested in gaining wealth and prestige than they have justice and equality."
He looked from one sad face to another. The idea of Los Angeles now being so different from the place he grew up was devastating. However, he observed that everyone seemed almost blasé about it. An incredible feeling of melancholy overwhelmed him. He had expected life to be different at home, but never thought it would so bad that his family accepted injustice as a part of life.
He tried to find a way to change the subject. Too many emotions were on the surface, and he did not think crying at the table was now en vogue. "I don't think I know Citizen Friaz. He's a hunter?"
Don Alejandro smiled sadly at the change in subject, as if he expected his son to talk about anything except the problems of the péons. "No, Diego, he's a farmer."
His eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "Then, how would a fox help him pay taxes?"
"Excuse me?"
Diego smiled at the confused question. He had so much to learn about the world in which he had suddenly found himself. "You told Victoria yesterday that a fox couldn't save him this time."
Don Alejandro glanced over at their beautiful dinner quest. "No, Diego, I said the Fox didn't save him this time. I don't know why, either. He must not have heard about it."
"He?"
"Zorro is our hero," Victoria said excitedly. Seeing the look of wonder and love on her face dashed all his hopes that maybe they had, or could have, a romantic liaison. "The alcalde calls him an outlaw, but he is wonderful, Don Diego. He helps our people get justice!"
He laughed at her exuberance. He could not help but see that Doctor Hernandez and his father shared her opinion of the man. "He sounds too good to be true!"
Don Alejandro took a sip of his wine. "There are times I think that, too, son, but he's always come through for us over the years. He is a remarkable horseman. His skill with the sword is phenomenal. He is someone who always outsmarts the alcalde and humiliates all the lancers."
Doctor Hernandez, serious man that he was, even laughed a little. "You do not have to take our word on him, either, Diego. You can ask anyone in the pueblo--except the alcalde--and they would tell you the same thing."
Diego looked up at the other end of the dinning room table. "There is only one person's opinion that would really matter to me, Doctor, and I already know it."
"Whose?" Victoria asked.
He smiled at her before looking back at his father. "My hero." He lifted his glass towards Don Alejandro and smiled before taking a drink. His father seemed to be slightly stunned by the comment, but Diego found that hard to believe. Don Alejandro had always set the standard as far as his son was concerned, and it was unfathomable that he would not know his role in Diego's life.
"Thank you," Don Alejandro said quietly.
"No," Diego replied, leaning forward. "Thankyou! You have always been a wonderful example for me to follow. You've already given me such a wonderful legacy, and I hope to make you proud now that I am home." He leaned back and laughed self-consciously. "Well, I hope I made you proud after I returned from the University."
His father's eyes were bright. "Diego, you are my son. I love you very much."
"I've never doubted that, Father. It is not enough though. I want you to be proud. It is important to me," Diego replied softly, wondering at the lack of assurances that he had made his father proud.
"You have done a lot of wonderful things for the people in this pueblo, Don Diego," Victoria finally said. Diego looked at her smiling face. "You edit and publish the pueblo's newspaper--I think this week will be the first time you've ever missed getting one out by deadline," she teased.
"I publish a newspaper? Interesting; I never saw myself as a journalist."
"Really? You are very good at it actually," Don Alejandro answered.
Doctor Hernandez agreed. "You do a wonderful job educating the people with it, Diego. Not to mention all the reading lessons you give to the peasants and the Indians. You have a very large heart, Diego."
He blushed at the compliments, but he felt that something was not being said. It was horrible not knowing your own life. "My father and mother worked very hard to make sure I knew how fortunate I was to be born into my station in life. They gave me a wonderful example of how to help those less fortunate," he answered modestly.
Don Alejandro shook his head. "Diego, if you must know the truth, I think you are far better at compassion then I am. It's one of the reasons that you have so many friends in our pueblo. You always have an open mind and a willing ear for everyone."
"Even Zorro?" he teased, looking at Victoria.
She returned his smile. "Probably. I don't think he talks to anyone, though."
Diego frowned. "He does not talk to you about his fears, hopes, and dreams?" She shook her head and then looked down at her plate. "Sounds like he could be a lonely man. I hope he appreciates you, Victoria."
The joy returned to her eyes. "Oh, he does, Don Diego! He does."
"Good. The man won the loveliest hand--attached to the loveliest woman--in the entire territory. He had better appreciate it," he told her, gently flirting with her.
Victoria's mouth dropped open. A quick glance told Diego that her surprise was mirrored on both his father's and the doctor's faces. "I did learn how to treat a lady, Father, at the University."
Don Alejandro recovered first. "Of course you did, Diego." Everyone laughed nervously, as if trying to hide something, but he could not decide what or why. He also had to wonder why Victoria looked as if his comment reminded her of something long forgotten. Don Alejandro began talking about Felipe and his plans, and so the masked hero and the lost years of Diego's mind were not discussed the rest of the night.
ZZZZZZZ
"Are you sure that you want to do this, Diego?"
He and Don Alejandro were riding into Los Angeles, but his father had been protesting the trip the entire way. "Yes, Father, I am certain. I cannot spend the rest of my life hiding in the hacienda, and Doctor Hernandez says, from what little I've told him about the recent research in Spain on the subject, there is no certainty that I may get back my memory." Diego sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Or that I will ever remember those years again."
Don Alejandro looked down at his hands grasping the reins tightly. "I know it must be frust--"
"Frustrating!" Diego exploded. "Father, I feel like I have wandered into a new world with new rules. Madrid was a wonderful and frightening experience in that way, but at least there I knew myself. Here, even Diego de la Vega is a stranger. I say something and get odd looks from you and then I spend hours questioning why. The irony of being the only person in the territory that has done any research on 'amnesia' and having forgotten ever bit of it due to suffering from it is painful."
"I'm sorry," his father whispered.
Diego shook his head. "Don't be. I know it's difficult for you, too. Your son, it appears to me, has become a stranger to you, too."
Don Alejandro was silent for a long time before he answered. "I can't deny it, Diego. There is something--I don't know what, but something is different about you. Even when you returned from Spain, you were not this energetic or passionate. Well, you were passionate, but it was for the arts and science." He smiled. "You are still my Diego, Diego, but--it's like you are a spicier version, if you know what I mean."
Father and son laughed together. "Thank you, I needed to hear that badly. You're right. It does not make any sense to me, because Iam who should have walked into that hacienda almost nine years ago."
Don Alejandro sighed. "I know, and that is confusing me, too."
"I wish I had never slipped in that wine." He was trying to joke, but it came out serious instead.
"That's one of those things about this amnesia stuff. Doctor Hernandez says, from how long it took you to recover and the severity of your symptoms, you hurt your head far worse when you fell off my old mare years ago."
He reined Esperanza to an abrupt stop. "What!" Don Alejandro stopped and turned to look back at his son. Diego ran a hand through his hair. "That's exactly what I was talking about, Father. You put me in a saddle before I could even walk, and now I'm falling off the backs of old mares?"
A heavy sigh later, Diego was again riding beside his father. "Race you to the pueblo?" Smiling, Don Alejandro nodded and the race was on. Unfortunately, when he easily won in a few minutes, it caused him to get another odd look from his father, but Don Alejandro did not say anything.
ZZZZZZ
Diego sat at the only table outside the tavern that was empty, while his father went inside to get them something to drink. Looking around the pueblo where he had been raised, Diego felt sense of satisfaction. True, to everyone else, he had been home for a long time, but the man he was in his mind had been gone for almost five years, not to mention the nine he did not remember. Los Angeles had changed a lot in the last fourteen years.
"Buenos Dias, Don Diego!" a man in a sergeant's uniform greeted him, a smile splitting his face in half. Without bothering to ask for permission, he sat down at the table with the caballero.
"Hello, Sergeant," he said, wondering how well he knew the man. He actually looked vaguely familiar, but--
"Well, good day to you, Sergeant," Diego heard his father say from behind him.
"Good day, Don Alejandro. I was just coming over to say hello to Diego. I heard you had been hurt," he said, returning his attention to the younger de la Vega.
Diego smiled, relaxing in this man's presence. Even though Don Alejandro had reluctantly shared with him a few horror stories about the lancers in Los Angeles, his father's warm greeting, plus his own instincts, told him that him that this man was not a thrilled participant in any injustices.
"Yes, Sergeant, I was, but I'm on my way to a full recovery."
The kind man smiled and nodded. "I've hit my head once or twice in the military, Don Diego, and I know how much it can hurt afterwards. Once, I hit it so hard, I was dizzy for days afterwards!"
Diego laughed, and then took a drink of his lemonade. "I know what you mean, Sergeant."
"I noticed that the alcalde hasn't arrested anyone today, Mendoza," his father said, telling him the man's name.
The man nodded, but the frown on his face spoke volumes. "I think since Zorro did not show up, he lost heart for it. I hope so, Don Alejandro. The people of Los Angeles are good people."
"I know," his father said with a sigh. "I wish we could get a good alcalde in this pueblo again."
Diego looked up and down the plaza. "It has changed a lot since I was a child."
Mendoza laughed. "Oh, that it has, Don Diego. I remember, when I was at the orphanage, that Los Angeles used to be this tavern, the Church, and the cuartel." Well, at least now, Diego knew why the man looked familiar. It was not returning memories. He saw him sometimes as a child. He probably had transferred back to Los Angeles from somewhere else in the territory after Diego went to school.
"I remember when it was only the Church," Don Alejandro said dryly.
"Ah, there you are, Mendoza." Diego turned, his mouth dropping open in shock when he saw the man standing behind him. It was Ignacio DeSoto, a man with whom he went to University. "I want you to post these notices."
"A new tax, Alcalde?" Diego looked over at his father in shock. DeSoto was the horrible, cruel alcalde of Los Angeles? He could not believe it. The man had worked for everything he had at the University. There was no silver spoon in his mouth when he was born. If anyone should understand the plight of the peasants, it should be him.
"I'm sorry," his father mouthed. He must know about Diego's expectations for this man. He had been there when DeSoto first came to Los Angeles. Diego could well image the hopes that had been crushed when DeSoto turned out to be so badly.
"Yes, Don Alejandro," DeSoto said, not paying attention to the interplay between father and son. "It is a new school tax to be applied to every good sold within the pueblo."
Diego stood. "You must be joking."
Everyone looked at him shock for a moment. Finally, DeSoto drew himself up straight and lifted a cool eyebrow. "I can assure you I am not, Don Diego."
"There is no need for a school tax, Alcalde. The people of this pueblo have always been generous to the missionary and its school. The profits that would be taken in from charging even a small percentage on every item bought in this pueblo would be outrageous compared to the monetary need of the school. What may I ask would the excess be used for? New cravats for you?"
DeSoto at first looked too shocked to say anything. He reminded Diego of a fish out of water, with his mouth opening and closing. He lifted a gloved hand to play with his white mustache. "Are you suggesting that I am trying to steal from these good people?"
He took a deep breath and smiled a large, fake smile. "Oh, no, Alcalde, I would not dare. I'm sure you just have the best interests of the people at heart."
"Of course, I do, Don Diego. And I do not think it is of the best interests of the people for someone to be sprouting useless rhetoric about how the money is going to be spent. Someone like that should be--taken out of circulation for a while, perhaps a short stay in my jail."
Diego's grin was real now. "Are you threatening me, Alcalde?"
"No, Diego, he was only saying that you can't be too careful about insurrection!" His father grabbed his arm, and began pushing him towards the door of the tavern. "Good day, Alcalde!"
"Good day, Don Alejandro, Don Diego. Get to work, Mendoza," he growled before marching off towards his office.
"Sí, mi alcalde," Diego heard Mendoza squeak before he rushed away.
Diego turned back to look at his father. He could not believe that Don Alejandro had just ignored the blatant misuse of the alcalde's powers. "I cannot believe you did not say anything out there, Father. That man is clearly--"
Don Alejandro shook his head. "Diego, you have got to know when and where to pick your fights."
He inhaled sharply. "Well, I don't know why he was so surprised that I said something. A de la Vega that doesn't speak out--that will be the day."
"That will be the day," his father echoed softly.
Patting his father's shoulder, Diego tried to smile. "I think I'll go in the kitchen and talk to Victoria for a while. Give you sometime to talk to your friends and give me sometime to cool down."
"Cool down. Good idea, Diego," his father said, his eyes glassy, like that of a man lost in thought.