I own nothing and make some profit. Hopefully the people who do will put it out on video soon.
THE WORD (2)
Before lunch Diego went out to 'inspect' the south hay barn for damage just as though he had not already seen it. Felipe went with him.
After lunch they rode into the mission. Don Alejandro didn't accompany them, so they went on horseback instead of taking the wagon.
Diego was quiet on the way into town. There was nothing to say. However much people relied on words to *do* so much for them, when it came to things that were really important words were of no use at all.
The words that should be important--like 'afraid' and 'alone' and 'hopeless'--were empty and pale compared to the reality. They talked around the truth or covered it up. The good words like 'trust' and 'safe' and 'family' were shallow and weak, too. You could talk all day and not approach the warm reality of them.
'Love,' was actually a good word, a precious word... but the irony was that it seldom needed to be spoken. Love, if you were fortunate enough to have it ('fortunate' another weak word. Two men could duel in the street and when it was over, people referred to the dead one as 'unfortunate,' as though luck somehow conveyed the difference between life an death) was inescapable. Even if you were unaware of it or did not return it, it was no less material.
Diego loved Victoria. She did not know it, but that did not make the love less real...or what Diego did on her behalf less real.
Words, though, could destroy even love. And wasn't that perverse and unfair? Right now deception was strangling the love between Diego and his father. If it had been true--if Diego had really been better at the theory of science than the daily matters of living and had been cowardly and clumsy and physically frail as well--the old don would have managed. He would have found a solution, perhaps a wise and practical wife to lift the burdens pathetic Diego could not carry. Something.
But instead of a certainty about his son's shortcomings, Don Alejandro had confusion and frustration and a desperate urge to understand...whatever it was that made Diego so unpredictable. For a few days Diego might *almost* be his unguarded self--or at least a version of his persona that his father could live with...and then Zorro would be needed and Diego would be missing or disappointing and they would both feel torn to pieces again.
Talking couldn't solve this problem, neither in embellishing the lie (which would only split them further apart) nor in telling Don Alejandro the truth. And what a disaster that would be! The old man was powerful and forthright. He wasn't used to keeping anything inside. He couldn't watch in silence or play out a role. Any attempt to do so would fall to pieces the moment Zorro was endangered or maligned. Worse, he was not used to helplessness; he would never be able to stand by and watch his son fight a detachment of royal lancers alone. He would act, and he wasn't a young man anymore. Honesty might mend their relationship, but Alejandro wouldn't live long enough to enjoy it.
Diego could not tell his father and continue to act as Zorro, and Diego could not give Zorro up and stand by while corrupt officials preyed on peons, business owners, and ranchers alike. So no solution lay along that path.
The solution Diego would not discuss was killing--either de Soto or anyone else. Felipe could understand the practical reasons for this choice: First, a change in leadership was not a guarantee of improvement. Incompetent and short-tempered Reyes had been followed by sadistic and greedy Ramone. Ramone, in his turn, had been followed by ambitious and ruthless de Soto. All of them had been vain. All of them had been arrogant. All of them had had eyes on better, more civilized postings. The next alcalde would likely be different from the others, but he might well be worse.
Secondly, right now Zorro was a folk hero to the peons and barely noticeable to the colonial authorities. If he were a murderer, all that would change. If Zorro lost the sympathies of the people and the army brought its resources to bear in hunting him, he would be captured and hung very quickly.
But Diego didn't forbear for practical reasons. He didn't want to kill anyone. To end any human life was to devalue all human life. To deprive anyone--even someone evil-- of life was to deny them the chance to repent their errors and strive for improvement. Who was Diego to sit judgment on a human being and bring about a final conclusion to their lives?
Secretly, Felipe thought he had every right to do so, if it meant protecting his family and community. All right, yes, de Soto was a human being. So were the people he oppressed! The farmers who lost their land because they couldn't pay their taxes, the children who went hungry, the travelers who were harassed by bandits because de Soto ignored real criminals because he was trying to control dissidents....If he were choosing what human beings to protect, Felipe would protect innocent ones.
Victoria shouldn't be rallying the peasants and business owners to resist government oppression, she should be living a quiet life, raising her family. But she was waiting for Zorro....
And Don Alejandro--Felipe had paid attention during his lessons on the philosophy of local government and civil society. If Los Angeles were allowed to attend to the concerns of Los Angeles, the people could build a thriving community here. Don Alejandro had the position and the talent to help lead the district to growth and prosperity, but instead his energies were consumed by endless resistance to petty tyranny. He had been jailed...five times now? Or only four? Did house arrests count?
And Diego's own life was constantly at risk--brilliant, compassionate, talented Diego, who respected everyone, protected the helpless, educated the ignorant--How could you compare the petty, selfish greed of government officials with Diego's gifts and generosity?
Sometimes, when Zorro was late riding back from the pueblo and Felipe was alone in the silent, dim cave, he thought about poisons and duels and riding accidents. Out of respect for Diego's dislike of bloodshed he didn't think about doing any of those things, but he did think about how it wouldn't be wrong. Diego believed in human rights and the law, and Diego--as Zorro, at least--had the situation in the pueblo well in hand, so the thought of murder and all the practical problems that would come with it wasn't particularly tempting. Not really.
But Felipe's objections to it weren't moral and he did wish--a sin to confess today--that Ignacio de Soto would simply have mercy on Los Angeles and fall over dead.
The mission garden was cool and pleasant after the dusty road. Two of Diego's reading students, surprised to see him on a Saturday, stepped away from their work to ask him a few quick questions. Felipe went ahead into the church. A number of people had already arrived for confession. He took a slate from the bookcase in the antechamber and seated himself in the back of the sanctuary to write out his confession. The list wasn't particularly short, but it was well known to him, so it took only a few moments. Finished, he lit a candle and took out his rosary.
When it was his turn to enter the small alcove where Padre Benitez took confession, he brought a candle with him. "Ah, good boy. The light in here is poor in the afternoon." He lifted the candle and nodded over the list. "Your usual penance, my son," he said slowly.
Felipe nodded.
The priest--normally quite cheerful--sighed. "They aren't so serious, yet some of these are becoming habits, I think. Bad habits you would do well to leave behind."
Felipe nodded, trying to look chastened, but he could not foresee giving up lying or anger or gossip or hate in the near future.
Father Benitez patted his shoulder, but before he could send Felipe away, he took back the slate, erased it quickly, and scribbled a question.
Father Benitez read the slate, glanced at Felipe, and read it again. "Why is murder a sin, but killing on the battlefield is not?" he read.
Felipe nodded.
"Oh, my child...are you thinking of the men who killed the coach driver?"
Felipe shook his head.
"For murder, they will hang. Does that concern you?"
Felipe's--rather significant--anxiety about hanging criminals had nothing to do with the men who'd robbed the stage coach and murdered the driver. He shook his head again.
Father Benitez sighed. "Diego has told me something of your past, my son. Are you perhaps weighing murder against the deaths of civilians in war?" The round little man suddenly seemed very sad. "Are you thinking of the tragedy that took your parents?"
Felipe hadn't been. He'd been thinking of Diego. His enemies were content to try to kill him. They had no respect for human dignity. Diego refused to consider 'murder,' even though acts of war and self-defense were apparently permitted by God. Felipe could hardly admit this to the priest, however, so he shrugged and looked down--an evasion was as good as a lie, but he wouldn't have to confess it.
Slowly, with the corner of his habit, the good father began to erase the slate. "So much suffering in the world. War is a terrible thing, and we ask ourselves...how can a just and loving God allow so much tragedy?" He seemed as though he wanted to look away, but he kept his face resolutely toward Felipe. "It seems unfair, too, that those who 'murder' in cold blood must face the justice of man, while the very same death between two men at war is often a cause for the granting of medals."
Very, very sorry he had begun this conversation, Felipe nodded.
"Our Heavenly Father is not...careless of our loss. Even as we grieve, He grieves with us. And even as we suffer, we do not suffer alone--"
Without meaning to, Felipe surged to his feet. It wasn't God who had shown him mercy, it was Diego--
Father Benitez sadly patted his arm. Felipe's thought had come right out his hands and he didn't know how much of it had been understood. He hoped the Father wasn't insulted, if he had understood the gestures.
The priest shook his head, answering calmly, "It is...Diego...who saved you, yes? Not God, I suppose? Hmmm. But surely, if we needed any evidence that God is merciful, Diego himself is proof of that."
Felipe dropped his eyes and pretended not be shocked. Obviously, Father Benitez only meant that Diego was a good man, and that Felipe had reason to know he was kind. Nothing more. He could not know anything more. No one knew. All of Diego's friends saw him as intelligent but idle....
The priest tapped Felipe's arm for attention. "Fill your heart with hope and gratitude and pray, my son. You will find the peace you seek with God."
Felipe nodded and made a stiff retreat back to the sanctuary.
z
Diego waited until everyone else had finished before presenting himself to Jose for confession, which was just as well, since the priest wanted to have a word with him afterward. Diego confessed to wrath, which was expected, and being tempted by despair, which was not. "Surely, you have not given in to this temptation, my son," Jose murmured.
"No. No, I..." he sighed. "No."
This was going to be delicate. Hard enough to council a parishioner when he was also a close friend, but Diego would never give the specifics of his dilemmas. Jose took a deep breath. "But I suppose these last few days have been very trying? The attack upon your home, your father's injury...a member of your household targeted by murderers....I imagine all that weighs heavily upon you."
"It is not a week I would repeat," Diego conceded.
"But even when it is understandable, despair is very dangerous."
Diego's mouth quirked sourly. "Never fear. I have no intention of abandoning my responsibilities."
"Your family is depending on you--"
The sour look grew broader. "More or less," he muttered.
"And sometimes our labors seem endless. And some tasks end in failure. But, my son, the only way to assure failure is to give up, and that sin is not within you."
Diego dropped his eyes.
"Your penance is to list your blessings. In writing, if you can manage it. Five days."
"Unusual," Diego said.
Jose pretended to look stern. "You wouldn't argue, surely."
"Of course not, Father."
Jose blessed him and stepped back. "Now. If you have a few minutes, I'd like to show you something in the starting shed."
The new seedlings were doing well, and Diego caressed them gently. "A chili?" he guessed. "Where did you get it?"
"A friend in Mexico City. The fruits are very small and very strong. I'm looking forward to the crop."
Diego smiled, and for the first time his face relaxed completely. "Indeed."
"These, I have not had a chance to plant yet." Jose produced several packets of folded paper from his robe and laid three on the workbench. "These are cucumber seeds, a gift from Senora Neilson. Three varieties. And these," he added two more, "which may be the real treasure, are beets. Padre Eduardo got them for me, from the Russians up north. These are supposed to keep very well for many months. And these are said to produce yellow fruit."
"Yellow beets...I don't suppose I could convince you to share a small sample?" Diego unfolded the paper and looked at the seeds with ill-concealed envy.
Jose tisked gently. "Your experimental garden is surely overflowing. You will hardly have time to look after these properly."
Diego didn't rise to the bait. "The experimental garden is now producing a substantial amount of food. We're expanding again this year."
"You have made my point," he teased, making a show of gathering up his precious packets.
"I'm not doing most of the work. Our foreman's daughter is quite the gardener. She's taken over most of the day-to-day care. And she has more talent than I...If she were a boy, I'd have her trained to be a botanist." To Jose's disappointment, Diego's smile drained away. "It seems unfair, somehow."
"What does?"
"If Martina were a boy, Father, I would send him to school in Mexico City or even New York, although learning the language might slow things down. But even if there were a college that would accept a girl, she could scarcely travel alone."
"And that seems unfair? Tell me, Diego, is she a good worker?"
He lifted a stray cucumber seed and turned it absently in his hand. "Oh, yes."
"And she uses the talent God has given her?" Jose did not wait for Diego's nod. "She has friends and family who love her and whom she loves? A solid roof and good food?"
"A substantial amount which she grows herself," Diego answered, his expression lightening a little.
"Is she fairly paid? And if there were a book of yours she wished to read, would you loan it to her? I won't ask if she has the respect of her employer, since that is obvious. I know your foreman's daughter; she is pious and good-tempered. Can you not see that this young woman already has that which most of God's children desire? There is no need for you to regret her lot."
"Well, I would add a local government sensitive to the needs of the community, freedom of speech, and adequate rain to your list...."
Jose lowered his brows sternly until Diego relented. "Your point is taken, my friend."
"Do not look for trouble. Enough finds us as it is...." It was the wrong thing to say. The small frown lines crept back to Diego's eyes and he sighed. "My son...my dear friend. Is there nothing I can do to help?"
Diego looked around. He sighed. "I do not even know how to confess it, except to say that I have done poorly by Felipe."
Jose felt his brows rise. "Felipe? Your boy? Intelligent, thoughtful, helpful, pious, brave Felipe?" He managed a cheerful little chuckle. "It seems to me you've done very well by him. I dislike repeating gossip, but they say in town that--singlehanded and unarmed--he captured two murderers this week."
Diego didn't smile. "Oh, yes, very funny. But it's too near the truth. He's brave. Because of me, he's had to be, hasn't he? Someone in the house has to show some courage!"
"Diego--"
"He led them away. He rode out alone, to lead them away. Padre, if there is anyone in the world I should protect--" Diego broke off, clamping his mouth shut and looking down.
Jose studied his face, trying to determine if this truly was the worst of it, or if Diego had slid off onto another wide issue, deflecting attention from truths that were both more painful and more revealing. "They also say that you dote on the boy....coddle him and over protect him? Hmmm? Does he need so much protecting?"
"Surely there is some middle ground between over protecting him and throwing him to the wolves," Diego protested.
Jose waited. He wasn't sure what the truth of the matter was, or how to judge Diego's choices or their outcomes. Had he truly sacrificed the welfare of a child in his care? Or was he only unsettled by the danger of the last few days? If anyone knew where things truly stood, it would be Diego himself.
"Perhaps I have...."
"Lowered your expectations?" Jose suggested. "Because of his deafness?"
"Certainly not! No. I have limited his choices, I admit that. But never because I doubted his capability. He...he is carrying a great many burdens. I have...relied on him too much. Interfered with his own pursuits."
"So. You refuse to admit that you keep him close to you because you worry how he would fare without your support?"
Diego looked honestly startled. "I--of course I--I worry." He shut his mouth abruptly and slowly lowered himself to a battered stool. "Padre, you must understand, long before you came here...I found him in a battle field. There were bodies--some soldiers were gathering their dead in a cart, but the civilians and the rebels, they were just lying there. Not even dead yet, some of them. I remember one old man...." he rubbed his hands together and glanced away. "It was just me and my tutor and Jaime, one of our men. We didn't even have a carriage or any supplies. Just water to give them, for all the good that did. And this little boy, sitting by himself. He wasn't hiding or crying...."
"And when you look at Felipe, you see that little boy still," Jose suggested.
"Sometimes." A hesitant concession.
"And he will never be old enough or strong enough to carry the burdens of a man?"
"No, I don't mean--"
"He must be, oh, maybe close to twenty, now. You were about that age when you left home to face the dangers and temptations of the city by yourself, weren't you? When will Felipe be ready to assume the responsibilities of a young man? Two days ago, he did what was necessary, as all men do what is necessary. Didn't he? Or did he make the wrong choice? Execute it poorly?"
Diego shook his head. "Neither. He was magnificent."
"But in your heart, my son, you still think of him as a broken child, one for whom no remedy or effort will ever be enough. One who needs your help--and you are anxious to give it."
"I admit your point," Diego said slowly. "My father has suggested the same, more or less. But even so, I am not just imagining a problem. The ugly truth is I have trapped him, here with me, in a limited life when he deserves more--"
Jose was grateful Diego stopped there. He could well imagine what trapped Felipe at Diego's side, and he did not want his suspicions confirmed. "Have you asked him what he wants?"
"He says he...wants to help me." A sigh. "He is far too loyal for his own good."
That was very nearly funny, coming from Diego de le Vega. "My son, to what are you loyal? What commitments do you keep?" Jose raised a hand to forestall an answer. "So often, our heart's desires are not our fantasies but our realities. Just as you have chosen to live here, to do your life's work here, for the people you love...it is a difficult choice, I know, with many costs. But just as you have judged the worth and made your decision, so must he." Jose waited several long seconds as Diego digested this. "You can't assume he wants to follow you into your newspaper work, of course. But if he wishes to stay here, living a simple life, building and safeguarding his community, well, you can hardly feel guilty because he has chosen to follow his heart rather than ambition or temptation. You must admit it is the worthy choice, since it is the one you made yourself."
Diego tightened his jaw and nodded.
"That is what we are talking about, isn't it? You wish to send him away to school, or perhaps he wishes to marry--? And you can't spare him from the ranch just now? So he willingly stays. "
Diego visibly collected himself. "Something like that," he said quickly.
"Never mind that it is pointless to regret necessity," Jose found it in himself--somehow--to mount a stern countenance. "It is a kind of hubris to blame oneself for the choices of others."
"Of course, Father. I hadn't thought of it that way. Perhaps I should confess again." The haunted look was gone from Diego's eyes, but he only smiled blandly. Whatever he was thinking, it was not something he could share. Jose was used to that.
"I don't think that is necessary, as long as you resolve yourself to 'sin' no more. I don't give penance for errors in logic," Jose answered lightly, concealing the honest relief he felt. "Now, help yourself to some scraps of paper from the box over there, and let's see about sharing these seeds, hmmm?"
z
When Diego slipped into the dim bedroom, he found his father soundly sleeping. It was a relief, and not just because an injured man needed sleep: it took two to make an argument, and they both had to be awake.
Sighing inwardly, Diego leaned down and checked for fever. Finding none, he crept back out of the room.
Returning to the library, Diego began to slide books out of their places and stack them on the table: an anatomy, which he rarely used; three law books, though two were quite old; two books on architecture and one on engineering; a book on vineyards, although Felipe already knew quite a bit about wine-making; a book on irrigation; and five books on military strategy (a topic that was always popular with publishers). He was finishing just as Felipe came in from seeing to the horses.
Diego waved him over and motioned to the books. Felipe's brows lifted as he asked just how long today's lesson was going to be.
"It's not a lesson," Diego answered carefully. "I think it's time you started giving serious thought to...well, thinking about what you want to do. I can't promise anything quickly, and I'm sorry for that. And I can't...right now, I can't even tell you how we'll make it happen. But you're old enough to have dreams of your own, explore your own gifts. And the first step...." he nodded at the books.
Felipe looked at him in puzzlement for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "Gifts?" he signed. "I have no gifts."
The statement snatched Diego's breath away. His talk with the Padre had gone a long way toward soothing his conscience and eroding the sense that Zorro had trapped not only Diego himself in an impossible paradox, but also his loved ones. He had thought, that with Felipe at least, some small progress toward freedom could be made.
Except here stood Felipe, calmly denying his own worth, his own talents. How had he come to believe this? And how had Diego let him?
Felipe's hands were moving, but Diego couldn't follow what he was saying. He blinked and shook his head. "Repeat that, please, I'm sorry," he croaked.
With slow, broad, emphatic gestures Felipe repeated, "What is wrong with you today? Pay attention! Are you ill?"
Diego sat down heavily. "No. No, I'm not ill. No," he whispered. "Felipe, what did you mean, when you said you have no gifts?"
Felipe squatted in front of him. "I am just like everyone else. You told me. I am average. You always told me."
"I said you were just like everyone else, I never said you were average."
Felipe shrugged that he didn't see the difference.
Diego swallowed dryly. "But...Doesn't everyone have gifts? God has given us all talents. You as well."
Felipe smiled gently and shook his head. "Nothing special."
"You're good with horses," Diego began. He had a dressage manual around somewhere. Perhaps in the bed room?
Felipe shrugged and dismissed the words with flick of his hand: not like you.
"You write very well--"
Again, "Not like you."
"Are you comparing yourself to me? You are years younger than I."
Felipe shrugged.
Normal. Nothing special. "My God," Diego whispered miserably. "Felipe, when I said you were like everyone else, you couldn't hear. I was talking about--I only meant--"
"Being deaf didn't make me less. And you were right. I am still me now, just as I was then. And I am like everyone else." He smiled almost patronizingly and patted Diego's arm. "You are gifted. You are wonderful. I?" he shrugged and shook his head.
Diego passed a hand across his face and groaned. This conversation was beginning to make sense, now, and while it was still horrifying, it was no longer heartbreaking. He had known Felipe loved him. He had not realized Felipe had placed him quite so high on a pedestal...or that he was measuring himself against the standard he imagined his mentor set.
Felipe tapped his leg and asked if Diego were angry.
"No. Of course not. No." Diego took a deep breath. "Let's start over, shall we? This time, I'll start. You are not a chemist. Heaven knows, I have tried."
Felipe nodded, wincing slightly.
"I think you are also no theologian. Although that may reflect the failings of your teacher, rather than your own lack of aptitude."
Felipe rolled his eyes here. Diego's lack of patience with some of the current church policies was hardly news to him, although he did not generally broadcast his little heresies.
"You might have the makings of an engineer, though. I've noticed, the few things we've built...you have a good eye for plans, an intuitive grasp of form, and a good head for materials. You should think about that."
Felipe looked a little surprised, but he nodded obediently.
"Despite what you said this morning...Well, there is more to doctoring than blood. And you are intelligent, with an excellent memory. Gentle and patient--these are legitimate gifts, Felipe, don't make faces."
Felipe composed himself and nodded seriously.
"I don't know why you object to the term, you aren't so very humble. Surely--surely it is no surprise that I think highly of you." Diego hoped not.
Felipe flushed and looked down for a long moment before signing, "You thought the best of me, even when I was nothing."
"Is that how you remember it? Because I remember quite differently. You were very young. That is not the same as nothing. All of us start out that way, after all." Did Felipe even remember those first few days, when they had ridden to one village after another searching for someone who recognized the boy? He'd seemed almost asleep, though his eyes were open, and he ate a little when food was put in front of him. He'd made eye contact with no one and never strayed more than foot from Diego.... Had that felt like being nothing? Or had Felipe been speaking metaphorically? In any case, he'd shown amazing courage and resilience. By the time Diego had brought him home, Felipe had taken to following Diego around, imitating whatever he did and doing any task he put in front of him.
Very quickly it became clear that in a child less than half his age Diego had found the best friend he'd ever had. They'd fished in the stream, collected strange rocks out in the desert, ridden out to the ocean and played in the cold surf. And together, they'd learned to sign.
Diego's father had a pamphlet about hand-language the Indians used to communicate when they spoke different languages. Diego laid an ear of corn, a toy horse, a cup of water and a few other items on a table. Then he'd written the name of each on a strip of paper and labeled each object. Finally, he walked back and forth, making the sign for each in its turn. He had almost finished his third pass when Felipe grabbed his arm, copied the sign for horse and handed the carved wooden figure to Diego.
In two days they'd learned every sign in the thin book. The next day, Diego had set Felipe to copying out words on a slate, but it was clear that talking was a more urgent need than writing, so the day after that Diego (as always, with Felipe right behind him) rode out to the mission searching for natives who could speak with their hands.
The padre had been happy enough to approve the project, but while finding people who knew the sign language had been easy, it had taken some work to convince one that the crazy young caballero actually did want to be taught.
There had been hours spent in lessons on history and math and geography (under the strict gaze of Diego's tutor) and days harvesting grapes or bringing in the cattle (supervised by Diego's father or the vaqueros); hot siesta times spent sketching insects in the courtyard and early mornings loading up tanned hides onto the wagon for shipment. Through all of it their fingers whispered in a secret language, sharing jokes, sharing worries, poking fun. Felipe had taken the place of the brother Diego had always wanted, and been a better friend than any he'd had before. Or, for that matter, since.
Felipe sighed and sat back on his heels. "Pay attention," he signed--just as Diego used to when he caught Felipe daydreaming during their lessons. "I was no one. I had nothing. I had no one to love me. You made me eat and study. You cleaned the cuts when I fell. You came when I had nightmares."
Diego swallowed the lump in his throat. "You had no mother, and you were so young--" the words sounded almost like an apology. Diego dragged himself back to the point of this discussion. "You aren't a little boy now, and you must have dreams or desires of your own. Whatever you think you owe me, however much you love me--I meant what I said this morning. You won't have to lie forever. I will support you. But first you have to be honest with yourself about what you want and what talents you have. I got out the books to aid you in...consideration."
He rose from the chair, settled Felipe in his place, and went to the cave to get out of the way. He curried Toronado, puttered with his chemistry equipment, updated his journal, and generally tried his best not to think about anything.
TBC