[August 23rd] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 8

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene eight
Day/Theme: August 23rd - Daunted but not defeated
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Graciela "Flaca", Emil Sande, assorted lecherous wretches
Rating: T/PG-13 (very PG-13 today)


By Lucky_Ladybug

Graciela left the cantina and began the walk home, her thoughts a tumbling whirl.

The rally had gone quite well. The revolutionaries were enthusiastic. And between Graciela’s words and the others’ encouragement, several more had been converted to their cause.

But there were always hecklers, as Emil had promised. There had been two tonight who had made themselves quite the nuisances. They had only grown worse the more they had drank, calling obscene names and hooting in between their comments in support of General Santa Anna.

And there was something else, something that concerned Graciela about them more than any of that.

They had both claimed to be associates of Emil Sande—fellow merchants and weapons dealers.

Why had they been there tonight? Had it been mere coincidence? Or could Emil have decided that Graciela needed more of a lesson in how to handle hecklers and had opted to send two of his allies this time instead of going himself?

She frowned. Would he do that? She was not sure. Maybe as a joke, he would. Then again, maybe he’d had nothing to do with it.

But why had those repulsive men gone out of their way to let her know they knew Emil? They had seemed to find that quite important and hilarious. Graciela did not.

Perhaps it had gotten strung all over town that she and Emil had been seeing a lot of each other. She had not heard any such thing, but oh well, she would probably be the last to know. Emil might come to her in a day or so mocking the whole incident and commenting on how nosy and prone to gossip people were.

Where was Emil, anyway?

He had not been at the rally. She had thought she might see him, after he had expressed interest in being told the time and place. She had left a message for him at the shop. Or maybe she was just fooling herself into thinking he was interested, because she still wanted to believe that someday he would align himself with the rebellion. Maybe he hadn’t been serious about attending. Or maybe he had been at the time, but something had come up.

Well, no matter. She should not be wasting so much time thinking and wondering about him. His presence was of little consequence. If he had been there, he probably would have joined with those two drunkards, at least with their commentary on Santa Anna. It was better that he had not gone.

But, she admitted to herself, she had wanted to see him.

Oh, just because she still hoped to sway him to the cause, of course. There wouldn’t be any other reason.

She had not seen much of him at all since that day in the cantina. In fact, she had not seen him anywhere since then. Their meetings were sporadic; they could go for days without stumbling across each other. That was better anyway, surely. If they met too frequently, Graciela would more than likely find him getting on her nerves with an increasing rate. He was an exasperating, irritating man, and he knew it. Why Graciela continued to ponder on his reasons for not coming to the rally was beyond her.

“There she is! There’s the high-falutin’ lady who talks big about freedom from Mexico. Kind of funny, isn’t it—a Mexican with no loyalties to Mexico. Doesn’t even want her homeland to be part of it.”

Graciela froze. The drunken voice was all too familiar, spouting the same sorts of commentary that had been made at the rally.

One thing that had distressed her of late was that ever since the Goliad Massacre in March, ill feelings had been growing towards any and all Mexicans. Even though the rebels should all be able to feel united in their cause, the colonials were not always happy about having comrades of Mexican descent. Some were suspicious, believing that the Mexican rebels were spies sent by General Santa Anna. Others had simply decided they hated all Mexicans, regardless of their affiliation.

Graciela was hoping to alter those attitudes as well as to convince more people of the importance of Texas being free from Mexico. It angered her, that Santa Anna had brought about so much ill will towards their people because of his insistence on senselessly executing so many rebel soldiers. Such bitterness and hatred was easy to ignite, but very difficult to extinguish.

And of course, no matter what was said or done, some people were not willing to listen to anything other than what they wanted to hear. The hecklers were among that number.

“It sure is her,” came another voice now. “Walking all alone, too. That just isn’t done. We should go over and offer our services.”

They were both here—the men from the cantina. Graciela was less than pleased. Her heart began to beat faster, but outwardly she was still cool and collected and calm.

“I am perfectly capable of walking home, thank you very much,” she said. “I will not be needing your services.”

“Do you hear that? She isn’t the least bit hospitable.” The second one, younger and at least marginally more polite, looked to his companion.

The other man, unfortunately, could not care less. “After all the fancy preaching you did today, you should be willing to accept some help from us.” He growled a racial slur as he advanced, holding out a hand. “Just let us take you home. And then maybe you’ll thank us in some . . . very pleasant ways.”

She jerked her arm away, glaring daggers at them both. But even as she tried to storm off without another word, a third man emerged from the darkness, snatching hold of her before she could so much as process what was happening.

“I’ve got her!” he yelled.

Graciela struggled and kicked, jabbing her elbow into his ribcage and her fingernails into his arm. “Let me go!” she snarled. He cried out in pain and she managed to push him back enough to break free. As her hair came undone and streamed behind her, she tried to run.

The other two men grabbed her from both sides, painfully wrenching her arms behind her back. “Just hold on there,” the younger one said. “We don’t mean any harm.”

“Then leave me alone!” Graciela snapped, pulling in desperation.

The older one gathered a handful of her dress in his fist. “You just got us so incited with your rebel talk that we decided we wanted to do some liberating of our own.” He pulled, tearing the fabric.

Now Graciela was honestly afraid as well as furious. The third man was making his way back to them as well; she had no way out. And the second man was trying to lock her into a lecherous kiss while letting his hand travel down what was left of the front of her dress. Again she struggled, but the first man had too powerful a hold on her. All she could do was fight to turn her face away and scream.

“Now, now, none of that,” sneered the second man. “We’ll let you go, see, after we’ve all had our fill.”

With no other options left, Graciela swore at him and the others in terrified repulsion.

“Such talk for a lovely little thing,” said the third man. “You’ve got spunk and fire. Maybe too much.” He rubbed at his sore ribs. “But we’ll drain it out of you.”

Angry and frightened tears were coming to her eyes now, but she refused to let them fall. She would not show such weakness around these wolves.

“Emil didn’t send you,” she whispered in despair. “Not now and not at the cantina. He would never.” She was still fighting against their filthy lips and dirty hands, but it was a hopeless battle. She was being dragged to the ground.

“Emil?” the first man laughed. “Of course he didn’t. He doesn’t know anything about it.” Pushing her into the dirt with both hands, he straddled her and reached for the tattered dress.

“You’re wrong,” growled a new voice. “I know about it now.” A gun clicked. “Get away from her if you don’t want new holes in your heads. Now.”

The first man swore. Graciela twisted around, a new hope rising in her heart. Emil was standing nearby, a flintlock pistol in each hand. Both were pointed directly at the three carnal beasts.

The third man slowly backed off, his hands in the air. The second glowered hatefully, but followed suit.

The first was not ready to give up. Grabbing Graciela’s dress in one hand, he lifted her upper body off the ground while taking out a knife with the other. He held it to her throat. She reached to grab his arm, her hands shaking.

“Here’s a new ultimatum, Sande,” he said. “Drop those guns or I cut the lady’s throat out.”

Graciela’s blood ran cold, but she spat, “Go ahead! I’d rather be dead than to have your hands continue touching me!”

She could not see Emil from her angle, but he had turned sheet-white at the sight of the knife. Nevertheless, he continued to grip the pistols.

“You can’t bully me, Jarvis,” he said. “I don’t scare easily. I never did, if you remember right. You threatened to ruin me. Instead, I was the one who ruined you. You always were a thousand times worse than what anyone said I was, but this is a new low, even for you! Let go of her.”

“I don’t think so, Sande.” Jarvis brought the knife closer to Graciela’s skin. In spite of her struggling, he was still stronger. “If it means something to you to have her alive, then I’ll cut her up in the most sickening way possible.”

“You’ll be dead before one drop of blood falls.” Emil raised one of the guns. “I’m an excellent shot.”

“You also have a terrible memory,” Jarvis sneered. “I’m not the only one you have to worry about.”

The second and third men leaped at Emil from the side, dragging him down with them. One of the pistols fired.

Horrified, Graciela fought to see the scene, even if mostly upsidedown from her vantage point. “He’s going to be killed!” she cried. She grabbed more firmly at Jarvis’s wrist. “Do what you want to me. Call them off!”

He glanced at her. “An interesting proposition,” he mused. “His life is worth your purity and your life both?”

Graciela swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t let your friends kill him.”

“Not that I wouldn’t be more than happy to accept your terms, but he looks like he’s doing alright for himself,” Jarvis smirked.

One of the men was falling back, having taken a bullet in the stomach. The other continued to grapple with Emil, the second gun between them. It went off, grazing Emil’s cheek. Emil took that split-second to gain the upper hand, striking his opponent over the head with the gun. As he slumped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, Emil pushed him aside and got up.

“Jarvis!” he called. “Now it’s your turn.”

“With what ammunition, Sande?” Jarvis retorted. “Your weapons only have one shot each. And it takes far too long to reload. She’d be dead before you’d get another bullet in there.”

Graciela looked to him, still clutching Jarvis’s wrist but being unable to move the knife far enough away from her. “Emil, don’t,” she pleaded. “You’re already hurt.”

It was true; he was badly cut and bruised from the brawl. In addition to the unfair odds, he was not accustomed to such battles. He was a good shot with a gun, but when it came to physical fights he preferred to have his lackeys do it for him.

Now he looked to her with a start, his eyes searching hers in bewildered amazement. But whatever he wanted to say would have to wait.

He turned his attention back to Jarvis without warning, throwing one of the empty pistols with all his might. Not having expected the act, Jarvis had no time to dodge. It hit him square in the face. He yelled as the blood gushed from his now-broken nose.

Graciela shoved his hand away from her and pushed him back. Although he did not move enough to let her up, he did rock back, too caught up in the sustained injury to care much about anything else.

And then Emil was there, wrenching the devil’s wrists around and forcibly hauling him off of Graciela. “Don’t touch her again!” he snarled. “Is that clear?!”

Jarvis looked up at him with hatred burning in his eyes. “I’ll kill you,” he vowed. “I’ll stick you again and again until you just lay there in your blood and gore and don’t get up. And the girl will weep over your dead body, before she joins you.” Suddenly he lunged, baring the knife.

Graciela screamed. Emil panicked. His eyes fixed on the cruel blade, he dove out of the way. It slashed his arm.

Mistaking the reason for his fear, Jarvis lunged again. “You’re not such a big-talker now, are you, Sande? You’re afraid of me when I have this knife in my hand. You’re a coward! You can’t stand the sight of blood. And you can’t stand the thought of you ever getting hurt. That’s why you run out instead of sticking around to watch your boys pound sense into people—you don’t want anyone to turn his sights on you!”

He tried to push the knife into Emil’s chest. Emil snatched his wrists, his own hands shaking as he fought to hold the murderer back. Jarvis being bigger and stronger, he held his balance while abruptly kicking out, sending Emil to the ground. Jarvis was on him in an instant. The knife gleamed in the moonlight.

“No!” Graciela screamed. She got up, running closer to the scene. Her heart was hammering now. What could she even do to help? They were locked so close, fighting over the weapon, that anything Graciela might do could make it worse.

Her fist closed around her cross as she prayed a desperate prayer for Emil’s safety. “He’s only trying to save me,” she whispered. “Oh please! His life was spared once. Spare him once again. Please don’t let him die. Please . . .”

A pained, wheezing gasp brought her attention sharply back to the scene. Which one was it? Who had been stabbed?

Emil pushed Jarvis off of him as the other man began to sink down. Jarvis fell to the dirt, the knife embedded in his chest. Emil trembled, staring at the sight. His thoughts were clearly somewhere else.

Graciela sank to her knees, her strength gone. Emil was safe. Her prayers became filled with gratitude, thanking God over and over again. No amount of Thanksgiving seemed good enough.

“Graciela? Graciela? Say something! Are you alright?”

She looked up blankly as Emil wobbled and knelt beside her. He stared in horrified anger at her smudged face, wild hair, and the rags of the dress. It was barely hanging on her by this point. He swore under his breath, calling Jarvis a foul but fitting name.

“Emil?” She gazed at him, slowly reaching up to his torn cheek. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he retorted with impatience. “Graciela, look what they’ve done to you! If I’d come just a few minutes later. . . .” He shuddered. “Here, put this on.” He started to take off his coat, but soon cringed in pain.

Graciela focused on the laceration in his left arm. “Stop,” she said. “Emil, your arm. Jarvis cut you with his knife.”

Emil stared at the wound. “It . . . doesn’t look deep,” he said at last. “I’ll be alright until I can get it treated.” But he was shaking, clearly bothered by its presence. Graciela wondered what it was taking for him to not lose his self-control altogether.

After a moment he snapped to. Taking his eyes away from the blood, he slid the coat sleeve off of his injured arm and tried his best to drape the garment over Graciela’s half-bare shoulders and chest. She pulled it to her, suddenly realizing just how much damage had been done to her clothing. Even so, somehow, she realized that she was not embarrassed or uncomfortable with Emil seeing her in this state. In the past she would have been. But not now.

“Emil, let me see your arm,” she begged. “Maybe I can put something on it for now, until we get back.”

Emil started. “No, it’s alright,” he said. “Don’t worry about me, Graciela. I’m fine.”

Graciela decided not to listen. She pulled off a strip of cloth from her dress and took Emil’s left arm by the wrist. Carefully and gently, she wrapped the cloth around the wound, biting her lip against the sight of the sliced skin and the blood.

Emil watched her, not seeming to know what to think or what to say. “. . . Graciela, you . . . you were worried about me,” he whispered. “You even offered yourself as a price to save my life. What in Heaven’s name were you thinking, doing that?!”

Graciela kept her eyes on the cloth, bringing it around and around until it was almost at the end. Letting go of his wrist, she tied the ends of the makeshift bandage together.

“. . . I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t think I was thinking. I just knew I couldn’t bear to see you be killed.”

“And you thought it would be any better for me to see him violate you and then kill you?” Emil exclaimed.

Graciela realized her hands were shaking. She dropped them out of sight, pulling the coat closer around herself.

“No,” she said softly. “That would have been horrible for you. I’m so sorry.”

“Graciela . . .” Emil touched her cheek and got his hand under her jaw, raising her chin so she was at eye-level with him. “Tonight you called me by my first name. You haven’t done that since the day I came back to San Antonio and you realized I was so different. I . . . I’ve missed it. I miss the childish closeness we had, even if it was only for two days.

“I remembered you all through the years, as one last remaining bright spot in my miserable life. And you remembered me. But I destroyed your memories and whatever affection you held for me, when you saw what I’d become. Graciela, I . . . I’m so sorry. I know it can never be reclaimed. And I know I’ve lost whatever love you once bore; it’s all my fault. But if there was only some way to try again, to prove that I’m not the same man you’ve come to despise, I’d take it. I swear to God I’d take it.”

The tears that she had been so steadfastly holding back flowed now. “Emil! My poor dear friend Emil.” She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a heartfelt and anguished embrace. “Yes, I despised that ruthless, cruel man. But I still loved my friend. I thought he was dead.” She pulled back, brushing the falling hair away from his right eye. “I didn’t understand that he was not dead, that they are both you, that you do not want to be that cruel man anymore.

“I didn’t let myself acknowledge that I still care for you. I still thought that you might hurt me if I tried. And instead . . .” She gazed into his stunned blue eyes. “Instead, you proved that you do have something to fight for besides yourself. When you came and I saw what you were willing to do for me, I realized how foolish and stupid I’ve been. That side of you has been visible all along. I was too blind to see. I just never thought that if you had anything to believe in, it would be me.”

“Graciela . . .” Emil held her close now, his heart swelling. “I . . . I’ve been feeling so mixed up ever since I almost died. I don’t understand who I am anymore. And I haven’t known what to think or do about you, or how I feel. . . .” He shook his head. “I’d heard about the rally tonight, and I got your message, but I wasn’t sure if I’d even go. If I had . . . if I’d just been there, I would’ve taken you home. Jarvis and his dogs wouldn’t have had the chance to go after you.”

“You still came,” Graciela said softly. “You saved me. And now you’ve been hurt because of it.” Slowly she pulled back. “I have bandages and ointment at my house. Please come with me and I’ll treat your wounds properly.”

Emil looked at her, searching her eyes, and finally nodded. “You don’t really think I’d let you walk home alone now, after all this?”

She stood and took his right hand, helping him to rise. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Emil cast a disparaging look at the two bodies and the second man, the latter of whom was slowly starting to regain consciousness. “What a sight that will be for the authorities,” he grunted. “Come, let’s get away before he comes to enough to know we’re leaving.” He did not want to do any more fighting tonight. And certainly he did not want to expose Graciela to any further demeaning.

Graciela nodded in full agreement. “Let’s.”

Emil drew a protective arm around her shoulders as he steered her away from the scene. Instead of stiffening, she leaned into it.

Whatever he had been in the past, somewhere underneath it all he had still remained her friend. And perhaps, somewhere underneath her own hurt and pain, she had known it.

I am in no danger.

The words she had spoken to Davy echoed back to her. She smiled. They were true then as well as now.