Zorro at the Alamo
By: John Devore
Tags: Memoir, Relationships, Texas, Family

I bet you’re wondering, “What happens next?” That’s only natural when you’re reading a story. Don’t worry, though, because everything does work out. You and I wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t.

One other thing: You’re probably wondering if I’m embellishing how your grandparents fell in love, and I want to assure you I am not. This is all true. If something in this tale sounds too impossible to believe, you should absolutely believe it.

Now, back to the story, my dears.

As I previously wrote, your grandfather didn’t really know that midnight trips into the desert were a bad idea because dangerous, highly-radioactive mutants roamed the sunless desolation between Las Cruces, New Mexico, and El Paso.

Luckily for your grandfather, a famous giant-scorpion hunter was also out that night hunting, you know, giant scorpions. His name was Samson, and he had hooks for hands because he had blown them off with blasting caps as a kid.

Well, wouldn’t you know he was a fan of professional wrestling and recognized your grandfather from his driver’s license, which had fallen on the ground next to his ripped-up car. The giant scorpions had peeled it open like a sardine can. Samson did not find a body and concluded that Jack had been carried away.

El Paso is a small city, and it didn’t take long for word of Samson’s discovery to reach the saloon where your great-grandfather spent some of his nights playing cards with banditos.

I want you to know that when your grandmother heard the news, she did not panic. She was, and is, too cool for that.

She had been wondering why Jack hadn’t called her with his corny jokes so she could tell him one of her own about silly Fats Domino and his cheap costume jewelry. But when her father told her Jack was probably lost, Aida immediately announced her mission.

He forbade her to do it. His roof, his rules. “Go to your room,” he thundered.

Now, no one could overrule your great-grandfather in the house he built. No one except his mother, your — let me get this right — great-great-grandmother. She was a short, wrinkled mestiza with a tired smile who could speak to coyotes. “Let her go,” she commanded, and he obeyed.

Your great-great-grandmother then handed your grandmother the keys to her ancient motorcycle and told her to hurry. Before Aida could run out the door, she was handed more gifts. Her mother gave her the silver lighter that her brother, a war hero, had taken with him when he fought in the Pacific. Her father gave her his .22 rifle and a promise to see her soon.

There is a legend that Zorro himself had placed great zigzagging trenches of pitch and straw throughout Texas.

And with that, Aida pocketed the lighter, slung the rifle over her shoulder, and kicked the motorcycle to life. The headlight on like an electric cyclops. Wheels squealing. She flew like a comet down the road and into the city and up the nearby mountain. And this is how, for the very first time, the Great Signal of Zorro was ignited.

I swear on the love of our grandparents — two Texans from different races and religions — that this all really happened exactly as I’m writing it.

There is a legend that Zorro himself had placed great zigzagging trenches of pitch and straw throughout Texas. They were to be lit to unite the people in their hour of need. Your grandmother didn’t know if this was the people’s hour of need, but it was Jack’s, and… she loved him. With a flick of her thumb, she lit the silver lighter and used its flame to set the enormous Z-shaped signal ablaze.

Every good-hearted Texan for miles who saw the glowing “Z” on the side of the mountain dropped what they were doing to answer the call. They slid on boots, saddled horses, loaded trucks, and made their way to the signal. Your grandmother — the teenage descendent of the savior of the Alamo — stood waiting, flames flickering in the lenses of her cat-eye glasses.

Aida needed help saving her corazón, and help showed up. The first to arrive was, to her surprise, Mother Maria and Sisters Gertrude and Agnes, with baseball bats. Then Señor TNT and El Tornado. Samson, of course, with a stick of dynamite in each hook. The Comanche sent their bravest warriors with machine guns. “Wild” Rabbi Cohen and his famous bullwhip. A pair of old Texas Rangers with matching mustaches secretly married long ago by a shaman. Pecos Bill’s daughter Hannah. Three different gangs — Los Chicos Locos, Los Guapos Diablos, and Los Aztecas — also rolled up with switchblades drawn. Finally, her family. Aida’s mother with her brass knuckles, her grandmother with a .45 Colt that Poncho Villa had given her, and her father, who offered up his courage.

The plan was simple: Storm the tunnels of the largest-known scorpion nest and find your grandfather. Oh, yes, your grandfather. I almost forgot about him. The good news was he had not been torn to pieces by the giant scorpions. You probably already guessed that.

Your grandfather had been dragged deep down one of the scorpion’s tunnels, where he quickly learned that he could soothe the beasts by singing pop songs. He could keep their poisonous stingers calm belting songs like “Cupid” by Sam Cooke or Roy Orbison’s “Only the Lonely.” The arachnids loved Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces” so much that they clicked their claws until Jack sang it again and again. It was thirsty work, but it kept him alive.

And just when Jack thought he couldn’t sing anymore — the very moment he gave up on ever seeing your grandmother again — he heard voices shouting, “Remember the Alamo!” And then he knew she had come for him. Jack inhaled deeply and, as loud as he could, sang:

I found my thrill

On Blueberry Hill

On Blueberry Hill

When I found you

The moon stood still

On Blueberry Hill

The wind in the willow played

Love’s sweet melody

But all of those vows you made

Were never to be

Though we’re apart

You’re part of me still

For you were my thrill

On Blueberry Hill

She followed his church-choir tenor through the darkness. Meanwhile, Aida’s army fought off the scorpions. Pecos Hannah lassoed monsters for Señor TNT to bodyslam. The nuns made signs of the cross before and after bringing their baseball bats down. Your great-great-grandmother joined the Comanche, and bullets flew. Jack’s voice led Aida to him, and, fingers intertwined, they ran outside.

Their first kiss was like the stick of dynamite that brought the tunnels crashing down on the scorpions.

Fats Domino played at their wedding.

And they lived happily ever after. The end. I am pretty sure that is how that works. I mean there were good days and bad, but they loved each other right up until she crawled into his hospital bed for a few final moments.

This is the true story of my parents, as I remember it, and now it is yours.