LA DONA NEGRA - PART ONE -
LOS ANGELES, CHRISTMAS, 1865
Don Diego de la Cruz de la Vega sat before a huge fireplace in the hacienda‘s sala gazing up at a the portraits of his parents. His son, Diego Alejandro de la Cruz de la Vega, had just finished the renovations to his great grandfather’s hacienda before the arrival of this winter's first cold weather.
Although the de la Vegas’ patrimony had once consisted of over 200,000 acres, the loss of land began when Mexico was defeated in their war with the Americanos in 1846. Finally, the discovery of gold in the mother lode itself, Sutter’s Mill, in 1849, forever diminished the Spanish hidalgo or gente de razon’s influence in the affairs of California.
‘Santa Maria! Is it really freezing in the sala or am I at last getting old?’ Diego remembered he countless times Bernardo had stoked a fire for him in his personal quarters. ‘Sorry I had to say farewell to you, my best friend and dear confidant five years ago.’ And his father, Don Alejandro, he had lived barely long enough to bounce his first grandchild on his knee before a massive stroke robbed him of his physical strength. He then died a pitiable death, suffering through an agonizingly slow mental decline.
Soon, Diego’s grandsons would be returning from Los Angeles with their Christmas gifts. ‘I already have the best gifts any man can have - I have a loving wife and two special grandsons.’ Estevan was the younger of the two and was as quiet as a mouse. His older brother, Armando, however, was usually restless and full of rebellion... just like his paternal grandfather, Diego chuckled to himself.
As Diego was nodding off in a rocking chair that Bernardo had carved for him nearly twenty-five years ago, he heard a pair of excited voices out in the patio. “Grandpapa! We’re coming!“ Well, he was more than ready for the little terrors. He eagerly opened his arms wide for their hugs.
But Estevan and Armando pushed themselves away from their grandpapa too quickly and stood there, waiting, with arms crossed over their chests.
Diego at once realized their tactics. They wanted him to relate stories of his “magical adventures” as the legendary Zorro.
“My grandchildren, would you like to hear the tale of how I met your grandmother?”
“Sí, sí! Did you meet her as Zorro while rescuing her from an evil comandante or a bandito?” Estevan excitedly asked.
“Muchachos, please sit here while I have one of the servants bring us all some hot chocolate.”
“Muy bien!” Armando yelled at the top of his lungs.
Diego sat back in the rocker and sternly eyed them. “No, you must first mind your manners. Never forget that you are de la Vegas.”
“Sí, grandpapa.” they replied in unison.
“Well, you see, muchachos, it all began back in 1825, three years after Mexico succeeded Spanish rule here in La Reina de Los Angeles. I had been riding as Zorro for nearly five years...”
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
SUMMER, 1825
LA REINA DE LOS ANGELES
For the sailing vessel, La Ciel del Mar, its trip around the ill-named Cape of Good Hope was perfectly routine. Fifteen- and twenty-foot waves constantly tossed her about, and with each rise and fall of the water’s motion, Senora Carmen Alcazar Sanchez Roberto y Rodriguez ’s stomach reacted most violently.
Her sole “entertainment” for the next three or four hours aboard the Ciel del Mar consisted of repeatedly filling up a half-worm eaten wooden bucket, which a crewmember provided in case “the bad weather began to affect her.”
‘Madre de Dios! If I survive this journey, I promise the Blessed Virgin I will pray every day for the souls of the recently departed so that the Blessed Virgin can escort them to heaven.' Finally, Señora Rodriguez must have fallen asleep, because she did not hear her maid enter the cabin to clean up after her.
She dreamed about the circumstances that forced her to leave Spain. Donna Carmen had refused to agree to her arranged marriage. Why did her padre not permit her to marry one of her own heart’s desires, as he had permitted her elder sister, Eleonara?
Her father had been as adamant as she had been stubborn about Carmen not marrying Don Luis Roberto y Rodriguez. “Now you must obey your father, you most ungrateful daughter! Why can you not behave as the proper Spanish lady you are! Santa Maria! Since you will not accept Don Luis Roberto y Rodriguez's proposal, you will not leave this hacienda, not even your room! Your sacred family duty is to produce as many sons as you possibly can! Is that understood?”
“Sí, papa,” Carmen had responded half-heartedly. “But he is over thirty years older than I am! And he is fat and ...he smells!
For that last remark, Don Felipe had struck her very hard across the mouth. Then, without looking behind him, he spun on his heel and left, locking the door to her room.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Neither her mother nor her father explained to Carmen what she should expect on her honeymoon night. Rather than approach his bride with tenderness, Don Luis simply took what physical pleasures he wanted, time after nightmarish time. Her new husband repeatedly told her how worthless she was ...how he desired several male heirs, as many as her body could possibly bear him. The awful dream continued. She remembered Don Luis telling her - in her emotionally battered state she thought that it was her husband- that she would grow to love him in time. Even if Carmen found herself unable to love him, it mattered very little to him!
Then darkness would engulf her. When he was finished with her, Don Luis would instruct his servants to lock her up in the unlit small toilette area until it was time for him to take her to bed. Dona Carmen screamed as pair of massive, hairy and masculine hands reached through the darkness for her. Hands that would beat and strike her body, rather than caress it. And Don Luis’ florid face, grinning evilly, materialized before her, forcing his bruising lips on her own delicate ones. She felt as if she were suffocating, that Don Luis would never allow her to leave their bedroom again.
Chilling words assaulted her ears, in a deep masculine voice. She heard the voice say that he was her “absolute lord and master,” and every night, he would enjoy demonstrating that idea to her. A dark figure floated toward their bed. It was her husband, Don Luis. As he reached out with sweaty, swollen hands, she began to scream and scream.
"Querida! Carmen, por favor --you are having another nightmare! Wake up, for the love of God!” Maria Lolita Esteban, her personal maid, shook her mistress furiously.
“Sorry Maria, Sí. “I was dreaming about my father and my... dreadful but gratefully deceased husband, Luis Roberto y Rodriguez.”
“Ai, mi querida Carmen, when will you forget about that...porco!”
Crossing herself, Carmen grimaced.
“My Dona Carmen Alcazar,” for her maid preferred to address her by her maiden name, “that is more like you. After all, you do not have to wear widow's weeds forever. Next week will be a year, my precious little one. Now, I think we will have some water and I will see about having some water heated for you to bathe.”
Carmen squeezed her maid’s hand. “Muchas gracias, Maria. How could I ever have survived two years of marriage to that ... monster without you?”
At journey’s end, the captain of the Ciel del Mar doffed his gold-braided cap to Senora Carmen Rodriguez as she flew down the gangway, eager to leave the creaky vessel and all of its uncomfortable memories.
“Captain Juarez, I thank for your hospitality, “(such as it was... you, like all other men I have known, admired me not for myself, but my wealth...) she thought bitterly.
With the barest of nods, she climbed into a waiting carreta, the vehicle that would take her to her new hacienda. Her Madrid agent had purchased a large hacienda from a rich California don named Senor Pedro Colon Escobar, who had decided to spend the remaining years of life that were left to him back in Barcelona. Carmen leaned her head slightly through the creaky but sturdy carreta window and inhaled deeply.
‘These smells are so wonderful - a hint of jasmine, lavender and a certain odd but pleasant smell the carreta driver told me came from a flower that grew only in California, Romania.' Yet, there was another, foreign odor that Carmen could not identify. Freedom! The fulfillment of her heart’s desire for freedom!
Since she had been bequeathed a vast fortune, she was free, really free- free to chose to marry or not to marry! Carmen could barely believe how her once miserable existence had turned into a secure life in the New World. As the carreta drew her closer to her new hacienda, Carmen fell back into her seat and slept the sleep of the exhausted traveler.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
He was known by many names, but he called himself “El Zorro, The Fox.” To the lower classes and to the Indians, who were either patronized as “the Church's children,“ or brutally forced into servitude or outright slavery, he was the Dark Avenger. He was their hope for being treated as human beings and not as property, to be mindlessly disposed of when their usefulness to the landed dons, the gente de razon, ended.
Señor Diego de la Vega, El Zorro himself, rode in the early dawn‘s rosy light, after chasing some banditos who had been harrying carretas traveling on the El Camino Real (King’s Highway) from Santa Barbara all the way to La Reina de Los Angeles. He had been chasing the banditos for most of the previous night.
He spurred his beloved mount, Tornado, aptly named for the whirlwind, onward, faster and faster, because he could see what remained of his quarry barely 100 yards ahead.
The banditos’ horses were showing the strain of being forced to flee at a full gallop for the past several hours.
Finally, he caught the bandito whose mount had halted by one of the Camino Real's watering holes, despite his rider’s spurs prodding into the poor animal’s sides. But the bay stallion refused to move; the horse just continued to gulp down huge swallows of fresh spring water.
Crack!
The Fox wrapped his bullwhip around the criminal’s sunburned neck, yanked on the whip so hard that the bandito’s head bounced against a small rock outcropping.
‘One down, two to deal with‘...Zorro chuckled to himself. 'This was almost too easy! He stopped to observe the other horses’ condition, for they had simply dropped to the ground, with tongues that were discolored and bloated. Their entire bodies were flecked with foam.
Zorro reared up Tornado on his hind legs and yelled to the robbers:
“Atencion, muchachos. I cannot refer to you as gentlemen as your current behavior does not permit me to do so. Surrender now, or you have the choice of either feeling my whip or being run through with my sword!”
One of the banditos drew his small pistol, but El Zorro’s reflexes were far quicker. The bandito would never again attack any carretas that traversed the Camino Real. Zorro had fired his lone pistol. “My apologies, senor,” The Fox said sardonically, “but I did offer you other choices!”
As for the sole survivor of the bandito gang, the grizzled looking desperado threw up his hands in surrender.
Zorro laughed again. “Ah, I see that one member of this gang possesses some common sense! Sergeant Garcia and his men should be arriving shortly.” He turned is back momentarily to fetch some rope to tie up the bandito for his good friend Sergeant Garcia. Tornado whinnied a warning. “All right, Tornado. I am also quite fatigued. I shall rest when I return home.”
His horse shook his head back and forth to indicate “no.” Zorro turned around and saw that the bandito had risen to his feet and tried to run away, despite the fact that Zorro had removed his zapatos and there were many cacti needles lying on the desert floor.
“I said, do not move!” Zorro drew out his bullwhip and nicked the bandito on the derriere. Asienta, aqui!”
“Senor Fox,” began the robber, grinning, “It seems that Sergeant Garcia is early!”
Zorro never heard the end of that sentence as he jumped into Tornado’s saddle and was out of sight barely a minute later when Sergeant Garcia arrived. “You, I recognize you! You have spent most of this past week in the tavern in Los Angeles!”
"Sí, Sergeant Garcia.” said Pablo Ramirez. It was El Zorro who found and captured me and my compadres!”
“Look, sergeant! On the saddle! It seems to be a note!” Corporal Reyes grasped the small piece of paper that Zorro had left behind on the bandito‘s horse. The note said these hombres were part of the gang of thieves. Sergeant Garcia sighed wearily.
“That rascal of a Zorro! He not only chases the banditos for us, he captures and ties them up for me to take to the cuartel!” He climbed back into his saddle and ordered Corporal Reyes to see that the suffering horses were put out of their misery.
“Oh, Sergeant Garcia!“ Corporal Reye said in a sing--song voice. “What should I do with the horses’ carcasses after we shoot them?
Garcia shook his head in disbelief. “Why don’t you try burying them, baboso! Get moving!“
The sergeant continued to read Zorro’s note. ‘By all the Santos! This note states that this hombre standing before me was a member of the infamous Pablo Chico, a gang of thieves who had been terrorizing travelers on the King’s Highway.'
Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia chuckled. “ You know, Corporal Reyes--”
“No, sergeant Garcia, I do not know - what?” Reyes innocently asked.
Garcia rolled his eyes. “Now we take the prisoners back to the cuartel where they will stand trial before Judge Vasco when he visits Los Angeles next month! Come, it is time that we return to the barracks. Besides, Capitan Guiterrez will want a full report on our activities since this morning!”
Corporal Reyes shrugged. “Oh, I thought you were going tell me something important. Thank you anyway, sergeant.“
Garcia shook his head. ‘And the Governor in Monterrey wonders why I cannot capture this outlaw who calls himself ‘Zorro!’'
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Table of Contents
