[September 2nd] [The Alamo (1960)] Diamond in the Rough, 14

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Diamond in the Rough, scene fourteen
Day/Theme: September 2nd - The flow of information doesn't always go both ways.
Series: The Alamo (1960 film)
Character/Pairing: Emil Sande, Graciela "Flaca", Davy Crockett, Jackson Ferris (OC)
Rating: T/PG-13


By Lucky_Ladybug

“Flaca? Flaca, can you hear me? Open your eyes, honey.”

Graciela did open her eyes. She sat up and then stood effortlessly, light as a feather and without any pain.

Wait . . . that could not be right. She should be in horrific pain. She should not be able to stand at all. And the voice that had called to her. . . . She knew that voice. She hadn’t heard it in so long. . . .

“Davy?” She looked up in awed disbelief.

“In the . . . well, not in the flesh, you know, but I’m here.” Davy was standing before her, just as she remembered him. He smiled, gently, kindly, but there was sadness in his eyes.

Graciela started towards him but stopped. “Does this mean I’m . . .” She looked back to the bed. Her body was lying there, still and silent. Emil, haunted and devastated unlike anything she had ever seen from him before, was beside her on a chair.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh, poor Emil. He did not deserve this.”

Davy came up from behind her. “You’re not dead, Flaca,” he said. “Not yet. But . . .” He hesitated. “You’re awfully close to it.”

Graciela turned to face him. “Davy, I feel so terrible about it,” she berated. “The last image I saw was how Emil looked when he realized I’d been shot.”

“He really cares about you,” Davy remarked. “I didn’t believe it at first, but even as far back as when he returned your property to you, I started to suspect. I talked to him about it when he was in the state you’re in now. He wasn’t too receptive. Maybe just ’cause it was me saying it.”

Graciela stared. “He saw you?” she gasped. “Does he remember that?”

“He remembers,” Davy said. “Actually, he’s seen me several times since then. Neither of us can figure out why.”

“He never told me,” Graciela said softly.

“He didn’t tell anyone except Father Fuentes, and that was only because it was dragged out of him,” Davy said. “He didn’t want to believe it was real. I think he thought he was going crazy.”

“Can he see or hear us now?” Graciela wondered.

“I don’t think so.” Davy looked to Emil as he stroked Graciela’s hair. “He’s been really upset over all this since it happened. He’s never seen me when he’s awfully worked up. And he’d probably be looking around if he could hear us at all.”

Graciela walked to his side. “Emil?” she called. She tried to rest her hand on his shoulder, without much success. And Emil did not so much as stir at the supernatural touch. Graciela’s hopes sank. “Oh, Emil, I’m so sorry.”

She turned to Davy again, guilt-stricken. “. . . Davy, I . . . I don’t know what you must think of me,” she stammered. “I wanted so much to see you again, and I’m . . . I’m very happy to see you now, but . . .” She glanced back at Emil. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Davy soothed. “This isn’t a good time to have a big reunion.”

“I . . . I’ve never seen Emil like this before,” Graciela whispered. “I wonder if this is how he was when his parents were killed.”

“. . . It might be worse,” Davy said slowly, “since this isn’t the first time someone he cares about has been so near death. He sounds like he’s getting so he’s not sure how to deal with it. He lost his temper when Father Fuentes was here a while ago.”

“I heard some of that,” Graciela said. “Davy, I didn’t want to be the cause of any more suffering for him! And he’s going through such a serious crisis of faith. . . .”

“Maybe it’ll turn out alright in the end,” Davy said. “Maybe he’ll find his faith.”

“And if I die?” Graciela stared at Emil. “I’m afraid he will lose all heart. I’m afraid he will close himself off from everyone again. I don’t think he will slip back to his old ways, but he . . . he might become more alone than ever.”

“Now, I don’t think the townspeople would let him,” Davy said. “Or Paco, either. Emil’s made some big steps. A lot of the people want him to be one of them now. And it looks like Paco’s cared about him for years. He’d make it through, Flaca.”

Graciela looked at her body once more. It was so indescribably eerie and unreal, but she could not refrain from returning her gaze time and again.

“. . . I don’t want to die, Davy,” she said softly. “And yet . . . there is no pain here. At least, not physical pain. The ache I feel is for Emil.”

“That’s how it works here,” Davy said.

“Are you here to guide me out of this life?” Graciela was not sure how she felt about that. If she was to die, there was little she could do about it. And yet, it was not in her nature to give up. She still wanted to fight to live.

. . . Did she really, though? Or would these ties to mortality fade and she would want to go with Davy? She had wanted to be with him again for so long. She had thought she would never have the chance, nor to have to make the choice between him and Emil. That had seemed impossible. Now that choice seemed to be before her. And, as she had told Anita, she was deeply conflicted.

She cared about Davy very much. But they had not known each other very long. It had been long enough that she had known she wanted to know him better, though. And their views were a lot more the same on things that she and Emil did not agree on.

Oh, Emil. How she had debated and pondered and agonized over what her feelings were for him! She had only really come to know him in the months and weeks since his recovery. And he was such a contrast with her, even considering the changes he had been making to his life. He had no interest in the rebellion raging around them. And he was so torn on belief in God.

If she had a choice and could determine to go back to him, would it be out of love? Or would it be more out of worry and fear of what he would do if she died?

Davy was looking at her, thoughtful, not having answered her question. As she at last looked to him, he spoke.

“I’m not a guide, Flaca. I’m just here because I want to be here for you right now. And it looks like you’re having some deep thoughts.”

“Yes.” Graciela shook her head. “Suddenly I’m not sure whether to stay or go, if I have that choice.”

“I think you might have it, if you keep fighting,” Davy said. “I can’t deny that I’d be more than happy for you to come with me, but . . . well, it’s not up to me to say if that’d be the best thing for you or not.”

“And I’m not sure I can decide,” Graciela said. “Emil . . . he’s so tortured. But I don’t want to go back to him out of obligation or concern.”

“You wouldn’t have to go back for him, Flaca,” Davy said. “It could just be for you. It should be for you, if you decide that. You’ve got so much good you could still do, so many things you could experience. . . .”

“Or I could go with you and we could continue becoming acquainted,” Graciela said.

Davy nodded. “That we could.” He looked into her eyes. “I’ve missed you, Flaca. I’ve seen you, but it’s not like being able to talk to you.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Graciela. “It’s the same way it is now, when I can’t speak to Emil.”

“You’ve gotten really fond of him.”

“I have. I was so happy and proud tonight, when he stood before the townspeople so humbled. Now he will probably remember this night only with bitterness and sorrow.”

Emil’s sudden, anguished prayer cut off Graciela’s words and chilled her to the core as his words met her ears. She stepped closer to him as he appealed to God, his heartbroken grief and conflict so obvious in every aspect of his being. Graciela was pierced. She fell to her knees, reaching for Emil although she knew she could not touch him.

“Emil! Emil, I’m here. I’m right here.” She shuddered and trembled, crying although the tears did not come, trying to embrace him although she only passed through.

Davy watched with a deeply-felt melancholia. He knew very well what her feelings were for Emil. And he knew what Emil’s feelings were for her. There was only one choice for her to make, if any at all.

But he was telling the truth, that he did not know if she could make it. She might not survive the night.
****
Emil looked up when the door opened. His eyes were red and sore and he felt numb again, moreso than before. When he saw that it was Jackson Ferris entering the room, he could not even work up enough strength to be angry.

“Emil?”

“Back to a first-name basis, I see,” Emil grunted. “Now that you aren’t addressing the good people of San Antonio in order to discredit me.”

Ferris took off his hat. “I deserve that,” he said.

“You had your part in what happened to Graciela tonight.” Emil rested his hand on the bed. He might blame himself most of all, but he certainly did not hold Ferris as an innocent party in the affair.

“How is she?” Ferris asked.

“They don’t think she’ll live.” The words were bitter and filled with pain. Emil was not as numb as he felt.

Ferris exhaled, heavily. “Emil, I . . . want you to know that I’m getting out of town,” he said. “I won’t try any more to take it away from you.”

“Well, thank you for small favors.” Emil leaned back in the chair, running his hands down his face. “Ferris . . . I’ll give you some advice. Cut out the shady practices. It only hurts everyone. And if you don’t care about everyone, as I haven’t, just remember that it comes back to hurt you most of all.”

Ferris considered his words and slowly nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” He hesitated again. “Emil . . . I’m sorry. I had no idea anything like this would happen.”

“I should’ve killed Brand that night along with the others,” Emil muttered. “He’d be dead if I’d had the other bullet. Instead, all I could do with him was to render him unconscious.”

“You couldn’t have killed him after that,” Ferris said. “Not unless he gave you more trouble. You never were a cold-blooded murderer, Emil. I guess I’m not, either.”

“No, you’re not. And I’m not.” Emil leaned forward. “Maybe I should have been.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, how do you know what I mean?” Emil grumbled.

Ferris shrugged sadly and turned to leave. “. . . Let me know if she gets better,” he requested.

“You have ways of hearing things,” Emil said. “I wouldn’t know where to reach you.”

“Send it to New Orleans,” Ferris said. “I still go there sometimes. I’ve got customers and investments down there.”

“I’m surprised they still let you in,” Emil said dryly. “After what we did to the place.”

Ferris chuckled, but it was hollow. “Yeah. Well, some people will agree to almost anything to make a little money.”

“I know.”

Ferris nodded and replaced his hat. “I’d better get out of here.”

“You’d better.”

“Goodbye, Emil.”

“Goodbye.”

The door shut quietly as Ferris departed. Emil stood, immediately restless. He paced the room, his hair and clothes a wild, rumpled mess.

The hours had dragged on almost unbearably. There was very little he felt like doing. A couple of times he had picked up a Bible on an end table, but had barely been able to concentrate on so much as one verse. Sleep was impossible; eating sounded ludicrous. And so the cycle went on. He would sit by Graciela for a while until he could not stand it. Then he would get up and pace. When he wore himself out it was back to the chair.

Paco returned every little while, worried about him as well as Graciela. The last time, Emil had told Paco to try to get some sleep, but he had no idea if that was what the kid was doing.

He collapsed back in the chair. He had always been good at biding his time and waiting when a business deal was at stake. But trying to wait in a case like this, fearing Graciela’s death and being helpless to either prevent it or do anything for her, was absolute agony.

His old acquaintances would scarcely recognize him now. He had always been the calm, collected, smooth-talking one. Tonight he looked and felt anything but. He leaned back, digging his fingers into his hair.
****
Just as Emil had experienced, there were times when Graciela seemed to be out of her body and conversing with Davy and times when she was entirely unaware of everything happening around her.

There was always an almost irresistible pull on her spirit, as though another world and place were beckoning to her. Part of her wanted to follow it, to find out where it led. She could feel that it was warm and good and comprised of love.

But something always held her back, some intangible string or rope that bound her to this room, this bed, this body. She could not leave. If she did, she had the feeling that she would never get back. And that was unacceptable.

It was only towards morning when the tug finally lessened. Davy seemed to sense it; he relaxed, although his eyes were still both sad and happy.

“You’re going to make it, Flaca,” he told her. “This is probably where we part ways.”

Graciela started and looked to him. “You’re leaving, Davy?!”

“No, but I don’t know if you’ll be able to see me anymore,” Davy said.

“I don’t want that,” Graciela frowned.

“Oh, you’ll be so busy you won’t miss me much,” Davy said.

“I will always miss you,” Graciela said. “You are a dear friend.”

“Yeah.” Davy smiled. “Same here.

“But I think we both know that Emil Sande means something to you besides being a friend. You can’t leave him like this and you wouldn’t want to.”

Graciela’s eyes flickered, but she nodded. Davy was right. She knew he was right and she had known a long time ago.

“Even if that wasn’t true, I couldn’t leave,” she said. “I want to live. That pull I have been feeling. Was that death?”

“Yep. And you resisted it not even fully knowing that. You didn’t want to go.” Davy drew Graciela close in a gentle farewell hug. “Now you get back there and comfort that old rascal.”

Graciela returned the embrace. It was bittersweet all around. But as Davy released her, and as she stepped back, she knew she had made the right decision.

“Goodbye, Davy,” she said.

“See you around, Flaca,” he returned.
****
It was strange to suddenly be lying down, to feel the most horrible pain in her back and right side. She drew a quick, gasping breath as her eyes slowly opened.

At her side, Emil jumped a mile. “Graciela?!” he cried, clearly in disbelief. He leaned over the bed, not daring to believe or hope. “Is . . . is this real? It’s not a cruel joke or a dream?”

She smiled as he came into focus. Weakly she reached up, touching his cheek. “It’s real,” she said. “I’m here, Emil. I won’t leave.”

“Graciela. . . .” Emil took her hand in his, trembling, still trying to comprehend. “Oh Graciela, this night has just been Hell. The doctor thought you were dying. I didn’t know what to think, what to do. . . .”

“I know,” Graciela told him. She did not have much strength at the moment, but she tried to gently squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry, Emil. I heard some of what you were saying and I saw how devastated you were. I didn’t want to put you through that, especially after what happened to your parents. . . .”

“Now, it wasn’t your fault,” Emil soothed. “You couldn’t help what happened. Save your strength and I’ll call the doctor.”

Graciela nodded but suddenly gripped tighter at his hand. “Emil?”

He paused, looking to her. “What is it?” he asked in concern.

“The way you spoke just now. Emil . . . I heard some of what you said last night. You think it’s your fault that I was shot?”

“Well . . .” Cornered, Emil’s shoulders slumped. “It’s true, isn’t it?” His voice was tinged with bitterness. “If we hadn’t started running into each other, and if I hadn’t wanted to figure out if you betrayed me to get back at me, we wouldn’t have started getting close. And maybe then Jarvis and his gang wouldn’t have targeted you. Maybe you never would have met Brand.”

“But I never would have truly known you, either,” Graciela said softly. “I wouldn’t trade that, even if it did mean I wouldn’t have been shot.”

Emil stared. “You really mean that?”

“Yes, Emil Sande, I do. And I hope that your anguish over my being hurt is the only reason why you would ever regret it.”

“It is,” Emil said emphatically. “Of course it is!”

Graciela smiled.

Emil pulled back, seeing how weary she looked against the pillows. “Is there something I can get you?” he wanted to know.

Graciela’s reply was instantaneous. “You’ve already given it. And I’ve known it for a long time. I also know that I return it, with all my heart.” She looked up at him. “Emil . . . I love you.”

Emil gaped at her in amazement and awe, words lost to him.

Graciela looked mischievous. “Did you think I still despised you?”

That snapped him to. “No,” he exclaimed. “No, of course not.” He smirked, shakily. “I’m just surprised to hear you actually say it. Or maybe I’m more surprised to hear myself say it—me, Emil Sande, ruthless and uncaring as I am . . . but I love you, too.” He bent down, kissing her softly.

This time she returned it. “Well . . . that wasn’t thoroughly repulsive,” she whispered, still with the mischievous gleam.

Emil grinned at the good-natured echo of the last time he had kissed her. “At least that’s something,” he echoed in return.

He gazed at her, still not fully able to process it. So many hours . . . so many tortured words, thoughts . . . prayers. . . .

Graciela looked at him curiously. “What are you thinking, Emil?”

Emil looked back, debating his response. He could say something light, which was certainly a strong urge. It was in his nature, and anyway, right now he felt joy beyond anything he had felt before. Graciela would be alright. He was convinced of it now.

But there was another part of him that was reeling, confused, still trying to sort through his whirlwind of emotions. Would he give God any credit for this? Or would he attribute it to Graciela’s stubborn spirit?

Maybe it was a combination of both.

He would not have considered it in the past, but it was a possibility now, he supposed. Perhaps God had seen fit to spare her because of her beautiful soul. Surely the reason had nothing to do with him, but he was joyous and thankful anyway.

“. . . I’m wondering whether Father Fuentes will have a new addition to his congregation any time soon,” he said at last.

Graciela stared at him in awed amazement. “Then you might possibly be starting to believe . . . ?”

“Possibly,” Emil said. “I’ve been torn between believing that there is a God and believing that He wants nothing to do with me if there is.”

Graciela smiled. “There is a God, and He does want something to do with you, Emil. And maybe someday you will be able to fully believe that.”

“Maybe someday. If I can forgive myself first.”

“We are often our own worst condemners,” Graciela said.

“I suppose.”

Abruptly Emil straightened. “What am I doing?” he berated. “I’m supposed to be getting the doctor.”

Graciela leaned into the pillows, amused. “I’m alright, Emil. The doctor can wait.”

“No, I should get him.” Emil headed for the door but paused and looked back. “Graciela, I . . . I know this is probably far from a good time to ask, but . . . if I asked you to marry me again, what would you say?”

“That you should wait and see what kind of a patient I am before you ask,” Graciela said, the mischievous twinkle back in her eye.

“It wouldn’t change my mind,” Emil returned. “I imagine I’ve seen you in every kind of mood imaginable by now, even your fits.”

“Then I would say Yes,” Graciela said softly. “And not just because it sounds logical or practical. I want it with all of my heart.”

Emil brightened. “Then consider yourself asked,” he said. “And we should set the date as soon as you’re well again.”

Graciela weakly shook her head. “Emil, you scoundrel,” she said. “You have always proposed to me in the strangest of ways.”

“Well.” Emil gave a sweeping mock bow. “I see no reason why everything has to change. Do you?”

At last Graciela allowed the sneaking smile. “I suppose not.” And as Emil departed, calling jubilantly for the doctor, she turned her head to the side and added, “I wouldn’t want it to, anyway.”