[August 17th] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 4

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene four
Day/Theme: August 17th - An alignment of the universe along moral lines
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Graciela "Flaca", Emil Sande
Rating: T/PG-13

This story is insistent on flowing right now.


By Lucky_Ladybug

It was never enjoyable, to be out in the rain after shopping. All of the packages would soon get wet, and the shopper would get wet, and there was a very good chance of being splashed on with mud before arriving home.

Graciela now found herself in the former predicament. The Texas rain was pelting down as she struggled to balance the various boxes and her bag, and she was doing her best to both dodge the puddles and keep hold of everything. When a carriage suddenly appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, she could only cry out in stunned alarm as she stumbled back.

“Stop the carriage, José.”

The horses whinnied and came to a halt as their lines were drawn taut. The passenger leaned against the side on one elbow, looking to her.

“Well, Graciela. I thought all of the villagers had run for cover by now. But here you are, out in the worst part of the storm.”

Graciela frowned as she looked to her nemesis. “You don’t seem all that concerned,” she retorted, still fighting against the forces of gravity as her packages swayed to and fro. “Why did you stop? Only to gloat?”

In response Emil gestured to his driver. “José, climb down and help the lady with her burden.”

José nodded and made his way to the ground. “I will put your packages in the carriage, Señora.” He reached and took the top two.

Graciela was unsure of what to think of this display. She could not say she was glad to see Emil Sande, but the carriage itself was certainly a relief. “. . . Thank you,” she said at last, stepping closer to the carriage. “It would go faster with help from two.” She gave Emil a pointed look.

He took two more packages from her, without exiting the vehicle. “I’m happy to help, Graciela,” he said. “I just don’t see any sense in all of us getting drenched.”

“Oh, of course not,” Graciela said with a roll of her eyes.

José and Emil quickly removed the rest of her boxes, enabling her to hurry to the opposite side of the carriage and climb inside. The only spot was next to Emil, but she accepted that without protest. As José hauled himself back into the box and rode off, Emil turned to her.

“So what’s in those packages anyway?” he asked with curiosity. “The latest fashions from Anita’s boutique?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” Graciela retorted. “Except for one frock, I was purchasing materials to help with my family’s land.”

“You couldn’t have your help do that?” Emil glanced at the steadily pouring rain. “Especially on a day like this?”

“The skies were mostly clear when I left,” Graciela answered stiffly. “And I had hired a carriage and told the driver to wait. But it was gone when I left the store.”

“Well, now, that’s a pity,” said Emil. “He must have had quite an emergency.”

“Or someone who could pay him more.” Graciela gave him a frosty look.

Emil rocked back. “Now, just a minute. Are you accusing me of spiriting your carriage away?”

“You did it before.”

“On a clear night, when I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t leave you stranded in a storm.”

Graciela did not miss the edge that had slipped into his voice. Aside from inquiring into her feelings on marrying him, he had steadfastly avoided all topics concerning that night. “You’ve suddenly grown tense,” she noted.

He averted his eyes. “I’d just rather talk about something else.”

“Because of Davy?”

“Because of him, if you must know,” Emil growled. “But not entirely for that reason alone.”

And then it was her turn to feel tense and guilty. “. . . It was that same night when you were nearly killed,” she realized.

“Late that night.” Emil stared into the distance.

“. . . And you remained alive but mortally wounded for over two weeks before I even knew you had survived.”

“Yes. Don’t ask me how I managed that. I still don’t know myself.”

She turned further to face him. “I never intended for you to be hurt,” she said in all earnestness. “I didn’t even think you would be there.”

He turned back, searching her eyes. “You must have known there was at least that chance,” he said. “It didn’t bother you enough to keep you from telling Crockett anyway.”

“I didn’t want General Santa Anna to have your weapons. Davy and his men needed them more.”

“And you believed in their cause,” Emil added. “Let’s not forget that.”

She held his gaze. “Yes,” she nodded. “I believed in their cause. It is my cause too.”

“Oh, nevermind that.” Emil waved his hand in a dismissive manner.

The tension between them was thick and uncomfortable. Graciela shifted, her hands clasped in her lap. “. . . You haven’t said anything about your feelings before,” she said. “I know I betrayed you. But you never acted surprised. You even gave me my family’s land back in spite of it.”

“It repulsed me then. I didn’t want anything more to do with it.”

“That isn’t what you said that day.”

“And what did I say?”

Graciela looked down. “That it wouldn’t do you any good where you were going.”

“Well, that was true too.” Emil crossed his arms, his eyes mostly hidden, as always, by the shadow of that hat. For a moment he was silent, gathering his thoughts.

“No, I wasn’t really surprised by your betrayal. I knew Crockett had turned your head. And I knew you hated my ideas for those weapons. You wouldn’t have even found out if you hadn’t stumbled across my men unloading some of them into the church. But . . .” She could feel him staring at her. “I’ve wondered since then if what you did wasn’t even the least bit personal. Whenever we’ve run into each other lately, I’ve tried to find the answer.”

She jerked in sickened horror at the thought. “You think that I betrayed you because I wanted to get back at you?!”

“Well, it would make sense. After what I’ve seen of humanity, I’ve learned that even the most innocent-seeming person is capable of vengeance, under the proper circumstances.”

Graciela was unsure whether to strike him or pity him. And, she realized with a growing, unpalatable feeling, she was also unsure of the answer.

What if he was right? What if, in some dark part of her heart, she had wanted to return an eye for an eye after he had assumed control of her family’s land? What if some cruel part of herself had smirked a bit, relishing the thought of taking away something he had planned and counted on?

“You don’t even know, do you.”

She looked away. “No, I don’t. I never believed it about myself, but you make me wonder how well I know who I am.

“What I do know is that, since your return to San Antonio, you have been repulsive to me. I despise and detest you.” She faced him again. “But even if I enjoyed the thought of removing your weapons, I swear to you upon my father’s grave that I never wanted you to be injured. The thought that it could happen did not even occur to me. At least, I thought that if it happened, it would not be serious and you would recover.”

“It disturbed you when you thought I was dead? Did you blame yourself?”

“Yes.” Graciela’s voice was soft now, barely heard above the bumping carriage and the pounding rain. But it grew louder as she continued, “Yes! Yes! I knew what happened was my fault. And it was as though you died twice. After I came back and saw you at death’s threshold, I heard nothing more of you. But I was sure you couldn’t have survived long after that. I hated what you did to your life. But . . . some part of me . . . hated what I did to you as well.”

Emil gazed at her, not speaking. “. . . It feels like you mean it.”

“I do mean it. Every word!”

Emil drew a heavy breath. “. . . You know, I could have had you killed after you saw the weapons that night. It would have been an impersonal decision, based on what I knew of your values and what I knew would likely happen eventually.”

Graciela stared at him. “You expected a betrayal and you still did nothing?”

Emil’s eyes flickered with something unrecognizable. “I expected it, yes. But there was a part of me that hoped I was wrong.”

The next question was far harder to ask than Graciela thought it would be. “. . . Have you ever killed before, for that reason?”

“I don’t murder people in cold blood. I’ve had them beaten up, and they’re generally scared into silence from that, but I’ve only killed when someone has actively tried to take away what’s mine.” His lip curled in an ironic smirk. “I do fight for the only cause I believe in—myself. And by extension, my business.”

“I know.” Graciela sighed, sadly. “I simply find it regrettable that you have nothing else to align yourself with. No one can live separated from all others forever.”

“No one will live forever, either.”

“No. But you were given a second chance.”

“And what is it you want me to do with it? Join your little rebellion and end up dying for real on some battlefield?!”

“I want you to become a better person!” Graciela shot back. “If it’s even possible.”

“And what if I don’t want to change?”

“Then a second chance was wasted on you!”

Emil’s eyes flickered again, but not skipping a beat, he continued, “Look, Graciela, I am not Davy Crockett. Oh, don’t think I don’t know how you’ve been comparing me to him. It’s quite obvious. Well, I’m sorry your precious Crockett isn’t around to comfort you, but there’s only me. Me, Emil Sande!” He jabbed himself in the chest with his finger. “And you’re going to have to accept that!”

“I have accepted it!” Graciela snapped. “I have to accept it every day! And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry I’m not him? Sorry I didn’t die? Oh wait, sorry I didn’t die instead of him?!”

Graciela stared at him, overwhelmed by the flood of queries. “I’m sorry you’re not more like him,” she retorted. “You would be happier.”

“Happier?! Ha!”

“But no, no, for the love of all that is holy, I am not sorry you did not die! And I’m not sorry that you . . .” She trailed off.

Emil smirked darkly. “You can’t say it, can you?”

Graciela could not look at him. Her stomach had twisted in a most ill manner.

“You knew Crockett for how long?” Emil prompted. “A couple of days? Half a week? A week? And you’re so sure of everything he was and everything he stood for.

“You only knew me for two days when we were children. You thought you knew who I was. But when you saw me again, that view was challenged.”

Graciela did not answer. He was right, of course. Had she just been foolishly idealistic both times? Emil was nothing like she remembered. What if Davy wouldn’t be, either, if she were to see him again?

As the carriage pulled up in front of her house, she climbed down in spite of the rain. Gathering as many packages as she could carry, she stepped back. “Thank you for the ride home, Señor Sande,” she said, her voice cool and aloof. “Although I can’t begin to imagine why you offered it. If you will wait, I will remove all of my belongings. You won’t have to inconvenience yourself by getting out in the rain.”

Emil watched her hasten up the stairs and to her door. He was surprised by her sudden change of mood. Emotions had been running high for them both. Cursing in his mind, he started to climb out of the carriage. “Go find some shelter at the livery stable for you and the horses, José. I’ll take up the rest and come for you later.” He all but barked the command.

José turned in surprise, watching him collect the rest of the packages. “Si, Señor,” he managed to reply.

Emil stormed up the hard steps, the boxes clutched in his hands. He nearly crashed into Graciela returning for them. He moved back and held out his arms. “Here.”

Her eyes widened. Slowly she accepted her belongings, but not without bewilderment. “Did I guilt you into coming up?” she wanted to know.

“No! . . . I don’t know.” Emil threw up his hands when they were free.

Graciela sighed. “. . . You’re already soaked through. Come in and warm yourself for a moment.” She stepped through the doorway. After a hesitation, Emil followed.

Setting the packages on the table, Graciela crossed to the fireplace and bent down to start the blaze. “We could both benefit from this now,” she said.

Emil shut the door in discomfort. “I shouldn’t stay,” he said. “José is still outside, waiting for me.”

Graciela straightened. “So you are concerned about him?” The spreading firelight cast shadows around the room and across her face.

“There’s no sense in him coming down ill.”

She frowned at his stilted voice. “Is that what everything is always about to you? Sense? Logic?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t care about those things too,” Emil retorted. “You feel it’s logical that Texas be free of Mexican rule. Crockett felt it was logical to go to the Alamo and withstand a fall for thirteen days before General Santa Anna’s army killed him and his band of followers. It doesn’t make sense to me, but as you see it, it does.”

“Yes, it does,” Graciela answered. “But it isn’t just because of logic. I love Texas. I want her to be free because that is how I believe she will truly flourish. I want her to be free because that is how I believe the people will truly flourish. I love the people. I want them to be happy.”

She stepped closer to him. “And you? Do you even know what it is to love? Can a cold, ruthless heart such as yours even comprehend the word, the concept? Or do you only think of love of self, of money? I don’t understand you in the least. Sometimes you are such a mass of contradictions.”

“. . . Even I once experienced the true love of a mother, a father. Of friends.” Emil was quiet now. “The world was big and new and I was innocent, knowing nothing of its problems.

“You remember that when we stopped here, we were on our way to a new life in the West.”

“Yes.” Graciela was quiet now as well. Something in him was opening up again. She had only seen this side of him since his recovery, and even at that, only rarely.

Emil turned away, walking towards the fire. “There were other people traveling with us, people we believed were our friends. But they wanted my father’s accumulated wealth and nothing more.” Gripping the mantle with one hand, he looked back to her. “Eventually they murdered my father in cold blood. My mother too, when she tried to stop them. And they left me for dead.”

Graciela could not hold back the gasp of shocked, disbelieving horror. “You were only a child.”

“Not after that.” Emil’s voice was hard. She imagined his eyes were too.

She stood where she was, frozen to the floor. “How did you even survive?”

“I don’t really remember. Everything about my injuries then is a blur. But I survived and returned to civilization with one important thing—my father’s business knowledge. I became a merchant, as he had been. Only I vowed never to trust anyone claiming to be a friend or an ally.”

“. . . And you never did again?”

“I shouldn’t have. There was still some of that foolish, childish naïveté in my brain. A couple more times, people managed to get under my skin, claiming to be friendly. They had to work much harder at it. And when I let them in at last, they nearly took away everything I’d worked so hard to earn.”

He looked at her in the shadows cast by the firelight. “I thought you were different, Graciela. Apparently I was still a fool in spite of everything else. And it’s true that I don’t think you would deliberately try to worm your way into my or anyone else’s heart for an ulterior motive. That wouldn’t be like you.

“But you have the same capacity for betrayal as everyone else. And you use it. Can you really fault me for doing likewise?”

Graciela looked down. “. . . It’s still different,” she said. “Can it be considered a betrayal as deep and harsh if neither party trusts or cares about the other? In the past, you honestly cared about people and they turned against you. But in this instance, you never cared for me and I never cared for you. Not since your return.”

Emil looked at her for a long moment. “No,” he said at last. “I suppose not.”

But there was a chill in the room, despite the fire. Graciela shivered.

Emil walked past her, heading for the door. “I’m warm enough now; thank you for the invitation. Goodbye, Graciela.”

Graciela stared after him, her mind as blank as when he had tried to kiss her. But as he stepped back into the rain, pulling the door shut after him, she snapped to herself. She ran forward, hauling the door open again. “Wait!” she called, desperate to be heard over the rain.

There was no sign of him and he did not answer. Abandoning all sense, she ran back into the rain and stared over the balcony. He was below, walking away from the building. And to her shock, the carriage was not there. But he seemed to know exactly where to go to seek it out.

Almost as though he had directed it elsewhere. . . .

She turned away, her sopped hair clinging to her face and neck. Had he lied about José being out there, waiting? Had he known José had gone for shelter?

Why had he lied?

Was it that his only reason for talking with her whenever they met, that he was seeking her feelings concerning her betrayal, as he had indicated? And that, now satisfied of her indifference as well as his, he would never talk with her again?

He had seemed so different tonight, so angry and upset, and last of all, weary and tired. And his “Goodbye” had seemed so final.

Had he only sought confirmation of her indifference, while he felt nowhere near the same on the matter?

Was it possible . . . at all conceivable . . . that he did care? That he could care? Did she want his caring even if he could and did?

She did not try to pursue him or call him back. She did not know what she would say if she got him to return. Instead she walked slowly across the veranda and through the door into the house. She shut it behind her, leaning against it as she stared across the room to the fire.

It was better this way, she told herself. She still despised him. He was still the same man as before.

Was he really? Or had he been slowly trying to change, uncertain of what to do or how to go about it? Had he reached out to her more than once, seeking help and guidance, and she had not understood, instead pushing him away?

A hand flew to her mouth. So many things he had said over their past meetings were now taking on whole new meanings. She had overlooked all of it, focusing instead on his faults and what aggravated her so much about him.

And tonight he had opened up to her, finally telling her of the horror that was his past. What were the odds that he had ever revealed it to anyone else, except perhaps the people he had thought were his friends who had turned against him?

I don’t love him, she told herself. And I am certain he does not love me. But if he cares even a little. . . .

She trailed off. She should have tried to help him, to find out what he really wanted.

She looked down, blinking away the drops of rain falling out of her hair and into her eyes.

The room felt so empty right now.