CHAPTER 14: "Strange Caballero"
When Felipe woke up the next morning, he just lay there for a long moment. He did not want to open his eyes. He just lay curled on his stomach and sniffled. The tears had long since dried, but his nose felt stuffy. Grass tickled his nose. The cool, early-morning air felt good on his skin.
At last, he reluctantly opened them. The sun had just risen over the horizon. The portion of the sky surrounding it looked reddish-orange.
Feeling too weak, dizzy, and light-headed from hunger to walk any further, Felipe sat up, leaning against the tree and gazing miserably at the soldiers' now-smelly bodies. With a sigh, he lifted his rosary from around his neck and dutifully prayed with it as his mother had taught him, but his heart was not in it. He had lost all hope that God would save him.
When Felipe had finished praying, the air still felt cool and fresh, but the sky had turned blue. Felipe inserted the rosary into his smudged white trousers. He folded his legs upwards, rested his right elbow on his right knee, and wearily rested his face down on his open palm. What was going to happen to him? How much longer could he go on before death claimed him?
Please, God, he whimpered silently, don't let me die!
Time passed; Felipe had no idea how much. Every time he raised his head, the sun had risen further into the sky, and the air had turned hotter. Hours passed as he sat underneath that tree, too tired and weak to stand up and walk, and too discouraged to keep hoping for rescue. He didn't even know if he would even be found, let alone survive. Tears trickled down his face, along with beads of sweat.
I'm scared, Felipe thought. I'm gonna die soon. I can't go on no more. He sighed heavily and suppressed a sob. He no longer had the energy to cry.
Z * Z * Z
While Felipe sat underneath that tree, waiting for death to claim him, three men traveled north. Two of them were gentlemen on horseback, and one was a driver pulling a supply wagon. The wagon contained crates and bundles of their possessions.
The two gentlemen sat straight and tall in their saddles. The older one wore a tan frockcoat, a light-brown velvet vest, and a pair of darker-brown trousers. He wore a brown silk cravat tied around his neck and kept a loaded pistol in his holster. The younger caballero wore a yellowish-beige charro jacket and a pair of white trousers. Both wore ruffled snow-white linen shirts and brown woolen capes. Their spurs jingled on their quality black leather boots.
"I still think we should have stopped to check the bodies," the younger caballero said. Tall and black-haired, he had blue eyes, a handsome physique, and a pencil-thin mustache, and he was in his twenties. The sweet, flowery scent of men's cologne wafted from his sensitive, expressive face. "Some of them might be alive."
The older gentleman shook his head. "After three days, that's highly unlikely, Diego." He smiled. "Your compassion does you credit, though, amigo."
Don Diego smiled back. "Gracias, Señor Spencer."
Don Diego de la Vega lived in a magnificent hacienda two miles west of the pueblo de Los Angeles, in southern California. His widowed father, Don Alejandro, a very successful landowner who owned thousands of acres, was one of the wealthiest, most influential aristocrats in the whole territory. Diego's uncle had died recently in Guadalajara, and Diego and his tutor and driver were returning to Los Angeles. They had left Diego's cousin, Don Rafael, behind in Guadalajara with his older brother, to comfort their mother and take care of the family affairs. He would return to his horse ranch in Santa Barbara, then.
The three men had left Los Angeles last spring, in response to a summons Diego's uncle had sent. Don Alejandro had been convalescing from a serious illness at the time, and had been unable to go to his brother. Instead, he had sent his son to go to Guadalajara with Rafael and say good-bye in his place. Diego's tutor and one of the de la Vega servants had accompanied the two young gentlemen.
A well-educated, proper British gentleman, Jonathan Spencer had tutored and educated Diego since the young man had been seven years old. Diego loved to read, to write, and to learn. He loved the arts and sciences. It was his goal to attend Madrid University next year and learn all about science, and Señor Spencer was in the process of getting his pupil ready for the entrance examinations.
Jose, the driver, had worked for the de la Vegas for the last 10 years. Don Alejandro had sent him with Diego and Señor Spencer to drive the wagon and to tend to their needs.
Señor Spencer yawned. "We overslept this morning." He chuckled. "We must see to it that we wake up at dawn tomorrow, and not at nine o' clock in the morning."
Don Diego smiled ruefully. "It's been a stressful three days. Running into that violent battle, then having one of the wheels broken off our wagon like that." He shook his head. "I just hope we don't run into any more battles."
"So do I." Señor Spencer pursed his lips. "At least we had a filling, leisurely breakfast before we left. That should give us ample energy for the long ride ahead. Good thing, too, since we may have to forego siesta, owing to our late start."
The men ceased talking and rode onward. The driver sat hunched over, slapping the reins from time to time. The two caballeros sat tall and straight in their saddles. Their spurs jingled nonstop on the backs of their quality leather boots. From time to time, they passed groups of dead soldiers lying scattered. For a long time, no one spoke.
"I'm anxious to get home." Don Diego removed a snow-white linen handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and wiped his face. "My father must be eager to see me, after all this time." Sadness welled up as he remembered his uncle's last moments. "It will be so hard on my father, especially since he was too weak to make the journey and say good-bye himself. He lost one brother years ago, when I was just a baby. Now he has lost the other. My poor father has no brothers left. And my cousin has lost his beloved father." He sighed.
The three men rode onward. Diego gazed up at the sky. The sun had risen halfway up toward the midpoint. It would be noon in just a few hours.
Z * Z * Z
The weary little boy raised his head to look at the sun. It had risen halfway up; it was mid-morning now, and the air felt hot. Stifling a sob, Felipe wiped his perspiring face, glanced down at the narrow black lines running down his shirt, then lowered his face back onto his outstretched hand.
Maybe, he thought, when I die, there'll be an angel to take me to Heaven. I hope there will be.
Felipe did not raise his head again after that. Time passed, as he sat crouched under the tree. More tears trickled down his cheek. The sweaty stink emanating from his clothes and his skin wafted toward his nose.
Suddenly, a breeze ruffled the little boy's brown hair. It felt so good. Felipe took a deep breath, but did not raise his head. He was waiting for death to come. The hunger in his stomach had long since settled into a dull ache. His terror seemed far away. His surroundings felt like a dream. Tears streaked down his cheeks, and he made no attempt to wipe them off.
A moment later, a sweet scent Felipe had never smelled before wafted toward his nostrils. It didn't smell quite like a flower, but it came close.
What's that? he wondered. Where's that pretty smell comin' from?
Slowly, Felipe raised his head to find out, wiping his tear-stained, dirt-smudged face. As he gradually looked up, he first saw, just a few feet from his head, a pair of shiny, black leather boots with spurs. Raising his head further, Felipe saw a pair of white trousers, a snow-white shirt with a collar and ruffles down the front and on the sleeves, and a yellowish-beige jacket. Above that jacket and shirt, Felipe saw the face, blue eyes, black hair, and thin mustache of a strange man--a caballero!
Felipe had never before seen a caballero up close. He had, of course, seen caballeros, doñas, and their children on numerous occasions, from a distance in San Miguel, but none of them had ever deigned to speak to him. His parents had warned him against trying to approach one.
"Caballeros don't like peons, Felipe," his mother had warned him repeatedly. "We're not equal to them, so they look down on us. They would be very angry if a peasant boy dared speak to one. Keep away from them, or they'll hurt you!"
"Si, Mommy," Felipe would say. He had kept his word; he had been careful to watch rich landowners only from a distance. Sometimes, though, he and Rafael had hidden in a wooden crate that lay against a wall where the street ended at the caballeros' cobblestoned plaza; there, the two boys would watch them, fascinated. To a little peasant boy, the lives of the rich aristocrats seemed so fancy, so rich. Certainly, their clothes had been. So were the clothes of the caballero who stood in front of him now.
The gentleman stood straight and tall, with his shoulders held back. Without saying a word, he gazed down at the little boy, deep sadness and compassion etched on his handsome, expressive face. His blue eyes looked unmistakably kind. A brown woolen cape hung from his back, tied around his neck.
Felipe gazed up at the strange caballero, deep pain and terror resting like a stone in his heart and etched on his elfin face. He did not try to say a word. The knees of his trousers were smudged, Felipe noticed, as was the front of his blue homespun cotton shirt. His clothes stank of sweat, and his leather-woven sandals were about ready to fall apart. At the moment, though, he was too miserable and sick to care.
Without saying a word, the gentleman bent over and gently took Felipe in his arms. He picked the little boy up and lifted him toward his own chest. The caballero clasped the child against himself, supporting Felipe against his shoulder. As the gentleman straightened up, Felipe wrapped his arms around the man's neck and rested his chin on the man's shoulder. What's this caballero gonna do to me? Felipe thought.
Patting the boy's back, the man gently carried him away from the tree. The breeze felt good on Felipe's hot skin. The wool cape felt smoother and softer than the woolen, homespun ponchos and serapes the little boy (and his father and godfather) had always worn. A light, clean, spicy scent wafted toward Felipe's nose, along with the a light, warm fragrance of something Felipe couldn't place. For a moment, the little boy wondered what it was.
When the caballero stopped, Felipe lifted his head and turned it around. To his left, a second caballero was arranging some wood to make a fire, and a peasant man wearing a poncho and sombrero was opening a crate.
Don Diego smiled his thanks. "I can feel his ribs," he said. "This boy hasn't eaten in three days, and he's grown quite weak. Judging from his odor, he hasn't had a bath in some time, either." Wrinkling his nose, Jonathan agreed. "Before we can do anything else, we've got to feed him. Then let's find out if he can speak or read lips. We've got to find out what his name is, and what's happened to his parents." The other men nodded agreement.
"I'll heat some chicken broth for the boy," Jonathan said. "There should be some leftover tortillas from this morning's breakfast, too."
Don Diego nodded his thanks, then smiled kindly at the little boy. He tried to speak to the child. "Don't worry, amigo. You're not lost anymore; you're safe, now. You're with us, and we're going to take good care of you. Everything's going to be all right." He patted the child's shoulder as he spoke.
Felipe just gazed at the caballero with a blank expression. He did not say a word.
Don Diego furrowed his eyebrows. "Can't you speak, muchacho? Can you understand anything I'm saying?"
The little boy did not answer. He just gazed at Don Diego with a bewildered, uncomprehending expression in his liquid brown eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but try as he did, he could not utter a sound. Even though he tried so hard to speak that his face turned red in the effort, nothing came out of his throat. Don Diego's stomach tightened, and the other men shook heir heads.
At last, with a sigh, Don Diego set the boy down in the supply wagon. Felipe sat with his legs scrunched upward and sucked his index finger. "I was afraid of that," Don Diego said, sadly. "He can't speak, and he can't read lips. For all we know, he doesn't know any words." Shaking his head, he climbed into the wagon with the child.
As Don Diego crouched next to the boy, Jose handed his patrón a cold tortilla. In turn, Don Diego handed it to the boy, who crammed part of it into his mouth. When he had eaten the tortilla, Don Diego fed him two more tortillas, some water, and some hot chicken broth. The little boy gulped the food down as fast as Don Diego could hand it to him.
"You were half-starved, weren't you?" Don Diego smiled at the child and brushed his hair out of his eyes. Felipe swallowed the last of the broth and handed Diego the cup.
Now what? Don Diego wondered. For a long moment, as the caballero gazed down at the little boy, he wondered what he should do with him. He and Señor Spencer needed to make a decision fast.
At last, he climbed out of the wagon and rejoined his tutor. "We've got some decisions to make," he said. "Señor Spencer, you're a wise, sagacious man. What would you advise me to do?"
Jonathan gazed at the boy for a long moment, then looked at Don Diego. "What do you want to do?"
Diego smiled. "Help the boy, of course." He paused. "Suppose we return to the town where the battle was fought? We might find some survivors there who could tell us who the child is, and whether he has any living relatives."
The cultured British tutor nodded. "That's an excellent idea, Diego. We will do that."
Don Diego patted his horse and climbed into the wagon. Jonathan tied the horse's reins to the back of the wagon. As the little boy craned his head and watched, Don Diego said, "I'm ready to go."
Jonathan nodded. "Jose, prepare to go back to that town."
"Si, señor."
The driver climbed onto the wagon seat and grabbed the reins. Felipe leaned against the side as the wagon jolted away.
END OF CHAPTER 14