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I am alone.
"Down with Zorro! Down with Zorro!" My ears ring from the earlier cries in the plaza. People in the pueblo believed that impostor was me. They believed that I stole from the church poor box, and that I cut Mendoza. They joined the alcalde against me—eagerly and without hesitation.
At first, the imposter’s presence was simply a puzzle that needed solving. But now, I have had time to think, to ponder, and the reaction of the crowd weighs heavily on my mind. When I first put on the mask, I thought I understood the sacrifices I would be making. I was wrong; I am completely alone. "Down with Zorro!" I shake my head trying to rid my memory of their chants.
"Diego! Oh, there you are. Guess what happened at Victoria’s earlier today?" Father rubs his hands together as he strides into the library. Too excited to notice my mood, he continues to talk without waiting for my response, which suits my dark humor well. "The real Zorro turned up and challenged the fake one!"
Pouring himself a glass of wine, my father shakes his head and grins. "Then, the alcalde accidentally shot his own impostor. Of course, he would never admit he was the one who hired him, but we all know the depths that man will go to turn us against Zorro." He lifts his glass in a toast. "Zorro lives!"
After he gulps down the ruby-red liquid from his glass, he looks at me and frowns, finally noticing my lack of excitement. "Diego, what’s wrong?"
"The people seemed eager to condemn Zorro on flimsy evidence." It feels good to admit my concerns. Since my return from Spain, I’ve been unable to share much of my life with him or anyone, outside of Felipe, who is much too young to hear some of my troubled thoughts. Right now, I need to hear my father's opinions, need to hear his insight into what has happened in the pueblo over the past two days.
Nodding, he sits across from me, studying me as if I were a chess move he must counter. "True, they did, but they were even quicker to believe Zorro when the evidence supported him. They cheered when they found out he lived and is the hero they hoped he was. Why does it trouble you so, Diego? You said so yourself: 'The people of Los Angeles will make up their owns minds about Zorro.'"
"I expected them to look at the evidence! Not be led by their emotions after a couple of events that made Zorro look bad," I snap, hoping that I'm not revealing too much, but unable to hide my distress. I jump up from my chair and begin to pace in front of the fireplace. Even its warm embers cannot ease the chill from my bones.
I am startled by my father's laughter. "'Not be led by their emotions?' Diego, my son, you forget, it is human nature to make most of our decisions based on emotion. You’re always so logical, but even you make many decisions based, at least somewhat, on what you’re feeling. Besides, one man alone might have thought through everything and made a sound choice, but a group of men? Forget it! Mob mentality is pure emotion. That's why they can do so much harm, I’m afraid. Diego, if you must know the truth, after watching the impostor yesterday, even I wondered if perhaps he should be locked up, and I'm his greatest defender among the caballeros!"
Stung by my father’s words, I stop pacing. Since my return, I have given little thought to what most of my fellow Los Angelenos think of me, with and without the mask, but I assumed most felt like Father and Victoria. Looking over my shoulder at him, I notice that his eagle eyes are focused on me, taking in my every movement. I force my muscles to relax. "What do you mean?"
"Diego, sit!" Father says while pointing at the seat I had abandoned. The energy racing through my body demands I continue to walk the room, but the respect my father has earned from me demands I follow his direction; I sit. "Good. Now, I can tell you’re upset for some reason, but you have to understand how the people feel about Zorro."
"How do they feel about him?" I ask hesitantly, surprised by the feeling gnawing in my gut. I wear the mask and do what I do because it is the right thing to do and not for public acclaim, don’t I? I know what Father and Victoria think about Zorro, but I’ve never once seriously considered what the townspeople think of the masked man, perhaps to my detriment.
As Zorro, I have been doing what my father taught me was my responsibility: taking care of the people. The crowds cheer when I do a good deed, and I then race away to return to my life as Diego. But what does that same crowd say after I am gone? When the cheering has stopped?
After the events of yesterday, I yearn to know exactly how they think of me, think of Zorro. I must know, even if the truth hurts.
"Zorro is—Zorro is a stranger, Diego," he finally answers. The crease of his brow says he is struggling to put his thoughts into words. "He's done great deeds, yes, but no one truly knows him. Which made it easier to believe that someone who looked like Zorro, wearing a mask and cape, was him. I didn’t want to believe he could be a villain, Diego, but I did have my doubts for a moment. No one knows him," Father repeats, leaning forward for emphasis. I barely stop myself from shivering at the words. They are true. No one knows me here; only Felipe has been allowed to see the man that is both Diego and Zorro.
Father sighs, leaning back into his chair. He looks down at his laced fingers as he talks. "No one knows why he helps us, why he wants to help us. And the unknown frightens people. You, more than most, should know that truth. Look at how long people have resisted some basic facts of your beloved science. Our Church has yet to forgive Galileo for daring to say the earth was not the center of our universe! Zorro’s a great enigma to us all."
I consider his words, and I realize how much I have ignored, in my thirst for justice. "Father, why does it matter who is beneath the mask? Shouldn’t his actions speak for themselves? Is not what he does a great part of who he is?"
"Actions always speak louder than words, don't they?" Father smiles at me, but I am unable to ignore the sadness in his eyes. What put it there, I cannot say. It disheartens me that he has been unable to confide in me because of the persona I must wear as Diego. "Zorro’s only been here for a few months, and men can live lies and distort truths for that long. The people of this pueblo have been taught that lesson well."
I look up, confused by his bitter words. "'Taught that lesson?' By whom?"
My father stands and shakes his head before walking over to pour himself another glass of wine from the decanter. He walks slowly back to his seat, obviously lost in old memories. Sighing, he sits and takes a sip. "You weren't here when everything started to fall apart, Diego. The Alcalde Jerrera, who arrived almost as soon as you left, was an interesting piece of work."
Another sigh fills the air and another sip of wine is taken. "In hindsight, I suppose he was preparing us for Ramone. Jerrera pranced into the plaza, kissing babies and shaking hands. He helped some of the farmers get in their crops, and once, he even waited on tables for Victoria during a busy period. We were thrilled." The pain I hear in his words twists my heart, but I can’t find the strength to comfort him. I’m not even sure if there is any way to help him forget the old ache.
There is a hint of tears in Father’s eyes, but of course, they never fall. "We had a hard working, caring alcalde. Then, things started to slowly change. The real Jerrera started to seep out for us to see. Oh, he was not corrupt like Ramone. Thank goodness," Father mutters under his breath.
"He was simply lazy. He worked hard at first to get in our good graces. He knew if we liked him, we would be hesitant to complain to the governor when he slacked in his duties. He was terrible, Diego; there were days that Mendoza was the only soldier in the pueblo to guard it, and he stayed out of loyalty and duty. The rest of the lancers ran wild without any leadership. Eventually, we had to complain to the governor. Then came Ramone to replace him." He tries to hide the way his hands shake as he sets his empty glass down.
"Ramone was everyone's friend at first, too. I remember the letter in which you first mentioned him. I read between the lines. I could tell you were hesitant about believing him, but I didn't know why." I do not ask why Father told me little about the difficulties with Jerrera. He wanted to give me freedom to enjoy myself at school, knowing that I would forever be bound to this land and its people when I returned. And putting down one’s negative thoughts about government in writing is an unwise move, even for one with Father’s connections.
He takes a moment to collect himself and gather his thoughts before speaking again, leaving me time to think. I’m beginning to see why the citizens of Los Angeles might so easily believe the worst about Zorro.
"Yes, Ramone came in with the same 'I want to help' attitude. However, he is worse than Jerrera. He isn’t just lazy and incompetent; he is greedy and corrupt." Anger replaces pain in my father's words. "We didn't believe his act of goodwill at first. We still bore the fresh scars from Jerrera’s betrayal, but Ramone had—has—a charm about him that led many of us into believing him, too. We gave him time to get his claws dug in, and the results are far worse this time. Farms have been taken from good men in the name of avarice!"
Father stands and marches over the fireplace. With his fists digging into his sides, he growls, "People have been whipped for daring to have an opinion that differed from him—even on pointless matters that had nothing to do with the government!” His jaw shifts side to side as he struggles to restrain his rage at old memories. “I will give the man credit though, Diego. He was far smarter and far more subtle than Jerrera. The changes in Ramone were slower, less overt, harder to see. We let him get by with so much because we believed him; sometimes, we believed him against our better judgment."
The reasons for Father’s pain and anger are obvious now. He has always taken pride in his judgment. To have been wrong must cut him to the core. To be wrong, and to have others harmed due to that failure, is a fault for which he will never forgive himself. Responsibility, especially towards those that depend upon us, is something that has been taught to me since I laid in the crib. But it was taught not simply by words but by actions. Father has always been a beacon of honor, a man of his word.
I softly sigh, finally accepting why the people acted the way they did yesterday. "Then came along Zorro doing good deeds." I hope my father cannot hear the regret in my voice. I do not lament my actions as Zorro; I do wish I had taken more time to build faith. But working to get people to trust me is an unfamiliar act for me; I have always been trusted simply because of who my family is. The men and women who came before me left an impression of trustworthiness for me to simply follow.
Father turns away from the fire and smiles at me. "Yes, then came Zorro." He walks back to his chair, sinking back down into it. Fatigue is catching up to him; I can tell. "The people are having a hard time believing in him. With Jerrera and Ramone, we know the reasons for their actions, but what are Zorro's motives? Why does he want to help the people at the risk of his own life?
“At first, some even believed he was working with Ramone to find the 'rebellious factions' of Los Angeles," my father says with a short laugh. Although my heart aches with the knowledge that someone could believe such a horrible thought about me, I’m pleased that Father dismisses it out of hand.
I feel the tension ease from my shoulders, as Father continues. "No one says that anymore, of course. Everyone knows Ramone wouldn't let someone working for him humiliate him as badly as Zorro has, even for more power or money!"
I laugh, more out of relief than joy. "No, Ramone is not the type to volunteer for someone to embarrass him. His pride is so easily bruised.” His arrogance has been one of the best weapons in my arsenal against him. Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “Everyone thought Zorro was finally showing his true colors yesterday. They have been waiting for the betrayal. Even while they cheered his actions, they have been waiting to feel his blade at their backs.”
"Yes, the people are worried he is just like Jerrera and Ramone; trying to earn their trust while preparing to harm them in the end," he agrees. I see compassion and understanding in those eyes staring at me. For one brief moment, I almost confess, but I remember the danger I would be putting him in, and the words refuse to leave my throat. "Ramone might be a devil, but better a devil you know than a devil you don't, Diego. We would all prefer to have the lazy devil Jerrera back than the alcalde we currently have."
Father leans back into his chair; I can see his tense muscles relaxing now that that my tension has eased. "You should also remember who was chanting 'Down with Zorro' in the plaza, my son. It was the caballeros mostly. The peasants have welcome him with open arms. They love him for all that he’s done for them, and I believe they trust him. The caballeros though are a little frightened. True, he's helped some of us—me for example—but overall, he has helped the poor more."
I’m amazed yet again. "Father, the poor have been the most harmed by the alcalde. He has done very little to those of us with the means to fight back. He doesn't dare for the most part."
Father's laughter fills the room. "I know, Diego! I was explaining to you the concerns of the people, not mine. The caballeros are concerned that Zorro will help the peasants rebel against them. They also worry that he might also incite the Indians into an insurrection. Most of our neighbors are wonderful, kind-hearted individuals, but unfortunately, some of our neighbors need to be horse whipped!" I barely keep my jaw from falling open. The man who waved goodbye to me as I left for school all those years ago would have never said those words.
"Fear of Zorro has made those neighbors rein themselves in, and for that, I'm grateful." Father's smile tells me he sees and understands my shock. "But even the kind-hearted are frightened by Zorro. He's an unknown man to them, an unknown man who may lead the peasants and the Indians against them, and they would have no way of fighting back without the lancers’ help. And our King's soldiers have been humiliated time and time again by our masked bandit."
We both chuckle, but it’s not a sound of enjoyment. We must laugh or cry; Father was a proud soldier once. Neither one of us enjoys knowing how ill-equipped and ill-trained the lancers who guard our pueblo are—since Ramone became the alcalde, the best trained were the most corrupt, and those quickly demanded transfers after Zorro’s arrival.
Father takes another long drink of his wine and sighs his appreciation as he looks at the glass. "Generally, everyone believes Zorro’s a peasant."
"A peasant?" Why I am surprised by the assumptions made about me, I cannot say, but I make a mental note to keep a closer ear to the ground on public opinion. As these past two days have shown me, it is important to know the mood of the people. Knowledge is power, even if that knowledge does not come from a book. I must spend more time in the pueblo as Diego, although how I will find that time, I do not know. Perhaps Felipe can aid me in this way.
"Perhaps a disowned younger son due to his accent, but most believe he is a peasant. I'm ashamed to admit how few of the caballeros would risk their necks to help keep a farmer from receiving a whipping he does not deserve." Father shakes his head. “And there are even fewer who would risk his neck for an Indian.”
"You stand up for everyone equally, Father, as do most of your friends," I protest, even though I know exactly what he means.
Nodding, Father smiles. "True, but we’re becoming a rare breed, Diego. Even you find it easier to ignore the problems than to take them on yourself." I barely keep myself from wincing. Father sighs at my lack of response. "At least you’re lost in your books, Diego; your passion is elsewhere in life, and you help in different ways by teaching others. Some caballeros and their sons have no passion outside of their own pleasure and ease of life."
When I was younger, military officers often visited our hacienda. Many served with Father in his younger days. Others were children of men with whom he’d served. Still others were men who had heard of my father and wanted to meet such a hero. Still, I sometimes forget about my father’s past, but then I will see that soldier in my father. Tonight is one of those times when he says: "I'm glad Zorro's making justice the priority in Los Angeles again."
Father’s slumping shoulders speak of his exhaustion. He rubs his eyes, smiles and stands. Laying his hand on my shoulder, he looks down at me. "You also have to remember that Zorro’s an outlaw. He’s wanted by the King of Spain, and that will always make some weary of him, no matter how many good deeds he does."
The question “do you know?” plays on the tip of my tongue. His words seem to be directed at me, telling me not to worry. But he’s reminded me, again, why I can never tell him. I am a wanted man. I don’t know if not knowing will protect my loved ones from punishment, but I do know that knowing will guarantee they will join me on the gallows.
"To some, following the law is more important than justice; to them, justice is found only in the law. You were right: the people will make up their own minds about Zorro, Diego, but they will make them up over time. Remember, men can make decisions based on reasons we may never be able to understand. Some in this pueblo will never trust Zorro, and some will never doubt him. Everyone is complex and different, which is what makes the world such an interesting place to live."
Standing, I hug my father. "Thank you." I needed to hear that from him. Maybe he does know and maybe he does not, but I have to express my appreciation.
He laughs as he pats my shoulder some more. "Diego, out of every person in this pueblo, you are the one least interested in Zorro. You didn't even know how others felt about him until today. Why were you so upset?"
I smile at Father, placing my hand over his. "I was simply surprised. The only people I ever talk to about Zorro are you and Victoria, and you're both such supporters—"
Father nods his understanding. "You thought maybe everyone in the pueblo felt that way?"
"No, not really. I just never expected them to side with Ramone against him. Not that quickly.” The words leave a bitter taste on my tongue, even though I now understand why the people lacked faith.
"Well, people are strange creatures, Diego,” he answers, taking his hand away from my shoulder. "Now, I'm off to see how our new foal is doing tonight before going to bed."
"Father," I say softly which stops him from exiting the room. There is one person whose opinion I still do not truly know. The most important opinion. "Why do you trust him? Why didn't you shout, 'Down with Zorro' like the rest?"
"That is an excellent question, my son," he says, crossing his arms. He frowns as he thinks. Finally, he sighs and shakes his head. "I do not know why, Diego, but I trust that man with my life, with my friends' lives, even with your life." The fire in his eyes tells me what an incredible trust my father has in the man, in me.
"When I first saw him through those bars in the jail, I feared he had been sent by the alcalde. I walked out with him not truly believing he was there to help, but then I looked into his eyes and somehow knew he would never let any harm come to me, not if he could help it. I felt that he was trustworthy. It was as if he were an old friend," he declares while his lips curl into a smile.
He shrugs. "My friends do not understand it, and I don't expect you will either. I just know Zorro is a good man."
I’m unable to hide my smile as Father leaves the room. I’m not alone after all. I have Felipe, Father and Victoria, and their support is all that truly matters for now. As long as I continue to do what is right, I will continue to have their support and others will follow. Father’s right. Zorro will be both a hero and a villain—perhaps, sometimes, I will manage to be both to the same person. But for most of the inhabitants of Los Angeles, he will be a hero as long as he continues to act like a hero.
My smile grows as I think about Father's comments about trusting Zorro. "I do understand, Father, far more than you realize." Joy overflows from my heart. My father is proud of me, even if he doesn’t know it. "And you are correct: I will stop anyone from harming you."
***
The End
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