SERGEANT GARCIA: DUMBEST MAN IN LOS ANGELES?
Disclaimer: Not mine. A big mouse with deep pockets own these characters.
Rating: G
Summary: Is Sergeant Garcia truly the dumbest man in Los Angeles?
ZZZ
It was another night of patrol for him. The young ones were off celebrating the fact it was not their assignment, but he was content. He enjoyed it, and often volunteered for night patrol. However, he understood the others' feelings, although he suspected they would not understand his. When he had been their age, he had hated night-sentry duty. For most people, including soldiers, the falling of the sun signaled a time for gambling, talking, drinking--usually at the tavern--and flirting. He remembered well the many ladies he had flirted with as a young man. Works of beauty they had been.
Now, he was an old man. Night meant something different to him. Oh, he would still gamble, talk, drink, and flirt, but he often enjoyed the silence of the day's end more than anything. While guarding the walls of Los Angeles, with only himself as company, he could reflect upon recent events and dream of days when life in this wonderful, hard territory would be different.
His late night thoughts had helped him piece together many half-formed ideas into whole plans that he could follow. His last night of sentry duty had brought to his mind a desire that had startled him; he wanted to retire. As a child, he had yearned to be a soldier, fantasized about helping people and being the hero. Shaking his head, he thought of the reality that had turned out to be so different from those boyhood flights of fancy. Instead of being a hero, he was often seen as a villain. The sight of his uniform inspired fear, not confidence, in the people.
Reaching the end of the plaza, he turned. He caught a brief glimpse of Miguel and Bebe heading towards the cemetery. Shaking his head, he rubbed his belly, and thought of the stupidity of some men. Miguel had a wonderful woman waiting for him at home, and his little ones could use that money far better than Bebe. He briefly thought of accidentally interrupting them, but he knew it would do little good. Bebe was not the type of woman to embarrass easy, and it was obvious Miguel was thinking with something other than his brain.
The muted sounds of people laughing in the tavern, along with the sound of his own footsteps, were easy to ignore. He continued his lonely walk, thinking of a man who had been the smartest person he had ever known. The hardest-working man in the entire pueblo, people said at his funeral. He knew his father would have been shocked at how many people came to cry over his coffin. He was loved by everyone, including his youngest son. Even after all these years, that son still missed his father's wise words and warm hugs.
Making another turn, his mind returned to thinking about retirement. Life had provided little time to consider the idea since his startling realization a few nights ago. Sighing sadly, he remembered what had ignited his desire to be a soldier. In his mind, he could hear his father's soft, melodic voice, gone from this earth for far too long. Every night, his father crawled into his sons' bed and read to them from one of the mission's borrowed books.
He had loved hearing his father read about the great Roman general, Julius Caesar. As a young boy, he had cried when he heard the words of the Englishman's play describing the death of his hero. Sometimes, even now, his father's voice seemed to echo in his mind, repeating the immortal words of the play--"Et tu, Brute?" Laughing softly, he remembered Don Diego's friend and the prank he had pulled. Looking over the complaint signed by "Julius Caesar," it had been all he could do not to burst out laughing. Fortunately, he had been more in control when he met with Diego and his mischief friend later. Diego himself had not been amused to learn he had been arrested because Julius Caesar was claiming that Diego had stolen his horse.
Turning the final corner of the cuartel, he shivered. He wondered if his father looked down upon him and was disappointed by what he saw. His papá had been a wonderful man, a peasant farmer, but he had been unique. Poor by monetary standards, he was rich in education. Having been raised by the monks, he had almost taken a vow before realizing that their life was not meant for him. He knew how to read, do math, and some basic science. The science and math helped him sometimes in the fields. It was in those same fields that he instructed his sons. He taught them Latin, addition, and subtraction. They would spend an hour every night, after returning from the fields, lying on the floor in front of the fire learning to write. His father had shared with them an education that had surpassed many caballeros'.
Stopping to take a drink from the plaza's well, he looked around the pueblo of Los Angeles, his home for many years. It was so much like the home of his youth, and yet so different. He could not help grinning as he thought of his friends from childhood. They would not recognize the big, fat dumb sergeant of today as the too intelligent boy they had known.
They would not understand the necessity of playing so dumb, but then they had not understood a lot of things. Before learning of the power he could have by hiding his intelligence, he had been blind, too. He could still remember laughing at his first Sergeant, a man so dumb that a stick could outsmart him. He had snickered behind the man's back until he had been forced to realize the truth. The man was as smart as he was, but he acted stupid.
He had dared to ask why, and the sergeant had, for some strange reason, decided to share. "Look around you. Where are we? Who are we?" the man asked in his big booming voice. "We are in the territories of Spain. The outskirts--so far away that little Spain says or does can affect us. We are peasants, and no matter how smart we are, we are not going to rise above that stigma. In fact, our intelligence will only make those in power fear us. Corporal, look around at the soldiers and the comandante. See how they treat me, how they really treat me."
He had followed his Sergeant's advice. He had watched, at first, seeing as he had always seen--both the man's superiors and his inferiors laughing at him. No one took him seriously because he was so dull-witted. Then, as he continued to watch his Sergeant, he began to realize what the man had been trying to teach him. The comandante did yell at him and call him names, but there was no man that he trusted more. Their commander believed that any man so dumb would not be able to betray him. The lancers all followed his orders without a fight. They liked him, and they often felt sorry for him. Playing dumb had brought the sergeant what he wanted--trust from his superior and obedience from his men.
Sometimes, he had to admit that he hated people believing he could be so dumb. Could any man be as stupid as he played himself to be? And still make it to the rank of sergeant in the King's Army? He remembered his recent conversation with Don Diego, about his apparent lack of desire to capture Zorro. He had warned the young caballero that he had a suspicion of Zorro's identity. Did his friend really believe that he had only narrowed it down to "he's a man and lives near by"? Diego's laughter had said he did.
The idea of taking a break and sitting on the stool by the jail began to appeal to him just before he noticed the black cape floating in the wind. Zorro was leaving, having evidently already released the prisoner. Barely hiding his grin, he hollered for his lancers to saddle up because the chase was about to begin again. Ah, that Don Diego--he's a man who's almost as clever as myself, he thought as he carefully climbed into his saddle.
It was time for another chase of the fox by a hound that was far smarter than the fox believed him to be. A hound with a nose that could lead the hunters straight to his door. A hound who loved the fox and admired him for daring to be a hero. A hound working hard, in his own way, to protect his master's prey.
He loved night sentry duty! It was a great time to think, and with Zorro nearby, it was the most exciting time of the day.
THE END