[August 31st] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 13

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene thirteen
Day/Theme: August 31st - Life goes on, and you don't touch tigers
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Emil Sande, Graciela "Flaca", Jackson Ferris (OC), Father Fuentes (OC), Paco (OC), assorted townspeople
Rating: T/PG-13


By Lucky_Ladybug

The town square was the site Ferris had chosen for his rally. By nightfall the residents of San Antonio, and a few curious visitors, had gathered in droves. This was the most excitement that had been right in their town for a while. They each wanted a piece of it.

Graciela’s stomach was churning as she arrived. By the combined light of the moon and the torches, she scanned the crowd for any sign of Emil. If he was there yet, she could not see him. And Ferris had already started in with his speech, verbally ripping Emil’s character up one side and down the other.

Graciela clenched her teeth as she listened. She herself had said and thought many of the things Ferris was saying. The difference was, she had honestly believed them. Ferris knew that Emil had changed, that he was a good man. He just did not care. He wanted Emil gone no matter how many lies he had to spread and how many hateful feelings he had to stir up.

And how many of the people would believe him? Some of them were already murmuring their assent. Some were loudly proclaiming it.

What if they became the majority? Would they run Emil out of town? He would never stand for it. He would fight. And if that happened, he might be killed.

It was time for Graciela to give voice to what she knew. If Emil would not come and stand up for himself, she would do it for him. And in any case, she wanted to be a witness in his defense.

“You’re a liar!” she screamed.

Ferris, and several people near Graciela, all turned to look. “Who said that?” Ferris demanded.

“I did!” Graciela declared, stepping forward. “Señor Ferris, you are trying to turn these people against Emil because you want San Antonio for yourself! And I don’t doubt that you would be a far greater evil for this town than Emil ever was.”

Ferris’s lip curled. “Señorita, you don’t have any proof for what you’re saying,” he said. “And most of the town knows you’ve been running with Sande for weeks. How could anyone here trust your words?”

“I have been here far longer than you,” Graciela said. “I know these people and they know me. I have always been honest with them. And that is why I am trusting these good people to recognize you for what you are—a teller of lies, a gambler, and a cheat!”

She walked forward through a pathway that was quickly opened for her. The crowd’s surprise and confusion was mostly unintelligible words, but their eyes spoke loud and clear. Graciela looked out on them as she came to stand in front of the wooden platform Ferris was using.

“Emil Sande has done many terrible things, it’s true,” she said. “He does not deny this now. But he has been turning his life around! You should give him your highest admiration and praise. It takes a courageous man to set about turning his back on ideas and philosophies he has held for years, once he realizes there is a better way.

“Jackson Ferris is aware of this! Emil has spoken to him more than once and Señor Ferris has made it clear that he knows Emil no longer has the desire to participate in anything that is not legal and upright. He could not care less, unlike what he has been telling you! He is not the honest, God-fearing man he wants you to believe he is. And he knows perfectly well how he first came to meet Emil. They were involved in many business dealings together in New Orleans. Perhaps someone who has been to New Orleans will have heard of it.” She looked back and forth among the crowd, seeking a knowing gaze.

Far in the back, one hand raised. “That’s right!” an unknown man exclaimed. “I was in New Orleans on business. I heard both of their names mentioned in connection with some kind of gambling shenanigans they pulled!”

Graciela cast a quick glance at Ferris. He was turning purple.

“Lies!” he roared, pointing an accusing finger into the throng. “Sande paid off some of you to make me look bad! He’ll never change. He’s as filthy and rotten as the day is long.”

“That isn’t true!” a woman exclaimed now. “He has been changing. I’ve noticed it. So have a lot of us who tended to him after he was nearly skewered! I’d rather have him around than you.”

A familiar boy ran forward. “Señor Sande is a good man!” Paco declared. “Even before the knife, he wasn’t as bad as some people say.”

Graciela smiled. And as the crowd parted farther, allowing other people to move ahead and be seen, her eyes widened.

Emil was standing near the back, silent, looking overwhelmed and touched even amid the heavy shadows of night. And, drawing a deep breath, he began to walk towards the platform.

“Paco is too generous,” he said as he took off his hat. “There were many things he never knew. And I’m content to keep it that way, at least for now.

“Yes, I’ve done many treacherous things. Some of them Ferris here mentioned. Others . . . well, I honestly can’t recall ever doing some of those. Whether that’s because my memory is bad or his is, I couldn’t say.” He smirked and the people laughed. Ferris fumed.

“You’re lying, Sande!” he declared, jumping down from the platform as he grabbed for the other man. Emil sidestepped him, climbing onto the platform instead.

“Our friend Mr. Ferris doesn’t seem to want me to speak,” he remarked.

“Can you blame him?” came one voice from among the spectators.

“No, I suppose I can’t,” Emil said without missing a beat. “And yet, if he’s speaking the truth, why should it bother him so much? Anything I could say can’t erase what is.”

A low murmur arose. Emil had planted some doubt.

“Yeah!” another guy exclaimed. “Tell us that, Ferris!”

Ferris looked in the direction of the voice, desperately grasping for a reply. “I . . . I just don’t want all of you to waste your time listening to such pointless garbage,” he stammered.

“They’re free to leave if they want to,” Emil said. “It looks like they want to stay.” Still gripping the brim of his hat in his hands, he continued.

“Mr. Ferris is right that I’ve wronged you, probably all of you, at one time or another. I won’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t want to presume on anyone like that.

“I only ask that you don’t believe everything Mr. Ferris is telling you. Stop and think; consider his behavior. He is much the same as I was. And I do emphasize ‘was’. I know it’s surely hard for you to believe me, about Ferris or myself or anything else, but . . .” Emil met Graciela’s joyous and proud gaze. “. . . I am not that man now. I don’t want to be. I want to be honest like the rest of you. I’m attempting to start by confessing my wrong deeds, and by telling all of you, in complete sincerity, how sorry I am.” He bowed his head. “I’ll take what comes.”

“More lies!” Ferris snarled. “You can’t believe a word he says. You know how sneaky and cunning he is.”

For a moment there was complete silence. No one dared move, especially Emil.

But then came the sound of one person clapping. Soon another joined in, and a third, until a great majority of the crowd was applauding their merchant. Ferris stumbled to the side, gaping, unable to believe what he was witnessing.

“No!” he cried. “No, you can’t believe him! He’s out to hurt you. Can’t you see?! Fools, you’re all fools!”

Graciela leaped onto the platform, enfolding Emil in a tight and warm embrace. Stunned, he drew his arms around her in turn.

“Emil . . . you truly have changed,” Graciela whispered. “The town is on your side. And you know that I am.”

“I should have known you’d come here to defend me,” Emil told her. “Even if they listened to me, it’s probably just because you softened them up first.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Graciela said. “Your words were powerful, far more than anything I could say.”

“Now, Crockett wanted you to be a public speaker,” Emil said. “He knew you had a talent for it.” He glanced into the quieting crowd. “And as for what I said . . . well, you have Father Fuentes to thank for that.”

Graciela blinked. “You spoke with him today?”

Emil nodded. “He thought I should try to get through to the crowd this way instead of how I wanted it. I struggled with it for a long time. I didn’t want to do it. But . . . it looks like he was right.”

“I still give credit to you,” Graciela said. “You didn’t have to listen.”

Ferris watched them with hatred burning in his eyes. And then, quietly, almost imperceptibly, another man sidled up to him, unnoticed by the crowd. “Do you still want to get even with Sande?” he asked.

Ferris turned, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

The newcomer sneered. A gun gleamed in the night. “All you have to do is let me shoot. In all the confusion, no one will know who did it.”

Ferris’s jaw dropped. “Who are you?! You’re out of your mind! I wanted to destroy Sande’s reputation; I’ll admit that. But I didn’t want anyone to be killed!”

“Sande killed two acquaintances of mine,” was the reply. “I’m going to pay him back.” He brought the weapon in line with the platform.

Ferris stared in horror. “No! Don’t!” He lunged, but not soon enough. The gun fired.

A stunned hush fell over the crowd. Graciela stiffened, her eyes widening in pain. “Emil . . .” She looked up at him, confused, agonized. Her shaking hands clutched at his shoulders and then his arms as she sank down.

Emil stared, disbelieving, uncomprehending. His blood ran cold. He dropped with her, keeping hold of her limp body as he fell to his knees. Her eyes were already closed. Emil took a hand away from her back. It was stained crimson.

“She’s been shot!” he yelled. “Don’t just stand there—help her! Get the doctor now!”

Paco snapped to, dashing into the crowd. The town doctor, having heard Emil’s frantic announcement, was weaving his way forward. Several others were staring at the ground nearby, where Ferris was desperately restraining another man.

“This man fired the gun!” Ferris cried. “I don’t know who he is.”

“. . . I do,” someone spoke up from behind him. “Nelson Brand. He worked with a man named Jarvis.”

Father Fuentes was close enough to hear. He looked from the people hauling Brand to his feet to the platform where Doc Brookstone was tending to Graciela. Emil stood by, his hands red with her blood, his eyes blank.

“The Lord have mercy,” Father Fuentes whispered.
****
Emil had been in the doctor’s waiting room for he did not know how long. He barely remembered going there, or washing his hands, or the nurse asking him if he needed anything. He had been sitting in one of the chairs, leaning forward and gazing at the floor without seeing it. All he could see, over and over, was Graciela’s expression when she had been shot.

Brand had done it. The one man who had survived the attempted rape on Graciela had returned to exact vengeance. He had done the worst thing he possibly could have. He had chosen Graciela on purpose, knowing that shooting Emil would not be good enough.

Ferris had tried to stop him. Under other circumstances Emil might have been surprised. Right now he was too shaken and numb to really process it.

The sound of a door opening was about the only thing that could penetrate the fog over his mind. He jerked up, looking to Doctor Brookstone as he emerged. “Well?” he demanded.

The physician sighed, shaking his head. “I removed the bullet and patched her up as best as I could. But Emil . . .” He regarded the merchant with kindness and sorrow and regret. “I’m afraid you can’t expect too much.”

Emil got to his feet. “Well, how bad is she?” he demanded. “What did the bullet hit? If she needs some expensive kind of surgery, I’ll pay for it. I’ll pay whatever it costs!”

“Emil . . .” Brookstone laid a hand on Emil’s shoulder. “Money isn’t the problem. Actually, the one thing she’s lucky on is that the bullet didn’t hit anything vital. But she’s lost so much blood. She’s very weak and frail. I don’t know how long she can last.”

Emil pulled away. “She’s strong,” he retorted. “She won’t let this beat her. She won’t die!”

Brookstone exhaled. It was clear from his manner and his sad eyes that he believed there was no hope. He was trying to be gentle, but he could not disguise what he felt was the truth. “. . . Do you want to see her?” he asked, quietly. What he was not saying was, It will probably be the last time.

Emil was pierced by those unspoken words anyway. “Yes,” he said. “Of course I want to see her!”

Brookstone nodded and stepped aside, gesturing to the other room. “She’s in there, unconscious. Please be quiet, Emil. The last thing she needs is an upset.”

Emil crossed to the door and reached for the handle. “Doctor.” He glanced back. “You were certain I would die too, weren’t you?”

Brookstone’s eyes flickered in surprise. “I was,” he admitted.

“And I didn’t.” Without waiting for a reply, Emil stepped into the other room.

The sight of Graciela so pale and hurt in the bed was enough to freeze his veins all over again. He walked to the chair, still numb, still uncomprehending.

This wasn’t real. It was a nightmare, another of those blasted dreams that he kept waking up from when he frightened the servants. He would wake up from this one, too. He had fallen asleep at the shop, hadn’t he? He’d fallen asleep while debating over what to do at the rally. He’d probably slept through the whole thing. And he would wake up with Graciela there, just like before.

He reached for her hand, so limp and motionless on top of the quilt. The feel of it was worse than a knife in his chest. He could pretend all he wanted that this was a bad dream, but it was real. He knew it was real. He collapsed into the chair, gently holding the hand.

“Graciela,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Emil?”

He looked up with a start at the concerned voice of Father Fuentes. Something within him snapped.

“The truth will set me free!” he spat. “That’s what you said, isn’t it, Father?! How has it done anything for me? If it hadn’t been for that rally, Graciela wouldn’t have been hurt! She wouldn’t be lying here like this! She would be healthy and safe!”

Father Fuentes’ eyes filled with pain. “Perhaps,” he said. “But Nelson Brand would have still been intent on hurting her to get at you. Sooner or later, he would have tried.”

“And maybe I would have been more alert another time,” Emil said. “He attacked because of the crowd, because he thought he’d get away with it!”

“Thanks to Jackson Ferris, he won’t.”

“That’s a small consolation. It doesn’t change this!” Emil laid Graciela’s hand back on the bed. “It doesn’t change that someone else I love is being forcibly taken from me!”

Father Fuentes looked at this heartbroken, troubled man, the man he had helped look after and tend to while he was slowly regaining his life and his strength. The anguish of a lifetime was reflected in Emil Sande’s eyes now.

“Emil, surely you don’t think God is deliberately doing this to you,” he said.

“Well, if He isn’t, He certainly isn’t helping,” Emil retorted.

“It’s because of God that Graciela is still alive right now,” Father Fuentes said.

“It’s because she’s stronger than the doctor’s predictions,” Emil growled.

He got up from the chair, pacing the room like a wildcat. “Father, I’d understand if I was to be punished for what I’ve done. I deserve that. But what kind of justice could there possibly be in making this innocent woman—this innocent, God-fearing woman, I might add!—suffer for it? That was Brand’s idea of justice because I had to kill two men in self-defense. And if it’s God’s idea of justice because of the life I’ve led, then forgive me, Father, but I see no reason why I should be loyal to Him!”

“Emil.” Father Fuentes watched him rant and rave, his heart aching for his tortured, tormented soul. “This isn’t God’s idea of justice. God loves mankind; He doesn’t torture them. Since the dawn of time, bad things have happened to good people. It’s part of the world we live in.”

“What good is God if He can’t prevent at least some of it?” Emil snarled.

“Miracles happen every day, Emil. Sometimes crises are averted. But other times . . .” He heaved a sad sigh. “Other times they are not. If there were no trials in life, we would never grow.”

“Alright, so what’s the purpose of this trial?” Emil shot back. “Graciela didn’t need this!”

Father Fuentes shook his head. “I don’t have the answer, Emil.”

“Well, I do.” Emil continued to pace. “This is pointless suffering. There’s no logic, no sense, behind this.”

“Graciela is probably feeling no pain right now,” Father Fuentes said softly. “You are suffering worse than she. Remember what I told you, my son—there is no way to care about people without being hurt. When you truly love someone, their pain becomes yours. You can’t be happy if they are not.”

“I already know all that, Father. Why do you think I stopped caring?” Emil paused at the window, resting his arm and clenched fist against the wall next to it. “I stopped because it was easier, because I was tired of feeling the pain. I stopped because I couldn’t find any point to loving when you only lose it all anyway.”

“Love is never lost, Emil. That’s the glorious thing about it. True love can’t be stopped by pain or by death or by anything else.”

Emil stared blankly out at the night. “It’s a nice thing to believe,” he said. “I only hope for your sake that you won’t wake up one day and find that it’s all a lie.”

“It isn’t.” Father Fuentes looked to Graciela lying in the bed. “I will pray for her. And for you, as well.”

“Don’t bother praying for me, Father,” Emil replied. “Give all of it to Graciela. She needs it more.”

“Her body is hurt,” Father Fuentes said. “Not her soul.” He regarded Emil with compassion. “And do you think she would want to wake up and discover you in this state?”

Emil drew a shuddering breath. “Of course she wouldn’t. But she also wouldn’t want me to be untrue to myself. And Father, I can’t lie. I can’t feel good about this. I could never sit here and piously accept this as some sort of honorable trial to pass through. I could never be that unfeeling. And if that makes me some kind of heathen heretic, then so be it.”

Father Fuentes nodded. “Of course, Emil, no one would expect you to be something you are not. I will pray that you’ll be able to find some peace and understanding, no matter what the outcome here tonight.”
****
Long after Father Fuentes departed, sensing Emil’s need to be alone for a while, Emil sat next to Graciela. He gazed at her silent form, gently brushing stray hairs away from her face, pulling up the quilt around her, slipping her arm under it.

“I wonder what kind of patient you’ll be,” he mused, fighting to keep his quaking voice steady, fighting to retrieve his smooth-talking shield.

Fighting to pretend that she was going to be alright.

“Not difficult, surely. Oh, not Graciela. You’ll be a perfect and proper lady. That’s what you told me when we were children, with all the indignation you could muster. Do you remember that?” He chuckled. “But you still romped and played rough with me, even tumbling down that hill. Your mother was in horror.”

He paused in the middle of stroking her hair. “You said we’d always be friends. Always. . . . That’s a long time. You meant it then, but children so often exaggerate.

“You continued to mean it, though, didn’t you? You were always loyal to that playful boy.

“I didn’t want to leave you when we were pulling out. I asked my father why we couldn’t stay in San Antonio. He said the party was heading farther West and that’s where we needed to go.

“I wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed.”

His voice broke, all pretense fading into the lonely night. “Graciela, please don’t leave me,” he rasped. “I’m selfish, but I couldn’t bear to let you go when I thought Crockett was going to take you away. And I can’t bear to let you go any more now. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t . . .”

He shut his eyes tightly, no longer able to bear her still and silent face. And somehow, words began pouring from his lips, words of desperation and heartache and sorrow. Words of a deeply buried, struggling faith, still trying to break forth.

“Dear God in Heaven. . . .

“I . . . I’m not even worthy to address You. And I can’t imagine You want to hear from me, either. I haven’t prayed in years. I haven’t wanted to. I’ve felt betrayed and abandoned ever since my parents were killed.

“And I’ve made such a mess of my life! I’ve hurt other people for years as I tried to just live for myself. Oh, if there really is anything after death, and my parents have seen what I’ve done . . . !” He shook his head. “Then they’re the ones I’ve probably hurt more than anyone else. And they’re the ones I never wanted to hurt.

“Why was my life spared? Why was it spared then, when I only survived to cause so much damage? Why was it spared now, when I’ve tried to change my life around but have indirectly caused the near-destruction of another life?

“Graciela is dying. She wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been for that rally. No, if it hadn’t been for coming to know me. She wouldn’t have stood up for me then. She wouldn’t have been on that platform. Nelson Brand wouldn’t have even wanted to shoot her. That mess several weeks ago wouldn’t have happened at all. So now Graciela is teetering between life and death because of me!

“But . . . but she loves You. She’s always been faithful, unlike me. And she’s so young. She doesn’t deserve to die. She deserves to live!

“I know I’m selfish; I can’t let her go. But I know she doesn’t want to go, either. Please don’t take her. Please let her live. Please . . . ! Take me if a price has to be paid. Not Graciela.”

That wouldn’t help, either. He was doing the same thing Graciela had when she had pleaded for his life from Jarvis. It would break Graciela’s heart if she recovered and found him dead. But he did not understand why he lived on while far better people were going on ahead.

He leaned forward in the chair, digging his hands into his hair. His shoulders shook as he cried.

The door opened, slowly, quietly. Paco peered into the room. He had come wanting to see how both Graciela and Emil were faring. But at the sight of Emil’s heartbroken breakdown, Paco’s own eyes filled with tears. He started to let the door shut again. He did not want to bother his employer now.

Hearing the sound, Emil looked up with a jerk. Paco froze. For a moment they looked at each other, neither sure how to react or what to do.

At last Paco ran his tongue over his lips. “I’m sorry, Señor Sande,” he whispered. “I . . . I didn’t mean to.”

Emil drew a shaking breath. “Come here, Paco,” he said, beckoning to the kid.

Obediently Paco entered the room, going to Emil’s side. “. . . Is she going to die?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Emil admitted in despair. “I just don’t know.”

“I’m praying for her, Señor Sande,” Paco said.

Emil just nodded, blankly. “You do that.”

Hesitant at first, Paco finally reached out, laying his hand on Emil’s shoulder. Emil started, looking up at him in surprise. But then, slowly, Emil drew an arm around the boy.

It was not at all what Paco had expected. Taking another chance, he moved in closer and hugged Emil around the neck. Emil allowed it and accepted it, finally clutching the kid in a desperate, agonized embrace.

The tears fell from Paco’s eyes. Emil acted as though Paco was his last line to sanity. It was a heavy responsibility, and Paco was afraid. But he was certainly willing to try.