by Karla Gregory
The rising moon cast a soft glow over the land and made the walking easy. Don Alejandro pushed aside a branch as he made his way up the tree dotted slope to the top of the hill which overlooked the de la Vega hacienda. The evening was cool and pleasant after the heat of the day. He walked the last few steps up the hill and crossed over to the little plot of land cared for so lovingly. Placing a handful of wild flowers on the headstone of Isabella’s grave, Don Alejandro stood quietly with one hand resting on its cool surface. He cast his eye over the lands he could see in the moonlight. His lands. And Diego’s. The warm glow of lights issuing from the windows of the hacienda called to him and affirmed that this place, all of it, was his home. He could not imagine living out his life anywhere else. He was at peace here in a way that he could not have imagined a few short month’s ago.
Don Alejandro walked a few paces to one side and using two or three small stones as steps, he climbed up in order to sit on top of a larger boulder that dominated the crown of the hill. From here he gazed upward, contemplating the stars and the moon, deciding that nothing in all the world could match their sparkling beauty. He spent a few moments identifying for his own personal amusement those constellations with which he was familiar and wondering at the faintly milky band of softness that meandered its way across the night sky. What would it be like to touch the heavens, he wondered? It pleased him to imagine that his beloved wife already embraced that answer. She was already waiting there; waiting for him as the time should come when his earthly body would rest beside her’s here in this place. This prospect did not disquiet him in the least. To be with her again .............
He listened to the night and heard the soothing sounds of the crickets all around him and the soft and mellow hooting of an owl somewhere in the distance. The wind gently ruffled his hair and brought the scent of the hay, newly cut in the fields nearby. He took a deep breath, enjoying the rich aroma. His soul was content.
He turned his head to identify a tiny sound, a sound so soft that he almost thought he had not heard it. From out of the darkness, he saw a shadowy figure materialize. It was the dark figure of a man on a midnight horse. The man was clothed in the cloak of night and his face was obscured by a black silken mask. Quietly, the masked rider walked his horse closer, coming to a halt next to the boulder. Their eyes met evenly.
“Father,” said Zorro, in quiet greeting.
“My son,” said Don Alejandro in acknowledgment. “Are you able to stay?” he asked, looking around, for he knew that it was quite possible that Zorro was being pursued.
“I am safe,” Zorro said with a warm smile, leaning forward to rest his forearm on the saddle horn. Gesturing to the stars, he said, “It is a beautiful night, is it not?”
“Si,” said Don Alejandro. “Very beautiful.”
They both contemplated the heavens in companionable silence for a few more minutes. “You know,” said Don Alejandro at last, “You were born on a night just such as this. I remember how your mother, God rest her soul, smiled at me and said, ‘We have a son, Alejandro.’ I was so proud that night. I held you in my arms and marveled that something so small and pink could hold so much promise.”
Zorro smiled in the darkness.
“And now here you are,” continued Don Alejandro. “Things are so much different than I could have imagined.” He reached out and rested his hand on Zorro’s shoulder. “But I am still a proud man. Proud to have such a son as you.”
“Gracias, Father,” said Zorro. In his turn, Zorro reached out to take his father by the arm. Both men smiled in shared affection. “Yes, things are much different than we imagined,” Zorro continued. He turned to look back across the moon splashed hills. “I sometimes wonder, Father, by what ultimate design was I chosen for this?” Don Alejandro saw that Zorro was indicating himself.
