Bad things never walk alone, they said, and were they right!
Spain found it so incredibly strange to not have a monarch by his side, telling him what to do, after so many centuries, that he doubted he was ever going to get used to it. Without someone to tell him how to put his projects into practice, he felt lost, a bit powerless even...
He didn't want to make Ferdinand right about something, but perhaps he wasn't wrong when he assumed that he needed someone to do the thinking for him...
The respect the other nations used to have for him was completely gone—he had been suspecting it for long and now it was completely obvious. Germany, the nation born from Holy Roman Empire's ashes, Prussia's brother and pupil, wanted to play with the big boys. Since he hadn't acquired very profitable colonies in the conquest of Africa, because running against France and England was pointless, he turned his eyes to the Pacific Ocean to calm his yearning for expansion. China seemed like a very good pal to trade with. Asia in general had always been a good market. Germany decided he had to establish routes and commercial bases in there.
In Spain's Caroline Islands, most concretely.
Spain knew he was washed up and had lost his former reputation, but that didn't mean he was going to let anybody steal what was his. Even if he had completely forgotten he owned them in the first place. He traveled to those forsaken islands to teach Germany not to touch what was his.
He had reasons to be rude. America had played dirty tricks on Mexico to invade her house. Acted like he was just a trader, and when he got too comfortable and annoyed Mexico and she defended herself, he sent his army to 'defend himself' and claimed some land while he was at it. Germany may have seemed like a gentleman, but he was young and had to learn to respect others.
England offered his arbitration and Spain refused. Spain knew better than to trust that pirate! Vatican was chosen in the end, after their quarrel was solved accepting the expropriation in exchange of education being in the hands of the Church. Although he gave Germany the freedom to do what he wanted in the islands, at least he had to accept Spain's sovereignty. Spain would retain his honor in this case he could have never won.
Everyone was making a fool of him...
Perhaps that was why Cuba, his loyal and beloved Cuba, decided to leave.
«I want to do things my way and trade with whoever I want», he said in his missive.
And Spain got similar letters from Puerto Rico and Philippines.
Do things his way...That was what Mexico, Ecuador, Argentina said...And what was the result?
No, he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't lose them too, specially Cuba. Cuba was too valuable. Not only that: he loved his boy with passion; even if it wasn't nice to say it, he had to admit that he had always been one of his favorite siblings, if not his absolute favorite.
He couldn't let him go...And so he armed himself and traveled to the Caribbean island to put an end to his pretensions.
This would hurt him much more than it hurt Cuba...
He needed someone by his side. A king. Someone strong and determined. Someone who would give him good advice and he could trust in.
"Very well, but not a Bourbon. Never a Bourbon." President Juan Prim nodded.
Spain trusted him. In his opinion, he was a man with a good judgement, and very brave too. He had gotten death threats and he didn't even flinch. He obeyed Spain and looked for a decent monarch to sit on the throne, for Spain to decide.
It turned out to be a very difficult task. Spain discarded Ferdinand of Portugal for his refusal to Spain's old project of Portugal and him becoming one—and Prim found it scandalous that he had married an opera singer. Luisa Fernanda's husband, the Duke of Montpensier, saw once again his aspirations to the throne broken because of Prim's opposition to the Bourbons being near Spain. Veneciano recommended Spain one of his princes, Amadeo of Savoy, but he refused. So did Prussian prince Leopold. The Duke of Genoa, nephew of Italy's king? Spain offered him to marry one of Luisa Fernanda's daughters—but not even that convinced him. Prim even suggested Espartero, since he was not a foreigner and Spain had learned to forgive and appreciate him, but both him and Spain knew he would refuse and so he did. He was too old and tired for that kind of things, he said. Spain practically got on his knees to ask Leopold of Prussia to be his king, and he almost accepted, but France disapproved him and a war arising between him and Prussia made Leopold finally refuse. Desperate, Spain asked Amadeo again...and he accepted, and the other nations did not complain.
Too bad Prim didn't get to see if they had done a good deal. Three days before Amadeo arrived to his new kingdom, Prim got a new threat, which claimed he would be killed that same day, but he didn't take it seriously, like those he had previously gotten. He went to the Parliament like any other morning. When he was making his way back home, though, something made the coachman stop the carriage abruptly when they had just entered Turco Street. Someone opened the door and shot him five times. Prim was taken home immediately. The doctor determined the wounds were not serious, he would survive—but a sudden fever killed him the same morning Amadeo arrived. However, Spain attended the open casket funeral and like several doctors he noticed some strangling marks in his neck.
They told him not to think about it and Spain was forced to move on, because he had a new king to greet and lots of business to attend.
"Your Greatness..." Amadeo bowed to him when they were introduced and kissed his hand.
The first impression Spain had of him, he had to confess, was not very positive. To him, that man was a foreigner, and he was fed up of foreign countries meddling in his government. But that was all he had been able to get. He would have to settle with him. Soon he saw why Italy had recommended him. He was a very kind king. Probably the kindest he had ever had.
1872
"Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo..."
"Amen."
In those times, when more and more people flirted with the progressive ideas, Spain found it hard to find someone as devout as he was, even if his orthodoxy had relaxed with the centuries. Queen Maria Victoria was said to be too religious, but Spain thought it was perfect, because the two of them were very similar. She found his collection of crucifixes, relics and rosaries fascinating, not intimidating or strange or just a historical curiosity. And she never gave the press any scandal due to her sexual activity, like Isabella and her mother did.
"I am curious, Your Greatness, and I hope you pardon my curiosity..." She said as they got up.
"Of course, your Highness." Spain invited her to go on.
"I have heard that you've got a nickname. Antonio. Why did you give yourself a human name? Is it a practical matter or...?"
"Well...it was...something my heart demanded."
"So you can feel human?"
"...More like reminding myself who I am and where I come from."
Maria Victoria smiled. "I find that nice."
They walked out of the room together, joining Amadeo in the living room.
"I hope prayer gave you comfort, your Greatness." The king said to him.
"Why do you say so?" Spain asked, taking seat in front of him.
"Because the Carlists are attacking again and I know you little brother Cuba..."
Spain sighed.
"Oh, dear, you shouldn't remind Spain of such painful matters." Maria Victoria frowned at Amadeo.
"I'm...alright..." Spain replied, shaking his head.
"Take as much rest as you need. Leave everything to me." Amadeo insisted.
"It won't be necessary. But thank you."
It was a blatant lie, even the king knew it, but he didn't say it. He was a good man. He tried to get as much weight off his shoulders as he could. He really cared for him. When he was elected he didn't know much about him and made the effort to. Amadeo's wife, a very cultured lady, learned his language so she could communicate with him. Maria Victoria spent generous amounts of money on charity, even ordering the construction of the Asylum for the Laundresses, so those women had a place to leave their children while they were at work and a place to heal if they suffered an accident.
They could have done so many good things if they had had the time...
There was a moment, after they survived that attempted murder in Arenal Street, when it seemed the two monarchs would finally be accepted by the population. But who were they kidding? They would always be foreigners in Spain's eyes. They were humble, yet nobody paid them the respects a king deserved. When there was a religious festivity, the noblewomen wore in their mantillas Bourbonic or Carlist symbols. The Church and the moderates didn't want them and prepared the return of the Bourbons, perhaps going by the saying that said 'better the devil you know than the devil you don't'. The Republicans, obviously, were disappointed by their presence and turned the public opinion against them, provoking revolts. The Carlists kept fighting for their right to reign.
And there was Cuba, too...A very unpleasant matter...
Since the government who had to support him was weak, divided and unstable, Amadeo, with no friends, was forced to abdicate just two years after his crowning. It almost seemed too long.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Greatness. Take care." Was the last thing he said to the nation he had failed to before going back to Italy.
At that moment Spain didn't feel his departure much. He was still the foreigner. It wasn't until a lot of time passed, after Maria Victoria died in 1876 allegedly because of the physical and emotional trauma of her stay in his house, and Amadeo, in 1890, when he realized how much of an idiot he had been, too late to do anything about it.
But what would become of him was the thing that worried him at that moment. Spain found himself again with no king and not very sure of what to do, because Amadeo was the last resort.
1873
President Figueras scratched his mustache with a tiny smile.
"You seem less than enthralled."
"I'm just thinking...Me? A Republic? I don't know...I've always been taken care of by a monarch..." Spain admitted.
"Why don't you take this as a sign of maturity?" Figueras said to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have always been a slave to the whims of a king, one more subject, as if you were not something more precious, bigger. It is time you become independent from a family and show what you can do."
"I am not very sure about that, sir..."
"You are scared, like any young man who starts living on his own. It is natural. But you don't want to keep living like a child for eternity, do you?"
At that time, Spain didn't know what to think. A republic...He really couldn't see himself as a republic. He never had. Many republics he had met had no principles, since there was no monarch to conserve values and take them to the right path. Not having a strong leader, they had been an easy target to the bigger fish.
...Nevertheless, it was true that he had had weak monarchs who ruined everything, who only cared about their own benefit, who made his life a living hell...
So Spain thought...why not? He could give it a chance.
"I'm on my own now..."
He would not stay in palace. It was a place too big for him alone. So, instead, he acquired a house in Barcelona and moved all of his belongings there. It had to be modest, though. The war against Cuba and the Carlists was making him spend too much money.
Life was good there, in La Rambla. Living alone wasn't as bad as he had expected. There was no one to tell him how to dress, when to eat or go to sleep, who watched him every time he left and reproached him going to the bars or performances. His customs relaxed, and he felt so comfortable...
...That is, except for the matter with Cuba.
«My dearest brother. I don't want to fight you. I don't want to do this. This is hurting me more than it is hurting you, I assure you. Please surrender. Please, come back home and let us forget this and be a family again...»
How many letters like those did he send to the island? How many of them were impregnated by a tear or two?
And then Catalonia became someone he couldn't ignore.
She just knocked at his door. She said nothing to him, she didn't give him the chance to ask her what she wanted or if she wanted to stay for lunch. She just handed him the envelope and left, as if she was in a hurry. Still standing by the open door, Spain opened the letter and read it.
«Proclamació de l'Estat Català»
Spain gazed into the direction the girl had left, but she was already gone, of course.
He told the President about it, and he explained the matter to him.
"Yes, your little sister wants to be independent. Don't worry, we already took care of it, doing what we supposed you would have done: she was denied her petition, but compensated her making the regular army voluntary."
"Ah...O-Okay, good..."
Too much to think of...With Cuba, Puerto Rico, Philippines and Catalonia demanding independence and the ghosts of anarchy and Marxism flying over his head, he didn't really get to enjoy his period of independence.
He needed a king. He couldn't do all of this alone. Perhaps the republic was a mistake. He had only been one for twenty-two months, but he wanted it over already. It was useless to pretend things would get better with just a little more time...He was so lost. He was not made for being a republic. It was a well-known secret, and so his politicians started working out a plan.
General Arsenio Martínez Campos judged that the transition back to monarchy was going too slow following the political course and revolted in Sagunto, imposing the change drastically. A change that threw away all of Prim's efforts. Spain found guards at his door requesting him to follow them back to Madrid, where a Bourbon was waiting for him in palace.
1876
The Carlists wouldn't bother Spain again. Alfonso, that shy boy Spain had seen being born and grow up, returned as a seventeen year-old man, barely recognizable to him, and personally traveled to the North to supervise the war. He fought so that Carlos María's heirs wouldn't bother Spain again. Maybe it was his bravery and strategy, or the weakness of the Carlists, but soon the headache disappeared. Those uncomfortable relatives wouldn't cause any more trouble: they were ordered to leave the country and never to come back, nor them or their descendants. With that, Alfonso earned Spain's respect and gratefulness.
"There is so much more I want to do for you, Antonio...And I think I know where to start from." Alfonso said to him, and the next thing he did to him was to promulgate a new Constitution.
It...well...At least Alfonso had good will.
He shared the power with the Parliament and all...It would have been better if Spain had been given sovereignty but, well, at least his people got the right of opinion, reunion and association...Perhaps with time he could convince him that...Hah! What was he saying? That would never happen. Spain had to assume he was back to that strange fate all nations suffered: being something more than a subject but with little to say on what their governments decreed.
He guessed it was his fate, to be ruled...
Oh, well. He was Antonius. No matter what, he would still be him. He prayed God to never let him forget it.
Still, he was convinced that this king was different. He was a good man. He could sit with him in the living room and talk to him about his feelings. He didn't judge. He didn't frown. He seemed understanding. Now that he was older, Spain recognized the face of late colonel Enrique Puig Moltó in his features, not his supposed father's, Francis. He told him about his mother, in Paris, noting that Spain hesitated to ask about her. They talked about the times when he was a little boy and Spain would play pirates with him. Good times, those!
1885
Spain's European neighbors seemed to like Alfonso. Austria said he had a good disposition, Belgium picturing in a different way, saying he was 'so cute'.
"You sure forgot me fast." Spain smirked.
Belgium was about to say something to him but she giggled instead.
"But he has this sad look, what's the matter with him?" She asked, looking at the young prince with her head tilted.
"Oh, well...He once had a cousin he loved, but she died too soon, you see..." Spain explained to her.
«Where are you going, Alfonso XII? / Where are you going, so sad? / I'm looking for Mercedes / I didn't see her yesterday...»
But the one who seemed the most satisfied with Alfonso was Germany.
"I really hope you have forgiven me for my...blunder. I had the impulse to break your spine for standing between me and my interests, but I admire what you did, the empire you built, and I don't want to ruin myself buying ships and feeding new grudges and hatred." Germany explained during the dinner.
"Well, thanks. Truth be told, I don't want to fight you, either." Spain said.
"And I am very glad you don't." Alfonso intervened, wiping his mouth with the napkin, and talked louder so the emperor could hear him too. "You are a very formidable nation, Germany. A true war machine. Fighting against you would have been a suicide. But Spain here is not to be trifled at, either, and I am sure that he will be a powerful ally when you go at war against France."
Germany's emperor was restless in his seat. Germany looked away and cleared his throat. Spain quickly snickered.
"Heh! If, my king means. But we will see, we will see..."
Good thing that Germany and his people took that slip lightly. France, on the other hand, didn't find it excusable at all. The situation between him and Germany was too tense to allow words like those. His politicians greeted Alfonso and Spain when they came to visit them next, but France didn't show up, and Spain knew he took what Alfonso had said badly when his people booed them in the streets.
"I'm sorry. I should have watched my tongue..." Alfonso apologized to Spain in private.
"Yeah, well, it's alright. France is very sensitive. You will learn how to deal with these people. You are still very young."
He was still young, not very humble but he did love his nation enough to be with him through thick and thin. So much he defied the President, the Parliament and Spain himself visited Valencia when a cholera outbreak affected the population. Spain had been showing signs, and had to rest in bed for months. Alfonso took care of him during this time. At some point he got infected and by the time Spain could leave the bed, it was him who couldn't move. He died three days before his twenty-eighth birthday.
His wife Maria Christina of Austria had given him two daughters and was pregnant when her husband passed away. Spain looked at her swollen womb and wished it was a boy. Because if it turned out to be another girl...he couldn't go through the same crap again...
Thank Heavens, his wish was granted. A boy was born months later. A boy who was king from the very moment he was born.
Although the little heir, like all children in the royal family, became something very important to Spain, it was another boy who worried him...
1898
Puerto Rico had been easy to pacify—relatively. He wanted to be independent, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. When Spain visited the island to negotiate, he almost pierced his thorax with a sword. Not that he was that angry. He just wanted Spain to see he was serious. That was Spain's impression.
"...Are you sure about this? Completely sure?" He asked his American brother.
"Yes. I did not take this decision lightly." Was Puerto Rico's answer. Once, he was a very small boy. Spain liked to dress him in white because he reminded him of a little angel. Now he was a man, with hair in his chin and a cocky but kind look.
"...I don't want to fight you any longer. Here. This is an Autonomic Letter. It will allow you to govern yourself. It has my sign, so no matter what any politician says, nobody can take it away from you."
Puerto Rico gazed at the paper for long, then looked at Spain. He got up from his chair and embraced him. Spain returned the gesture, caressing his hair.
"I'm going to miss you..." Puerto Rico thought he had perceived his brother's voice trembling.
"Hey, you're not going to cry, are you, old man? You won't lose me. I'll still be here, you know?"
"You don't need your old big brother anymore..."
"It's not that. We just...need to do things on our own. Act like adults, you know? Please, I know you are having a hard time with Philippines and Cuba. Give them what they want. Don't make them hate you. Stop this madness. It is time you let us go..."
It was true it hurt Spain having to fight his boys and girls, but the idea of them leaving forever terrified him so much he would have done anything to keep them by their side. Even making them bleed.
He promised he wouldn't repeat the mistakes he made with Mexico and the others. It was time to do changes. Perhaps he should have done that earlier, but he hoped it was not too late. He would start with Cuba. He had already hurt him, he didn't want to make things worse now that he had forgiven him, but he had to try.
But America had to show up and ruin everything...
"Nobody says no to Spain, right? You still keep certain things from your Conqueror times..."
Spain avoided looking at the bandages in Cuba's arm.
"...I don't want you to leave, Cuba..." Spain said.
"Yes, I saw that..." Cuba grunted, lighting a cigar with his free arm.
"Mexico, Venezuela...They claim I treated you guys badly. Is that the reason why you are doing this? Is this your revenge?"
"No, you..." Cuba sighed and turned around. "I can't say you're an angel, Spain. You may think you are but you're not. You made me work from dusk till dawn growing your sugar and making your tobacco. I still think that's all that matters to you..."
"That's not true. I care about you. I really do."
"Then, why don't you let me be free?"
"Because you are not in a jail."
"I just want to do things my way."
It was funny they were having this conversation. Cuba had grown so, so much...Hair now covered his jaw. He had grown, tall and wide. He had muscles. He had the habit of smoking cigars, too. Anyone who looked at them would have guessed Spain was the youngest. But there was that man, in front him, requesting him to be independent.
"Also...you sent your troops to shoot at me." Cuba added, expelling the smoke.
"I..."
"Admit it, Spain: you don't want me to leave because you need me. Not emotionally. But economically. I am your working mule."
"I would never say that about you."
"Then show me you actually give a damn about me and let me go."
"I will not do that."
The way he said it, his frown, made Cuba smirk.
"I knew it...You don't want me to go, because you'd lost so much money. You think Cuba is the dumb one who will stay with you forever and ever..."
"No, I-!"
A sound distracted Spain. A ship had just arrived to the port. He came closer to see where it was from, because it didn't look like part of his fleet.
It was North American...
"...Have you been seeing America?" He asked in low voice.
"That is none of your concern." Cuba said defensively.
"Answer to me. Have you?" Spain turned towards him.
"I've told you: I owe you nothing, not even an explanation... America has been helping me. It is the fair thing. You helped him be independent. Now he is helping me. What? Don't you think it's fair?"
"He wants to buy you and Puerto Rico, did you know that? He has offered me money countless times..."
"I don't believe you. Admit it, Spain, the matter here is that the others are getting the possessions you didn't have the balls to defend."
Cuba flinched when Spain's open palm almost made contact with his cheek.
Spain stopped himself and gazed at Cuba with his eyes open wide. Cuba's surprised expression turned into a scowl, and turned his back on him.
"Cuba..."
"Don't talk to me." He grunted.
Spain had no choice but let him go. And think about what he almost did...
After that, he went straight to America.
"What's with this cold reception? I thought we were in Cuba, not the North Pole..." The man with the glasses smiled.
"You know very well what the problem is. You can't just show up in other people's houses without announcing yourself. That's like a declaration of war." Spain replied.
"Is it? Oh...I had no idea."
"There are so many things you need to learn if you want to become an empire."
"An empire? What? What are you talking about?"
Spain glared at him.
"You think I'm stupid, right? Cuba. You've been supporting him."
"I believe in freedom, and he wants it, so..." America replied.
"So you will help him get it, right? You couldn't care less about his freedom. All you want is a colony. You escaped from England's power and you want to do the same to someone else? You disappoint me..."
America's smile changed. He did not bother being diplomatic anymore. He chuckled.
"Look who's talking! You don't give a fuck about Cuba either! You just know you'd be completely ruined if it wasn't for his help! If he left, you'd be poor as a rat! You act like Papá Spain, and you are the worst of all! You are even worse than England. I know what you did in the South. I read about it, the guys told me, even your friends, Italy. What you did to the empires that lived here before you came. What you did to those children. And in Europe, to everyone who didn't agree with your ideas."
"That was the past! You have no right to hold that against me! Listen to me, America: being someone big is tempting, but it only leads to one place: doom. I won't let you have Cuba and Puerto Rico. Not only for their sake, but yours too. You have no idea of what being an empire is. One day you are here and the other you are down here." Spain paused, the words he had once heard inside his head came to his mouth. "Everything you built will crumble around you, and on you."
"Thaaaank you for that piece of advice I didn't ask for. As I said, I believe in freedom: what about you let me hang out with my new buddy Cuba and you, I don't know, keep shooting at him? Let's see what happens."
He left as if he had lost enough time pointlessly, and left Spain snorting with rage.
Although he had reasons to, he didn't do it.
What happened later wasn't his idea. It took him for surprise just as well as it took America.
When that night, the Maine blew up, killing two hundred and fifty six Americans, Spain was having dinner. As plain as simple as that. A sad, tasteless dinner. His men had not done it because he had not given the orders and he knew his people wouldn't do something so risky without his consent. But America didn't believe it. Enraged, he declared war on him, and Spain was forced to face that young, developed, fearless nation.
Spain would always think America did it himself so he had an excuse to get belligerant. He was open to believe anything at all at that time.
He, old, tired, with little resources and untrained soldiers, defenseless against the viruses that floated in the air, was such a poor rival that many said he didn't even try. But he did, beyond all reason, just for honor.
It was all for nothing.
In a matter of five months, Spain lost everything he had left.
Spain gazed at the paper because he didn't want to look at America's satisfied smile. Or Puerto Rico's extreme confusion, finding himself being sold to America, when he was supposedly independent. Or Philippines' indignation ("You said you wanted nothing in exchange of your help!, he heard him say). Or Cuba's beautiful golden eyes.
"I don't have all day, you know?" America hurried him.
Spain closed his eyes, breathed deep, sank the quill in the bottle of ink and signed the paper.
As soon as it was signed, America snatched it from his hands.
"Well...This is a little embarrassing..." He said mockingly. "I mean...Oh, forget it. You wouldn't get it. Alright, guys, let's go."
"No! You said...!" Philippines protested, and America sighed with annoyance.
"We will discuss this later. Now, don't make me force you..."
"Touch one hair on his head and I will slit you open like a pig..." Spain's growl, still not looking up, made everyone present freeze. But America wasn't intimidated at all.
"You are in no disposition to give orders to anyone. Look at you...You'll be lucky if you can walk out of this room. He belongs to me, so he will do as I say. You had your chance."
"I take no orders from you!" Philippines replied, and Cuba placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, now, don't make things worse...For now...And you, America, behave."
"Just saying..." He shrugged, and walked out of the room, followed by Puerto Rico, who guessed he had no choice for the moment.
Philippines let go of Cuba's hand and left too, crossing his arms.
Cuba was the last to go, and Spain looked up to glance at him for the last time.
They first met in 1492, in a lonely beach. When he saw him, Spain thought he was the most beautiful child in the whole world, with his dark skin and those big golden eyes shining with the light of the sun.
When he last looked at those eyes, he felt life had lost all of its sense.
Cuba reluctantly left the room, leaving Spain crying like no one had ever seen him cry.
"Well, it was a lost battle...We can't pretend we didn't know..."
"We have lost our youth in that absurd war...!"
"What will we do now?"
"The nation must change."
"Yes, he can't keep acting like this!"
"Either he changes his ways, or we are all doomed!"
"We are the world's ridicule!"
Someone knocked at the door.
"Your Greatness?" The little maid softly asked. She got no answer. "Dinner is served..."
She placed an ear against the door to see if she could hear something. Nothing at all.
The housekeeper found her in that posture and grabbed her by the other ear.
"What do you think you're doing, you insolent girl?" She reprimanded her.
"I just wanted to tell His Greatness that dinner is served!" The maid defended herself.
"How many times do I have to tell you? He will come out when he pleases! He..."
The housekeeper turned her eyes to the door and pushed the maid away from the door, to add in a discreet voice:
"He's not feeling well at the moment...We've got to leave him alone..."
Spain, curled up against himself in a corner of his room, heard mumbles from the other side but didn't react to them.
1899
Spain's presence was required in Baler. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the news. It brought him back to life. What was the matter with Philippines? Was he alright? Did America hurt him? If he dared, he could declare himself dead...
But no. The problem was not America. The problem were his own soldiers.
"They don't know our war ended time ago. They still think they are fighting against my people. They are making a mess. People from your house have come to them to make them understand, but they insist it is all false, a dirty trick..."
Spain gazed at him for so long Philippines sighed.
"I am alright..."
Spain then looked at the hanged body whose blood still dripped to the floor, with an uniform he recognized.
"...America is a lying bastard" Philippines said.
Many people tried to keep Spain away from the place. Those madmen didn't listen to anybody.
"They will listen to me." Spain assured them.
Nobody was sure about that, but they let him approach.
As soon as he did, Spain received three shots in the chest. Behind him, his men gasped and ran to intervene, but Spain stopped them with a gesture of his hand. He was still standing. The man who shot from the bell tower peeped out, not believing his eyes. He disappeared, Spain kept walking towards the church. The doors opened for him. A bunch of soldiers came to his encounter, aiming at him. 'They still think this is an excellent trick', Spain thought. Yes, his people were as stubborn as he was—or viceversa. So he guessed he had to show them. He opened his shirt to reveal a chest with three bleeding holes in it. There was no way that could be make up or some kind of artifice. Those were real flesh and real blood. He let them touch both—he felt like Jesus when he resurrected and let Thomas touch his wounds.
When they realized about their mistake, the men dropped their guns and bowed to him. None of them dared to speak. What they had done was reason enough to be brought before a court-martial and executed.
"So it is you...Señor España..." One of them was finally able to exclaim.
Spain turned to look at the highest authority in there: lieutenant Martín Cerezo, a bearded man.
"...I am really sorry, sir, I..." He said.
"It is alright. I hope it is proof enough for you to see I am not an impostor...The war is over...It is really over..." Spain told him and his men.
Martín Cerezo lowered his head.
"I...read one newspaper this morning...One friend of mine being destined to Málaga...There is no way the Filipinos could know that..."
Spain placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "It is okay, lieutenant. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You followed the military code. And you have been very brave."
"...Thank you, sir..."
"No, thanks to you. You never surrendered..."
"Because I knew...I mean, I was sure those were lies. You wouldn't have just given up..."
Now it was Spain the one who couldn't look at the man to the face.