[August 19th] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 5

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene five
Day/Theme: August 19th - The fire in their midst roars and crackles
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Emil Sande, Graciela "Flaca", Davy Crockett (in flashbacks)
Rating: T/PG-13


By Lucky_Ladybug

Emil was not in a good mood when he entered the livery stable to retrieve José and the carriage. It was instantly obvious.

Concerned, José looked to him as he propped open the heavy door and gestured for José to move the carriage outside. “The talk with the Señora did not go well, Señor Sande?”

“It went about as I expected it would,” growled Emil. “No questions, José. Just take me home.”

“Si, Señor. Home.” José had learned from long experience that Emil in a bad mood was not someone to cross. He snapped the lines, directing the horses out of the stable. Once Emil had the door shut after them, he climbed into the carriage.

José kept silent as he drove. Emil was very aware that José had likely heard much of their argument in the carriage, even over the rain and the wheels and the horses’ hooves, but he said nothing. He knew José would never reveal what he knew to anyone else. José would be too afraid.

When at last they arrived at Emil’s home outside the main part of town, he stepped down and tossed a coin to José in payment. “Keep whatever’s left over,” he said. “If anything.”

José stared at the coin piece. It was far more than what was owed. That was most unlike Emil; he was often miserly with his fortune. “But Señor . . .”

“Nevermind.” Emil waved him off as he headed towards the house.

José swallowed hard, placing the coin in his pocket. He would not argue. But for the time being, he would not spend this, either, just in case Emil wanted his change when he came back to his senses.
****
One of the maids stood, gaping, as Emil entered. “Señor Sande!” she exclaimed. “You’re soaked through to the bone!”

“I’m going to change, Anna-Lisa,” Emil said, shaking the water off his hat and into the fire. “When I’m ready, I’ll have you take these things and place them in front of the fire.”

“Si, Señor,” Anna-Lisa nodded. Her eyes were full of questions, but she did not dare ask a one.

Emil grabbed a towel from the linen closet before he entered his room and shut the door. Lighting some of the candles to see by, he began peeling off the rain-drenched clothing and furiously drying himself off before grabbing clean, dry clothes.

The sight of the pulled skin in the mirror gave him pause when he was going to button a fresh shirt. He straightened, staring for a long moment at the ugly scar on his chest. Slowly he ran his fingers over the mark, several inches in length.

It was still reddish, but he supposed over time it would fade to a dull white. Yet no matter the color, it would still be there, reminding him of that moment and all the moments that had come afterward.

He flinched and drew back at the memory of the blade flying through the air, embedding itself in his chest. Clutching the spot, he sank onto the bed, shaking and trembling. His hair, slightly damp but having been mostly protected by the hat, fell into his eyes.

The last thing he could clearly recall from that night was falling back in agony, firing both of his guns harmlessly into the air. Then he had hit the floor and passed out of all thought and mind. He had been sure he was dead.

He only had vague memories of the days that had followed. He had some faint recollection of Paco kneeling beside him, asking if he was alive and sounding frightened. There were nameless, faceless people who had floated in and out of his blurred vision, tending to the wound and trying to elicit a response from him.

He remembered having enough presence of mind to think about Graciela and her property and ask for someone to get her. He had called for her, half-crazed from the delirium and fever brought on by the knife attack. A messenger had been sent up North to find her before the word had come down that she had returned to San Antonio.

He could bring to mind snatches of their conversation when she at last had come. Then the conscious delirium had ended, plunging him into that even stranger state of unconscious delirium and continually conversing with a nonexistent ghost.

“Nonexistent?!” he remembered Crockett exclaiming in indignation when Emil had snarled it at him. “I’m just as real as you.”

For that matter, by that time Emil had not been sure of how real he was either, so he had dropped the subject.

And then he had emerged from the coma, to everyone’s collective shock, and had begun to get better.

But had he really?

The memories of the attack and the pain still hounded him. He hated thinking about it or talking about it when he was awake, so it had to find another outlet to torment him. Sometimes he awakened from nightmares of it happening again. He would feel the knife once again plunging into him—the bursting agony, the flying blood, the coppery gasp in his throat. . . . He would leap awake, his eyes wild, nearly falling off the bed. Sometimes he screamed, frightening the servants and sending them running into his room.

He was bitter and angry over the fact that it had happened. He blamed Crockett, he blamed Bowie, and . . . yes, he blamed Graciela too.

He had told the truth tonight, that he had wondered exactly what her motivations had been in revealing the location of the weaponry. And he had tried to deduce the answer during their strange and recurring meetings. Well, why not? He had to make some use of them.

But he had not revealed any of that before. What had prompted it now?

He ran his hands through his hair. Maybe it was the particularly realistic nightmare he had woken up from the past night. Everything had played out the same for the most part, but instead of Crockett it was Graciela who threw the knife and nearly killed him.

That had badly shaken him.

Of course, it was just subconscious nonsense, his feelings of betrayal towards Graciela coming out through the dream. But none of it would have happened if not for her. She had symbolically thrown the knife.

“You know, I never realized how well that knife would work,” Crockett had said during one of their unwelcome rendezvous. “I really, honestly thought you were dead. If I’d known you weren’t, I would’ve seen you got help.”

Emil had shrugged it off in annoyance. “I didn’t need your help,” he had retorted. “Paco was there.”

“And I’m sorry he had to see that, too,” Crockett had immediately answered. “It must’ve been terrible for someone his age.”

“It wasn’t so great for someone my age, either,” Emil had growled.

During his recovery period, he had been a difficult and bitter patient. He was not quite sure when his suspicious feelings had begun to fade, only that gradually, as his caregivers had continued to show him kindness in spite of his demands and fits, he had begun to realize that they truly did want to help him. And that in turn had softened his responses to them.

“You are not the same man you were before this, my son,” Father Fuentes had told him when he had recovered enough to stagger around the house.

“And how would you know, Father?” Emil had retorted. “No one knows who I am.”

“I have been in San Antonio ever since you came in a rich man and set up your shop and trading post,” was the reply. “A large part of my business is observing people. You were a hateful man. Oh, you tried to hide it behind your facades, but I soon saw beyond those. You despised the world because you felt it despised you. I no longer sense that from you, Emil.”

“Well.” Emil had paused, carefully pulling on his coat. “Maybe closer to the truth would be that I don’t know how to feel anymore, Father. I know what I experienced. I know that time and again people were cruel to each other, and to me, even after professing good will.

“But I also remember the love I felt as a child, unconditional and unyielding. While I’ve been looked after these last weeks, I . . . I felt that again. It reawakened something in me that I thought was dead. Now I’m just confused.”

“A good man never dies, Emil. He hibernates, perhaps, but never dies. He is always there, alive under the ice and snow of cruel experience. No one can say when his winter will end and he will revive. But sooner or later, it happens.”

“You’re very optimistic, Father. I might even say idealistic. It isn’t a realistic point of view.”

“Still blunt.” Father Fuentes had shaken his head in some amusement. “Look at yourself, Emil. Take a good, long look. Now that this side of you has been reawakened, can you go back to what you were before? Would you want to?”

“. . . No,” Emil had been forced to admit. “But . . . I don’t want to trust people again. Alright, so there are still kind people in the world. The cruel and the merciless still exist as well. I never want to forget that. I never want to be hurt by them again.”

A gentle hand had been placed on his shoulder. “I can’t promise that to care about others won’t bring pain sometimes. You already know that too well. But your experiences have given you a highly developed sense of judgment. If you pay attention to it, you may find it easier to determine the good from the bad.”

Emil had nodded slowly, not convinced but willing to try.

He was still so conflicted. And on the matter of Graciela, well . . . he did not even like to go there. Did he care about her or didn’t he? She certainly believed he did not and never had. That sounded logical to him, except for the questions that had been nagging at him the last few days.

He got up, shuffling to the door and opening it. Wandering into the hall, he made his way back to the living room, where he sank into a chair near the fire. He stared blankly into the crackling and jumping blaze, his thoughts continuing to travel.

“Señor Sande?”

He started violently and looked up. Anna-Lisa was standing near him, both hesitant and awkward. “You didn’t call me yet, Señor. I wasn’t sure what to do.”

“Hmm? Oh. Oh, the clothes, yes.” Emil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go ahead and get them. And bring me some brandy, if you please.”

“Si, Señor.”

Ten minutes later Emil was pouring the brandy, still gazing into the fire as he downed it.

Would he encounter Graciela again? Judging from their bizarre track record, it looked likely. But would they have an actual conversation? Or would he or she say something aloof and cool and sever their ties as quickly as possible?

He was not sure what he would do. And as for Graciela, well, she would likely want to stay as far away from him as possible. These repeat meetings were bewildering and uncomfortable. He had to wonder if Crockett was laughing over his befuddlement at their existence.

Then again, Crockett was probably mostly highly displeased over their existence. He had wanted Emil to leave Graciela alone.

Although that was not exactly what he had said. He had said not to give her any more trouble. But he would probably consider just talking with her “giving her trouble”.

Bah, now he was talking as though Crockett’s ghost was real. Maybe brandy was what he didn’t need tonight.

He set the glass aside and propped himself up on his elbow, staring into the flames. Either it was trance-inducing or he was ungodly tired; he was asleep before he was quite aware of it.

Paco slipped into the room soon after. He stood gazing at his employer in wonder. Emil had never treated him cruelly, but he could be a stern boss. Sometimes Paco was afraid of him. And even while asleep, he did not look peaceful. Paco was not sure he ever had.

He took up the old blanket from the couch and crossed to the chair, making certain to remain quiet as he draped it along the exhausted man’s body.

A shiver ran up his spine as he caught sight of the scar through the half-buttoned shirt.
****
Emil was feeling better by morning. At least enough so that he headed off to town and the shop.

The sun was out off and on through the clouds, but it could not seem to stay in place long enough to dry the many puddles adorning the ground. Emil remained in the middle of the carriage seat, as far away from any possible splashes as he could be.

He raised a surprised eyebrow when they stopped in front of the shop. Someone was standing near the door, anxious, a dark scarf concealing her identity. But he did not need to see her face to know. He climbed out of the carriage, amazed. “Graciela?”

She looked up at him. “I need to speak with you,” she said. Between her bloodshot eyes and the dark circles under them, she looked exhausted.

Emil tossed a coin to the driver. “Come inside then,” he said. He unlocked the door and allowed her to step in before immediately following.

Locks were uncommon in the town. Emil’s usage of them was one more indication of his cynical, suspicious nature. And the thieves he had tangled with had proved that it was not unfounded.

He slipped the key into his pocket after locking the door behind them. “Alright. What is it you wish to say?”

Graciela slowly walked ahead of him, gazing at the items in the shop without really seeing them. “I was awake all night,” she said.

“Well, I’m sorry if I had anything to do with that,” Emil rejoined. His tone was only half-serious. He was back to his usual mood—or at least, the usual cover.

“You had everything to do with that.” Seemingly unaffected by his light tone, Graciela ran her hand over the glass countertop. “I realized many things. You were right.”

“I was? About what?” Emil came closer to her, honestly amazed and perplexed by this visit and these words. Graciela was a proud woman. Not just that, she was a proud woman who detested him. It took a lot for her to say this.

She looked up at him, her eyes clearly displaying her regret over what she had learned about herself. “I have continued to resent that you survived and not Davy. I’m ashamed of this. And I know Davy would never want me to feel that way.”

Emil shrugged. “It’s understandable. You liked Crockett, while you abhor me. Why wouldn’t you resent that I survived?”

“I should have gotten over it.” Graciela shook her head. “And you were right that I have been comparing you to Davy. I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t help myself. You are all that is left of the people I closely associated with. I long for you to be different, but in the end that’s more because of me than you. You are what you are. I have to accept that and move forward.”

“I’m sorry.” Emil was completely serious now. Graciela was being honest and not snarling at him. The least he could do was sober up.

“You’re sorry?” Graciela raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“I’m sorry that there isn’t someone else who survived besides me, someone you wouldn’t resent.” Emil gestured to the door. “There’s no reason why we have to keep associating, even though we have been thrown into several unplanned encounters together. You can feel free to move forward, Graciela. Don’t stay in the past with me just because I’m the only one left.”

Graciela stayed where she was. “Tell me honestly,” she requested. “Do you care for me at all?”

Emil stared at her. He turned away, agitated as he began to pace the floor.

“I can’t answer that,” he said. “I don’t know. I haven’t allowed myself to care about anyone in so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. And yet . . .” He paused. “. . . Part of me seems to think that maybe I have cared about you.”

Graciela frowned. “You have strange ways of showing it.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not sure of how I truly feel.” Emil stared into the distance, collecting his thoughts, before looking back to her again. “Did it ever dawn on you to wonder what was in it for me if we were married? I already legally owned your property.”

Graciela’s gaze flickered away. “I assumed you wanted the elevated status you would receive if you married into an important family.”

“And I can’t say that wasn’t true. It sounds like me. But . . . nevertheless, I also still can’t say that’s what I had in mind.”

“And what can you say you might have had in mind?”

This was probably the most bizarre and awkward conversation in which they had ever engaged. Emil was finding it difficult to gather his words into the proper, sensible order.

“. . . I think that, perhaps, I didn’t want to lose you,” he said at last. “You despise me; I knew you’d never marry me if there wasn’t something else in it for you. Selfish, I know, but . . . well, that’s something else I learned to survive.

“And I think that’s why Crockett and I hit it off so badly. If he hadn’t shown an interest in you, he would have only been a mild irritation to me. I wouldn’t have sent my men to beat him up. And he wouldn’t still annoy me so much now.”

Graciela looked down. “And if he hadn’t shown that interest, I wouldn’t have betrayed you by telling about the weapon stock.”

“That too.”

Graciela considered all of the above and looked up again, tilting her head to the side. “It’s strange,” she mused.

“What is?”

“If it hadn’t been for all of that, I am not sure we would be having this conversation. You have been changing ever since you were wounded. It’s been subtle at times, but very much there.”

Emil felt uncomfortable. “I’ve been told that by others, too.”

“There is at least some part of you that is a better person,” Graciela said. “I wouldn’t have realized that if we hadn’t had these unplanned encounters. Considering all of these things, perhaps Davy did you a favor when he threw that knife.”

Emil stiffened. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Graciela looked into his eyes, amid the surprise and confusion and changing feelings. “And some part of me has started to wonder whether, deep down, I have cared for you in some small way in spite of how I’ve reviled you.”

“. . . Have you?”

“I don’t know.” Graciela stepped closer to him. “What you were trying to do when we met after that rally. Will you try that again?”

“You want me to?” Emil was in disbelief.

“I want to see if I find it as detestable as I did then,” Graciela said.

“And you won’t push me away in a fit of screaming?” Emil said with a slight smirk.

“That would depend on if you are a gentleman about it, as you claim to be,” Graciela answered.

The banter felt oddly natural. Emil drew her close and leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. This time she did not refuse him, although she also did not return the kiss.

He pulled back after a moment. “Well?”

She nodded slowly. “You can be a gentleman.” She hesitated. “It wasn’t thoroughly repulsive.”

“At least that’s something,” Emil quipped. Growing serious, he continued, “. . . I remember what you said to Crockett when he wondered if he should throw me out of your house. You told him you weren’t in any danger.”

“I did,” Graciela agreed. “I knew you wouldn’t harm me. At least not physically. I can’t say that what you did with my land, and how you tried to manipulate me into marriage, wasn’t hurtful.”

“It won’t happen again.”

A slight smile crept over Graciela’s features. “In the past, I wouldn’t have believed you. But now . . .” She nodded, half to herself. “Now I think I do.”

“I’m glad.” Emil folded his arms. “So, what should we do if we continue to run into each other at odd and varied times?”

“Take it as it comes, I suppose,” Graciela said. “Are you saying we will only meet by accident?”

“Unless you want to meet on purpose,” Emil returned.

“I don’t know what I want.” Graciela walked away from him, gazing out the window. “However, I think I would feel at least somewhat melancholy if we no longer encountered each other.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Emil came up behind her. “If we don’t meet by accident, I guess we could decide to then meet on purpose.”

“I guess,” Graciela agreed.

Emil held out his hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

Graciela blinked. “Is it a business deal?”

“More of a . . . shall we say, a deal based on the honor of those making it.”

Graciela was amused in spite of herself. “Alright.” She turned to face him, taking his hand. It was stronger than she had pictured. She gave it a firm shake. “It’s settled.”