To: GW Friendslist
The Final Chapter in the Story of My Adventure
Into the Light Through the Eyes of a Black Mask
We had a few more days together, filled with moments I could only describe as Diego-ist and Zorresque. After Diego and I had a long conversation with Don Alejandro, he rode off to Monterey to see the governor, and my father and Diego went to visit neighbors, but they had to choose their friends cautiously.
Don Alejandro had not been too thrilled to hear about my relationship with Monastario, but Diego stood up for me, and the father was sympathetic to his son and his friend.
Once he said to me, in the sala, “Remember that you will be a de la Vega.” I gave him a kiss, and he laughed and reddened. I thought of him fondly when he was not with us.
I spent those days reading books, playing music, and sometimes just simply sitting in the sala absorbing as much as I could, not quite believing I was there. Every color seemed extra bright, and there were more flowers and more paintings than I remembered. One painting was of Don Alejandro’s father, indicating that height missed generations, several paintings depicted vineyards and blue sky, the de la Vega ancestral home in Spain, in Catalan.
Bernardo was assigned to keep watch over me, for my life was of course in danger, but I didn’t want to think about that, although I half expected that Monastario would come to claim the hacienda, or perhaps Count Kolinko would come to call, but neither of them showed up. Moneta came by, mostly about her charity work, and we went to see Elena, buried in details of her wedding to Benito, the vaquero. She gave me tips on having a wedding in Los Angeles. The one I remember most is to be sure that the horse dung is cleared away from the street in front of the church. In theory, someone cleans the streets before mid-morning, but, as Moneta said, “It is a beautiful theory.”
Moneta also said, “The pueblo is dangerous. There are drunken soldiers coming out of the tavern. They are allowed to run up bills because they are not paid. The new commandante is trying to change this, but it is hard to get a man feeling alone and neglected to stop drinking and going to the only place of entertainment there is. There are robberies on the highway, and of course, we know what happened to you, Magdalene. Zorro may not be enough to help us.”
One argument that Monastario was right about, and upon which Diego and his father were sensitive: Spain was not able to help very much.
When Diego came home, we went riding and discussed the plans, which we could start in motion once the governor was informed. After dinner, though, he took up his guitar and would sing to me, my father leaving the room, but some of the servants came to listen. It reminded me of the scene in “Gosford Park” where the servants lose themselves in the music, but oh, I was lost in what he sang, too. We are all slaves, slaves to duty and slaves to beauty. Who had said that? That little whatsisface. Oh, but when joy and duty clash, let duty go to smash, said Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, and here comes joy. Diego singing to me.
Mujer, mujer divina
Tienes el mveneno que fascina
En tu mirar,
Mujer, alabastrina
Eres vibracion de sonatina
Pasional.
Tienes el perfume
De un naranjo en flor
El alivo porte
De una majestad
Sabes de los filtos
Que hay en al amor
Tienes el hechizo
De la livlandad.
La divina magia
De un atardecer
Y la maravilla
De la inspiracion.
Tienes en el ritmo de tu ser
Todo el palpitar de una cancion
Eres la razon de me ixistir,
Mujer.*
Which is roughly, O, Woman! You have the flower of perfumes of exotic lands; the spell of love is in you, as is the divine magic of dusk, the wonder of inspiration, of majesty. You have in your being all the heart beating of a song. You are the reason of existence to me, O Woman.
Diego sings so beautifully, he loses himself in the words and music and then he looks up to me, and his face just glows. Sometimes Bernardo plays for us –now how can he do that, I ask… something about how he played music as a youth and remembers it, even if he cannot hear it. And Diego winks at me.
Like Beethoven, I said.
Bernardo plays with uncanny expertise and wonderful rhythm, and Diego and I dance through the sala. Dancing face to face with partners, such as in the waltz, was not popular yet. So I taught Diego the waltz and tango. I learned to tango in the plaza by his New York bench, where a Latin musician comes in the early evening and plays tango music for people to dance to. I told him that people danced this dance near a bench with his name on it, so he should learn it.
We walked in the moonlight – I don’t think the moon ever fades here – it is always full! And the evenings are full of romance, of quiet walks, with soft fragrances that have just a little spice, and soft touches and gentle kisses that grow.
Ah, have you ever wanted to tango with Diego?
You might ask if it was hard to live in the same house with this man and not be married to him and having chaperones all over.
Si.
But such delightful and tension filled days came to an end when Don Alejandro returned. It was now time to move.
I wasn’t too thrilled, and I took my time.
The plan was I would go visit Raquel and then Monastario, and tell them I was loyal and pretend to betray the landowners, but I didn’t want to see either of them particularly. So I strolled through the plaza, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship of the work – beautiful weavings, delicate embroidery, brilliant colors, and a great deal of joy in the work. It is lovely to see people loving the work they do, whether it brings a profit or not. I think of how many people don’t like the work they do, or cannot find work they love, and to see the eyes light up of people working to make beauty is a marvelous thing. The rich, I think, are those who fight to do they work they love and are passionate about, from Zorro to this blind woman who weaves in silk.
I noticed something unusual in the pueblo that day. As the sun rose in the sky, and as I looked about the plaza, I saw some new workers. A woman in green with a curious smile looked at drawings another woman was making, lifting them up and considering them, and chatting with the artist. She looked like an interesting person, and I went over to her and realized, as I got closer, that she looked like Jo. Our Jo! And the drawings were of Sergeant Garcia and Corporal Reyes and of Zorro. The artist was sitting at a table in the shade drawing away, shading and highlighting with her charcoal. I did another double take. This looked like our Jill!
“Good morning,” I said, wondering if I were seeing things, which, under the circumstances, was pretty funny.
The woman who looked like Jo looked at me and said, “Don’t you find this picture intriguing?” She sounded like Jo, too. When I looked at the picture, it was of Zorro, on a windowsill. I laughed out loud. Then she winked at me. “Try the chocolate,” she said.
“Chocolate?” Well, there was a chocolate stand, and the woman minding that – and having a busy time of it – looked like Sue Kite. Who waved at me.
Jo said, “She tells some wonderful stories. All about a family lost in the stars.”
Was that so, I thought.
A few booths down, I could hear singing. It sounded like – Gail! – and when I walked toward her booth, I saw that she was singing as she sold little jars of paint. Next to her, Keliana was weaving shawls and Mary Lou’s tamale stand was pretty close. Someone ran by me – it was Suezzzz.
“I thought I’d never get here!” she gasped. “Where is the tamale stand?”
“Right there,” said Jo. To me, she said, “Karla tells fortunes in the tavern. See? There is Elise, making jewelry at her stand. Julia is somewhere training horses. So you can see, you caught us at a good time.”
“What is happening?” I cried. “Have you all come to be with me? Have you come to help defeat Monastario?”
“You don’t need our help,” said Jo, mysteriously.
Then Diego and Bernardo rode by, and Jo stopped examining and Jill stopped drawing and Sue stopped selling and Gail stopped singing (for a moment) and MaryLou dropped a tamale and Suezzzz stopped running. Everyone stopped what they were doing and just looked with – well, with light on their faces.
“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” said Jo. “Be sure you go into the tavern to watch the dancing. There’s a wonderful new dancer. I think she is from Florida.”
At this point, I would believe everything.
“Come in with me,” I said. Then I said, “You are Jo, aren’t you?”
“Partly,” she said.
Diego bowed to us as he went into the tavern, and he looked a little surprised at me, because my going into the tavern was not part of the plan. Still, what could he say. He took my arm and led me inside. The woman who was partly Jo and I sat at the same table as Diego and Sergeant Garcia, the latter who kept tweaking his mustache and glancing at Jo with eternal hope.
The barmaid came up to us, singing, “Soldier’s Sweetheart,” and she looked like MaryAnn. She winked at me, too. Then we all chimed in, singing, and well, it was just fun. What would you think? Then the dancer came out, dressed in black and red, and she danced up a storm, and, wouldn’t you know, it was Pat Crumpler whirling away. Just as good as Pilar, if not better. Her hair was black, but it was Pat, all right. She didn’t wink at me. She winked at Diego. And I think he winked back. Pat, we will have to have a little talk. Can you imagine sitting at a table with Diego and watching Pat dance some very colorful flamenco with MaryAnn pouring wine and singing at the top of her lungs, too? And all the craftspeople I thought I knew crowding into the tavern and singing and evend dancing, too. Can you imagine how much I laughed? How good that wine was, too! Although when MaryAnn poured it into my mug, she said, “Here is your beaver blood.” Now, isn’t that carrying things a little tooooo far?
“Is the whole list here? Are we taking over?” I asked Jo, who said, “Isn’t she really good?” meaning Pat, who stamped and swirled her long, colorful skirts like an expert. She bent her head down and brought it back, tossing her long hair, and she looked beautiful.
Karla came to tell our fortunes, sat right down at Diego, and put down a few cards. She smiled up at him and said, “The cards say you will be happy with a woman who knows the cards.”
He laughed good naturedly.
Jo, mystery woman filled with information, said, “And Wendell owns the tavern.”
And there he was, behind the bar, listening to everyone telling stories and pointing to a sword on the wall. “Do you see that sword? That is the very sword used by Commandante Ortega before he was defeated by Zorro!”
I started to laugh and cry at the same time. Diego took my hand. It was as if everyone had heard my despair and sadness the other day and had somehow found a way to respond and show they were with me. Or, I’ve also been thinking, that we have created this whole world with various plots and subplots and we just merged there for a moment. Whatever caused this refraction of white light, it made me laugh for a very long time. And for some reason, it made Diego laugh, too. His eyes crinkling up with delight and his smile broader and whiter.
“I have never seen this tavern with so much good fun,” he said to Sergeant Garcia.
Yes, it was only a moment, though. The sun shone strongly into the tavern’s windows, and when it had moved behind some clouds, I was the only woman at the table, and Diego was getting up and taking me towards the door. MaryAnn and Pat had gone, and out in the plaza, I saw that there were no people who resembled the list members, my friends.
And even if they were gone, I thought that the spirit of the list was about me, giving me courage. I would need it.
I went directly to Monastario, whose servant let me in and kept me waiting half an hour in the drafty hall. When the administrado came, he took my hand, but I pulled it away.
“As you can see,” I said, “I am alive.”
“Why would you not be?” he said, laughing.
I slapped his face. “You sent those men after us to kill us, Father and me.”
He got irritated with me and pushed me into a chair. “I trusted you. You came here and betrayed me.”
“How have I betrayed you? By not running around to say here is your eagle feather and here is yours? Why don’t you trust me? You gave me a task. Bring wealthy caballeros to your nest. I am doing that. You know how I feel about you. Do I have to say all the time? Do we start every day by saying who we love and who we don’t?” That line was from “Lion in Winter.” Now if King Henry II started coming through Los Angeles, it would really get interesting. Monastario was having none of that.
“You follow my procedures, my protocol,” he said. “That is how I maintain discipline.”
“If you do not trust me,” I said, “I cannot help you.”
“You cannot trust me,” he said, “if you think I sent men to kill you.”
“I know you did,” I said. “It is your way. Besides, the man with a knife had an eagle feather.”
“You fear me as every one else should,” he said.
What a pompous fellow. How in the world had I come to get mixed up with him?
“What can you tell me?” he said.
“The landowners are planning to petition the Governor to start an army of their own.”
“How did they know they should?” Monastario asked.
“There are too many unsettling problems,” I said. “The governor will put a lot of weight on what Don Alejandro has to say.”
Monastario got to his feet. “Then I will deal with him.”
“Are you going to arrest the most powerful landowner in California?”
“I am going to kill him,” said Monastario.
I hadn’t expected this. I had expected he would arrest Don Alejandro.
“He is your future father in law. Do you care?” he asked.
Was this a test? I looked up at this awful man and I hated him so much. I could not stand it anymore. I could not be silent or play this game. But I had to try. Diego was depending on me. Lure him outside for a ride. Flirt, Magdalena.
I smiled. “You are the one I am working to please,” I said.
He looked at me, came closer, put his arms around me, and bent over to kiss me.
I could not stand that. I pushed him away, slapped him again.
He gave a short laugh as he stood up.
“You had Emmanuel killed and then you used it to scare me –“ I said, realizing I had failed.
“A vaquero should not be in the company of a beautiful lady, and you should not have gone with him.”
A soldier knocked and, saluting, reported, “Sergeant Garcia has taken his soldiers to San Pedro to investigate the report you had of pirates.”
“Where is Capitan Toledano?” I asked, beginning to worry.
“I had him sent to San Diego,” said Monastario, “where he will be more useful.”
“And his wife?” I asked.
Monastario smiled. “She is very beautiful, don’t you think? Perhaps more beautiful than you.”
I looked out the window and saw the carts leaving the cuartel, loaded with kegs, barrels, and boxes.
“The ammunition,” I said, all the episodes coming together. I watched the unknowing villagers going about their weaving, hauling of water, and laughing with each other. They were about to be terrorized and brought to submission. If they lived.
Where was Diego, I wondered.
“Ammunition?” laughed Monastario, taking my arm firmly. “No, dresses. You will want to see them.”
“Dresses in kegs?” I scoffed. The plan was further along than I’d thought.
“There will be no ammunition in the cuartel,” I said.
“Yes there will, for the right soldiers who will come here for it,” said Monastario. “It is wonderful how many European nations have helped arm this poor little colony of California’s.”
“You have the ammunition,” I said.
“Plenty. In the cellar, too.”
“How many soldiers do you have?”
Then I realized I should shut up. He did not believe me, and he would kill me if I tried to leave.
“Enough,” he said. “Come, Magdalena, and see my artworks.”
He was pulling me toward a door, and I guessed that led to the cellar.
I stomped on his foot, and he let go.
“I have a TV show to watch,” I said, running for the door.
But he caught me and pulled me downstairs. I kicked, hoping he wouldn’t be wearing a towel for protection, but I must have missed. Try wits, I thought, but I didn’t have any. He pulled me downstairs where there were more barrels and piled up muskets, and there he bound my wrists and gagged me.
“Hope that no one accidentally sets off this ammunition,” he said, wryly. “But once I am governor of California, I will execute the de la Vegas and take you for my own true love, or kill you. But I know which you will choose. You love life so.”
I kicked him.
“Thank you for reminding me,” he said, binding my feet. “Do not worry. No one will find you, and I have seen to Zorro.”
Someone through open the door. I tried to make a sound.
“Senor Administrado! The Viceroy is here! With an army!”
“What the –“
Monastario ran up the stairs. I worked my way up to the barred windows, and although I could see little, I could see about twenty soldiers riding up to the cuartel gates and Monastario running to see them – Galindo behind him and someone who looked like Varga.
I don’t know what transpired, but I heard Monastario shout and then laugh. Someone fired a musket from the roof, and the cuartel doors slammed shut, leaving Monastario on the inside. More soldiers appeared on the curatel roof, and they were firing into the Viceroy’s mounted soldiers.
The battle was a massacre of these men. I did not see the viceroy.
Where was Zorro? What had Monastario meant?
The cuartel gates opened and out poured Monastario’s soldiers. There must have been more than one hundred. The villagers had already fled, but now there were terrified screams as about fifty soldiers on horseback pounded down the streets of Los Angeles
Zorro, where are you – and I worried for his safety much more than for my own.
Then I saw a flash of black and a thundering pounding of horses hooves filling the street, yells, gunshots, and the quickness of blades.
It must have been the caballero army Don Alejandro had organized. From my perspective, the scene was too bloody and chaotic for me to imagine. I also began to worry about the ammunition I was sitting around. I worked on my bonds, which wasn’t easy, trying to ignore the awful sounds of battle outside, and hoping there would be something of Los Angeles left.
I got myself free, tore off my other bonds, and quickly got myself a few revolvers, which I loaded. It is amazing what I can do when there is a need for it. I ran up the stairs, not even thinking, and flung myself at the window to look out.
Zorro was on the rooftops of the cuartel, dealing with the few soldiers who were up there. What a sly way he had of slipping up and slipping them up.
I could see that the battle had become fierce in the cuartel grounds. Taking a revolver with me, I made my way past the bloody streets, filled with soldiers groaning. Several priests and sisters were making their way through this awful sight. The scene, however, told me that a turn must have come in the battle.
As I stooped to help a wounded soldier, I saw Monastario limping, hugging the wall of the cuartel. He was wrapped in a poncho, but it was him. I took my revolver and I walked up to him.
“Where are you going, senor?”
He stared at me. “Who are you?” he demanded.
I held my revolver out.
“Mother Nature,” I said.
A cheer rose from the cuartel, and I could see Zorro swinging onto the flagpole and ripping off the Eagle’s flag.
“Look,” I said.
“You helped do this,” he said. “Why? I would have given you so much – and this petty place cannot last. It will destroy itself.”
“Seńor administrado, are you going so soon?”
Zorro was sauntering up to us. I could see he was exhilarated by victory, exhausted by the battle.
Monastario flung off his not so disguising poncho and he knocked the gun out of my hand when I was preoccupied with Zorro. He pulled his sword and would have run me through, but Zorro had him first, of course, and the two of them fought hard.
The moon had faded, her white light gone. I looked for the revolver, but I could not find it. I watched the gleaming blades go at it, listened to Zorro’s laugh, watched him be three places at once. Then a groan, and Monastario fell. I had hardly seen the thrust.
“California has won tonight,” said Zorro. “The governor and the viceroy and the landowners – and the people. Padre Filipe even sent his Indians. All Monastario had was money and power.” He laughed, but I could hear the fatigue. He whistled, and Tornado rode up.
“Come,” he said, attempting to lift me up. “You must go home.”
But, as it seems, Monastario had not died. Clinging to life, he had crawled along the ground and there found the revolver I had dropped. I turned and saw this but it was too late, and I heard a noise and felt something between my shoulders.
I fell back into Zorro’s arms.
“Maria! Magdalene!” he shouted, and I could feel him breaking as he knelt down to the ground with me.
Bernardo appeared with a torch, his face grim. He went to Tornado and took out a linen shirt from the saddlebag. This was pressed against my back, and Zorro placed his cape around me gently.
I guessed I would die, and Magdalene, too. That was what it felt like.
I heard another noise, and I said, “What is that?”
“Sergeant Garcia has finished off Monastario,” I heard Don Alejandro say. “Has anyone seen my son, Diego?”
A small crowd had gathered. Bernardo waved them away.
The night was so dark, even Don Alejandro did not know it was me Zorro knelt for.
I said, “Why, Seńor Zorro, I did die. After all my worrying.”
“No, you’ll be better,” he aid. “Someone has run for the doctor.”
“I’ll have George Clooney,” I said.
“Who?”
I reached up and touched his mask. I was not in pain. I felt quite light. I sang softly, “Someday, he’ll come along, the man I love. And he’ll be big and strong, the man I love. And when he comes my way, I’ll do my best – to make him stay.”
He held my hand hard, kissed it, hard.
“I will stay,” he said.
“Behind the mask,” I said. “I want to see behind the black mask, through the holes – through the light in your eyes –“
At that, he ripped off his mask. In the shifting shadows of this moonless night, I reached up to touch the wounded features of Diego de la Vega, my fingers caressing his nose, then running the tips of my fingers into his hair, then on his lips. This brought him to tears that fell on my hands and onto the mask.
“I could not save you,” he said.
I shook my head as much as I could. “You have saved me many times, and who knows, I may come back.”
But he did not believe that.
We were so unnoticed in the dark, except for loyal Bernardo. Here was Zorro unmasked, revealing his face and his heart, and no one noticed in the chaos of the aftermath of battle.
The cries of triumph around us signaled the victory of the Viceroy’s army. People ran all around us, calling out and singing, and yet, we were alone.
“You will live into my time,” I said. “Don’t worry. Fight for what you believe in, and I will see you again in God’s time.”
It seemed that lights danced around us and through us, and that we were between the breath of the air and its musical notes.
“I feel stronger,” I said.
“The doctor is coming,” I hard him say.
“You had better put your mask on,” I said.
I lifted the mask to my eyes, and light shot through the eye holes, the darkness of the night gone, the full moon restored, and I said, “I love you,” as his hand’s touch grew lighter, and as the light embraced me fully.
I was flying for only a moment, and then I was sitting on a sofa and there was a strange voice and strange accent. Not Spanish.
“-and that is why I am running for Governor of California.”
Who was running for the Governor? Perhaps to have a victory celebration?
The light faded slowly, and as it did, I realized where I was. Back in 2003, New York City, in my apartments, sirens blaring outside, and – my TV set on. I couldn’t figure what was happening. My back ached, and I was both peaceful and sad. I sat there for a while, through what seemed to be thunderous applause. That was from the TV.
As I sat and listened, I realized that Arnold Schwartzenegger was announcing his candidacy for the governorship of California. Along with several hundred other people.
It made no sense to me. Had I wandered into a parallel time?
My computer sat in front of me, with my shooting stars screensaver shooting away, and I watched the bright lights in the dark screen.
For a long time, wishing on a star.
“That is some story,” said Sue, handing round the popcorn ball.
Several of us were in a motel room at Key Largo in Florida, some months after my adventure, and they were asking questions I couldn’t answer.
“What happened to Magdalena? Did she die?” asked Pat.
“Did Magdalena come back with you?” asked Jill, with some hope in her voice.
“Did Zorro?” asked Gail, with more hope.
MaryAnn, also looking at the positive side, asked, “If Anna Maria married Ricardo, and this is still season 1, who does Diego fall in love with when he goes to Monterey?”
“Try clicking with your mouse,” I said, laughing. “Now, of course, you were all there too, for just a few moments.”
“We are always there,” said Jo.
“Jill, give me your laptop,” said Keliana.
“Not just yet, I’m clicking,” said Jill, giggling.
We all giggled.
Elise had been sitting quietly, but just then, she touched my hand and said, “Have you gone back?”
I smiled at her.
The phone rang. Suezzz fell over one of the beds to answer it.
“The key lime pie is ready!” she announced. Then she said, “Mary, couldn’t you have had me doing something other than running? I mean, I guess that’s what I’m always doing, but couldn’t I just sit down? Like I’m doing now?”
“All right, all right!” I said.
“Let’s go have the pie down by the pool!” said Jo, sensibly.
“Do we need plates and forks?” asked Karla.
“I suggest we dive into it with our hands!” said Mary Lou.
Julia opened the door to the hotel balcony. “Oh, look! What a beautiful full moon!”
They all hurried out, but as MaryAnn was leaving, she looked back at me.
“Coming?”
“I’m just going to refresh my contact lenses,” I said.
“OK, then you bring the key,” she said, running off, but leaving the door open.
I zipped open my duffel bag to get my Bausch and Lomb, thinking that time and imagination were more linked to the mysteries of creation – and what a fine time/light I had returned to. Especially one with good friends and key lime pie. I had had a great adventure, but it didn’t seem to ever end. Life was too full of surprises, even, I thought with a smile, after death.
As I looked in the mirror, I smiled, too, at my longer, darker hair and the pounds I had lost somewhere. Who knew how that had happened, but I was still me. The journey in light had changed me, taking away the bullet, but leaving the scar and the aches. So it goes.
I put the solution away, and my eyes fell on the velvet box I take everywhere with me now. Opening it, I took a deep breath. I picked up the black mask and looked through its eyes, toward the moonlight, and then touched the moisture stains wistfully. I slipped on the diamond sapphire ring and held it up, smiling as a beam of moonlight shot down from above and caught the fire in the coolness.
THE END
