HETALIA IS A MANGA BY HIDEKAZ HIMARUYA
THE EMBASSY WAS A REAL TEA SHOP IN MADRID, AS REAL AS ITS FOUNDER MARGARITA KEARNEY TAYLOR (1890-1982) AND THE REST OF THE PEOPLE DEPICTED HERE
2017
The Castellana was one of the places Spain visited the most every time he was in Madrid. After all, that was where most of his ministries and embassies were—not to mention the Bernabeu stadium. And since he spent so much time in those streets, he always visited the Embassy to fill his stomach and ease his thirst.
He crossed the street dreaming about its lemon cake, the tea. He was more of a beer guy, but a tea never hurt anybody, and no one was around to tell him that was a 'ladies' thing'.
It wasn't until he got there when he realized the local was closed and a sign announced it was for sale.
His good spirits left him, reading that sign. He couldn't say he didn't know. It was just that...he couldn't get used to it; it felt like a bad dream, nothing more.
But the Embassy was closed, and seeing its doors closed, Spain felt his heart ache. He was seeing it the way it used to be back then, when those doors were always open to everyone...
1940
And anyone.
The Embassy didn't have that name by chance. It was surrounded by embassies, and its founder, Margarita, had opened it with the intention of bringing the foreign concept of teashops to Madrid, in the closest location to the idea she had of the streets of Paris.
Margarita made friends everywhere she went. It wasn't difficult for her, being so chatty and nice. She had been born in United Kingdom, but she had had a daughter with a Spanish diplomat and had moved to live in Spain. Spain knew her personally, and, after centuries fighting England to death, she had managed to make him change the idea he had about his children. People from all corners of the city came to her shop to chat, because there the crème de la crème drank tea and ate cake in the Embassy.
Even after the Civil War, with its destruction and misery, the Embassy was open to everyone.
Even if in Europe people were destroying each other.
The German and the British embassies were so close to each other, and people from both visited the teashop. The air was tense sometimes but there was a surprising cordiality between both sides. After all, Spain's house was neutral territory. It wouldn't have been polite to cause a fuss.
Spain was disgusted just by seeing it, the hypocrisy. Yes, they shared space, treated each other cordially, like neighbors, but back in their homes people were being brutalized. That and his own sequels made the tea not seem as delicious as it used to be.
He was surrounded by spies and he knew it. He had seen some of them in his meetings with the Axis. They pretended they were having tea, but in fact they were listening to what the British were talking about, attentive to every tiny bit of information escaping from their lips...
Ramón was trying to engage him in a jovial conversation with one of the workers from the German embassy. He was supposed to be someone important. It was not surprising for Spain that Ramón liked that man so much: he was Franco's brother-in-law, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and everything Hitler did was marvelous to him. He seemed capable of putting all nazis in line to kiss their ass. Spain was even sure that he had a photo of Germany in his room and dreamed of him at night. The truth is he didn't like him that much, but, again, he was the brother-in-law of his new boss, El Cuñadísimo...He wasn't very talkative and Ramón attributed it to his weak state, so the conversation was between him and the diplomat; they left him alone.
Thanks to this, he was able to look at the teashop distractedly, the people. Margarita was with a group of men, laughing out loud. One of them seemed a bit nervous and his partners offered him a drink. A German man was praising the polished shoes of another.
It was then when Spain saw a familiar face among the crowd.
Was it possible that it was...?
Their eyes crossed. The man made him a gesture with his head into a certain corner.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, I have to go to..." Spain muttered, and moved his wheelchair away from the two men.
"Do you need help?" Ramón asked him.
"No, I can manage on my own."
He pretended he was going to the restroom, but he disappeared around a corner.
The man he had seen was there, with his arms crossed.
"Is my disguise that bad?"
"Nothing can hide those eyebrows of yours."
England smirked. Yes, it was him, definitely. Spain would have recognized that smile anywhere.
"What the heck are you doing here? Don't you have a war to win?" Spain asked.
"This is part of the strategy. Churchill's orders."
"...I'm waiting for the rest of the tale."
"Sorry, it is confidential."
"Actually, you are in my territory, I could kick you out if I wanted, so I demand you to tell me what you are doing here."
"I can't tell you."
"Why? Is this some kind of spy game?"
"You are Germany's lap dog."
"I am no one's servant. I remind you I am neutral."
"You and I know it's not true."
"England. Come on. I promise I won't tell anyone. I swear on my life."
"You have sworn so many things in the past..."
"Look at me. You could kill me just by giving me a slap. I am not a threat. And I do not take part in the war, so nothing I can do against you benefits me. What brings you to Madrid?"
England seemed to study his words for long, desperately long. In the end, maybe because he was convinced that he was not a threat to his plans, he said:
"If you say a single word about this, I will invade you and destroy your cities to the ground."
"Seems fair to me."
"...It's the Jewish people. We are getting them out of here."
"You?"
"Yes. Me and Portugal. Germany can do nothing to them. Since you are so eager to deliver those who come to you to your master..."
"That's Franco's design, not mine." Spain replied.
"With your consent." England frowned, giving him a severe look.
"...I know what you're thinking, but, even if the Axis are my friends, I don't think it's okay what they are doing to all those people. I've heard what they do to them..."
"You know nothing at all. You've got no idea of what they are doing...That's why we are trying to save as much as we can."
"And what's Margarita's role in all of this?"
"The Embassy is crucial to our plan. Your people sign the documents that certify their deaths or that they are too contagious to put them on concentration camps so their chasers leave them alone, mine create new identities and Margarita takes care of them in her house until it is time to go."
Spain was silent for a second. "So these people...Margarita's friends, who she escorts to the door, drinking, laughing, who hop into all those diplomatic cars and ambulances..."
"They are taken to my house and Portugal, where they can save their life."
And all in front of the Germans, the Francoists, him, even! Spain glanced back at the café, now surprised that the Nazi was praising a Jew's attire, that all these ladies and gentlemen were drinking chocolate by a fugitive's side without knowing it, God knew how many refugees in the upper floor, preparing themselves for the exile...It was surprising, how simple England's strategy was and how effective it was: mingling with the rest, faking normalcy...Now it didn't surprise him that that man from the other table was trembling so much and that the others were easing his nerves with whiskey.
"Who are the people that are helping you here, my people, I mean?" Spain asked.
"I can't tell you." England replied. "Something tells me I'll regret telling you this. You won't bite the hand that feeds you."
It was true. Germany helped Franco get the power. He was helping Spain survive. They were allies. He couldn't go around saving the Jews, the communists, all of those outlaws. Giving them up to the GESTAPO was a much wiser choice.
...But he had seen so much horror already. Brothers killing each other. Desperation. Fear. His own people had been greeted in other nations after escaping repression, death and misery. Could he denounce others in their same situation too?
Didn't the Gospel say that one had to help others in the time of need, no matter the cost?
He was just so tired of seeing death and repression...
"I am not a Nazi, England."
"Then prove it and keep your mouth shut."
"I'll do something better than that. I'll make a few calls. Centuries ago, I expelled the Jews from my place. But their descendants are still Spanish. There was a decree banning that but Germany doesn't know that, and I don't think he has the time to sit and read all my papers. I will create documents so all Jewish people we find are certified to be Sephardic. That way, Germany won't be able to touch them."
"He won't like it."
"I don't care."
It was evident that England didn't trust him. He would never trust him fully. But he said nothing.
Since he had been away for too long, Spain returned to his table immediately. England paid his consumption and left after giving Margarita a nod.
After a while, the man and the woman she was having a conversation with were taken outside, where a car with British identification was waiting for them. 'Good luck', Spain saw her lips vocalize.
He turned his head to Ramón and their German partner and smiled internally.
Seventy seven years later, Ramón was only a memory. Margarita passed away in the eighties. Hitler and his goons disappeared like a bad memory. Even those poor unfortunate people were dust, most of them.
And now the Embassy would be turned into something else.
Only Spain remained, with his memories, and his conscience.
It is estimated that the Embassy plot managed to save 30,000 lives. The doctor who issued the fake death certificates was Eduardo Martínez. Spain also has its particular Schindler, Ángel Sanz-Briz, called "The Angel of Budapest", who managed to save thousands of lives using the method described concerning the Sephardic origin.