by Karla Gregory
The One Who Watches
Questions are the substance of my existence.
I exist to ask those questions which require an answer, but for which no answer may exist. Can I exist without my questions, or can those to whom I pose my questions continue to exist without answers?
These, perhaps, are the ultimate questions.
In this present form which I take, I am fascinated by those who have encountered a certain man among men, a man for whom the word heroic barely begins to scratch the surface of who he is. I have seen and observed all things about him and know him well, and he knows me for I have put my questions to him. He has drawn strength by my questions. But there are those who have been in the presence of this man and failed to see what their eyes and their hearts have beheld. It is to those persons that I pose my questions now. For them, the revelation is not in who this man is, but in what they have lost by the choices which they have made. I am but an observer of those choices, they make them as they will. And now with those choices they must live.
Choices which bring forth the questions I must ask.
Questions which they may not wish to answer.
I am the questioner.
I am the One Who Watches.
Magdalena
Magdalena . . .
Magdalena . . .
Magdalena.
What was it that drove you into the clutches of the Eagle?
Allow me to echo the words of another. Life in the capital was dull? They came to you and flattered you with their promises. Always in the back of your mind you knew that what they wanted you to do was not honorable, but you were bored with life in Mexico City, with your parties, and your suitors, and you wanted some little adventure. So you turned your head from the obvious, looking only for the glamor and thrill this little venture promised. Little did you know that you could have had more adventure than your wildest dreams could have imagined had you refrained from the liaison with the would be usurper. Had you come to Los Angeles with your honor and integrity intact, the one you knew as a boy, who has now become a man, would have given his heart to you. Diego is more of a man than you will ever meet again in your lifetime. You felt it during the short time you were with him in Los Angeles. It was powerful; more than anything you had ever felt before. Now you must return to Mexico City, with the deaths of two people on your conscience and face the loss of what you might have had with Diego.
Tell me, Magdalena. Was it worth it?
He gave you back your life after the reception at the de la Vega's when he, as Zorro, saved you and your father from the Eagle’s assassin. He was cold and hard with you in the presence of your father for he knew that you were involved with his enemies, the enemies of truth and justice. Why did your face mirror your fears as Zorro spoke of your involvement? He but spoke the truth. And now you must satisfy your father’s questions as well as my own. You were forced to face the consequences of your choices that night, Magdalena. Men who died. Your father who was wounded and saved from death only by the man in black who stood beside you in the darkness of night. Then as the weight of what you had done settled on your shoulders, you asked a question of your own. Why did he not let you be killed? It was with bitterness that Zorro replied, "I will be a long time explaining that to myself." His heart longed for what could not be, and for that, he would not see you killed. You are the only one for whom he has ever compromised his principals, Magdalena. Señorita Justice would demand that you be brought up on charges, but his heart would not see a Spanish lady brought down. He knew that the Magistrado would be in charge of any such trial and that you would not receive fair treatment under the law. "Adios, Magdalena," he said with utter finality as he rode away on his great black stallion, setting you free. You knew that it was Diego who hid his face behind the mask. You knew that it was he who had given you back your life, which would now be empty and hollow, for he would not be in it. Perhaps, Magdalena, that is a greater punishment than any trial could have wrought?
Go home, Magdalena. Go home and tell your father of your misdeeds and return to Mexico City if you can. But will you be safe there? The Eagle cannot abide loose ends and should his agents find you in Mexico City and his questions about your loyalty be not satisfied, you may disappear like so many of his other failures. No, Magdalena. You may have to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, moving from place to place, never knowing if you are a target for assassination once again. Tell me, Magdalena, will you ever be free to dream again without fear as your constant companion? To recapture that innocence which should have been yours?
And always, . . . always you will remember what you could have had with the man clothed in the black shadows of the night; the man who took your breath away that day under the tree by the shining lake.
I am The One Who Watches
