"That Which Cannot Be Spoken"

"Diego's Lamentation"

Oh my father, I know that there are times, just like now, when I am playing the piano here in the sala, when you pretend to be reading the book you hold in your hands. All the while, I know that you are staring at my back wondering what kind of son you have had. I feel your eyes upon me and I want so very much to be able to turn around and come to you; kneel beside your chair, and ask your forgiveness for not confiding in you.

I have seen the pain in your eyes those other times when I have turned away from you; not unwilling, but unable to do as you asked. I have experienced your pain in the things that anger and disappointment have caused you to say to me. How my heart ached, both for you and for myself. For you did not know that your words were sharper than the sword of Zorro, piercing my heart to its center.

I have seen your embarrassment in public when the other men look at me and shake their heads. They pity you for your son's sake. I know that only your great love for me has kept you from turning me away from this hacienda and all you and your father built with your own hands. That, and the love you have for my mother, God rest her soul. But she knows, father. She knows what it is that I do and why I cannot tell you now.

I know she watches over me and prays for me from heaven. Sometimes that is the only thing that gives me the strength to carry on.

One day I will be able to stand before you father, and permit you to see the man behind the mask; the mask that you longed to pull away as you lay wounded and bleeding in my arms. You were right, my father. When the mask is removed you will see the face of your son. When that day comes, I pray I will not have failed you. That you will be proud of your son and that you will find it in your heart to forgive me for the pain you must bear for now. You do not bear that pain alone . . . . "
Diego

Oh, my son. My heart is full tonight. As I sit with you here in the sala pretending to read the book I hold in my hands, my thoughts are only of you. Such a son I have! At the moment, you are fully immersed in your music; playing my favorite ballad on your guitar. How serene you look while I, on the other hand, can scarcely contain myself.

I marvel at the son which has been given to me, for I know now that which you have been unable to tell me. Here you sit before me, the man on whose shoulders has rested the fate of California, and yet no hint of that has passed between us. I am humbled by you, my son. What a noble spirit you have to be such a man of courage; to fight as one man against injustice and tyranny, to prevail time and again against all odds, and yet seeking no acknowledgment for yourself.

I find myself filled with feelings of shame for all the harsh words I have spoken to you since your return from Spain. They were spoken in ignorance, but that could not have made them any the less painful. How I must have hurt you. As I reflect upon it, I can see now the pain that was in your eyes as you kept your silence time after time.

I should have known my son better than that. My father's heart should have told me what my eyes refused to see. I shake my head and wonder if you can ever forgive me. I admit that I do not fully understand why you have not been able to confide in me, but I am willing to wait until you feel the time is right. Then, perhaps, I can apologize to you. Ah, you look at me now and see me watching you play. You smile. How like your mother's smile it is! It warms my heart to see it and I cannot help but smile in return.

Oh, how I wish your mother, God rest her soul, could be here now. Then I would have someone with whom to share my pride and my joy in you, my son. I want so very much to shout from the roof tops of Los Angeles, 'My son is Zorro! I am proud of my son!' ........................

But, I must keep my silence.............for now. I watch as you begin to play a new piece of music on your guitar; one of your own compositions. What a softly haunting melody it has. It conjures up the image of a man dressed all in black, riding alone through the hills in the night; sword at his side, on a mission for the sake of justice. As I watch you play, I can see now the strength in your broad shoulders and I can remember the strength of your arms the night you carried me away from Monastario to safety.

In your walk, I can see the smooth, polished and graceful movements of a master swordsman. I have seen your ability with the sword, my son, and I can say with no little pride, that there is none better in all California. But add to all of this the cunning mind of the Fox, and you have El Zorro ........... El Zorro, who sits serenely here before me, playing the guitar softly, his secret hidden from all but Bernardo and now myself.

Your self sacrifice and humbleness of spirit swells my heart and constricts my throat, leaving me unable to speak. What other father ever had a son such as you? I love you very much, my Diego. Such a son I have!
Alejandro

Ah, my young master. As I watch you practice with your sword here in the cave, I think of how much I count myself blessed to have been chosen as your servant. I know beyond a doubt what kind of life I left behind me in Spain. One of low servitude and bondship to such men of wealth as may be found there; to be counted merely as another servant in the household of some 'greater' man than I.

But then you came. You granted me the honor of asking me to consider becoming your servant. Me! One to whom no such consideration had ever been given before. I knew from that moment my heart was bound to you forever. I took your extended hand and sealed our bond with a firm grip, our eyes locked in mutual understanding. You took me as your servant yes, but you made me something much, much more. A sounding board for your ideas, a confidant to your thoughts, a keeper of your most precious secrets, and most of all you made me your friend.

You are still my master and I your servant, but the friendship we share means more to me than the words I can never speak. I am content with my life and ask nothing more for myself except that I may continue to serve you well. And what of you, my young friend? I know so well the sacrifices you have made in the cause of justice.

To become El Zorro you had to give up the respect of your father and accept the ridicule of others. You hid your pain well, but not from me. Never from me. So many times I was on the verge of going to your father myself when I could no longer stand to see you and he at odds. But I could not take that decision away from you. You are your father's son, not I. It had to be your decision and yours alone.

But now, in these months since our return from Monterey, that pain has ended. You have gained the respect of your father and reclaimed the love that was there all along. But once again El Zorro has claimed a price from your soul. To serve California and her people in the cause of justice, you reached beyond yourself to that place few men ever find. The place where being a servant is the highest calling a man can have.

Justice held out her hand and asked you to become her servant and you reached out with yours and accepted. Just as I will never leave you, you will never leave her. To reach this place meant leaving behind that which you longed for; the love of a woman. Will you ever feel the liberty to return to her? I look at you now and honestly cannot say.

Behind your laughing eyes and hearty good spirits beats the heart of a man. A man who longs for a wife and family and a time of peace and security in which to nurture them. But, as a man, as Diego de la Vega who is El Zorro, you realize that time for you is not now. There is still much work for you to do as the defender of the people; the bearer of the sword of justice.

You will serve your master to the utmost, even as I serve you with all my heart. I pray that one day you will have the desire of your heart, that one day I can share your father's joy in his first born grandchild. But until then we will each do our best with what life has given us and take our stand against tyranny and injustice. And I will be there at your side as always my young master . . . . .my friend.
Bernardo