The Mark of Zorro

Fair seat, bad hands, mount not sufficiently schooled.

Disqualified.

Here's the California cockerel. Ten pesos he clears 'em all.

Cleanly? Taken.

Grow wings, my friend.

Ten pesos, if you please.

Maybe you've forgotten that in California they use horses for cradles.

- Well done, señor. - And all I did was sit on his back.

Oh, three carrots after his oats tonight, Manuel.

- You go to an affair of the court, señor? - No, of the heart.

- Something is wrong. - The face, man. The face.

Why the fine feathers?

A señorita who'd put St Anthony on the griddle. We're to meet...

Have you forgotten that you cross swords with Lieutenant Cortez at three o'clock?

Santa María! It slipped my mind.

Why do I have to meet every swordsman in Madrid?

Everyone enjoys a certain amount of fighting, but why does everyone pick on me?

It's become a distinction to assail a California cockerel.

You pink them slightly in the arm and shoulder and they boast of having met you.

Cadet Vega, the commandant wishes to see you in his office at once.

Good. You see, I can't possibly fight the fellow now. Explain that to him, will you?

But tell him I'll meet him tomorrow.

Señores, your attention, please.

- I'm buying wine for all. - (MURMURS OF APPROVAL)

Come on, come on. It's your last chance to fill up on me.

Last chance? What do you mean?

My father has ordered me home. The commandant just told me.

- I sail on the first ship from Lisbon. - To California?

- But what about your commission here? - I'll have to give that up.

What's California like? Are the Indians troublesome?

- No. - Then who is there to fight?

No one.

Then what will you do with this spur of yours, my cockerel?

This.

Leave it there.

And when you see it, think of me,

in a land of gentle missions, happy peons, sleepy caballeros,

and everlasting boredom.

Wine!

A toast, señores. To California,

where a man can only marry, raise fat children, and watch his vineyards grow.

- How are the vineyards? Bearing well? - By some miracle the grapes remain sweet.

Why so gloomy?

People cannot sing with hatred in their hearts, señor.

- Hatred for whom? - The alcalde, may his soul burn in hell.

The alcalde? A kinder, better man never lived.

You don't know him, señor.

I should know him. He's my father.

Well... I said it, and I won't deny it.

I've taken 20 lashes before for a slip of the tongue.

Row, row. Get me to shore.

- Buenos días, señor. - Buenos días.

- I'm honoured. How can I serve you? - A glass of your best wine.

- You are a stranger in these parts, señor? - No, not exactly.

I was born and raised not far from here.

I am the son of the alcalde.

Where can I get a carriage to drive me to Los Angeles?

- Wake up! Didn't you hear me? - Sí, señor.

This way, señor.

Pedro! Pedro, here is a caballero who would employ you.

He is the son of His Excellency, the alcalde.

I want to be driven to Los Angeles.

I have some boxes and a portmanteau on the wharf.

I'll pay you well.

Well, stop staring at me. Will you drive me or not?

What's come over this country? Have you all gone mad?

Listen, you. Find speech, or I'll cut out your tongue.

Oh, please. You are too late, señor. Your good father has already attended to that.

- My father? What are you talking about? - I'm sorry. But at a meeting of the peons,

this man spoke against the heavy taxes.

The next day, the soldiers of His Excellency cut out his tongue. I swear it is true.

Therefore, until we receive the reinforcements promised us...

Huh?

So people can still laugh in California. I'd begun to think they'd lost the habit.

- Your name? - He claims to be the son of the alcalde.

I claim nothing. I am Diego Vega, son of His Excellency, Don Alejandro.

And this, although I find it greatly changed, is my home.

Your pardon, I'd not heard of your returning. Welcome to California.

I'm Capitán Esteban Pasquale, military aid to the alcalde.

I'm honoured, Capitán, but bewildered.

Tell me, why has my father turned his home into a barracks?

Conditions have changed since you left, Don Diego. Your father... resigned.

Age, you know. Since then, the peons have become more, uh... more industrious.

As to the caballeros, they're encouraged to think of their own affairs.

We take care of the government.

I see.

I see. Tell me, who holds the office now?

- Don Luis Quintero. I'll take you to him. - I'd like to see my family. Where are they?

At your old hacienda.

But Don Luis won't allow me to let you go without a welcome from him.

I'm quite sure that you... you'll save me a reprimand.

How could I refuse a man with a naked sword in his hand?

So a wit has come to Los Angeles. Carry out your orders, Sergeant.

Sí, mi capitán.

Foolish habit of mine.

Some men play with a glove, or a monocle, or a snuffbox.

Churchmen finger their beads. I toy with a sword.

Do you fancy the weapon?

I know very little about it, my dear capitán.

Swordplay is such a violent business.

So, this bird killed the black-breasted red?

- Yes, Your Excellency. - Was it a bloody battle?

At the side of the pit, all the people were covered with blood.

Pity I missed it. What are you asking for him?

Oh, this is a noble bird. Well tested.

I'm asking 40 pesos for him, Excellency.

40 pesos? Esteban! This cheating dog should have his taxes raised.

Oh, no, Your Excellency. The bird is yours, as a gift.

Not one centimo will he cost you.

That's a better attitude. Much better. Turn him over to my handlers.

Señor.

And what caballero is this? Or is he some young lord from Spain?

A good guess, Excellency. He's just from Spain.

This is Don Diego Vega, son of your respected predecessor.

Ah. I thought such fabric came from Madrid. Must have cost you plenty, eh?

The caballero is here for words of welcome, not to discuss the price of his clothes.

Of course, to be sure.

Welcome back, young sir. Regard this house as still your home.

- I thank Your Excellency. - Luis! Luis!

A ship is in from Spain. The shops will have something worth looking at.

- I need... - Money, money, money. It's always money.

Luis, I don't know this caballero.

- He's off your precious ship from Spain. - How delightful.

Will one of you ill-mannered boors present him?

Don Diego Vega. Señora Inez de Quintero.

- My wife, señor. - Señora.

Your Excellency is a very fortunate man.

I'm not so sure. She thinks pesos grow on mulberry trees.

Your husband was also fascinated by the caballero's... clothes.

We're overwhelmed by the latest fashions.

And no wonder. What is there here to interest a woman?

I long for the life you've been leading. The gaiety and splendour of Madrid and the court.

Patience, my love. You'll see it all someday.

Doubtless, when I'm an old hag.

That catastrophe could never overtake you, señora.

Did you hear? How easily he makes pretty speeches.

I regret, señora, that...

You were saying, Don Diego?

Oh, yes. I was saying that I must tear myself away

and make some speeches to my father and mother.

Don't leave me to these barbarians.

Come to the shops with me and help me make my selections.

Oh, you... you tempt me, señora.

I love the shimmer of satin and silk,

the matching of one delicate shade against the other.

Then there's the choosing of scents and lotions -

attar of rose, carnation, crushed lily... and musk.

- As for ornaments and jewels... - But Don Diego must see his parents.

Too true. Duty rather than pleasure.

Excellency. Capitán.

- Señora. - I'll see you to the door.

That's one little peacock that won't give us any trouble.

You think not?

The capitán is jealous. The fop has pricked the fencing master. Touché.

I don't like such jests. Your eye might fail you.

It's possible.

- Who was that? - Oh, no one you know.

Someone new. Very charming.

He must be, from the colour in your cheeks.

At last, after all these months in this dreary place,

someone who knows the newest fashions, the latest dances, how to flatter a woman.

- When can I meet him? - Listen to the child.

You're much too young to cope with his sort. Why do you allow her to wear that mantilla?

It makes her look like a woman grown.

I am a woman grown. I'll be 18 my next birthday.

Carmen Castellano is younger and already wed.

Carmen Castellano. Her grandmother was a peon.

Such riffraff wed when they like.

You have the blood of the hidalgos in your veins.

Keep it cool, my girl, or I'll whisk you into a convent.

I pity your poor mount, Sergeant. Such a heavy whip.

Do you think I'd strike a good mare with this?

It would ruin her, break her spirit.

See? She didn't flick an ear.

She knows. We are collecting taxes from the peons today.

And you use that little... switch on the taxpayers?

Only when they are stubborn.

When you come to collect my taxes, Sergeant, I won't be stubborn, I promise you.

- Turn right in here, driver. - Adiós, señor.

Adiós.

- Oh, Mother. - Diego!

My son. My baby.

Mother.

- Hello, María. - (IN SPANISH) I'm so happy to see you.

Good old Juan, fat as ever.

Hello, Manuel. And José. Where's Father?

In the study with Fray Felipe. Come, he's longing to see you.

- Take Don Diego's things to his room. - Sí, señora.

I tell you, these conditions are beyond bearing.

This whole district, from the hills of Verdugo to the shores of Del Rey,

is a stench in the nostrils of heaven.

- I know, I know. - You know, yes, but what do you do about it?

- Nothing. - What can...? Diego!

- Ah, Father. - Diego.

My boy.

Padre.

Welcome back to your home and my heart, Diego.

- Oh, Padre, I've missed your wise counsel. - Not too greatly, I suspect.

You remember Don Miguel and Don José?

- Señores. - Have you returned to steal more melons?