1909


Paulino lit himself a cigarette and glanced at Spain.

"I really don't know what you're doing here, man."

Probably it was against so many social rules and protocols to call the nation 'man'. But Spain was with them, sleeping in the same fragile tents, shooting guns, eating the same crap, getting as dirty as them. He was one of them, so he thought he had the right to call him 'man'. Anyway, all things he had heard about Spain being some kind of god, unapproachable..., those were myths, he saw it when Spain walked around and talked to the soldiers as if he was not the highest authority there, but just one more.

"I mean, you should be in palace, eating like a pig, sleeping in a real bed, inaugurating shit. Not here, getting shot."

"What about you?" Spain smiled him back.

"Me? Eh. I'm poor. Cannon fodder. People like me have no better use. At least here we eat. Like shit, but at least they feed us. Back home, I had to go to charity every day to survive. I was about to go to Argentina when they called me."

Argentina...He kept her letter, assuring him that she would take care of the refugees, close to his heart. His baby Argentina...

"So is it better for you to be shot than dying of hunger?" Spain asked.

"I'm going to die young anyway, so..." Paulino expelled the smoke bitterly. "I would have refused it that was of any use. For my mother, you know. I know me being here, in danger, is killing her. That's why I send her letters every day, so she knows I'm alright. Dude, it really sucks, not having money to bribe someone...You know what happened in Barcelona, right?"

"Sure I know. I know everything."

"Right. Sometimes I forget you're not human..." Paulina got closer to him. "What's it like?"

"What?"

"That. Being a nation. That's so...freaky. How do you know...I don't know, what's happening in Barcelona, for instance."

Spain had not been asked that question much in his many centuries of life. It seemed people just accepted what he was, the same way nobody questioned God aloud. He was glad to explain. It would distract them from the heat.

"It feels like...well, it depends on the situation. When there is a plague you start feeling the symptoms but you can't infect other people, except another nation—you can't die from it, but it feels very close to dying. There was a time, back in the 12th century, when my heart stopped and all. Things like revolts, on the other hand...they bring me a pressure in the chest, like I need to cry. It's...like anxiety, yes. It leaves me so restless I can't do a damned thing."

"But how do you know it's something that's happening and not, I don't know, food poisoning or sleep deprivation?"

"It feels different, tougher...I don't think I can explain it."

"No, I think I got it. If that's true...I'm glad I'm just a man."

"Yeah, sometimes I wish I was. It has its perks, being a nation, not gonna lie, but there's always people telling you what to do, a long life which grants you lots of chances to do thing you'll regret..."

"Look at the bright side: the skirts are getting shorter—one day you'll see things any man would pay for, even if immortality is shit."

Spain chuckled, and almost chocked when a bullet blew off his hat.

"إسبانيا!" a female voice screamed in the distance.

"There she is, that bitch..." Spain muttered, grabbing his rifle and charging it. "Hey, Morocco! Did you have breakfast already?" he shouted as he shot.


1912


"Good morning, Mr. President!"

"Ah, good morning, Antonio!"

"Nice day for a walk, isn't it?"

"It sure is!"

"Have a nice day!"

Spain smiled at the way Marianita looked at Mr. Canalejas, the way he talked to Spain.

"I don't know why you are intimidated by him, he's so nice."

"He's the President..." she said.

"He's a nice fellow, I assure you. Look, Marianita, I have learned that in the end we are all equal: rich, poor, plebeians, kings, presidents—nations, too."

"Don't tell me you have been seduced by those Marxist ideas, señor Antonio."

"I have been reading a few books, just to know what the hullabaloo was about and...I must say I agree on one thing or two."

"You surprise me" Marianita seemed honestly shocked, she was so impressionable, the poor thing. "After what all those people have done to you, to all of us. Have you forgotten about our king's wedding, the massacre?"

"How could I forget? I remind you the bomb hit me. I was blown to smithereens. The queen had my blood all over her dress."

"Then how could you excuse them?"

"I do not excuse them. I just think most of what the workers are asking for is fair. Do you think I like being so poor?"

"Sure it is fair, but the methods they are using, and these ideas, removing all Government, rejecting all religion...Oh, I understand. They want you to be in charge. That is why you like them."

"That's absurd, come on. Look, the lower classes are not the enemy. Poverty, ignorance, sickness; those are. I do everything I can, but my hands are tied by..."

A shot made them stop. Spain protected Marianita in a reflex movement. A police officer ran to him.

"Mr. Spain! You have to get out of here at once!"

"What happened? I want to know!"

"No, you need to go, there might be more of them and could try to kill you too!"

"Take Miss López back to palace" Spain did not obey and ran to where people were heading, not listening to the cries of the policemen.

He broke through the human mass which contemplated the corpse of a young man whose brains were splattered on the wall, a gun in his hands. He then ran to Puerta del Sol.

Mr. Canalejas loved books. Sure he couldn't resist stopping on his way to work to take a look at the window of that book shop. It was the chance that man had taken advantage of to shoot him three times in the back. Not much longer, Spain was told he was an anarchist.


1920


"Look who's here! You do want to participate in games, huh?"

Romano was mad at him the last time he saw him, in Amberes, when Belgium hosted the Olympic Games. Spain knew his will not to intervene in the mess all of those countries had created would bring him trouble, but he was just in no condition to fight. He could barely have a normal life, with all those revolts and the hunger. Romano was not the only one who glared at him: Austria really seemed to expect help from his former husband. But it was alright. He had a nice time. It was nice, seeing the guys again. Also, it was a relief that Veneciano was way more forgiving.

"Don't listen to him, he is just a bit grouchy" he smiled at him.

"I know, no hard feelings" Spain smiled. "How are you, Italy? Is...everything alright?"

"Yes, yes. Well...My arm still hurts a lot. It regenerated after a grenade wrecked it. But...you know, it just takes time!"

"Sure."

"Good thing you were not there. War isn't what it used to be. We used to do this differently before. With swords...I don't know, it was closer. This time they used gas on us. I hate it, not being able to breathe...And staying in a trench for days feels so long, so unbearable..."

"But you guys won, right?"

"Yes, it was not nice, having to kick Austria's ass, but we did. Well...Now we are poor and we still haven't received what the others promised us...And those communists and anarchists..."

"It is scary, right? What happened to Russia..."

"It sure is. The bad thing is that Russia could come and do the same to us...But it is okay. There is this good man called Benito Mussolini, and a group of very nice fellows, who are trying to make things better at home. I am very hopeful about the future."

"That's the spirit, little brother" Spain smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Italy chuckled. Sure, lots of things had happened between them, but Spain was sure there was nothing Veneciano or Romano could do he couldn't forgive.


1923


Spain was taught by the Scriptures that there were moments when one had to be patient and be confident in God's will. But that captain, Miguel Primo de Rivera, was so outraged by what was happening to him he delivered a coup d'etat. Spain was scared at first, but Primo de Rivera tried to earn his trust:

"I love you, Spain. I have always loved you. That is why I had to do this. It hurts me to see you this way. You are spending all your money and energy on this war against Morocco, and these communists and anarchists are plotting to destroy you. Every day there is a new murder. I am not waiting with my arms crossed for someone to destroy you!"

His discourse was so passionate Spain had to assure him it was alright. In fact, it felt nice, to have someone who cared so much about him. Alfonso, understanding, made him the only minister and allowed him to dissolve the Parliament, suspend the Constitution and declare state of war. It was...all for the best, right?

And so Catalonia saw how her anthem, any symbol related to her was completely forbidden and the Spanish Patriotic Union became the only party in the country. Primo de Rivera was tough, but he accomplished so many things. Thanks to his support, Spain won the war against Morocco, who had to surrender to France.

"That Rivera is doing well, right? I see you look better" Alfonso observed, both of them relaxing in the living room.

"Mhm."

"What are you reading?"

"An essay, by Victoria Kent."

"What is is about?"

"Women. How little rights they have."

"Huh..."

"No, it's actually quite interesting..."


1927


Alfonso couldn't help smiling at Spain's face. In an attempt to comfort him, he took his hand.

"I'm not sure I want to do this..." the nation muttered.

"Relax. It's all under control" his king replied.

"How can a thing this big fly? It's just beyond reason..."

"I don't know how it works exactly, but it does."

Spain closed his eyes and started muttering. Alfonso thought it was a prayer, but it was actually a poem.

«La luna vino a la fragua / con su polisón de nardos / El niño la mira mira / El niño la está mirando...»

Poor Spain, trying to distract himself from what was going on trying to recite that poem by heart. But when the plane started moving, he yelped and Alfonso felt he was going to break his hand.

A few minutes had to pass until the plane stabilized. Truth be told, he also felt quite nervous, even if he had people around him assuring him everything was going just fine.

Spain finally opened his eyes and breathed deep. Although he knew he would regret it, he looked through the window.

"¡Dios mío! We are in the clouds! Those are the clouds! Look, Alfonso! The clouds! We are flying like birds!"

His fear turned into excitement. First those carriages which were not moved by horses, now this. He remembered his friend Paulino and what he said, and felt more excited than ever to be alive.


1931


Spain waited the news trying to distract himself in vain.

Primo de Rivera turned out to be a disaster. Maybe it was his fault; maybe he was too much of a mess to be saved, but the thing is, Primo de Rivera was forced to resign, and now that man in the government, Berenguer, if he was not mistaken, was preparing something big.

But he had these feelings inside. Something big was coming indeed, but he wasn't sure of what. Alfonso...He hoped it all turned alright. He couldn't stop thinking of what happened to Tsar Nikolai Romanov and his family. The change of regime didn't respect him, and in the end he, his wife, his children and his servants were taken to a room and with the excuse of taking a photo...

It was around lunch time when Alfonso finally showed up. Seeing the look on the faces of everyone who came with him, Spain sensed what the result was.

"...People have spoken. You are a republic now."

Spain gazed at Alfonso for long.

"And Mr. Alcalá Zamora has suggested me that I left the country before sunset, so, I must hurry..."

He walked away and Spain, after a second of shock, followed him.

"But..."

Alfonso turned to him with a smile.

"It's alright, Antonio. I value you more than the throne. If that is the general will, I shall leave. I don't want any disputes. I love you and that is why I am leaving you."

They didn't have much time to say goodbye. They had to pack so many things. A whole life...Spain wished they had had the time to talk, to have a last beer together, to...How did that happen? He thought things were alright!

He couldn't believe it, when the due time came and Alfonso had to go through the door and never come back.

"I will call you when I get to Marseille."

"Please, do. I...I'm going to miss you so much..."

"Goodbye, Antonio. Good luck."

"Thanks. You too."

They embraced, and Spain couldn't believe what was happening...It felt surreal, seeing him go, and finding himself alone again in that big palace.

Back to Las Ramblas, he guessed...


"I guess...This makes everything alright, doesn't it?"

Catalonia, sat with her legs crossed in front of him, gazed at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"The conditions seem...acceptable" she finally said, leaning back in the sofa.

"I want you to know that you are like a sister to me, and, I will treat you as such."

"I don't know. You don't know a very clean history concerning your siblings."

"I...well, I didn't know better at that time, but I am different. I swear. Time gives you lots of perspective, I assure you."

"Hm."

Catalonia sat correctly and continued to look at him like there was nothing else in that café.

"You still have it better. New government, new constitution."

"Yes. They are going to make me sovereign."

"How important..."

"I will try to intercede so you gain rights."

"Can I trust you?"

"Of course."

"I don't know..."

"I know what I have done in the past, but, please, I want to do things right this time, okay?"

But there were still things he couldn't control.

Three days after their interview, in a visit to his friend Pablo in Málaga, he was informed that there was something he had to see. The church of his friend's town was in ruins. Just a jumble, which would crumble as soon as the wind started to blow. However, people still wandered around the remains, seeing if there was something that could be saved.

Pablo started to cry, biting his fist.

"Sons of bitches...Those fucking sons of bitches...Motherfucking red atheists..."

Spain knew his friends was very devout. He always carried with him a card of the patron virgin. But the wooden statue had been destroyed in the fire, as well as the paintings on the walls, the altar, the crucifix...Everything. Everything at all...According to what Spain heard, the fire was provoked early in the morning, while everybody was sleeping. The flames could be seen kilometers away. The priest could barely escape on time.

Provoked. Because this was not an accident.

"Why are you on their side, Antonio? How can you be friends with these people?" Pablo kept weeping.

"I...Dear God, Pablo, I never wanted this...This is as disgusting to me as it is for you..." was Spain's response.

He knew the government had nothing to do, but...at that moment, seeing—feeling the loss that town had suffered, he really didn't know what to think anymore.


"Just one argument: even if you don't want to and if you admit the feminine incapacity, you vote with half of your incapable being. Me and all women I represent want to vote with our masculine half, because there is no degeneration of sexes, because all of us are children of a man and a woman and equally receive the two parts of our being, argument the biologists have developed. We are product of two beings; there is no possible incapacity from you to me, nor from me to you."

From his seat, Spain listened in awe to congresswoman Clara Campoamor. Wow, was that woman fascinating...

"I, ladies and gentlemen, feel a citizen more than a woman and I consider it would be a deep mistake to leave the women out of this right, the woman who waits and trusts you; the woman who, as happened to other new forces during the French revolution, was undeniably a new force which is incorporated to right and there is nothing that can be done but push her to continue her way. Reject it if you want; you are free to do so, but only in virtue of a right you have held, because you have laws to yourselves; but not because you have the natural right to leave the woman out."

Like many, Spain stood up to clap when she finished. And then the people started voting, he scratched the table nervously. He saw many Republicans voting no, and Mrs. Kent and Mrs. Nelken too. But the result was clear. 161 against 131. Women could now vote.

Upon hearing the news, Spain's friend Alicia made a fuss, letting out a scream and hugging his nation.

"We did it! We did it!"

But Spain was so happy too that he didn't try to stop her and hugged and cheered too, instead.

"You see? Republic is good!" Alicia said to him, kissing his lips. How indecent, many people in the room thought. But Spain didn't care. That day, his feminine side felt more intense than ever.


1933


The right won the elections that time. The Spanish Confederation of Autonomous Rights, Renovación Española and the Spanish Phalanx took advantage of what happened in Casas Viejas. All those dead anarchist villagers turned out to be very useful to their purposes: the left wings was more divided than ever.

But Spain didn't want to think about that, nor in what Germany was doing in Europe, with that new leader of his, that man with a Charlie Chaplin-like mustache called 'Adolfo' Hitler.

He didn't want to think of anything. It made his head hurt.

He just wanted to know what that big ape in the screen was going to do with the blond lady he had captured.


1936


Spain refused the snack President Azaña offered him with a hand on his stomach.

"Oh...You still don't feel well, huh?" Azaña told him.

Spain shook his head.

"I haven't felt good in a while, honestly..."

"Yes, you are not fooling anyone. You are going through so much, why don't you go to the cinema, go on holidays, and...?"

"I've tried. I've done all of that already. But it still hurts."

"Sure...It is those nationalists...They claim to love you, to protect you, and look what they are doing to you."

"What happened in Asturias was not done by the nationalists..."

"That was two years ago, when are you going to forget about that."

'It is so easy for you to say; you don't feel the pain of all the people who are murdered...', Spain thought.

"Look, Spain, what Lerroux did...That has nothing to do with us. Not all of us Republicans are rascals like him...We are going to do so many great things."

"How are you going to do that, if you don't agree with one another?" Spain sighed.

"Spain, I don't want to think you are on their side..."

"I am on no one's side. I just want you guys to pull yourself together. I want this feeling to end...All the murders, all the attacks, the protests..."

Azaña sighed. Of course, he didn't understand he couldn't just intervene in someone's favor. He wasn't sure of what he needed, of who were the good guys in that picture...He was so confused...

It was then when they came.

Spain was frankly surprised when someone knocked at the door and, when he peeked through the peephole, he saw familiar faces. He opened the door to find Germany, Prussia, Veneciano and Romano there.

"Hi, Spain!" Veneciano smiled at him.

"May we come in? We would like to talk to you."

Of course, Spain allowed them to come in and get themselves comfortable. Since they were already there..., and he was intrigued, too.

"Nice house" Romano commented. "Did you mamma decorate it?"

Spain chuckled. He then observed their uniforms, but particularly Germany's and Prussia's. After what he had heard, that the two of them became exceedingly poor after the Great War.

"We came because we heard the situation here is very complicated" Germany spoke.

Spain nodded.

"And you know why is that, right?" Prussia said, pausing to drink from the beer Spain had served him. "Those fucking commies in your government."

"I don't know...These days it seems like everyone is a walking bomb, lately..." Spain replied.

"Nah, I'm telling you, those people are the worst. All they do is ruin everything, step on values like it's shit. They are a pest."

"But we came to help you" Veneciano smiled.

"To help me?" Spain blinked.

"Yes. Europe is looking at you, Spain" Germany said. "What you are going through is what happens when you let the communists govern."

"It hurts to bad, right?" Prussia gazed at him with those red eyes, as if they pierced through his skull and reached his brain.

"Let's go to the point, okay?" Romano said then. "Listen, you have to make a decision. Join us and we will help you get rid of that problem, okay?"

"You don't need to give us an answer now, of course" Veneciano said in his sweet and calm tone of voice.

"We just want you to know that nobody is going to move a finger to help you...But we will be there to help" Germany said.

Spain looked at the four nations not sure of what to say.


"This man has pronounced his last discourse in this Parliament!"

Mrs. Ibarruri's words echoed in Spain's head when he read the headlines of the newspaper that morning. Minister Calvo Sotelo had been murdered, and everybody knew who did it: republican officers, because their Socialist colleague had been killed by the left wing. Eye for an eye, surely.

Spain knew Calvo Sotelo, but hadn't talked much to him. Still, his murder left a very uncomfortable feeling in his chest, like...like...

Four days later, he found out what that meant. In the Canary islands, that general people had been talking about lately, Francisco Franco, claimed he would free the nation from the claws of those 'murderers' once and for all.


I put this fanfic in no category but now I have made it a drama because, holy cow, thinking with perspective our history is really dark. And we got to the part Spanish people nowadays can tell you first-hand: the Civil War.

Where did the Civil War come from? We have seen that in the 19th century the distinction between right and left was created and it is now when the society became polarized. At the beginning of the century, Spain was practically a third-world country, with a very short life expectancy due to economy and health problems, increased by war against Morocco (it is referenced a great repression happening in Catalonia, because the men sent to fight were always from lower classes). In such conditions, Spain couldn't participate in World War I, of course, and stayed neutral, but suffered shortage anyway. It wasn't until Primo de Rivera delivered a coup d'etat when things started to get a bit better, but the government was unstable and he was forced to leave. Instability was the main problem at the time. During this period, two presidents were murdered, the one referenced being Canalejas and the other Dato, killed by anarchists in 1921.

What now? Elections were held out and it was a victory for the republicans. King Alfonso XIII elegantly abdicated and parted to France on the same day, wishing to save the Spanish nation trouble. But the Second Republic suffered a great fragmentation, and the situation wasn't better for the society. Very violent repressions took place, like the miners in Asturias and in the town of Casas Viejas, this one with political consequences, which were the rise of far-right parties. Also, the republicans had earned the hate of the conservative population due to the attacks to many ecclesiastic buildings. Let us remember the Spanish people have traditionally been very religious, and the republic deprived the Church from lots of power. On the positive side, it is now when women earned the right to vote, in 1931, being the first Latin country to do it (curiously, the left wing, including important figures such as Victoria Kent didn't want it because they argued women would be too conditioned by their husbands or the Church).

Fascism was starting to lurk, and everything exploded when the monarchic minister Calvo Sotelo was murdered in revenge of the killing of a socialist policeman by right wing people. Franco, general Mola and others were already plotting against the Republic and it accelerated the start of the uprising...Spain's darkest hour.

Cultural references in this chapter: the first travel by plane, done by king Alfonso XIII from Madrid to Barcelona, when Spain recites a poem by an extremely popular poet of this time, Federico García Lorca (who was killed in 1936 because of his supposed political inclinations—his corpse has not been found to this day). Also, the movie Spain watches is no other than King Kong.

Also, it is mentioned that king Alfonso suffered an attack in 1906, when an anarchist threw him a bomb hidden in a flower bouquet, during a parade with him and his wife, killing 25 people. There is a famous photography of this instant.