[August 26th] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 10

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene ten
Day/Theme: August 26th - Brute strength meant only moral weakness
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Emil Sande, Graciela "Flaca", servants, a Texas Ranger
Rating: T/PG-13


By Lucky_Ladybug

One of the strangest and most unsettling things that had happened to Emil during his recovery had been when his spirit had seemingly left his fever-stricken body and roamed the town, listening to what the people were saying about him. He had forgotten about it once he was well, perhaps blocking it out due to how badly it had shaken him.

But when he finally returned home nigh unto dawn and wandered into the bedroom, collapsing on his bed in utter exhaustion after undressing, it started to come back to him. Perhaps it was the stress of the past days or the shocking revelations of this night, but as he drifted into that eerie state of first semi-consciousness and then dreaming sleep, the memories seeped in and mingled with his dreams.

He was wandering through San Antonio in an odd sort of fog or mist, detached from everyone but hearing everything they were saying. Their voices were unpleasant, filled with an echoing effect that lingered long after he passed them by. And their words chilled him clean through.

“Emil Sande is dying? I thought he was already dead.”

“Wasn’t he killed by Davy Crockett with some new-fangled knife?”

“Oh no. Let’s say he was ‘almost’ killed. He’s still clinging to dear life as desperately as he can. That’s what the doctor says, anyway. But he doesn’t hold out any hope for a recovery.”

“Good riddance to him. It always made me uneasy having a character like that in town.”

“You know he ordered his men to beat up anyone who interfered with his plans.”

“Oh my, yes. There was always some kind of brawl going on in the streets when someone crossed him.”

“I guess it wasn’t as bad as if those people had mysteriously disappeared and were never heard of again. But the injuries that came out of those brawls! It was outrageous.”

Emil tried to speak, to get them to hear him, to indignantly proclaim that he was still alive and that he could hear everything they were saying about him. But no matter how he screamed and yelled it was always the same. None of them heard him. One person even walked right through him, unheeding, unknowing of his presence. It was clammy, it was cold, and it was frightening.

Panic-stricken and horrified, Emil ran. Someone had to see him, to hear him, to know he was there! Someone had to! He was not dead. He was not dead.

He ran until he found other people, ordered them to acknowledge him, was left reeling when they did not or could not. And their words, always their words, echoed mercilessly through the air, tormenting him, haunting him.

“Emil Sande? He was a repulsive man. Oh, he seemed nice enough to your face, but I always had the sense that something just wasn’t right about him.”

“He was angry at the world. Ten to one he wasn’t honest.”

“He was stashing weapons on the side for General Santa Anna, wasn’t he? Of course he wasn’t honest.”

“I can’t believe he really believed in the cause. As long as he’s been around, what he’s cared about most is money. That’s always been obvious.”

“Say, have you heard any news about the greedy miser lately? He’s still alive, ain’t he?”

“He’s dying if he’s not dead. Davy Crockett wounded him with Jim Bowie’s knife. Men don’t survive an attack from that thing.”

“Cut down in the prime of his life. Too bad. Well, not that he ever lived a decent life anyway. He probably didn’t even know how to.”

“People like Emil Sande are born bad. You’ll never get me to believe otherwise.”

“Hear, hear.”

“Now that’s all nonsense. No one is born bad. It’s learned over time. Who knows what kind of horrible environment he grew up in.”

“Have you heard?!”

“Heard what?

“It’s about Emil Sande. He’s dead!”

“He hung on all these weeks. Well, it’s not much of a surprise that he gave up the ghost at last.”

“Maybe he’ll haunt his house and the shop. Can’t picture that one ever making it to Heaven.”

“He’ll be burning in Hell for sure. Only place his kind belong.”

“No!” Emil screamed. “I’m not in Hell. I’m not dead!”

He started awake, breathing heavily, staring up at the ceiling. He was shaking. But he was very much alive.

He rolled onto his side with a groan. What had happened to him? He remembered now that what he had dreamed was not merely a dream. Most of it had transpired during his illness. Normally he would dismiss it as delirium and nothing more. But with all sense of logic being challenged by Crockett’s ghost, he had to wonder if there was more to it than that.

Astral projection? Had his spirit truly wandered while his body lay wracked with fever? Had he witnessed how the townspeople were really talking about him? It was chilling and sadistic, particularly when they believed him dead and he was certain he wasn’t . . . before someone walked through him.

He groaned, digging a hand into his hair. Would it ever stop? Would all manner of these unsettling and unholy supernatural incidents cease and leave him be? And the reenactments of being knifed, too? Would they end? Or was this a curse he had returned with and would be forced to bear the rest of his days? Was it his punishment for the life he had lived?

The people’s thoughts on him did not surprise him much. He had always known he was widely disliked. And they certainly had no idea that he had grown up in a healthy and loving environment, until his parents had been mercilessly killed. He had never advertised his past. And he seriously doubted anyone other than Graciela even remembered them having stopped in San Antonio. So many had come and gone through the years. Why would they remember one insignificant family?

“Señor Sande?”

He looked up with a start as Paco cautiously opened the bedroom door. Nervousness and concern flickered in the boy’s eyes. “Are you alright? I heard you cry out.”

Emil shut his eyes wearily. “Yes,” he said. “I’m alright. It was nothing, Paco. Oh . . . what time is it?”

“Almost noon, Señor. When you didn’t come home, we all went to bed. We only found you were back when we started rising for the day. Anna-Lisa thought you should rest.”

Emil sat up, throwing the covers back. “I should have gotten up earlier,” he remarked. “There won’t be enough time to get everything done today.”

“I did some of it, Señor,” Paco chirped.

“You did?” Emil climbed out of the bed. “Good. Tell me what.”

Paco opened the door enough to slip inside and shut it behind him. He opened his mouth to speak but then gasped. “Señor, your arm! You’re hurt!”

Emil blinked in surprise at the reminder as he glanced at the bandaging. “It’s nothing serious,” he said.

“How did it happen, Señor?” Paco asked in genuine concern.

“Nevermind that,” Emil said, not unkindly. He had very little desire to discuss the matter; he did not want to parade his heroic deeds in front of anyone. “Just tell me about the work.”

Paco nodded obediently, although the questions were still bursting from his eyes. Running his tongue over his lips, he began to list the tasks he had completed. Emil listened while getting dressed, nodding and grunting in approval to Paco’s words.

The knock on the door brought them both to attention. Emil glanced to it. “What is it?”

“Señor Sande, there’s a Texas Ranger here,” came Anna-Lisa’s concerned voice. “He says he wants to ask you about two men who were killed in the street last night. And the Señora is with him.”

“Graciela?” Emil exclaimed. He pulled the door open, not bothering to finish tying his tie. Paco, staring in open-mouthed shock at the news of the attack, was left to his own devices as Emil brushed past.

Anna-Lisa shook her head, overwhelmed. “What has he gotten into now?” she fretted.

“He was hurt,” Paco declared. “He has a bandage all along here.” He demonstrated by pointing up and down his left forearm.

Anna-Lisa bit her lip. Moving forward slowly, she finally stopped and pressed herself against the wall near enough to the front parlor that she could hear what was taking place inside.

Paco sidled up beside her. “You’re going to listen?” he hissed in disapproval.

She shushed him. “We have to find out what he’s done now,” she said. “It may go differently than before, now that Texas is a Republic.”

Paco frowned. “Señor Sande is not a murderer.”

“That’s all a matter of opinion. Now be quiet!” Anna-Lisa ordered.

In the parlor, the Ranger was talking. “As I told the young lady, I decided I should stop and check on San Antonio while I was in the area, since it’s been one of the hot spots in the war. I discovered two men dead and a third man insisting I should see Emil Sande about it. And the Señora here, too. He said you killed those men in cold blood and injured him when he tried to stop you.”

Graciela shook her head in desperation. “I told him everything that happened,” she insisted. “But he said he has to confirm the story with you.” Worry pranced in her eyes.

Emil looked to her and back to the Ranger. “We can easily clear this up,” he said. “The fact of the matter is, those three men assaulted Graciela here in the most base and repugnant manner. By the time I stumbled across the scene, they were in the process of relieving her of her dress. I’m sure you understand what was to come next.

“I became involved because I was trying to protect a defenseless woman. Then those same men tried to murder me. I killed and injured only in self-defense—at least when it came to the first two men. Jarvis, the one who was stabbed, accidentally plunged the knife into his own body while we were struggling over it. He was attempting to stab me.”

The Ranger nodded slowly. “That’s the same story your lady friend told me,” he said. “I suppose it all checks out. I saw the torn dress too.” He shook his head. “That was a beaut.”

“Then, if you’re satisfied, I believe our business here is concluded,” Emil said.

The Ranger turned towards the door but paused. “I guess there’s no chance the two of you planned it all out because you wanted those men dead,” he mused. “Word around town is that you and that Jarvis weren’t on good terms.”

“Dig a little deeper and you’ll find that Jarvis was the one coming after me,” Emil retorted. “I would’ve left him alone if he hadn’t continued to interfere with me.”

Graciela stepped forward, her eyes flashing. “That’s right!” she snapped. “Emil was not at fault in this mess.”

In the hall, Anna-Lisa shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Is that really the same girl who has hated and reviled Señor Sande ever since his return?”

“She isn’t a bad lady,” Paco said. “When Señor Sande helped her, she would want to defend him too!”

The Ranger sighed. “I don’t have any real reason to doubt your word,” he admitted. “The character with the big headache wasn’t acting quite right. I didn’t believe him much to begin with. But you understand I had to check up on what he said. And I had to be convinced that you two are innocent of all wrong-doing.”

Graciela frowned, not caring to answer. But Emil nodded, still pleasant and calm.

“Of course,” he said. “After all, you’re paid to see that law and order is kept throughout the state.”

The Ranger nodded. “You’ll probably be getting a marshal soon,” he said. “Then maybe it’ll be easier for this town to be brought up right proper, without men hanging around to prey on the ladies.

“Well, good afternoon to you both. Señora.” He touched the brim of his hat as he headed out.

Graciela crossed to the window, watching him climb on his horse and ride away. A fist slowly clenched at her side.

Emil sauntered over to her. “Such a way to greet the new day,” he said. “Were you awakened by him pounding on your door?”

“Yes.” Graciela sighed, still studying the window. “Suddenly I was so worried about you. I wondered what would happen if he didn’t believe us.”

“It would have worked out,” Emil answered with nonchalance. “As you yourself said, I’m very influential.”

“Oh!” She spun to face him, her eyes flashing now. “Do you treat every situation like this? So smooth, so self-assured?”

“I’ve learned that’s often the best way,” Emil said. “But it is possible to get me to sober up. You saw that yourself, last night.”

Graciela turned away. “I’m sorry,” she said, the fire fading as quickly as it had come. “It’s upsetting, to be concerned for you and then find you almost making a joke about the possible danger.”

“Would you rather I had grown angry and thrown him out?”

“Of course not.” Graciela shook her head and stepped away, beginning to pace the floor. “It’s all so strange and new, consciously thinking of you as a friend. And consciously worrying about you.”

Emil nodded. “Yes, I suppose that would be odd.

“By the way, Anna-Lisa, you can stop eavesdropping now.”

Graciela’s eyes went wide as the maid stepped guiltily from her hiding place, Paco in tow. Emil did not seem surprised in the least.

Paco looked up pleadingly. “I’m sorry, Señor Sande. I didn’t think you’d done something bad. But Anna-Lisa wanted to hear.”

“I’ll let it go . . . this time,” Emil said. “But Anna-Lisa, you’re really developing quite an unhealthy habit. If you can’t control your urges to listen in on conversations, I may have no choice but to let you go next time.”

Anna-Lisa nodded, keeping her eyes fixated on the floor. “Si, Señor. I understand.”

“Good. Then go about your work, won’t you?” Emil returned. “And tell Maria to make breakfast. Or lunch, or whatever it would be now.”

Paco grinned in a bit of amusement. Anna-Lisa headed for the door. “I will tell her.”

Emil gave Paco a pointed look. The boy scampered off as well, in another direction.

Emil turned his attention back to Graciela. “You’ll stay for the meal?” he half-offered, half-asked.

“Well . . .” Graciela hesitated, debating the matter. But finally she nodded. “Alright.”

“Excellent,” Emil said. “And you’ll allow me to escort you to the dining room?”

Graciela took his arm. “Please.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse Anna-Lisa,” Emil said as they walked. “She’s quite the gossip in her own right. I wouldn’t be surprised if she stays on just hoping to find a scandal.”

“Maybe she’s concerned about you too,” Graciela suggested.

“Anna-Lisa? Pah.”

“You claimed to be unsure that Paco cared about you, but it’s quite apparent that he does,” Graciela remarked. “I might even say he has you on a pedestal.”

Emil brought her to the dining room and pulled out a chair. She sat, spreading out her skirts.

Emil sat across from her. “But Paco isn’t Anna-Lisa,” he said. “Now, I’m sure she doesn’t have me on a pedestal.”

“Perhaps not,” Graciela relented.
****
The food was soon ready and served. They ate in peace, keeping their conversation light and guarded until they were certain there was no one around to hear. Then Graciela sighed, her tone changing. She set down her knife.

“. . . Do you think that man will try to cause any more trouble for you?” she queried.

“Probably,” Emil said. “We’ve probably already got trouble, in the form of every version of the tale possible circulating through town. But we expected that much.”

Graciela nodded. “It could be bad for us both.”

“Then we’ll just have to assert the truth and stick to it no matter what,” Emil said. “The townspeople will settle down eventually, once they have a better story to turn to. And sooner or later they always do.”

Graciela resumed eating. “Is that man loyal to Jarvis?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Emil said. “He’s probably just mortified at being shown up by someone who rarely even engages in physical fights. So to save face, and to keep himself away from the hangman’s noose, he’ll make me look as bad as possible.”

“I’ve never liked brute strength,” Graciela frowned. “To me it’s often little more than a sign of moral weakness.”

“So is cowardice,” Emil came back. “And you are looking at one of the most notorious cowards in the Republic of Texas.” He took a sip of water. “What Jarvis said about me last night. . . . That’s true. I don’t want whomever my men are beating up to suddenly break away and come after me.”

“It was true,” Graciela hastened to correct him. “You’re not going to pick up such methods again, are you?”

Emil sighed. “I only called for it when someone was interfering in my affairs. I wanted to let them know to stay out of it.”

“But some of them didn’t mean to cause trouble for you,” Graciela said. “Such as Davy. It’s such a barbaric tactic, Emil. I don’t want San Antonio to be overrun by such uncivilized behavior. It will only give rise to crimes such as what happened last night.”

“I know all that.” Emil shook his head. “I don’t know what to do about it now, Graciela. You know, even the Bible says something about a time to fight, doesn’t it?”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s what the passage means,” Graciela said. “Are you trying to make excuses for yourself again?”

“I just think I should have the right to defend what’s mine,” Emil retorted.

“Even against those who don’t mean harm? Shouldn’t they be willing to listen to common sense and reason instead of a fist?”

“Oh, I suppose.” Emil drank some more of the water. “It’s like I told you, Graciela—I don’t know who I am anymore or what I should do. I know what sounds right by your way of thinking. But I also know what sounds right by what used to be my way of thinking. And I still don’t know that I can say it was wrong all of the time. My cold-hearted cynicism saved my life more than once.”

“Maybe it did,” Graciela conceded. “But in this instance, I can’t think it’s the right thing. And I’m not sure you can, either. Perhaps that is the reason for your discomfort.”

“It’s just one more thing I no longer know what to think about,” Emil grumbled. “Suddenly my whole life, my whole worldview, is being challenged by new knowledge I’ve gained. But since I don’t think all of the old knowledge is incorrect, I don’t know which way to turn. Can you imagine what that’s like?”

Graciela looked down, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t. And I know I shouldn’t try to push you. You must be under quite a bit of pressure as it is.” Slowly she raised her gaze to meet his again. “But I do think you can and will make the right decision, no matter what your arguments are to me now.”

“. . . Then this conversation is academic and nothing more,” Emil said. “Although I hope that my saving you last night hasn’t made you forget all of my faults. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m the knight in white armor.”

“I’ve hardly forgotten your faults, Emil.” Graciela hid a smile. “Your armor is scuffed and dented and perhaps even filthy in places. Actually, I don’t think you’d be caught wearing armor at all.”

“The days of such things are past,” Emil said. “It would be noisy and intrusive and call too much unwanted attention to me. I’d feel safer carrying a gun.”

“I’m sure you would.” Graciela paused. “The last weeks I’ve done a great deal of looking inside myself and trying to understand both myself and you. I’ve slowly allowed myself to recognize things about you that are different now, things I had noticed but refused or was unable to understand before. I know you’ve tried to make better decisions on other issues. That is why I can say that I think you will make the right one now, as well.

“And Emil . . . what you did last night wasn’t the act of a coward.”

Emil’s eyes flickered. “I was terrified of that knife.”

“You were nearly killed by a knife,” Graciela said. “Why wouldn’t you fear another?”

Emil ran his hand into his hair. “It just sounds so foolish.”

“There isn’t anything foolish about it,” Graciela said. “You’re thinking too much of your own pride.”

“I’m thinking of the nights I relive what happened in my dreams,” Emil said darkly. He had not meant to reveal that; it had just tumbled out when pressed. He had to get it out, to tell someone, to make them understand that he was not brave or a hero or anything like that.

Graciela stared at him in shock. “What?”

“I’m thinking of when I feel the knife going into my chest again, and when I fall back and hit the floor, knowing I’m dying. I’m thinking of when I wake up screaming and scaring all the servants half to death.” Emil shook his head. “Only children have nightmares. I’m not a child. I shouldn’t be afraid. I shouldn’t let this keep bothering me. I shouldn’t!” He slammed his hand on the edge of the table.

Graciela was silent for a long moment, so long that Emil wondered if she had been disturbed now. He looked to her, slowly, cautiously. She was debating with herself.

“Emil. I’ve had nightmares too.”

Now he was the one staring in shock. “You?” he gasped.

She nodded. “I’ve dreamt of when my family was killed. Of Davy being killed at the Alamo.

“Last night I . . . I dreamed those men didn’t let me go.”

She got up, walking around the table to the chair next to him. “It isn’t a sign of weakness,” she said in all earnestness. Sitting down, she took and gripped his hand. “It’s a sign that you’re human.”

Emil searched her eyes, stunned, baffled, unsure of what to think. “. . . Then maybe,” he said at last, “if that’s true, I’ve been trying to not be human.”

“You can’t,” Graciela said softly. “That’s what I’ve been learning above everything else—you are human, Emil. You’re not a knight in armor or a demon from Hell. You’re a man. And I’m glad.”

“Well, I’m not glad to be having those dreams,” Emil said. “Will it always be that way? Won’t it ever stop?”

“I don’t know,” Graciela admitted. “It may be different for each person.”

Emil sighed and leaned back. “. . . I had dreams about what happened to my parents too. They faded after a while, but every now and then they come back.”

Graciela nodded. “That’s how it’s been for me, as well.”

“I don’t even know why I started talking about this,” Emil said. “I didn’t want you to know.”

Graciela tilted her head to the side. “That thing you said once, about us only showing certain parts of our personalities to each person we know. You’ve started to show more of them to me.”

“. . . I suppose I have,” Emil realized. “And I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad.”

“It’s good,” said Graciela. “It’s very good.”