1970


"They are asking me to pardon those terrorist, Paquito."

Franco frowned and raised his head form his papers.

"Who is?" he asked.

"Everyone. France, England, Italy, Germany, my kids from South America, Belgium, Austria, Sweden, Norway..."

"You should find better friends, then. Those people want to kill you."

"But you are being too harsh on them. Even the Pope says so. Death penalty...That's going a bit too far."

"I have to be if I want to protect you. Soon..."

"...Soon what?"

Franco smiled.

"You are special. You have been looking like a twenty-year old for centuries. But I am just a man. I am getting old, weak...I am dying, Antonio. And I am very worried about what will happen to you when I am gone. Who will take care of you..."

The leader sighed. He stood up, Spain had to help him. He walked to the window.

"I am very concerned about your relationship with America, Antonio..."

"He is just a friend. Well, a friend...an ally" Spain explained.

"So you deny you are close to him?"

"Of course. I know he does not give a damn about us: he just wants his army here, to bother Russia. And I know he has been insulting my Latin American kids, and I am telling you, Paquito, nobody messes with my kids...But I remember when he was a kid, and he's been helpful, so I tolerate him. We tolerate each other. That's all."

"Then why did I find all those magazines and music in your room?"

Spain stared at the leader for long. Eventually, he licked his lips.

"...I'm not going to act like I don't know you and your people come into my room while I'm away, because I'm not that stupid. But I'm not sure that's something I am taking any longer...You are my boss and all, but I think it is none of your business what I listen to or what I read."

"Ever since all those people from outside came you have been exposed to ideas that might hurt you. I have been informed of some films you have been watching, and the magazines you have been reading...Pornography...Look at you, talking me back..."

"Well, I'll tell you something: last century I was fighting half of those nations, and now I can actually sit down with them with soda and snacks and have a nice conversation. For you that might not be important, but for me it's quite a change. As for me talking you back...I am just not going to be quiet about all these things which annoy me."

The leader said nothing. He just stood there, looking through the window.

"You may think I am acting like a brat, but you seem to forget I am not a two-year old who needs a babysitter. Since these may be your last years of life, why don't you enjoy them, do something nice for your family?" Spain said.

"You are part of my family, Antonio" Franco replied. "I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved a person, with the exception of my family."

Spain knew, yes. He knew perfectly that he had put him before his fellow human beings...

"That doesn't mean I owe you something" Spain replied before coming out.

Franco turned around to stop Spain, but he had already shut the door. With eyebrows furrowed, he watched him moments later from the window, driving his car away from the Pardo palace.

He was rebellious. He probably knew he was getting weak before he told him. Nations were fascinating creatures, of course he had to know. That was why he was doing things now that he wouldn't have even thought of doing thirty years before.

Franco was upset, but not worried. When he was gone, Spain would have people who would make sure he didn't stray from the glorious path he had worked so much on for him. Juan Carlos, from the Bourbon house, was already in Spain, preparing himself to be king when the Lord called him. The whole regime was organized to make sure things stayed the way they should be. It didn't matter that Spain was exposed to all those friends from abroad, with their heads full of dangerous ideas. Nobody would let him lose his mind. He had left everything tied up.


1973


"Hey, look who's here!"

Spain was received like every morning at the bar like a good friend. During his long stays in Madrid, he never forgot to have breakfast at Merce's establishment, and she was so proud that their nation had chosen it, even if it was small and modest. Spain was reserved a stool at the right extreme of the counter, near the Spanish omelettes and olives. Since it was a small neighborhood bar, everybody knew each other, and everybody knew and loved Spain.

"Did you see El Cordobés last weekend, Antoñito?" one of them asked him, a man with white hair and glasses called Enrique, passionate about bullfighting.

"He's busy fighting bigger bulls. Like the leader" another one of the regular customers, a man with a sad face, Alberto, replied, looking at Spain with a smile as he asked Merce for churros with chocolate.

"There they are, trying to make him talk about such private things again... Antonio, you don't have to tell them anything" Merce intervened.

"Thanks, Merceditas, I am tired of the Caudillo and his people" he replied, sighing a bit. "So, yeah, El Cordobés. A bit clumsy, but he..."

He was interrupted by an explosion which made the glass of the establishment shatter. People jumped from their seats, Merce dropped the dish she had in her hands, screaming. Outside, the street was filled with smoke.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!"

"IS EVERYBODY ALRIGHT?"

"I JUST SAW A CAR FLY!"

"SWEET JESUS!"

Nobody dared to run outside, like some people did, to see what happened. From where they were they could see perfectly the pothole the explosion had produced, quickly filling with water after a pipe broke. They heard many voices pointing at the roof of one of the neighboring building. Whoever screamed such an absurd observation was right: a car had ended up up there.

At that moment Spain didn't know, but his President, Mr. Carrero Blanco, was inside of that car. Just like he ignored that that morning of December would turn his life around.


"Wow, man, that's horrible, I've seen it in the news. Are you okay?"

"I was near the place, having breakfast...I still can't believe it..."

"I know...So close to my embassy...Tell your boss and the family I'm sorry, okay? If I didn't have so much to do here at home, I'd go myself..."

"Just tell me something, America..."

"Yeah?"

"...You and your people had nothing to do with this, right?"

Silence from the other side of the line.

"You've been watching too many spy movies lately, Spain" America chuckled, and he hanged up.

Spain did too and joined the attendants.

Yeah, he was probably very bewildered by what happened.

The room reflected perfectly what the whole people of Spain felt: nervousness, anguish...It had been confirmed that the terrorist band E.T.A. was responsible for it. It was an 'act of justice' for what Civil Guard had done to nine of their fellows. Justice...They called such a barbaric act justice...

"Antonio."

After paying his respects to Carrero's widow, Franco gestured Spain to approach.

"This is don Juan Carlos. He will be the head of State when the moment comes. And this is his wife, Sofía of Greece."

Spain had heard about the prince but had never seen him in person. He had been avoiding everyone lately, as much as he was curious to meet the grandson of Alfonso. He was a good looking man, and his wife had a very kind face and spoke kind words.

"I have heard so much about you, Mr. Spain. I am glad I could finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, don Juan Carlos" Spain bowed a bit, and Juan Carlos smiled.

"No, please, don't. If someone should bow after you, that is me."

"Well...One day you'll be my boss."

Spain didn't realize the way he said that. He thought he had used a neutral tone. Maybe Franco was in a bad mood because one of his most loyal men had been murdered, or Juan Carlos had just realize he had not inherited a meek nation. The atmosphere turned cold.

But then Juan Carlos smiled.

"I am sure you and I will get along" he said.

"Sure, of course" Spain said.

He was not very convinced, though. He was sure things were not going to change any time soon. But it was okay. He had convinced himself long time ago that things were never going to be his way. It didn't hurt anymore, because now he expected nothing from nobody.

It wasn't until two years later that the change began.


1975


And it all happened early in the morning. He was having a really nice dream when a phone call woke him up. And so, in a wink, he forgot completely what it was about. Urgh. He rubbed his face and extended his arm to grab the phone.

"Yesss?" he grunted.

The words he heard made him wake up completely in a matter of seconds.

Soon later, he was driving to the Hospital La Paz, feeling a funny feeling inside of his chest. He drove close to the limit of speed.

When he got there, however, it had already happened.


«People of Spain...Franco...is dead.»

While President Arias Navarro gave his people the news on the television, grief barely allowing him to speak, Spain remained sat outside of the hospital room, not moving, not speaking. The poor boy was so afflicted, of course. The widow, Carmen Polo, caressed his cheek and, sighing, went to receive some more visitors. They offered him their condolences, assured him everything would be alright, this was a blow but he had to be strong.

But among all those sorrowful faces, a faint smile grew on his.

...Franco was dead...


Only Hussein from Jordania, Pinochet from Chile and Rainier from Monaco attended the mass funeral. None of the nations Spain knew showed up.

On the other hand, he did see them at the ceremony of Juan Carlos' crowning as king.

France, Germany and America were present when Juan Carlos, from the tribune, took deep breath and said:

"In this time charged with emotion and hope, full of pain for the events we just lived, I assume the crown of the kingdom with full aware of my responsibility before the Spanish people and the honorable duty which implies for me the compliance of the laws and the respect of a centenary tradition which now converge on the throne..."

The king's eyes, all cameras were witnesses, turned to the nation.

"Today a new period in Spain's history starts. This period, which we will go through together, starts with peace, work and prosperity, fruit of the common effort and decisive, collective will. The Monarchy will be faithful guardian of this inheritance and will always try to keep the closest relationship with the people."

Clapping. Spain was smiling and did what was expected from him, receiving his new monarch with respect.

But nobody in the room really believed Spain trusted this man. Because they didn't, either.


Spain was practicing with the guitar when they knocked at his door. He stopped playing and waited.

"Mr. Spain?"

"Yes?"

"...May I come in?"

After doubting for a second, Spain got up from his bed and walked to the door to open it. There he found Juan Carlos, standing with an almost shy look. Well, at least he was asking, he didn't just walk in, so he supposed he could step aside and let him in. Juan Carlos walked in and looked around.

"Quite a minimalist room..." he observed.

"I used to have lots of junk from centuries ago" Spain explained. "I decided to do a big clean up and donate most of it to museums, make some gifts to old friends...Some of those memories were depressing anyway..."

Juan Carlos nodded and then his eyes focused on the guitar on the bed.

"Do you play guitar?"

"Yeah. My skills are kind of rusty, but I am trying to get back to it."

"Didn't Franco let you play?"

"...No, I just..."

There was no point in pretending they were friends, Spain thought, so he decided to go straight to the point of Juan Carlos' visit.

"Look, your Majesty..."

"You can call me Juan Carlos. Juan, Carlos...However you like."

"Okay. Uhm, Juan Carlos, it's not that I have something against you. Really. And I'm sorry if I was rude to you at some point. But all that you're saying about bringing a big change, doing things differently...I've heard that before, and it never ended up well."

Juan Carlos nodded.

"I understand."

"So..."

"So...That is why I am here. I know nobody but Franco chose me. He never asked you for your opinion on any matter. But I want to be the king of all Spanish people, not only those who are on my side. There should be no sides now. Aren't you tired of it?"

"Yes. I am so tired of feeling divided, honestly..."

"You deserve your opinions being taken into account. I know your experiences have made you see a pattern, but I want that to change. I don't want to be your owner. I want to be your friend. Work with you."

Spain frowned slightly, gazing at him.

"...How do I know I can trust you?"

"...Actions speak louder than words" Juan Carlos replied. "Just wait, okay? Just for a little."

Spain doubted, he tapped his fingers against his own thighs, then sighed.

"If there is something I have is time, I guess..."

It took time, yes. During the following months, Spain listened to so many promises: amnesty, political freedom, reform of the laws...Had Carrero lived to hear about this, he would have foamed. The living country's leadership, which wanted things to stay the way they were, were foaming indeed. Spain was starting to think Juan Carlos would be kicked out in any moment. He was rubbing so many people the wrong way with his pretensions. He wished he actually did what he had promised. Bringing a real change to the situation...But every time his people protested, the government sent the police and even the army to repress them. There were casualties. The government would work hard to keep things the way they were.

However, it was precisely this situation what made Juan Carlos compel president Arias Navarro to resign. He was being pressured to make changes and he didn't deliver. Then, that young politician, a man called Adolfo Suárez, was put in charge. And he did something Spain wouldn't have expected in a million years.

As soon as he heard the news, he ran to Suárez's office and got in without knocking. He surprised the president talking over the phone. Spain showed him the papers still in his hand.

"What is this? Explain to me, because I must have lost all of my reading comprehension skills" he asked, panting.

Suárez excused himself to the person he was talking to, then hanged up to walk to Spain with a smile.

"My friend, you are now a democratic nation."


1977


In his house, Spain tried to spend the night as calm as he could, but there was this feeling inside of him which didn't allow him to do anything at all. All he could do was lay on the bed and wait. He had turned on the television to distract himself with one of this humor programs, but his mind always returned to the same issue, and he was tired of reading and hearing news about it. But he couldn't engage himself in any activity either! So in the end he decided to gaze at the ceiling and wait for the results.

At that time, during the whole day, his people were voting for the first time in forty-one years. No...this time was different, perhaps. Everybody could vote. Everybody at all, men and women of all ideologies, of both sexes, all those who were legally adults...They had so many parties to choose, even the communists! At that moment he remembered so many people he wished they were alive to see this...

Who would win? He was curious to know...

Whoever was in charge of the Parliament would be their partners in of the biggest projects in his life: the writing of a Constitution.


1978


«You know I am not a human; I represent the feelings, traditions and history of millions of people through time. Therefore, I cannot vote, because I don't have an opinion about political matters. But my people have spoken for me. Yesterday, they said yes to the new Constitution, which makes me sovereign. And by making me a sovereign, you, my people, have given yourselves the power, and nobody will take this away from you. This Constitution is special because it has been made from unity, consensus. This Constitution will protect all of my people, and my sister Catalunya's, and my brother's Basque Country. Everyone. Together, we will work together for freedom, justice, equality and pluralism. I have made mistakes in the past and allowed my rulers to make them, but not anymore. From now on, everyone, even the government, will have to respond before the law, the people and me. If there is something I can contribute with is experience. I have made many mistakes, I have committed many sins, and I don't want to fall into them again. However, I cannot do this alone. That is why I proclaim myself as a parliamentary monarchy. With the guidance and representation of the house of Bourbon, I am sure we can do great things. My people...I am so proud of you...»

There was no reason for Spain to keep living at El Pardo. He didn't have to live under Juan Carlos' roof, at La Zarzuela. He could live wherever he wanted. Nobody controlled what he did, where he went, who he talked to, at what time he went to bed, what he ate, what he read...

...He was free...

After the discourse, he changed his suit for a black t-shirt and jeans and spent the night bar after bar.

«Cuando por la mañana suena el despertador / Cuando a mediodía comes en el comedor / cuando por la tarde ves la televisión / cuando por la noche usas el vibrador / Toca el pito / y en un momentito a tu lado estaré»

Most people Spain knew would have been horrified by the looks of those young singers and would have considered what they were making was noise, not music; what about the way they moved, as if they were being electrocuted? But Spain felt it like a drug running through his veins, shaking his body, driving him mad.

He almost forgot England was back to the country on vacations and had telephoned him to meet here. It wasn't until he saw him coming into the pub when he came back to reality and approached.

"You never stop surprising me!" he told him as soon as he saw him, having to yell because the music was so loud.

If someone would have told him fifty years before that he would see England wearing something which were not tweed suits, but t-shirt, jeans and a leather jacket, he would have thought they were not talking about the same person. But he was not dreaming. England was actually dressed that way, and seemed to like the music they were playing live.

"They're good, but my punk is better!"

"We'll see about that. I'm happy to see you."

"What? I can't hear you!"

"I said, and I can't believe I am saying this, I'm glad to see you again!"

England smiled and approached his lips to his ear so he didn't have to scream like a madman to have a conversation with him.

"You're a good man and I like coming to your house when I have the chance! I know I've been kind of an arsehole in the past to you, but...!"

"It's okay, dude! I was one big douchebag too!"

Things were changing. Spain finally saw it. He could finally be himself, do the things he wanted, try everything...No more impositions, no more doubts. He was free.

Darn, he had known England for ages, he had become an important part of his life. And, even if he had been married to men in the past, he had never kissed one, he didn't know what it felt like. So he removed the spine of both and left a mischievous kiss on England's lips.


Most of the time Spanish History students have little to no time to study this part of our history and it is a pity, because it explains so many things going on today.

Franco's health was deteriorating at the beginning of the 70s, and like in all governments based on a figure, his regime was in danger when he was gone, he had to think of what would happen when that moment came. He didn't want Spain to go through what happened in Portugal, when revolution ended with Salazar's regime and communists got the power. So he decided to bring back monarchy with Alfonso XIII's grandson, Juan Carlos, supposedly molded into his beliefs (he didn't choose Juan, Alfonso's son, who had to be the one to get the crown by right because of ideological reasons). Also, he made Luis Carrero Blanco president, a man who belonged to this branch which didn't want any change.

But E.T.A., a terrorist organization which had been killing in the past years (and here we see the public opinion was on their side because they were seen as opposing to the regime), killed Carrero in a really spectacular attack, so brutal the car actually ended up in a roof. Spain's conversation with America is based on the conspiracy theory which says that the United States had something to do with it, being the embassy so close to the place where the explosives were put underground, something almost impossible to do secretly. However, it seems that the United States were not much of a fan of the idea of Spain being a democracy, even if their ideas had influenced the minds of the Spaniards a lot. The public opinion was turning against their presence in the country (mostly after an incident with radioactive material in the waters of Palomares due to the crash of one of their planes), and it seemed convincing democrats to let them stay would be harder than convincing the Francoists.

Anyway, Franco died and Juan Carlos was crowned, and he didn't do what he was expected to do. He made Adolfo Suárez president and let him destroy the Francoist laws using their own legislation. After that, some parties like the Communist were legalized and the first democratic elections of our recent history took place, Suárez's party being the winner. That is why in his honor the Barajas Airport changed its name to include his when he died in 2014. The new Parliament, formed by people of different ideologies, created the Constitution we have now.

With democracy, the Spanish people went mad. Since there was no censorship anymore, a new cinema genre appeared called 'destape', which is basically little plot and lots of feminine nudity. It was such a phenomenon that like half of the movies produced during the late 60s and the 70s were of this kind, mostly starred by actors Andrés Pajares and Fernando Esteso. Also, it was in democracy when the Movida started, a counter-cultural movement, mostly in Vigo and Madrid. The one Spain is watching is Kaka de Luxe, the debut of a very famous singer in Spain called Alaska, but there were more: Loquillo, Nacha Pop, Radio Futura, Los Secretos or Tequila.

Why is England in this picture? Why does Spain like him now? Related to the last chapter, this is the beginning of tourism, and it turns out the most numerous since the beginning to these days have always been the British. Also, British punk was a big influence to the artists of the Movida. Not to mention that during this time gender roles, sexuality and all those things repressed during the dictatorship were starting to relax. We definitely went mad those years...