Gracias, Antonio. _
Las Mariposas-Les Papillons
A man stood before his crew, looking at his old discovery. His brown hair was wet and still dripping of sea water. And what was this that landed on? Land. This land was not new to him. A lover that he had left here and that France had met as well. That was it. A lover he had left for a few years to find out later she had given birth to his and France's children and left them as she flew into the sky.
She was sitting in the grass. Her skin was sun-kissed and her eyes matched her curly brown tresses, like her mother. It was a warm day and she was sitting with her sister, a darker toned girl with short black wavy hair, like her father's, and light hazel eyes, watching the butterflies flutter around their heads. They had no words to speak-they didn't know any. They spent all their time sitting in that spot. They were created there. This small island with fruit trees and beaches, surrounded by the sea. It was all they needed.
Spotting the two toddlers, the man slowly walked up to them, leaving his men to search the island. He wore red and yellow, his hat hosting a big white feather. Oh how he shined in the sunlight! All of the gold and jewels he wore were nothing the girls have ever seen young man had to try and get the girls attention without scaring them away...A butterfly fluttered toward him, landing on his nose. Easy enough, the two girls watched as that butterfly rested itself onto the nose of that strange man. Crouching down slowly to the girls' level ,he waited for them to approach. And so the young girls did. They awed at the colorful butterfly rested on the man's nose. Soon enough, the butterfly fluttered away into sky. Looking up at the stranger, the girls pulled on his red jacket and played with his white feather. The man smiled. He took off his hat and placed it on the brunette's head, watching her face light up. He then placed his jacket around the other, watching her face become curious as the heavy fabric brushed against her. The young stranger watched as the two toddlers observed each other, neither of them forming words, just little squeaks and giggles. They soon quieted down once the man stood and began to walk away. But then he heard little footsteps and stopped. The two girls were so curious of this new comer, they didn't want him to leave. Holding out his hands to them, he smiled as the words slipped past his tongue;
La Española...Mis hijas..(my children)
Santo Domingo woke up to the snoring of her father. She turned on her side and there he was, fast asleep with drool flowing down the corner of his mouth. About seven years old (in human years), she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, her curly brown hair in a messy bun at the top of her head. The young girl sat looking at her hands. It was the third time she has had that dream this month. No it wasn't a dream, it was a memory. It was all she could remember from her child hood. Her sister was on the other side of the island, with her father's friend. He is called France. A country that lives next to Spain. Her younger half sister was given the name Saint Domingue by this blonde man. It sounded like her name, only it had a French twist to it. The sun began to raise over the trees and Santo Domingo laid back down. Spain should be getting up soon to make her breakfast and wake her.
"Buenos días, mi hija...está bien tiempo. (Good morning my daughter, the temperature is nice)" Spain said softly, shaking the smaller country.
"Noooo~ yo no quiero...(i don't want to)" the Spanish speaking country moaned.
"Ay, mi chica, raise and shine! Breakfast is ready. Go wash up before it's all gone!" Antonio said giving her one last shake before leaving the room.
The young nation sat up and rubbed her eyes. She wasn't much of a morning person. Every morning Spain woke her up and cooked her breakfast before getting her ready for her lessons. As the population of her part of the island grew, Spain was trying to teach and handle things back home at the same time. Sitting at the table, dressed in her white and blue gown, her hair done by one of the maids, she ate with Antonio in silence. The morning fruit was fresh from the trees and bushes and the garden outside was filled with workers. Antonio watched as his young daughter ate. She loved the meat and the grains with beans. She also liked how he fried the eggs in the pan with oil instead of butter. With her belly full, she drank her water and took her plate to the counter. Santo Domingo waited for Spain as he washed their plates.
"Alright. Ja! Vamos mi hija (Let's go my daughter)!" the Spanish country said leading the girl to a big room in the back of the house.
Today's lesson was about Europe. Again. Santo Domingo sighed as she listened to her father's lectures. It got boring after a bit. Learning about Europe...what about the rest of the world? There had to be more to it then just Europe... He soon got into grammar in Spanish and spelling, for she cannot spell very well. Another long and tedious subject she hated. Only half listening, Santo Domingo looked out the window and watched as Spain's men walked around carrying crates of who knows what. It's been a few years since Spain had settled on her and her sister's land. Then, soon after one of Antonio's Friends, France, came over and said he was her sister's father. He gave her the name "Saint Domingue". While Santo Domingo was learning Spanish, Saint Domingue was trying to learn French. But it didn't sound quite the same. The two girls saw each other often. But their lifestyles were totally different. Spain taught her about religion, government, and, of course, music. A lot of times she would go out on the island to the gardens, where Spain would he planting and doing most of the work himself.
"...and so the church was built. Are you listening, mi vida?" Antonio asked placing a book infront of her.
"¿Qué? Oh, sí sí..."(what? Oh, yes yes) Santo Domingo yawned and looked down at the book.
"Ay...of course not..." Spain sighed and pointed to the book.
"This book will be your guide to speaking French, mi hija."
Santo Domingo looked at him curiously.
"¿Por qué?"( why?)
"Porque (because) we are going to see France and Saint Domingue en la tardé (in the afternoon), so read it." Spain said.
Santo Domingo tsked. She nodded and opened the book. When spoken, French can be slightly understood by a Spanish speaker. Also when spoken, Italian can be understood by a Spanish speaker. They're all romance languages, so if u know one you kind of know another. The only thing that pissed her off was the French alphabet. So many silent letters...
"Wait. Pero (but) Saint Domingue doesn't speak French like France does." She looked up from the book.
Spain thought for a moment...that was true. But they are similar. So it won't be to confusing...
Lunchtime came and Antonio had his daughter dressed in one of her white sun dresses. He fixed her hair so it was in two perfect ponytails with her messy curls bouncing around. Smoothing down her bangs so they rested to the left side, he looked in the mirror and smiled before changing himself. They walked along the beaches with a basket until they reached the French camp. As they walked a group of butterflies past them and Santo Domingo pointed them out. They notice activity everywhere, farming, building, and such. There were workers everywhere. But not just workers...slaves. They were lead to the Frenchman's hut and let in.
"Ah! Welcome to my home, mes Amis (my friends). Ze food is ready!" The blonde country announced leading them to the dining room.
Santo Domingo sat next to her younger sister who smiled and waved. She wore a blue sundress with her black wavy hair in a low short ponytail with a red ribbon.
"Hola, mi hermana. ¿Cómo estás?"
" Hello, sè m '. Mwen te byen. Manje a ke Papa fè se reyèlman bon. (Hello, my sister. I've been well. The food that papa makes is really good)." Saint Domingue replied.
The young brunette looked at her father in confusion. France smiled.
"She speaks what I call, Creole. Iz a'most like French only in a difwerent way." He told Antonio.
"Ah~ yo veo. (I see)" Spain replied.
The food came and they ate comfortably. Whenever either of the girls spoke, one of their father's would translate. It was as if they weren't sisters at all. They only understood a little bit of what the other was trying to say.
"Let us go to the beach, oui?" France suggested when they finished eating.
The four of them walked along the shore. Spain pulled out a ball from the basket and kicked it to Santo Domingo. The two men watched as the girls kicked the ball to each other.
"It haz been a long while since we 'ave been home, oui?" Francis said suddenly.
Antonio nodded. It was true. It was only a matter of time before they had to return to the homeland.
"Sí...but I worry about them. Señor England isn't too far from here. He is with America right now...Especially with Hispaniola gone."
France tsked. That damn pirate is everywhere. This was the only land he owned that England didn't try to take from him.
"Ah!"
The young men turned to the girls. Their ball had fallen into the water. Saint Domingue was about to jump after it but France called to her.
"Tamarah! Wait! I'll get it!" France said as he ran over to to grab Saint Domingue.
Santo Domingo stood there confused. Tamarah? Who is Tamarah? France retrieved the ball and handed it to his daughter.
" Si cela arrive à nouveau appelez-moi ou l'Espagne. Je ne veux pas vous mouiller, Tamarah ( If that happens again just call me or Spain. I don't want you getting wet, Tamarah).
"Wi, papa (yes papa..)" Saint Domingue replied taking the ball from him.
France winked at Santo Domingo before returning to his spot with Spain. Antonio questioned his choice of names.
"Ah, oui. I have named her Tamarah. Beautiful, oui?"
"So...you gave her a birth name?" Antonio asked.
"But of course! I want her to feel uniques! Tamarah Papillion Bote...she loves les papillions so I made it her middle name. (Tamara butterfly [French] Beauty [Haitian Creole]) " Francis flipped his golden locks.
Spain looked at Santo Domingo. That's all he ever called her. It never crossed his mind to give her a birth name.
"I...need a name for her..." The Spaniard said.
"What? You didn't give her a name? Your own daughter?"
"No...she never asked for one."
Francis sighed. The day went on and it was time to leave. Santo Domingo waved happily to her sister as they walked their different ways.
"Did you 'ave a nice time, Tamarah?"
"Wi...but what is her name?" The little girl asked.
Francis shrugged. He told her to ask next time.
Spain held Santo Domingo's hand and stayed silent as his daughter told him about Tamarah. The man was too much in thought to listen. A name. He needed a name for her. A nice name that was unique and easy to remember.
"Ay, look, España! La Luna (The moon)" the little brunette hopped up and down pointing at the glowing orb in the sky.
Antonio looked up at the sky. It was her favorite time of day. Nighttime calmed her down he knew. She loved to listen to the noises outside. Also, she loved when he would bring her roses... She loved to smell the roses and touch their velvet petals...
"Spain. ¿Cómo me llama?" (What is my name?)" She asked suddenly.
"¿Te llamas?( Your name?) Uhm..." Spain looked at her, then the moon.
"Te llamas es...Raquel Altagracia de la Rosa. (Rachel/Raquel of high grace of the Rose)" Antonio said.
Santo Domingo looked at him. It was a long name but she liked it.
"Me nombre es Raquel Altagracia de la Rosa~(my name is...) " she squealed happily multiple times.
This was when he saw what France ment. He had given her a special gift. One that no one can take from her. A gift she can make her own and love. Her name gave her life and made her not just a piece of land he found, but an individual like himself and the others. Her curls bouncing behind her, Raquel sang her new name as she skipped down to their hut. As she sang, Spain saw a small butterfly cross his path. It looked like the same one that had landed on him when he first arrived back here. These butterflies are what gave these girls a sense of grace and beauty. A way of living with others without conflict.
Or at least until he leaves.
Las Mariposas-Les Papillons