New Era, Same Old Story

The sun had already risen high above the marketplace in el pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles.  A light April rain the night before had left the plaza a little less dusty than usual.  Now couples walked arm in arm along the sidewalks.  A coach accompanied by men on horseback arrived at the inn.  Doves fluttered softly against the red tile roofs, then floated down among the children and the old men who fed them crumbs.  Two men led a burro covered with sacks of grain.

Indian women in homespun mission clothing and iridescent shell necklaces balanced baskets on their heads, small barefoot children trailing after them.  Market stalls brimmed with blankets, tooled leather goods, cakes of soap, candles, fresh flowers, herbs, fruits, corn, beans, figs, olives.  Somewhere nearby, men sang an old refrano about a faithless sweetheart, their voices blending with those of two women haggling over the price of a chicken.  The smell of cooking meat, cebollo and roasted chilies filled the air.

The church at the edge of the square still looked festive in what remained of last Sunday’s Easter garlands and banners, its little bell now ringing the call for late mass.  In fact, the whole square still looked festive in its banners and pennants, especially the cuartel, above whose red tile roofs no longer flew the red and gold flag of the king of Spain, but the colors of a new flag—one of green, white and red—whose eagle crest, it was said, commemorated the founding of the city of Tenochtitlán, the city of the Mexica Indians.

Rumors of the astonishing victory of the Mexican insurgents over Spain had been trickling north ever since last fall, but largely they had been met with disbelief.  Only a few weeks ago had the governor finally arranged to meet with the officers of the presidios and the mission padres to swear allegiance to Mexico’s new head of state, General Augustín Iturbide.  Some, of course, had been more eager than others. But no one had refused.

And finally the new flag had risen over Los Angeles as well, accompanied by as much ceremony and speech-making as a town of roughly five hundred people could muster.  And a hint of optimism had somehow risen, too.   Rancheros eagerly anticipated an increased flow of wealth as a result of a new decree that not only legalized but officially encouraged free trade with foreign buyers.  And merchants, despite a potential increase in competition from foreign suppliers, could now at least import more goods openly for resale.  Even the King’s former lancers now dreamed of having their pensions reinstated and of getting paid again on a regular basis.

Only the mission padres seemed to worry that these military pensions might easily be paid in the currency of their own priceless mission lands, which belonged, they said, to the Indians.  And the Indians, hearing all of this, and seeing the uneasiness of those who were, after all, in constant communication with God, didn’t know what to think.

Nor did anyone really know what to think of the new Mexican government.  Some insisted that neither Holy Mother Church nor Spain herself had recognized, as yet, the legitimacy of these insurgents and that Spain would soon send troops to reconquer its lands.  Others claimed that the dashing young General Iturbede, who now shared power with a council of regents and a national congress, would serve only as an interim head of state until Spain could send a prince to govern the region.  And others insisted that Spain was still in far too much internal turmoil to give any of her colonies much thought, even if she hadn’t been totally impoverished by her struggles with the British and the French.

And overall, to most Angelinos, the concerns of both Mexico and Spain seemed very far away.  Aside from the presence of a few more foreigners and a few new Mexican officials, daily life went on pretty much as it always had.  As two comadres strolled through the plaza examining the fine woven goods—the sashes, belts, ribbons, rebozos—the dried herbs and bottles of ointments, their discussion consisted largely of gossip far more immediate and spicy.  Stopping to rest in the shade of an ancient old oak tree, they soon spotted their next victim.

"Now take that one, por ejemplo," said Alma.  "The trouble with him is, he grew up without having a mother around.  Oh of course there were the servants and the aunts and the abuela when he was little.  But I don’t care how much money one has.  Nothing can take the place of a mother.  Especially for a boy like that."

"It’s the truth," said Saturnina, nodding solemnly.  "And the father never did remarry.  Think of it!  Well, that is why.  Now they say he blames the son, and for what?  Following in his father’s footsteps?  What a shame.  And so handsome, too."

"They never should have sent him away to school.  He reads too much, studies too much," said Alma.  "Those books.  Why, how can one learn anything about life from books?  And when a boy does not have a mother growing up . . . ."  She shook her head.

A tall young man with dark wavy brown hair, a neatly trimmed mustache and expressive brows that arched elegantly over twinkling brown eyes walked slowly toward them, flashing a somewhat crooked yet dazzling smile at those he stopped to chat with.  Dressed in the traditional garb of a Spanish gentleman—dark blue fabric trimmed in ornate gold needlework, jacket cropped at the waist—he moved with the casual agility of a dancer.  A carefully knotted silk tie at his throat trailed its ends over the delicately ruffled shirt front and waistcoat, matching the cinturón at his waist.  Finally, just before he reached the comadres, he crossed paths, abruptly, with two soldiers, a tall heavy one with a stubbled beard and a shorter one whose drooping mustache matched the beleaguered expression on his face, both heading for the cuartel.  Though they had nearly run into him, he did not seem offended as he simply smiled and stepped out of their way.

"Ah, buenos dias, Sergeant Garcia.  Good morning, Corporal."

"Oh, buenos dias, Don Diego.  A thousand pardons."

"Well, you seem in quite a hurry on such a fine spring morning," the young man observed.

"Sí, Don Diego," Garcia replied, though he made no real effort to excuse himself.  In fact, he seemed almost glad for the interruption.

"Another dangerous mission, I suppose.  The life of a soldier, eh?  Full of adventures."

"Well, full of troubles, anyway," Garcia nodded.  "You know, Don Diego, at times soldiering is not so glamorous an occupation as it might appear to be.  Some of the insurgentes, they have been in some glorious battles.  But here, we are reduced merely to capturing criminals—like the one we arrested yesterday afternoon.  He did not even seem that dangerous."

"A bandido, eh?  But surely this is worth something, ridding the community of scoundrels?  Did you capture him yourself, Sergeant?"

"Oh, no, Don Diego— "

"He was a kidnaper," said the corporal.  "They caught him right in the cuartel."

"A kidnaper?  How horrible."

"Sí, we think he is part of a gang.  They kidnap the sons of wealthy rancheros."

"Baboso!" said the sergeant.  "We do not know this.  Please, Don Diego, ignore him.  He is confused, as usual.  This is only idle gossip."

"Well, Sergeant, perhaps if this is something you should not be telling me— "

"Oh, no, Don Diego, we know you can be trusted.  But you see, we must always be careful that we know what we are talking about in these matters.  We must stick to the facts."

Don Diego nodded thoughtfully.  "No, we certainly would not want to upset people with unfounded rumors," he said.  "I assure you I will understand if you can say no more, Sergeant, and on a morning like this—so beautiful.  We need not speak of such unfortunate things, especially in the presence of such lovely señoras.  Buenos dias, Señora Miraflores, Señora Barrajas.  And how are you today?"

"Quite well, gracias, Don Diego," said Alma with a warm smile, "and how are you?  We have not seen you for quite some time now."

"I, too, have been well," he said.

"And your father?" inquired Saturnina.  "In good health, I presume?"

"Oh, yes—though, of course, he does keep himself very busy."

"Of course," said Alma, "and have you been to visit Señora Barrientos recently?  She and her daughter Petra, the oldest one, the guerra—you know that girl has grown up to be so attractive—well, often they like to sit with us here on days such as this, but one hears the Señora has not been feeling well.  You should pay her and Señor Barrientos a call."

"Perhaps on my way home."  He nodded graciously.

"Buenos dias, Sergeant," said Alma politely.  Garcia nodded at them, quickly tipping the flat brim of his hat, and exchanged a few pleasantries.  Don Diego started toward the cuartel.  Then he paused to examine a speck of dust on the sleeve of his exquisitely embroidered jacket as the sergeant caught up with him.

"You see, Don Diego," he went on, "this man they arrested last night—he claimed to be the servant of a wealthy gentleman from a rancho somewhere near the Mission Dolores de Asis.  He said his patrón had been the victim of extortion.  The son had been kidnaped and held for ransom.  Such a fantastic bunch of lies you never heard."

"Interesting, Sergeant.  And-um, how did you know they were lies?"

"Well, it turned out that a gentleman arrived only last evening from Monterey to visit the Commandante.  Just by chance, this gentleman had known the ranchero.  He said that the man had recently given up the title to all his lands and was preparing to join his son in Spain when he was murdered.  This servant, you see, was simply trying to hide the truth about how he had come to be in the possession of some very expensive pieces of jewelry."

"I see," said the young man.  "Quite a piece of detective work."

"They’re going to hang him," said the corporal.

Don Diego frowned. "Oh, not today, I hope."

"Oh, no," said Garcia cheerfully.  "Why, they haven’t even tried him yet.  But do not worry, we have him locked up very securely."

"And what of the son of the patrón?  Has anyone heard anything from him?  Do they know how to contact him?"

"I do not know, Don Diego," said Garcia. "No one seems to know where he is, not even the gentleman from Monterey.  Some say he is in Toledo, or in Madrid.  But if he does not return, it might be that this servant is also somehow mixed up in his disappearance." Garcia lowered his voice. "There may even be other desaparecidos."

"But we would not want to spread false rumors."

"Oh, no, Don Diego.  Clearly not."

"So, tell me.  Why are you now in such a hurry?"

"We’re going on a dangerous mission," said the corporal.

Diego raised an eyebrow.  "Going after the accomplices of the man you have in jail, eh?"

Garcia gave his cohort a wry sidelong glance.  "Corporal Reyes," he said, "why don’t you go on ahead now."  Reyes shrugged like a marionette on a string but went nowhere.  "Go tell the men to get ready," Garcia insisted, waving toward the cuartel.  "That is an order."

"Sí, Sergeant."  Reyes raised his hand in a weak half hearted salute, then ambled off.

"Well, I would not want to detain either of you any further," said Diego.  "But perhaps I can buy you a drink later on, Sergeant?  That is, if you survive."

"Sí, that would be very pleasant, Don Diego.  Unfortunately, I must decline.  You see, we may be out quite late.  We may even be gone for days.  We have been ordered to search the hills for Zorro, and we are not to return without him."

"Zorro?" Diego frowned.  "But why, Sergeant?  And how can you be sure he will even appear?  I mean, Zorro has not been seen since—well, how long has it been?"

"Because Zorro is one of the accomplices of the man we captured last night," said Garcia, his voice lowered to a whisper.  "The man said that Zorro would rescue him.  So you see, now we know he is out there somewhere, even as we speak, just waiting for the chance to strike."

Diego’s eyes grew a little wider.  "And you think it will be soon?"

Garcia nodded.  "It will have to be soon," he said, "because they say the prisoner knows who Zorro is.  He is being questioned about it now."

"Questioned?"

"Sí." It was clear from Garcia’s nervous expression that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with some of the practices the insurgent soldiers had brought with them to California.  Aside from a few Indian uprisings, California had not been the scene of such a lengthy and brutal conflict as the one Mexico had endured, full of civil as well as military unrest.

"And what if he does not know who Zorro is?" said Diego.

Garcia studied his fingers.  "I do not know, Don Diego.  But if he knows, he will tell.  And when he does, there will no longer be anyplace for Zorro to hide.  So one way or another, we will capture him at last.  But please, do not tell anyone I have told you these things.  The people, you know, they are so fond of Zorro.  If word should somehow get back to him, he might still escape, at least for the moment.  And this would only make things harder."

"Of course, Sergeant."

"Now, if you will excuse me . . . I suppose we must get on with it."

As Garcia finally lumbered away, Diego looked after him, then shot a questioning glance in the direction of his servant Bernardo, who had appeared silently behind him with a few parcels in his hands.

Bernardo’s eyes sat wide apart under slightly upturned brows and a line of soft curly grey and brown hair that had receded into a halo, framing the bald spot atop his head.  He could not speak and did not admit to being able to hear, at least in front of anyone else.  But the expressions that moved across his agile face were as eloquent as any orator.  He frowned, shook his head, then glanced up at Diego and rolled his eyes in the direction of the cuartel.  Diego almost started to go that way, but then changed his mind and headed instead for the inn, Bernardo at his heels.

"Well, what do you think of that?" said Alma.

Saturnina shook her head.  "It is Don Alejandro’s own fault," she said.  "He was far too soft on the boy growing up.  Why, he doesn’t even carry a sword, let alone know how to use one."

"That’s what comes of never having remarried," said Alma. "If anything happens to that one, his father will be lost.  What would you give to get him back?"

"If he were mine?  Ha!  You know the answer to that, mi comadre.  I would never let him out of my sight." They giggled.

"Do you suppose el Zorro will come to rescue that prisoner?"

"I cannot believe he would be in league with a common thief and murderer," said Alma.

"That is the truth," said Saturnina.  "But what if this man really does know who Zorro is?"

"It matters little," said Alma, "for in any case, el Zorro will escape.  I will light a candle tonight and ask Nuestra Señora to watch over him."

"And for the boy and his father, too," said Saturnina. "May She watch over us all."