HETALIA BELONGS TO HIDEKAZ HIMARUYA
1609
Everything between them started with an accident.
Spain had heard about the riches that awaited travelers in Japan, the endless possibilities. Like everyone else, he had wanted to trade with the Asian. The problem was that ever since Byzantium had fallen in the hands of the Ottoman, the route to Asia was extremely complicated, full of pirates and fees. Whoever found an alternative route to avoid those dangers and troubles would be the king. Guided by Christopher Columbus, Spain sailed into the unknown, beyond maps, where people said ships fell into an abyss full of monsters. He expected to find Japan, and he found something different instead. Something new. Such finding was so much better than what Asia could provide: endless amounts of gold, Pagans to convert and add to his population, plants and animals one could have only possibly dreamed about. He spent decades exploring, conquering, controlling.
It was from there from where he was coming. Having taken care of New Spain, now he was heading to Manila, to visit his other kid, Philippines.
That is, until the typhoon got in their way.
When Spain woke up, he was lying on a futon on the floor. He had healed his wounds, but his men were still bandaged, some unconscious. But alive. Around them were five or six women of different ages, tending their wounds. He tried to ask them where they were. They didn't seem to understand his language, or any other he tried. They had to communicate through gestures for the most basic things. They fed them, treated them with a wife or a mother tenderness and sympathy. They were so polite—had they been able to understand Spanish, it would have been just perfect. It wasn't until news flew and attracted the attention of the powerful that Spain finally found out where he was.
When Japan came to visit along with the shogun.
The shogun stayed with one of the survivors, the governor of Manila, while the two nations talked in private. It was a bit complicated to talk, but they got to find someone, an old Christian missionary, who could translate Japanese to Latin, and therefore make a translation from Latin to Spanish.
"You are in Onjuku, sir. His Greatness wants you to know that you will be well taken care of as long as you and your crew need it."
"Please tell him we will be eternally grateful." Spain requested the monk. He already showed it to Japan with a smile and a small bow with the head, to which Japan politely responded.
The Spanish were fascinated about the Japanese and the Japanese were fascinated about the Spanish. It seemed this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Until Japan's emperor started to see this encounter with mistrust and planted the seed of suspicion in Japan's heart.
"You know what he and Portugal are like. Conquerors. We cannot trust their intentions. He sees himself as the paladin of his god. You see what he does to every nation, big or small, he encounters. He yields them with the sword and weakens their minds with his faith of slavery. His intentions are not good. He has come here to steal what is yours."
And so Spain, his people and his missionaries were expelled from Japan and he became isolated for centuries, until, timidly, he started to open up to others, although in his mind was still the fear that the world was like a pond full of fish in which the big ate the small. And the wisest were those who had the ability to make themselves invisible to the eyes of the predators.
1868
Queen Elizabeth the Second of Spain was very interested in Spain having a good relationship with Japan. He was a very prosperous nation, while Spain's heart faded long ago, and the amount of territory he controlled shrunk each year. Also, some intellectuals found his art and philosophy very interesting and wanted a cultural exchange.
Japan and Spain attended conferences, museums, atheaneums. Japan had a legion of followers all around the world and in Spain it was the same. Spain was thankful that he shared all that knowledge with him, and lavished him with all sorts of pleasures during his stay.
One night, he brought a gypsy little girl and a troupe of musicians to perform a flamenco number in front of their guest.
Japan overcame the initial indifference and found himself mesmerized by the show. Some chords and the hoarse voice were relatable to pieces of his traditional music. But look at this...The moves of that child, her funny self-confidence, being just a kid, her energy. The rhythmic lapping, the strumming of the guitars. He didn't need to know what the lyrics of the song meant. That was that mattered the least. The way the child spun, her smile, the laments coming out from the throat of the main singer...
That was part of what Spain was made of. He had been watching with goosebumps—his body reacting to it with a shiver—and couldn't help himself. He stood up and danced with the girl, then on his own. It seemed it wasn't an exclusively feminine or solitary dance.
Japan's heartbeat ended up catching up with the stomping. When it finished, he felt out of breath.
"Did you like it?" Spain asked him when he sat with him again.
Japan nodded. "I loved it..." He muttered under his breath.
1940
Spain went through a living hell, and it couldn't be said that Japan was in a better place. He had to fight big and numerous enemies. Sometimes he felt he needed help. And he found it in Spain.
Although neutral, he was still intimately linked to the Axis. He was the ex-husband of Austria, lifelong friend of Italy, sympathized with Germany's ideas, and still remembered Japan's rescue.
"Of course you understand that if I fight America, I'm going to need..." Japan started to say.
"You'll need all help possible. Yeah. I know what he is like and what he's capable of, the yankee. Don't worry, I can have a talk with my family in the South. I can convince them to give you a hand." Spain replied.
Japan couldn't help staring at Spain for long. Bound to a wheelchair after the Civil War wrecked him...
Unable to fight...Unable to dance that beautiful dance of his...
His memory brought back that dancer who came to his house back in 29 to promote a movie, "Amores brujos"...La Argentina, they called her...She was expressionless but in her eyes was that flame...La Argentina fell dead the same instant she found out about that fratricidal war starting, brokenhearted...It almost seemed that Spain himself was dead, after the war.
But there was still that...something...like a trace of pride and happiness in his eyes...
A certain strength burning inside...
One day he would get up from there and dance again...
How little he knew that was what awaited him, after America crushed him!
Now it was evident that Spain had been siding with the losers, and it was the time to get the favor of the winners. The dictator in charge of him tried to convince everyone that there was no friendship with the Axis. Japan was a murderer, he had killed many Spanish civilians. Spain had not entered the war because he had stopped him—he had saved him from a terrible fate!
But there was no compassion for Spain, and the new world order decided to isolate him for his connections with fascism. For decades, Spain and Japan were apart again, until he went through his own aperture period.
1992
Seville's Expo had attracted Japan, just like everyone else, because it was an opportunity to both promote himself to the world and learn about Spain. Soon Barcelona's Olympic Games would take place, but they had this in the meantime. A little informal time, just the two of them. It was rate, because Spain was surrounded by friends all the time.
Spain watched the pleasure Japan was eating the appetizer with, a dish full of Iberian ham.
"You like it?" Spain smiled.
"It is really delicious."
"Try it with this." Spain said, offering him his own cup of wine.
It really had the proper acidity and lightness to combine perfectly with the ham. Japan licked his lips.
"I must remember to bring some of this back home..." He muttered, giving Spain his glass back.
"With pleasure! I am seeing an opportunity for business in the Asian market with ham..."
Around them, people suddenly burst into applause, interrupting him. The musicians and the dancers had come out for their performance. Japan had been looking forward it. He forgot about the food, Spain's conversation, the business that brought him there. Again the hoarse laments from deep inside, like the soul was being pulled out, the women stronger than life, not losing their elegance, the strumming of the guitars and the beating of the cajon drum...
He didn't even notice Spain approaching him until his breath in his ear made him jump.
"You seem to love flamenco, huh?"
Japan was shy to reply. "I find it delightful, I cannot lie..."
"If you like it, I could teach you."
Japan's face looked red when he looked at Spain, and it was not precisely the effect of the lights in the tablao.
"Me? But...Oh, but...Don't you find it offensive that I...?"
"Offensive? Are you kidding? I'm flattered that it interests you so much! Culture is for sharing with those who appreciate it. I want you to learn. I owe it to you. After all, you gave me Heidi, Mazinger Z, Dragon Ball..."
Japan smiled shyly.
"...Please...If it doesn't bother you..."
That same night in Spain's house, with a dim light, he gave Japan the first lesson.
"In flamenco, when there is a dancer, it is the dancer who takes the lead. They tell the musicians the pace, when to end, with gestures, cheering..."
"It seems complicated..." Japan muttered.
"It is not. You just have to follow your heart. Look: here are some basic steps. Like...Grab the apple from the tree, throw it at your feet, stomp it. Grab it. Throw it. Stomp it. Yeah, something like that."
Japan felt so clumsy, so ridiculous...Sometimes Spain laughed, surely not with bad intention, but it didn't help.
"You know? I think the problem is that you are not letting yourself go. Flamenco consists on letting out what you keep inside, letting everyone hear, no, see your roar. Hitting the floor to tell the world: 'Here I am, this is my strength'. It is attitude. I know you have it inside of you."
"Maybe I don't..."
"Nonsense. I can see you do. What are you afraid of?"
"Me? Of nothing?"
"Nah. You're afraid. You are always quiet as a church mouse, cold like a dead man; you never make noise. Sometimes I even forget you are in the room. You sure love to go unnoticed."
"Because if you are noticed you attract bad people into your life..."
"Then show them they have no power over you. Show them that you are strong like a bull. Shoo them away with your feet."
What was he so afraid of? He had fought many battles...He was prosperous...He had risen back from the dead...There was nothing to prove to anybody...He was free...He was strong...
"That's it. You're doing it. One, two, three. One, two, three. Tran, tran, tirititrán. You are Japan. Tell the world: here's Japan."
Japan had always thought of Spain like...fire. Burning. Passion. Dangerous when out of control. He thought of himself as rain.
It could fall softly, but it could also become storm. The thunder. He invoked it with his feet.
He was the rain that fell from the sky, caressing every surface, soaking, nourishing.
"That's it, that's it! You're getting it! My, you have a lot of, uhm, duende!"
Japan stopped to catch a breath and have a quick look at his dictionary.
"I have a lot of...goblin?"
"Yeah. No. I mean, don't take it literally. Duende in the flamenco slang, that is the...the...the feeling, you know? The spark. It is when someone feels what they are doing and everyone else can see it and feel it."
"...A-And you think I have it?" Japan gazed at Spain feeling out of breath, not only because of the dance, but also the excitement that he bore inside of his chest.
"Boy, you've always had it inside of you. Don't worry about the technique, because you can always perfect it. If you have the duende, you got like 80% of flamenco. Just do what I told you: let it out. You are too strict sometimes."
They heard a couple of thumps under their feet. Spain chuckled.
"I think the neighbors are telling us it's time to go to sleep."
Nowadays
"Konnichiwa, ladies." Spain greeted the women around him.
There were like ten or so. They said hi to him, some shy. He heard some mutter things among each other, surely about him, their cheeks red. A merry group, but Spain still couldn't guess what Japan had brought him there for.
"Sit here." He just told him, and walked away.
"Okay?" Spain chuckled, and sat on a solitary chair in the middle of the room.
Japan and the ladies disappeared, and when they returned to the room, Spain let out a surprised laughter. The ladies had put a flamenca attire on, with roses in their hair, shawl, and all. Even Japan was dressed accordingly, with heeled shoes. Along with them entered men carrying instruments which said hello to Spain in his native tongue. They were the ones who provided the music to which Japan and his women danced:
Como el agua
Ay, como el agua
Como el agua
Como el agua clara
Que baja del monte
Así quiero verte
De día y de noche
This time it was Spain who watched wide-eyed. It had nothing to envy an Andalusian tablao. ("¡Ole las que bailan bien!") But the best of all was how Japan moved, so smooth, like it was natural to him. ("¡Ole!") The floor under them trembled like an earthquake—that was Japan's strength, finally coming out from his shell and letting everyone see what he had inside him, the gifts he had kept to himself all this time. ("¡Fuego!") No one to please, no rules to obey. He almost looked like a different guy.
No, this was Japan. The real Japan.
When it was over, with a tremendous kick, Japan panted looking at Spain, who was clapping and shouting: "¡Olé!".
"Did you like it? I'm sorry if it wasn't good..."
"Are you kidding? I feel threatened." Spain got up and took his hands.
"Oh, I apologize..."
"Come on, Japan, it was sarcasm."
Too bad the music stopped and Japan had to go back to his usual bashful self...Well...Changes were slow...
THE END
Note: The song referenced in the end is "Como el agua" by Camarón de la Isla, legendary flamenco singer.
And if you want to find out about the Japanese interpretation of flamenco, check out dancers like Yoko Komatsubara, Yoko Tamura or Shoji Kojima, federations and the magazine "Paseo".