(Yah-�u Nahkts)
Chapter 9
Vaguely, the young Se�ora de la Vega remembered being told about this custom, where a girl would throw a wreath into the water in the hope that it would float along the smooth current into the hands of her beloved. Smiling to herself at the silly romanticism of the custom, Annabelle walked up to the silently working group and asked the permission to join, supporting her request with signs. A silent affirmative nod was her response, and, as she sat down, one of the girls moved a small pile of grass toward her in the same imperturbable silence. Watching the others weave for a few minutes, Annabelle began making a wreath of her own. She became so carried away by her work that she was oblivious to the new �entertainment� that drew the attention of everyone on the little island. She has already finished and sent her wreath floating along the river, when one of the girls tapped her on the shoulder. �Skaties!�
Following the girl�s motion almost on a reflex, Annabelle looked up just in time to see the younger J?nis (the one who brought them to Za?u Sala) soar above the bonfire and land safely on the ground behind it to the wild cheers of the crowd. Straightening out, J?nis calmly walked to the end of the line made up of daredevils like himself who were awaiting their turn to challenge the fire.
Another log was thrown into the pile to make the flame higher, and the next man in line stepped back a little, preparing for the jump. Annabelle gasped almost inaudibly, as she recognized the man.
�Diego!�
He turned his head slightly and waved to her, a calm smile on his face. And then he ran forward quickly, pushing off the ground with an ease of a bird soaring to the sky. A fraction of a second later, he landed softly and gracefully on his feet.
Slightly lifting the hem of her long, linen Latvian-style skirt, Annabelle ran over to Voloshin who stood amidst a very large group of spectators, looking with a bit of old age skepticism at the reckless amusement of the youth.
�Pyotr Aleksandrovitch, can we stop this madness?� she cried out to him, desperately searching for support in his faded gray eyes.
But the ex-captain merely shook his head. �It is the tradition, Annabelle. The young men show off before the girls and each other in this manner. It is foolish, perhaps, from the point of view of some,� he grinned, placing his hand comfortingly on the young woman�s arm, �but it is a challenge, a test of one�s bravery and skill. Diego was challenged to participate, and he did not wish to refuse.�
Noticing Annabelle�s eyes widen in fear, as she saw yet another log added to the fire, Voloshin hurried to reassure her. �Do not worry. The more they raise its height, the more people will drop, until only one � the craziest one � remains. And he will be the winner. It will be over soon.�
Just as he said it, four young men quit the line and joined the ranks of the spectators. But that did not comfort Annabelle, for Diego was not among those four, and, knowing her husband, she had a sinking feeling that he would stick with this to the end. She watched, terrified, as the fire kept getting bigger and bigger, while the line of risk-takers grew shorter and shorter.
The last log was thrown in, and the fire roared, soaring almost to the human height. The crowd recoiled, gasping in awe, as the tongues of the raging flame rose menacingly into the peaceful ink-blue sky. Only two people remained in front of the bonfire: Arturs, the city�s champion in this death-defying play, and the rookie from California.
Matiss, who dropped out of the competition three rounds before, frowned, shaking his head. �They never went this far before,� he murmured.
�What do you mean?� Annabelle asked absently, her eyes riveted to the two daredevils who stood firm against the framework of the blaze-colored sky.
�Arturs beat everyone on the previous height � until now.�
Annabelle swallowed nervously, watching the tall, well-built figure of the Lett, whose long legs set him almost a head taller than his Californian opponent. Arturs stepped far away from the fire, bent his knees slightly, and then dashed toward it, gaining momentum for the jump. But, just as he was about to tear himself off the ground, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, leaning back to keep his balance, and then stepped away from the flame, shaking his head in a gesture of resignation.
The crowd became silent, uncertain what to expect next, and everyone fixed their eyes on the young Californiano. The latter, who, until now, was watching his Latvian rival intently, frowned slightly, as he turned to size up his �challenge�.
�No, Diego!� Annabelle�s desperate scream pierced the strained silence of the island.
The young caballero started and tore his eyes slowly away from the fire. He squinted, noticing the look of fear in her greenish eyes.
�Please, don�t,� she mouthed.
�Listen to your wife, Diego,� Matiss intoned. �This jump is impossible for anyone.�
The caballero stood motionless for a while, struggling with conflicting emotions. Finally, he nodded as in resignation and began walking slowly away from the bonfire. And Annabelle sighed in relief.
A dangerous glint that flashed in the unruly hazel eyes of her husband went unnoticed to her in the relative darkness of the night.
She realized what she missed, when he suddenly turned around and, before anyone could react, ran back toward the blaze. Impossible? Whom was she kidding? She lived long enough in Los Angeles to know (as did every peon) that nothing was impossible for Zorro. And now he was going to prove it � to himself, to her, and to, God knows, whom else. Her heart froze, as he approached the fiery obstacle.
He jumped, rising above the hungry flames that roared in indignation, enraged at their inability to swallow this impudent mortal. He felt their infernal heat underneath him, as the red tongues reached to lick his feet. To all observers the time stood still for a moment; the night itself froze, it seemed, watching breathlessly, as this foolish mortal challenged the god of fire. And then he landed, only a fraction of a second (though it seemed hours) later, smooth, panther-like, leaning forward on his hands for balance.
He cleared it, unharmed. He was the winner. And the crowd roared in rapture, praising their hero. They gathered around him, some clapping him on the back, others screaming something in his ears. But Diego, still a bit disoriented from his head-spinning jump and confused by this overwhelming attention to his persona, looked past his praise-singers, searching wildly for a woman with dark, golden hair. Finally he spotted her running away to the lonely corner of the island where the light from the bonfires cast but a faint shadow. Pushing everyone aside, Diego rushed after her. �Annabelle!� he cried out, as he caught up with her. �Annabelle, wait!�