[August 10th] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 1

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene 1
Day/Theme: August 10th - Like an arrow entering my flesh
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Graciela "Flaca" (noo way am I writing her whole name!), Emil Sande
Rating: T/PG-13

I haven't even finished tinkering with Carl Armory's mind yet, and I'm taking on yet another project! And Emil Sande is also played by, surprise, Wesley Lau.

This takes place following the end of the film. I thought that Emil's scenes and him being knifed happened very soon before the 13-day siege of the Alamo began. (And it's hard to imagine him holding on that long without modern medicine, man.) The movie has all kinds of historical inaccuracies, of course, so I can't really rely on history to be of much help, and anyway, I think (and hope) that Emil and Graciela are both fictional additions to the story. I'm never very comfortable writing for real people.

Emil is a mercenary and a wretch, but I felt sorry for him when he was killed during the fight over the weapons he had stashed away. I mean, people are trying to take his stuff. What's he going to do but fight back? Anyway, I didn't feel that he deserved to die. And I also saw something in him that I liked. No, it isn't just that Wesley played him, because I don't feel this way about every character he plays. And seriously? Emil has some hilariously snarky comments in the film. I love writing snarky characters.

So, without further ado, scene 1 of yet another character study. Also, a picture I found. http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/File:Alamo-FlintlockPistol-3.jpg Emil and Graciela, along with Davy Crockett. Wesley Lau interacting with The Duke? Yes, please! One of the coolest things about the film for me, definitely.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Graciela had cried when she had heard the news of what had happened at the Alamo. She had cried long and hard, thinking of all the brave men who had perished fighting against the Mexican army. And of course, especially Davy Crockett.

She had tried to hope that maybe there had been some survivors, that maybe possibly he had been wounded but was still alive. She had gone at once, desperate, praying, pleading for that outcome. But it was not to be.

Crockett was definitely dead. So were Jim Bowie and all the rest. General Santa Anna called it “a glorious victory”.

So would Emil Sande, had he still been alive.

Graciela frowned at that train of thought. Why was she thinking of him? He was out of her life; she would not have to worry about marrying him to get any of her family’s property back. He had stumbled across Davy and the others trying to take the stock of weapons he had hidden for the Mexican army under the church. During the fight, Davy had killed him with Bowie’s knife.

They would not have known about those weapons if Graciela had not told Davy. And what good had it done them in the end? Yes, they had heroically withstood the Mexican army, but now they had all fallen.

She wanted to be logical and acknowledge their sacrifices as inspiring many other Texans to take up their fight as the war raged on. Part of her did. But those feelings did little to ease the immense ache in her heart.

Graciela had never felt more alone. It seemed that everyone she had known was now dead. Now she stood, silent and solitary, in her family’s home. It, and the land her family owned outside of town, was hers again now. And yet she had no idea what she would do with it. Perhaps tomorrow she would be thinking more clearly.

“Señora! Señora!”

She looked up with a wild start at the young boy’s voice. Quickly she went to the door and opened it. She recognized the youth standing there; he had worked for Emil Sande.

“Yes?” she said in surprise. “What is it?”

“Señora, he’s asking for you.”

She could only give him a blank stare. “Who is asking for me?”

“Señor Sande. Please come, right away!”

Graciela gripped the doorframe as her equilibrium threatened to give way. “I don’t understand. He is dead. He can’t be asking for me.”

The boy shook his head. “Not dead—dying! He has been down with a fever for days. The knife wound is bad.”

“But Davy Crockett told me there was no doubt—Emil Sande is dead.” Graciela was not sure she could deal with another shock right now. And especially not this one. With Sande dead, she had come home thinking that at least maybe she could find a way to reclaim all of her property again. If he was alive, and could arrange something else before dying for real, she had little hope of regaining it. He would not do anything to help her, at least not without her paying a heavy price for said help.

The boy was insistent. “Señor Crockett didn’t know. Please come, Señora. He’s been out of his mind with the fever and he keeps asking for you!”

At last Graciela reached for her shawl and stepped outside. “Alright,” she consented. “I will come.”

But she could not help the cold bitterness growing in her heart. Of everyone who could have possibly survived the events of the past fortnight, why was it him?
****
Emil Sande was a wretched man, little more than a mercenary. He had intended to give his allegiance to whomever won the conflict, even though he had found favor with General Santa Anna. Graciela had wondered long and hard whether he had ever stood for anything or anyone other than his own monetary desires.

He had infuriated her, but when he had presented his reasoning for why she should marry him, she had been forced to admit to its logic. She would have gone through with it, had he not been stabbed during the fight and she had been sure he was dead.

She had thought all of her tears had been spent crying for men whose sacrifices had been noble and glorious. But when she was led into the expensive house and into the bedroom, and saw Emil’s flushed skin and wild, glazed eyes, some semblance of pity and sorrow rose within her in spite of herself. She had wept when she had been told of his death, although she had been sure it was only because so much had happened to her in the past days. His pathetic existence was not worth tears.

But the tears pricked at her eyes anyway. She sat next to the bed, looking into the frantic blue eyes. “I am here,” she said at last, not quite knowing how to address him.

“Graciela?” He reached for her, his clammy fingers brushing against her skin.

She shivered. “Yes, it is I.”

“Good.” Emil gestured to the nearby boy, who brought him some papers and a pen sitting on the nearby table. “Here.” Somehow he managed to dip the pen in the inkwell and scratch his shaking signature on the pages. “Take these. Your property is yours again, to do with as you like.”

Graciela’s eyes flickered as she accepted the precious documents. It looked like they were all in order. “What is this?” she queried. “Why?”

Emil coughed. “Well, it’s no good to me where I’m going,” he said dryly. “It might as well be good to someone. Why not you?”

She remained on guard. “What is the catch?”

“The catch is that you use it. Which I’m sure you’ll have no trouble doing.”

She continued to read through the sheets of paper. “It is truly mine?” She looked up, her eyes boring into his. “No one else’s?”

“Take that to a good lawyer,” he grunted. “He’ll tell you everything’s in order.”

Her eyes flickered. “Then I will do that.”

A faint smirk tugged on his lips. “. . . I suppose you heard that General Santa Anna won at the Alamo.”

Graciela stiffened. “I heard.”

Emil picked up on the added frostiness in her tone. “I’m sorry it didn’t turn out as you wished. You wanted that Crockett to win, didn’t you?”

She did not reply. Emil did not know about her and Davy, although he had known that Davy had seemed to show an interest in her.

“. . . It didn’t matter to you who won,” she said at last. “The war still rages on, but I don’t imagine the victor matters to you now, either.”

Emil lifted a weak hand off the hand-woven blanket. “It doesn’t. Does that bother you?”

Graciela opened her mouth but then paused, considering her answer. “It bothers me when any man cannot decide whose side he is on,” she said. “You fought for nothing except money. What has it left you with in the end? Now you are dying, alone and forgotten. It would not have happened if . . .”

She trailed off. Her information had led to this. And her guilt likely showed in her eyes.

He was unsurprised. “Yes, I know about your betrayal, Graciela. I know you told Crockett about the weapons. I was knifed when I tried to protect them from theft.”

She stared at the papers again, scrutinizing them for some clause or loophole. “And you feel no desire to retaliate?”

“I’m a businessman, first and foremost. I’ve always found vengeance to be pointless in business ventures. It clouds the judgment.”

She shook her head. “So you don’t even stand for that.” Not that vengeance was a cause worth standing for, but it was something other than indifference.

“. . . I learned a long time ago that the only way to get ahead and keep ahead is to stand for yourself.”

Something about Emil’s tone struck a chord of sadness in her heart. “That’s a very lonely philosophy,” she said.

“I don’t have time to be lonely. That’s pointless too.

“Anyway, Graciela, what you said a moment ago, about me dying here alone? It’s not quite true. There’s the village priest, the boy Paco, and well, you, of course.” He smirked again. “Your mastery of mathematics has failed you.”

She looked away. “. . . But you have no loved ones. Was that also pointless, to surround yourself with family and friends? True friends, not simply business partners?”

Now Emil’s expression darkened. “I have no family, just like you. And that wasn’t my choice. As for friends, there are no true friends, Graciela. There are only people wanting to take advantage of you and everything you’ve rightfully earned. You can only rely on yourself.”

It was not what she had expected to hear. She frowned. “Do you believe that because you are that way and so you think the same of others?” Certainly he had never been a true friend to anyone. She had always known him to take advantage of others.

“No.”

The flat answer stunned her. “Surely you are not saying you think you are not that way.”

“I am that way. I’m that way to survive, Graciela.” His eyes narrowed. “I learned it long ago, from others who are as I am now.”

Suddenly it dawned on her. “. . . You’re saying you were the one betrayed,” she realized. The utter bitterness in his tone made so much sense now. It was strange to think of, but maybe he actually had been a decent person at one time. Perhaps he had even liked and trusted people, instead of despising them as he seemed to now. Had his worldview become so warped because of being turned against so many times?

He did not seem inclined to confirm or deny it. It had been difficult for him to speak throughout their conversation. Now he drew a rasping, pained breath. His eyes fluttered; he seemed to find it hard to keep them open.

“. . . There’s no reason for you to stay now. I’ve returned what’s yours.”

Graciela nodded. Perhaps he did not want her to stay and see his life slip away like this. She was not sure she wanted to, either. And yet, for some reason, she was also not sure she wanted to leave him when he was so near to death.

Maybe because he, of all people, was her last link to the life she had known. When he was gone, there would be no one left.

But, as per what she felt he wanted, she rose. “I will leave then, if you wish.”

Emil hesitated for what seemed far longer than necessary. “. . . Yes.” He paused again. “Goodbye, Graciela.”

“Goodbye.” She still did not know what to call him. After hesitating herself, she added, “Thank you.”

He nodded and turned away, weak and painful. His eyes sank closed.

She drew her breath in sharply. As the priest came to examine him and whisper a prayer, she had to venture to ask. “Is he dead?”

The priest shook his head. “No; only unconscious. But it will not be long now, I’m afraid.”

The boy, Paco, looked sad. “I found that he was alive,” he said quietly. “After Señor Crockett and the other rebels left, I went to him.” He shuddered. “I’d never seen anyone killed with such a knife before. But then he moved his hand and groaned. I ran for help.”

“It must have been frightening for you,” Graciela said in sympathy.

Paco nodded. “We brought him here. The doctor couldn’t do much for him. The doctor believes he will die today.”

“And will you go back to your family?”

He looked down. “To an orphanage, Señora. I have no family.”

That troubled her. “Well,” she said at last, “I will need help with my family’s land. Perhaps we can work something out.”

He looked up, a spark of hope in his eyes. “Thank you, Señora!” he exclaimed.

She managed to give him a smile.

Her gaze traveled to the bed one last time. Emil was quiet and still. He had not regained consciousness and likely never would.

Graciela turned, the papers clutched in her hand as she walked slowly towards the door. Emil Sande had continually talked of what he felt was pointless. But he had lived a pointless life. Had he been aware of that?

Somewhere, amid the bitterness of his words, she had the feeling that he had been. Perhaps, even, he regretted it. But with his cynical outlook on life, he had determined it could not have been any other way.

And, Graciela had to admit to herself, she felt some semblance of pity for him.

Maybe the tears she had shed when she had believed him dead days before had not all been for her wildly changing life.

Maybe they had also been for a life lost that had never really been lived.