[August 15th] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 3

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene three
Day/Theme: August 15th - A drumbeat to which we must all march
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Emil Sande, Graciela, the luggage kid
Rating: T/PG-13

A complete switch from Carl Armory, a childlike gambler dependent on his sister, to Emil Sande, an aloof and mercenary and snarky merchant. Wesley Lau is awesome.

I've gotta say, I hope I won't end up needing politics in too many of these pieces. Not my strong point in writing.


By Lucky_Ladybug

It was a cool day in San Antonio. Emil had long ago gotten used to the heat, but the breeze was nice.

He was walking back to his shop after the daily siesta, a tradition he found useless and detracting from business, but something he had nevertheless been forced to put up with from the villagers.

Everyone in town was very much aware of his recovery by now. Life had gone back to business as usual, although it seemed to him that some people were more aloof than they had previously been. Perhaps it was that more and more of them were aligning themselves with the cause of Texas’s independence and they knew that he had been against it.

Of course, it had not been so much that he had been opposed to the idea as it was that he had found favor with General Santa Anna. He had to go where the money was, after all. Truthfully, he cared very little whether Texas was a Republic or part of the United States or Mexico. As long as he continued to make a living, he was satisfied either way.

He no longer even knew if he still had the General’s favor. He doubted the man had time to so much as think about one lone merchant, with the war having increased in intensity since the Battle of the Alamo. And even though in the past Emil would have been doing all that he could to learn the truth, and to get back in the General’s good graces, he had done nothing as yet.

What could he offer right now, anyway? He had no more weapons in storage. And he did not know if he wanted to go to the trouble of finding more. The war could be over before he could ever deliver them. He doubted it would go on very long.

And once it was over, he had intended to align himself with whoever won. That was still his plan, really.

But that did not stop Graciela’s words from following him around. She had detested his lack of a foundation more than almost anything else.

Of course, what would she know of survival against all odds? Among other things, being out for yourself meant that it did not matter what causes you supported, as long as they were profitable for you.

But did he really want to be like the men who had murdered his family?

He stopped in the road, frowning at the thought. That had honestly never occurred to him. He was not a murderer. He was ruthless and cold and callous, but only as far as he had to be. He only killed to defend himself and his belongings.

But he had become furious at Davy Crockett’s interference. In spite of his insistence to Graciela that he was not vengeful, he knew he had been angry and perhaps had even hated Crockett when he had cornered Crockett and his band of followers under the church.

And the weapons he sold would kill. If he did not care which side of the conflict they went to, then that mixed him up even deeper in the plot. Didn’t it?

He passed a hand over his face. Why was this happening to him? He had not seriously questioned his actions for years. He had learned to make excuses and justify himself. No one cared what happened to him, so why should he care what happened to anyone else?

There. That was the problem right there. While being nursed back to health, he had encountered people who did seem to care what happened to him, and not for their own profit. That was what was making him wonder if his past existence had been wrong.

He would have surely died years ago, if he had given in to naïve thoughts then. He had nearly perished more than once when he had foolishly trusted people who had falsely acted as though they wanted to help him after he was all alone. Over time he had weeded out such feelings. Since then, his cold-hearted distrust had protected him and saved his life many times. It could not have been wrong.

The sounds of children laughing startled him back to the present. Two boys were running, tackling each other, and play-wrestling in the sand. One of them was the kid Crockett had tried so hard to get Emil to pay after he had carried the luggage up the stairs. Emil paused, watching their innocent game.

He had been like that, once, long ago. He did not like to reflect on the past, but he had been doing a great deal of it the past weeks. Maybe that was why he did not particularly like being around children—they reminded him too much of how he had been before he had discovered the dark side of humanity. And he knew that one day they would discover it, just as he had.

Crockett had been mistaken when he had thought Emil was unaware of Graciela’s nickname. Emil knew of it, but he cared little for nicknames. What had stunned him was realizing Graciela had told Crockett the name. They had grown awfully close in so short a time.

It was strange, really, or perhaps ironic. He had met Graciela years before, when his family had stopped in San Antonio before continuing the journey to where they had hoped to settle in peace. They had played innocently, although not as roughly as these boys were doing, and had enjoyed their two days together. Then they had parted ways, not seeing each other again until Emil had returned to San Antonio a grown man and a successful merchant.

He had remembered Graciela but had doubted she would remember him, after so many years. She had, but soon had realized that he was a stranger to her.

“The little boy in my memories, with the yellow hair and the bright smile, is gone. He is not you; you are not he. He is dead. I do not know who you are, with your cruel business tactics and your trickery. I do not want to know you.”

He had been flippant with her, not explaining what had changed him or why. After all, it did not matter. He was what he was and she did not deserve an explanation any more than anyone else did.

Or at least, that was what he had told himself.

Just as he had told himself it was business when he took control of her family’s property and tried to convince her to marry him.

The thing was, the property had already, legally been his. He had not needed to marry her. She would have needed to marry him to get some of it back in her name, but that was an entirely different matter.

So why had he tried to convince her?

Did he care about her? Had he cared then? Had he tried to convince her to marry him for the property because it was the only way he could think of to get her to agree, now that she despised him? Was that why he had become so angry when Crockett had seemingly interfered? He did not want Crockett to take her away?

He had known many girls throughout his life, but he had never been serious about any of them. Well, except maybe the first one after he had turned sixteen. He had not completely given up on humanity then. And their relationship had not worked out.

Why had he returned to San Antonio? Of all places, why there? There were others just as profitable. Had he wanted to see if Graciela was still there?

He frowned. Being knifed had really shaken him up. Now all of these preposterous questions were popping into his mind. He just wanted them to stop. He had already defined his existence and his worldview years ago. He did not appreciate it all being challenged. Annoyed, he turned away from the boys.

“Señor?”

He froze. The luggage boy had noticed him.

“Do you have anything for me to do today?” the kid asked in Spanish.

Emil shook his head. “Nothing today.”

“You will come for me when you have work?”

Emil glanced over his shoulder. The boy was looking up at him with hopeful eyes and that persistent smile.

“. . . Yes, yes, I’ll come,” he said at last.

“What about the other man? Will he come again?”

Emil raised an eyebrow. “What other man?”

“The one who spoke to you when I brought the luggage, Señor.”

Then it dawned on him. “No. He won’t be around anymore.”

“Oh.” The boy seemed disappointed. “Why not?”

“Because he’s dead.” It was harsh and blunt, perhaps, but Emil saw no reason to keep the truth from him.

Now the kid’s eyes went wide. He looked down, sad. “. . . How, Señor?”

“He died fighting. That’s all you need to know.” Emil did not care to go into all the details. He would rather extract himself from this conversation as soon as possible. It was too far removed from what he found comfortable. He was growing nervous.

“Come on,” the boy’s friend whispered to him. “Let’s go. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

The first kid nodded. “Alright, Señor. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He bowed slightly to Emil and hurried off with his friend, leaving Emil standing in the street staring after them.

Sighing, Emil massaged his eyes. That had certainly gone badly. And now his cold heart regretted it. Instead of calling the boy back, however, he continued to the shop.
****
He was unaware that he was being observed. From the second-story door of her house, Graciela frowned at the scene that had unfolded. As Emil walked on she turned away, shutting the door and crossing the room to her mirror.

He was still basically the same as before, judging from how he had dismissed that child. Not that she had really believed different.

She wondered if he had ever really been the boy she remembered from so long ago. Maybe she was remembering wrong and he had been cunning and manipulative even then. They had only known each other for two days. How well could anyone come to know someone else in two days?

It depended on the person, she supposed. It had not taken long at all for her to come to feel she knew Davy Crockett.

But she had felt she had known Emil Sande, until he had returned to San Antonio and had been nothing like her memories. Had he really changed so drastically?

His bitter words from when he had lain dying came back to her. He had no family. He had been betrayed by people he had trusted as friends.

What had happened to his family? She had met his mother and father. She should have asked him what had happened. She had been so stunned by his second revelation that she had not thought to inquire after the first. And perhaps too, she had distanced this Emil Sande so far from the cheerful, mischievous boy in her memories that she had momentarily forgotten they were ultimately the same person, somehow, someway.

She should not even allow her thoughts to stray towards him so much. When Davy had sent her away from San Antonio, he had hoped that she would use her command of words to inspire people to fight in the revolution. She had done that, and now that she had returned she intended to continue the work here. The Battle of the Alamo had certainly roused the people to action, but the cause could always use more helping hands and voices. And even though she was sure that nothing she could say would inspire anyone to act as much as the Alamo had, she was still determined to do her part.

Emil would scoff, naturally. He would wonder why she was pouring all of her time and energy into anything political. He would never understand what it was like to believe in anything other than himself and his money.

Frowning, Graciela turned away from the dresser. She needed to concentrate on what she was going to say tonight at the cantina, not on what Emil would think about it. What did it matter what he would think?

Of course, she still wished he could find something to fight for. And perhaps she was still comparing him to Davy. Perhaps, in her loneliness, it was only natural for her to latch on to the one person left from her old life—even if he was not at all the person she longed for him to be.

But she had no time to be lonely. She had work to do, both with the revolution and with her family’s land. She would be very busy from now on.

And, she was sure, so would Emil. He would do what he had always done best—make money.

Her eyes narrowed. May they each be very happy with the paths they had chosen! Never the twain would meet.

That was just how she wanted it.
****
Emil had no idea that Graciela planned to rally people to her cause that night. All he wanted when he entered the cantina was a stiff drink. But when he heard a familiar voice he blinked in stunned surprise. As he pushed open the doors he found Graciela standing near the bar, proclaiming her views in a loud voice. She had the attention of everyone there, albeit not their undivided agreement. Some supported Santa Anna, while others were indifferent all around.

Emil slid into the nearest available booth, watching and listening to her in spite of himself. Even though he really had no loyalty to either side of the conflict, Graciela’s determination was distracting and fascinating.

“Do you want to see our beautiful land remain under the rule of a tyrant? Santa Anna is not fit to govern Texas. You know of the Goliad Massacre. Three hundred and forty-two soldiers fighting for our freedom were abominably and senselessly killed this past March 27th. This was done under General Santa Anna’s direct orders! Is this the sort of man you want to have reigning over you, controlling all that you say and do? How can he be trusted?”

A waitress brought Emil a drink and he nodded to her with a warm greeting. He was not even sure she heard him over the cacophony of both increasingly favorable response and a few naysayers to Graciela’s speech.

“Stand up and be counted! There is no room here for indifference. Freedom is the right of every human being. Fight for your freedom! For your land! For your families!”

More cheers.

As the noise died down, Emil took a sip from his drink. He was half-tempted to challenge her, just to see what she would say. Only she knew of his true, mercenary designs, as far as he was aware. Everyone else simply believed he supported Santa Anna.

He leaned back. “So, what makes you believe that you’d really have these freedoms under a new government?” he said. “All governments are largely the same. And those running them care only about lining their pockets and making themselves look good.”

He was not fully sure what he was doing. He had not decided whether or not to try to return to General Santa Anna’s good graces, but putting down all governments would surely not help in that regard.

Graciela stiffened at the sound of his voice. Looking in his general direction, she responded, “That is only your own opinion, Señor. There are many who do not feel as you do.”

“And what proof have you to offer for your opinion, Señora?” Emil smoothly returned.

“There are many examples.” Graciela walked to one side of the bar and then the other, silently imploring the patrons along the way. “There are many good men willing to do whatever they must for freedom, even to die if necessary. It is men of this caliber who have become the Presidents of the United States. And we can have the same kinds of men here.”

“But what proof do you have that these men truly seek the freedom of which you are speaking?” Emil persisted. “You can’t see into their hearts. For all you know, they’re power-seekers deep down.”

Graciela’s lips pressed into a thin line. “As you are, Señor?”

Undaunted, Emil just toasted her with his glass. “Power-seekers just want to survive in this world. They just happen to do so by climbing the social and power ladders. I am no better or worse than many of them.”

“We can do without your, or anyone else’s, power-seeking,” Graciela replied. “Now, a man who never sought such things was Davy Crockett. He only wanted freedom for all of us, even for you.”

Emil’s lip curled. He did not care to hear her praise Crockett to high Heaven.

“Yes,” he said. “Crockett certainly proved that when he thrust his compatriot’s knife into my chest.”

“Not without provocation, I am sure,” Graciela returned. Her eyes flashed with barely concealed anger.

Emil shrugged. “I didn’t attack without provocation, either.”

All eyes were upon the two of them by now. Every patron, as well as the staff, were intrigued by the conflict that Emil had set into motion. But Emil did not intend to push Graciela far enough to make her lose her temper altogether. He doubted she would in public, anyway.

He finished his drink and waved her on with his other hand. “But by all means, Señora, do continue with your original speech. I won’t interrupt again.”

“Thank you,” Graciela said with teeth clenched.
****
Emil kept his word; he remained quiet throughout the remainder of Graciela’s rally. When it ended, he slipped out of the cantina along with the other departures. He separated himself from them, adjusting his hat as he moved to go his own way.

It was only when he was alone that his arm was suddenly and violently grabbed. “What did you mean by making such a scene?!”

He turned, facing the furious Graciela. “Why, surely you weren’t bothered that much,” he said in the flippant tone she so despised.

She slapped him across the face. “You wretched man! You were trying to make me look foolish, weren’t you?! Well, it didn’t work.”

Emil laughed. “No, it didn’t. And that’s good, as it wasn’t my intention in the first place.”

Her hands flew to her hips. “And exactly what was your intention?”

“I was curious to see how well you would handle yourself,” Emil said. As he said it, he realized it was the truth. “If you’re serious about this, Graciela, you’re going to have to deal with many hecklers. And most of them will give you a much worse time than I did. If anything, I’ve only helped your cause now, as strange as that is to say. If you noticed, the people accepted you far more after our little confrontation. They were impressed by how you held your own against me.”

Graciela frowned, considering his words. “. . . I suppose you have a point,” she said at last, grudgingly. “But you weren’t actually trying to help me or my cause, were you?”

Emil started to walk again and Graciela kept pace alongside him. “No,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t trying to tear you or your cause down, either.”

“Would you have cared if you had?”

Emil opened his mouth but hesitated. Graciela gave a curt nod. “I thought not.”

Finding his voice, Emil protested, “That isn’t what my silence meant.”

“But you care for no one other than yourself,” Graciela said. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

“. . . I said I didn’t know that anyone cared for anything other than themselves and money.” Emil sounded awkward now. And he hated himself for it. Graciela had kept herself composed. Now, under her cross-examination, he could not do the same.

Graciela stopped walking and came to stand in front of him. “And you?”

“. . . I don’t know that, either.” Emil studied her eyes as she searched his. Slowly he leaned down, closer to her. Instead of moving away, she froze. But when his lips brushed hers, she came to life, pushing him back.

“What are you trying to do?!” she shrilled.

Emil straightened. “I was trying to answer your question.”

“You don’t love me. You aren’t capable of loving anyone any more than I am capable of loving you.” Graciela turned away, pulling her shawl closer around her arms.

“Crockett is dead. Are you going to pine for him the rest of your life?” Emil was not sure where that had come from. But as soon as the words tumbled out, he was not pleased with them.

Instead of becoming furious again, Graciela just gave a weak shrug and shake of her head. “We didn’t know each other for very long. I can’t say that I was in love with him. But the man I marry will be like him as far as his ideals are concerned.”

“Well, you won’t have much trouble finding one,” Emil grunted. “Your cause is collecting more supporters every day.”

“And I am glad. He would be, too.”

They fell silent for a moment. When Emil spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Why didn’t you move when I first stepped closer to you?”

“I don’t know. My mind went blank. I wondered what you were going to do. I did not expect that.”

“You must have had some idea.”

“I certainly wasn’t giving you an invitation!” Graciela snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with you. Being married to you would have been Hell.”

“Such language!” Emil’s voice was light again, unbothered.

“Oh!” Graciela looked away in disgusted frustration.

Another silence.

“. . . You know, for someone who wants nothing to do with me, you’ve walked with me almost all the way to your home.”

“And I wish I hadn’t!” Graciela retorted. “I will walk the rest of the way alone, thank you very much.”

“Oh, but that wouldn’t be a gentlemanly thing to allow,” said Emil.

“You are not a gentleman,” Graciela spat.

“And I suppose Crockett was?”

“Yes!” Graciela stormed out ahead of him. “Goodnight, Señor Sande.”

“Goodnight, Graciela.”

Emil resumed walking, not following her. But, Graciela noted, he kept his pace slow until she ran up the stairs of her house and inside. Only then did he walk past at a faster speed.

She turned away, shutting the door behind her. What an aggravating man he was. He was nothing like Davy. He never could be.

. . . But why had she walked with him all the way home?