Please Wait For Me

Lyric Quill

The night tasks are the ones most difficult, to be sure. It does not take much of a man to sit and drink tea whilst his manslaves perform his hard labor for him. But it takes a man with a bit more courage and spirit to take sword in hand and attack his Majesty's castle walls with only his brains and his weapon to aid him.

At least, that is what Rosarita said to me.

Tornado was almost as weary as I after the latest exploit. He, of course, braved the men who dared oppose him by running through them in his swifter-than-lightning speed. I, on the other hand, have to take my sword and plough through the thick of them. Invigorating, to be sure, but tiring nonetheless.

I barely made it home in time to nod goodnight to my father. He gets a bit suspicious, sometimes, at my late night returns to the hacienda. But then, of course, he always proceeds to draw his own conclusion. I was out with the sergeant, perhaps. Stargazing, most likely. Silly boy.

"Diego, why can't you... be as other men?"

And then of course, there is you, Rosarita. Asking me such personal questions on such a beautiful night.

Why can't I be as other men?

Ridiculous question. They grow too much hair, you see.

"I'm certain that since you went to that... the university..."

My, my. The way you say it causes it to sound like such a crude word. University, how perfectly wretched.

"... you haven't even skinned a knee. In the meantime, other men are dying at the end of lances and daggers to fight for their freedom."

Of course I haven't skinned a knee. I've dislocated one. Why, I'm so languid at times it horrifies me. Tonight, I'm shamed to say, I've escaped with a mere dozen sword wounds and a nasty knock on the head. But what can that do? You're still lovely. Both of you.

"Why can't you get up and fight, instead of sending those useless letters of yours? They do nothing, you know that. When you were younger, you never would have even thought of writing a letter. You would have taken instant action, to defend the side of the underdog."

You're right, my dear senorita. It does not sound too intelligent, now, does it? But then, of course, I only went to a university.

Here you turn to me earnestly, flashing me a disapproving look, though I am quite certain I have not said anything. "What happened to you, Diego? Why were you more a man at ten years old than you are nearly fifteen years later?"

I can't answer that. If only you knew, senorita, you would not be so quick to criticize. I think about telling you at times. Honestly. But then again, if I informed you of my secret identity, I would put you at risk. I cannot do that, for your sake, or for mine.

"I do not understand." I say, politely.

Exasperated sigh. "Oh, Diego! For someone so smart you are as dim as the sergeant, at times!"

"Rosarita, I demand to know why you are acting this way." It's hard to appear unruffled sometimes. No doubt you are alarmed by my aberrant display of anger.

"Why can't you remember what you used to stand for?!"

"Wait..."

Slap.

... ... ...My, how charming your retreating back looks. The beautiful sway of your hips is enchanting, as well. Your red shawl, almost as scarlet as the deepening red mark on my cheek.

Senorita, I have to say that caused greater damage than a thousand rocks being hurled in my direction, hurt more than a dozen bullet wounds in the stomach.

Is that truly what this has come to, my dear Rosarita? Can you not see the fire that is still in my eyes?

Perhaps my subterfuge is a bit too effective.

No. This is what I want. I could care less about the admiration I would receive from you if you knew I, the ever-enervated Diego, was your charming prince. I do not want to see the happiness in your dark eyes when you would see me. And, in turn, I do not mind seeing the disapproval and sadness that flickers across your expression when I appear to you now. Yes, I could honestly say that I would always choose keeping my identity secret rather than inform you.

Then why does a single slap sting so much?

The philosophers say that the stars hold the answers. But when I look at them, all I see is a large sword in the sky. Yes, I like to say it is mine. On some nights I see Tornado. A magnificent stallion, he is; no finer horse blood found anywhere in California. I've seen him out-race the wind. But on most nights, all the other constellations are blocked from my sight, except for the sword. It's double edged, Rosarita, did you know that?

You say I can do nothing compared to other men. Perhaps you are right. For other men have the courage I do not, the strength I do not, the valor, the fiery determination, is that correct?

It appears to be what you deduced.

But have you searched deeper? I'm begging for you to see me, the true me, but you are just as easily fooled as the rest of them. Zorro gives everything, as you have once told me, and I know that to be correct. My thanks are the fleeting, grateful glances of the young children I save, from the rancheros I help. My thanks, more often than not, is the stinging brush of a bullet, a painful swipe of a sword. I do not regret it, for it is what I love. My

blood sings when I am defending my people, senorita! My heart races with excitement as time and time again I am victorious in battle!

And yet...

The rejection I receive from the ones I love dearest. Bernardo understands, because, though he is a man deprived of one sense and pretending to be deprived of a second, he rarely misses anything. But even his company is sometimes not enough, seniorita.

I would give everything, anything, for my people. And I do.

The cost is so bitter.

"Diego?"

I look up. Your form, a silhouette against the stars of the sky, is bent solicitously over mine.

You're so beautiful. You make my throat catch, my heart ache.

You sit next to me, and I deeply breathe in. You always smell like a fresh garden in spring. When you walk into a room, it's as if a breeze from southern California is wafting through the door.

"Diego."

Diego would look up. Diego was a gentleman; he would never ignore a lady.

I'm weary of playing parts. I am tired, senorita, do you understand?

A touch on my shoulder. "Diego, I apologize."

Silence.

"It was wrong to strike you. It was also wrong to... to say those things to you."

Sigh. "No need to apologize, Rosarita. What you said was correct. And..." rueful smile, "The mark shall probably fade, in time."

Firm shake of the head, though the smile on your lips is evident. "Diego... you are who you are. I should not try to change you. Zorro... well, Zorro fights in a more physical way. But in your own way, you help aid California in the struggle against tyranny." Pause. Chuckle."You know... if I were to see this El Zorro again, I would most likely ask him why he gives up so much to be... to be what he is."

Remarkable. I've been meaning to ask him the same thing. "The answer might prove interesting."

I meet your gaze, and take in a breath. For the first time, I see you looking past the clever ruse. Searching in a place that I usually hide from everyone, but for some reason, cannot conceal tonight.

What do you see, that makes your eyes widen? I say nothing, and yet, you slowly smile, and nod.

My gaze flicks down to the ground again.

The curtain can't yet be raised, Rosarita. In time, when I am sure of the victory I am striving for, I can reveal myself to you. I yearn to hold you in my arms as I have before, so long ago.

I can only fight as Zorro for so long. When I am through, when justice is finally served, I shall come to you.

Please, be patient. Please wait for me.

A kiss on my cheek. "Goodnight, Diego."

I turn to watch as you head back inside.

Then I return my gaze to the sky.