The Voice of the Wind

Don Alejandro pounded on his door all too early the following morning with news that the pirate scare was over.  Sergeant Garcia had come in person to deliver the message so that the old man could pass it on to all the dons he had summoned the evening before.  "You were right, my son," he said gleefully, handing Diego a robe.  Diego slipped on a pair of pants, then wrapped the robe around himself.

"Oh?"

"You look tired," said his father, still more amused than worried.  "What time did you get in?  You’re not coming down with anything, are you?"  Then he chuckled.  "You know, I never actually believed that any son of mine could be so sickly all the time."

"Well, Father, I— "

"Oh, here’s Bernardo.  Well, perhaps you ought to comb your hair, at least."  Stepping aside for the servant who had appeared with a basin and a kettle of warm water, Alejandro waited in the doorway as Diego obediently grabbed a brush but motioned for the soap and razor to be set aside.  Bernardo shot him a quick glance, noting the old man’s exceptionally high spirits, then wondering just how much of this was Zorro’s doing.

Shrugging innocently, Diego followed his father down the stairs and into the sala where Garcia and Reyes stood waiting.  They looked nearly as cheerful as Alejandro himself, but Garcia politely declined the old man’s invitation to sit down and have a some breakfast.

"Gracias, Don Alejandro," he said, "but we still have to deliver this news to the mission.  Padre Felipe—he had been praying for a miracle, you know.  And now, it seems as if his prayers have been answered.  The pirates have simply vanished.  As of this morning, their ship was gone."

"Well it never hurts to have those connections, eh," Diego chuckled, glancing up.  "Or maybe they just didn’t want to face such a well-trained fighting force under your command, Sergeant."

"Maybe they didn’t want to face el Zorro," Reyes put in.

"Zorro?"  Alejandro trained a narrow glance on the corporal.

"Sí, Don Alejandro," Garcia confessed, though not with as much reluctance as usual.  "Señor Zorro was there.  Last night, in the dead of night, a boatload of pirates was seen trying to loot a warehouse.  But this morning about ten or twelve of them were found—out cold."

"Ten or twelve?  But how do you know it was Zorro’s doing?"

"Oh, Señor Zorro always signs his work," Reyes explained.

"I see."  Alejandro shot his son a quick glance.

"Well, give my best to Padre Felipe," said Diego, rolling his eyes at Bernardo, knowing he might soon need a few prayers himself, as the three of them walked the lancers to the gate.  Once Reyes and Garcia had disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust, Alejandro let the gate click shut.  Then he turned around.

"I thought el Zorro was just going to show himself," he said.

"Well, he–uh did do that," said Diego helplessly.

"And what about all that talk—of how little Zorro could do against hundreds of armed men with cannons?  Do you realize how easily you might have been killed?  How many men were there?  Thirty?  Forty?"

Diego could only purse his lips and shrug.  If he admitted what a huge risk he had taken, his father would suspect he had taken leave of his senses as well.   And if he said anything about this incredible new skill he had learned, he would only be confirming those suspicions.  Of course, he had asked for this.  He knew he wouldn’t have had to take credit for the exploit.  But hadn’t his father asked for it too?  Hadn’t he argued, adamantly, that it would be better to know what his son was up to, rather than being left to imagine the worst?

Alejandro sighed heavily, as if the same thing had suddenly occurred to him.  "I guess I will just need a little more time to get used to all of this," he said.  "I know California needs you as much as I do.  But you are still my only son.  And I suppose I still have hopes that one day—"

"Father."  Diego let a hand come gently to rest on the old man’s shoulder.  "You know, I too have hopes for the future.  Oh, there were times when I had to ask myself just what it was I really wanted," he went on with a wry smile.  "But now—now I know.  And I have no wish to get myself killed, believe me."

"My boy."  Alejandro folded his own hand over his son’s, then motioned for the two of them to sit at a small table that the servants had placed in the shade of the old tree.  As Diego sat down, Alejandro offered him some coffee.  "You know, we talked about this before," he said.

Sipping the strong dark brew, Diego shrugged again.

"I know you still miss her," his father went on; "I miss her too.  But it wouldn’t be fair, either to marry her or to ask her to wait, do you not see?  Why, if I worry about you, just think how she would feel, hearing what you did last night."

"But father, she isn’t like that."

"You mean you don’t think she would care— "

"Well, no, of course I don’t mean that."  Setting his coffee cup aside, Diego let his lips come to rest on his knuckles and tried to collect his thoughts.  "It is just that, she isn’t like most women," he said at last.  "While she was here, I got to know her quite well, and— "

"Yes," said Alejandro, his tone turning suddenly crisp.  "Let us not speak of that again."  Then he took another sip of his coffee, and for a moment Diego suspected that it was all the old man could do not to launch into a tirade, demanding to know how his son could have done such a thing, though deep down he knew the answer all too well.  Finally, he just said, "You’re lucky she wasn’t— "

Unable, even, to say the word, he was probably also thinking that any woman who would willingly succumb to such intimacies could hardly be trusted to remain faithful anyway, though he would never have said that out loud either.  Then he added, "There will be other women, my son.  I know it doesn’t seem possible now, but one day . . . ."

And Diego could only savor the irony of his predicament—for if last night’s adventure had reinforced his father’s belief that he shouldn’t marry the girl, it had only deepened his own conviction that he should.  Even now, watching the dappled shadows of leaves play across the hard brown tiles, he could feel the void she had left in his life.  But it wasn’t just that she was haunting him, as she had said she would.  It was also that he was starting to see how joining forces with her really was the most sensible thing for Zorro to do.

If by himself he could fend off a whole shipload of pirates, just think what the two of them could do together.  At the very least, she could protect him.  And there was still so much she could teach him—especially that business about binding a spell so no one got hurt.  That was something he really had to learn if he meant to go on experimenting with magic.  Together, they had worked miracles.  Surely, there had to be a way to cut this Gordian knot—some way they could overcome everyone’s objections and build a life together.

"I know how you feel," he heard his father say, and he bit his lip to keep from snarling, No, you don’t.  Instead, he only got to his feet.

"Perhaps I should ride into town," he said, "to see if everything else is back to normal after all the excitement last night."

Don Alejandro stood up, too, and squeezed his arm, then patted his shoulder affectionately.  "Give my regards to the innkeeper," he smiled.

The two comadres strolled casually through the plaza, pausing outside the new dry goods store to examine a sidewalk display of fine lacquered wooden plates painted with intricate designs.  Inside, brightly dyed silks and Spanish lace adorned the windows.  Just down the street, someone else was selling pottery from Jalisco.  As they paused to rest in the lacy shade of their favorite old oak tree, a craftsman who sold richly tooled leather saddles was busy nearby showing off his most impressive handiwork to a tall young man with dark wavy brown hair, a neatly trimmed mustache and expressive brows that arched elegantly over his intense brown eyes.

"Well, what did I tell you," said Alma.  "I told you they would have to let him go.  A boy like that—why, how could he know anything about witchcraft?  So innocent.  All he knows is what he reads in those books of his."

"But the devil lives in certain books," Saturnina reminded her.  "As the padre said, this is why the Church has forbidden us to read them."

"The padre!"  Alma made a wry face and glanced up at her eyebrows.  "Not all the padres are that innocent either.  You heard what happened.  They can be tempted too, just like the rest of us.  Maybe worse, because the devil values most the souls of his sworn enemies."

Saturnina nodded solemnly.  "That is true."

"And that boy," Alma went on.  "Why, just look at him.  You know, if anyone was practicing sorcery, it was that gachupina blanca who cast her spell on him.  Oh, sí.  I know he is smiling, as usual.  But you can tell that underneath, his heart is broken.  Now he will never marry—not for love, anyway.  He will always be thinking of her."

Heaving a great sigh, Saturnina shook her head sadly.  "Just like his father," she said.

As the two women continued to watch, the young man concluded his transaction, handing over a small pouch and smiling at the craftsman, who, fairly wriggling with delight, bowed and beamed and commanded his assistant to load the heavy piece of silver-trimmed tack into the rear of a nearby wagon—for immediate delivery to the de la Vega hacienda.

"Well, now Señor Menendez will be able to send his son to Spain, too," said Alma dryly.

"He might even be able to feed his family again," Saturnina replied.  "You know, he paid a lot of money for all that silver."

"Do you suppose Don Diego knew that?"

"The wealthy!"  Saturnina rolled her eyes, but quickly let them drift back to the young man, who now strode easily toward them.  "They never know the price of anything."

"Buenos dias, Don Diego," said Alma politely.

"Buenos dias, joven," Saturnina chimed in.

"Señora Barrajas.  Señora Miraflores."  Diego smiled his most disarming smile as he studied them carefully, bowing to each in turn.  Then he added, "I simply do not see how you do it."  When they exchanged puzzled glances, he shrugged.  "Well, here you are—two of the most beautiful señoras in all of Los Angeles, walking around the streets unescorted.  Are you not worried what people will say?  You know how quickly gossip can spread, especially in a town of this size."

And he was gratified to see the two of them blink and blush and even giggle before Señora Miraflores finally said, "Oh, but you see, we are not really unescorted.  We are merely waiting here for Señora Barrientos and her daughter Petra, you know, the oldest one, the guerra.  She recently agreed to marry a nice young man from Santa Barbara.  They will all be joining us soon."

"Ah, well, then, his gain is my loss," Diego shrugged and shook his head sadly.  "But I would be glad to keep the two of you company until they arrive—that is, if you wouldn’t think me too bold."

Señora Barrajas shook her head and tried not to smile too broadly as she said, "I am certain no one would ever think that of you, Don Diego.  But let us not detain you.  Surely you must have far more important matters to attend to," she added, glancing idly in the direction of the tavern.

Diego almost didn’t have time to swallow the laugh that lifted his eyebrows.  They gave as good as they got.  "Very well then, Señoras," he smiled.  "With your kind permission."

"Give our best to your father," Señora Miraflores added graciously.

"And my best to your families."

As he walked away, Diego could still feel them watching him, though their scrutiny didn’t really make him feel uncomfortable.  Perhaps in this world, they were the functional equivalent of the ravens, or the harpies, or whatever those creatures were that watched over him on the astral plane, ready at any instant to defend him from attack—if only so that they themselves could pick his bones at their leisure.  No wonder he preferred the company of the wolves.  As Bernardo caught up with him outside the tavern, he decided to dawdle a while longer before he went in, just to see if they really were waiting for Señora Barrientos and her daughter.

Mildly puzzled, Bernardo looked him up and down as he stood there perusing the tattered posters and notices crisping on the wall beside the door.  Already the placard proclaiming the bold new "Plan de Iguala," the manifesto of the Mexican Insurgents, had started to fade.  Somebody wanted to sell a carriage, and somebody else wanted to hire vaqueros.  Then, of course, there were the handbills that offered rewards for the capture of various outlaws.  Most had yellowed with age, though the one that now valued Zorro’s hide at no less six thousand pesos, dead or alive, seemed fairly new.

Soon a buggy appeared, and out climbed a tall lean curly haired young man in a tailcoat.  The high silk hat he wore seemed to lessen the effect of his slender aristocratic nose.  As his two female companions gathered up their bountiful skirts and let him help them out of the buggy and onto the sidewalk, Diego recognized the auburn haired Barrientos girl.  She really was quite pretty, he thought.  "They are getting married," he explained to Bernardo, who nodded sympathetically.

But as Diego continued to watch the couple, he began to understand something else about them as well.  Maybe it was just the bright morning sunlight playing tricks with his eyes, but as he noticed the way they looked at each other, the way they seemed drawn together, though they didn’t even dare hold hands, he couldn’t help but imagine that they were already linked somehow.  He could almost see a faint halo, like a ripple of heat that curled the air around the flame of a candle, hovering over them both, merging as they moved closer, then separating as they drew apart, but always leaving at least a slender filament of light between them.

And then all at once he understood the nature of that aura.  It was what Oreana had called the light and power of creation, the sacred force that brought forth new life.  And as he realized what it meant, he suddenly started to chuckle, and he almost couldn’t quit, even under Bernardo’s quizzical gaze.  Finally, catching his breath and shaking his head, he said, "Come on, my friend, let’s go inside."  When Bernardo continued to eye him doubtfully, he added, "Well, it is just that I think I have been underestimating the power of my allies."

And indeed, he knew now that they had all underestimated the power of Oreana’s goddess.  This time, Mother Nature had outwitted everyone.  And now, just as surely as if she had whispered the news in his ear, he knew she would bring Oreana back to him.  If whatever you sent out came back to you times three, and if even accidents had consequences, then how could he possibly have assumed that nothing would come of making love to a girl beside a moonlit lake on warm May evening?  As he remembered the look he had seen in her eyes the day they had boarded the ship for Monterey, he realized that she had known it too.  No matter how many obstacles lay in their path, sooner or later—and probably sooner—all those obstacles would simply disappear, as if by magic.

The two comadres exchanged greetings and pleasantries with their newly arrived escorts.  Then, amid the doves that fluttered down from the red tile roofs onto the sidewalk, they all started to make their way toward the market stalls that brimmed now with blankets, cakes of soap, fresh flowers, herbs, fruits, corn, beans, figs, olives.  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.

"Did you see that?" said Alma, nodding over her shoulder.  "That poor boy, trying so hard to be brave."

"Maybe he has gone crazy," Saturnina whispered.  "Love can drive them crazy, you know."

Alma rolled her eyes in agreement.  "Tonight, I will light a candle and ask Nuestra Señora to watch over him," she said.

"Yes," Saturnina agreed.  "May She watch over us all."