Spain could only notice how everyone seemed so fascinating. So...magnetic.

Sweden not only came back, but also brought more friends with him, human and nations. Spain and his people had never seen so many blondes and were captivated by those exotic behavior and bodies. Those Norsemen and women were something very different from the Mediterranean type, something...spectacular! And so every time someone blond showed up, the Spanish started to clap, excited by the coming of the 'Swedish', and did everything at all to be close to them.

America seemed to like the little Balearic island of Ibiza. It helped him relax from all the stress he was going through, he told Spain once. His people also seemed to need vacations, escape from life back in the country, and showed Spain a shocking behavior, even scandalous at times. Men with long hair, women with hair all over their bodies, who rejected Christianity, a religion which had sold its soul for power in their opinion, in favor of Oriental beliefs, smoked all kinds of herbs which sent them to different dimensions, were sometimes caught naked in the beach and the streets. A group of these people which Spain met personally told him that government was a leash he had to release himself from.

He was also seeing that this was the message England and France wanted him to hear, even if they didn't say it personally, or avoided him when traveling to the country. They just showed him by showing off their shocking habits, the things they defended. The students' revolts, the music, the drugs...Everything seemed legitimate in the fight against the system.

Germany was not that eccentric, but he was still someone Spain looked at with much attention. Once again, he had risen from his ashes in an impressive way. The Allies had destroyed him, taken everything away from him—and he managed to get back on his feet and got through it. Now it was him who helped Spain earn some money, since he needed extra hands and Spain had always been good with manual work. Even after everything he had suffered, he still was the way Spain had always seen him: efficient, proud, prosperous, intelligent.

All of them became the mirror he looked himself into.

The Spain Franco had on his mind...that was a projection he couldn't identify with.


1970


"FREE SPAIN!"

Spain never saw it. He was never allowed to see how the students protested at the gates of the faculties of Madrid and Barcelona, nor the harsh response from the police—the grey stampede swallowing the colorful crowd. He didn't see the club blows, the chase, the boys and girls being dragged to the police wagons, screaming "Free Spain! Leave him alone!". He only heard a student died under custody, but he was given a lot to think about, in an attempt to distract him.

They couldn't hide all the strikes in the main cities. Their attempts to suffocate them before they reached Spain's ears were futile and even made things worse, because there was no way he couldn't hear about the three workers killed in Granada's protest, just like he couldn't cover the Church's mouth after they echoed Vatican's new ideas about the freedom of worship and the separation between religion and state.

Or all those members of illegal parties sharing their ideas openly, shamelessly, and being thrown into jail for it.

And the worst, that man who interrupted the Basque Pelota World Championship Spain and his boss were attending by setting himself on fire and looked at them shouting: "Gora Euskadi askatuta!"—"long live free Basque Country"...


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

Franco frowned and raised his head form his papers.

"Who is?" He asked, crossing his fingers.

"Everyone. France, England, Italy, Germany, my children, Belgium, Austria, Sweden, Norway..."

"You should find better friends, then. Those are terrorists, you said it. They want to see you dead."

"They think they are saving Basque Country. But you are being too harsh on them. Even Vatican says so. Death penalty...That's going a bit too far."

"I need to, if I want to protect you. Soon..."

"...Soon what?"

Franco smiled sadly.

"You are special. You have been looking like a twenty-year old for centuries. But I am just a man. I am getting old, Parkinson is getting the best of me...I am dying, Spain. And I am very worried about what will happen to you when I am gone. Who will take care of you...They think I am dead already. They are acting like I was lying in my grave and you were all alone."

The Caudillo sighed. He stood up, Spain had to help him. He walked to the window like his joints were rusty.

"But I am not dead yet. This old wolf still got teeth. They need to know I am still capable of defending my nation from all those communists and separatists who want to hurt him..."

Spain said nothing at all.

"Your relationship with America concerns me, Spain..." Franco added moments later, after a long silence.

"He is just a friend. Well, a friend...an ally, we could say." 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, boss, nobody messes with my kids...But I remember when he was a child, 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 that 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 abroad 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 keep my opinions to myself. I thought you were where you are to make me happy."

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

Spain hadn't noticed until that moment how old he had grown. His once fat cheeks were sunken, his mustache went white, his high pitched voice couldn't have gotten higher.

That was what he was...an old man. A tired old man with the mark of death on his forehead...

"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, Spain." Franco replied. "I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anything, with the exception of my wife, my daughter and my grandchildren."

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

"That doesn't mean I owe you blind loyalty." Spain replied before walking out.

Franco turned around to stop Spain, but he had already shut the door. With a frown, 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, mysterious creatures; of course he had to sense it. 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. The old promises he had made to his allies would finally become true. Juan Carlos, the heir to the Bourbon house, would take care of him when the Lord called him to His presence. Some thought it would be better if such honor was his father's or Jaime, from Carlos María's ancestry, but that was what he had decided and there was nothing to discuss. His strong man Carrero Blanco would be Spain's president. 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 heads full of dangerous ideas. Nobody would let him lose his mind. He had left everything tied up.


1973


Spain glanced at the front page of the newspapers while he was getting chewing gum and a Mort & Phil comic book in a kiosk.

«Leaders of CCOO—Labor Committees—arrested in a convent in Pozuelo. The suspects could face up to twenty years in prison for criminal conspiracy, due to their links to communism.»

He soon forgot about it and headed towards Merce's bar glancing through the first pages of the book.

"Hey, look who's here!"

Spain was greeted every morning at the bar like a good friend. All these times he had something to do in some nation's embassy, he never forgot to have breakfast at Merce's establishment at Claudio Coello Street, in the Salamanca district. The owner was extremely proud that their nation had chosen it, even if it was small and modest; she even had a picture posing with him and with his signature hanging on the wall. Spain was always reserved a stool at the right extreme of the counter, near the Spanish omelettes and olives.

"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 mingling with Lola Flores. Those are the heifers he loves to fight." replied Alberto, another regular customer. Though he had this sad face, he was a riot. He said this winking and smiling at Spain while he was asking Merce for churros with chocolate.

Some of the customers chuckled, so did Spain, who didn't deny he was very close to the singer/actress, so close rumors like those were understandable.

"Thanks, Merceditas." He replied when the owner gave him his order. "So, yeah, El Cordobés. A bit clumsy, but he's g..."

He was interrupted by an explosion which made every glass in the establishment shatter. Everyone jumped off 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 DID JUST HAPPEN?!"

"IS EVERYBODY ALRIGHT?"

"I JUST SAW A CAR FLY!"

"SWEET JESUS!"

No one dared to run outside, like some people did in other cafeterias in the area, 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 actually 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 this morning of December would turn his life around.


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

"I was near the place, having breakfast...I still can't believe it...It's the fifth president I've seen getting killed..." Spain sighed.

"Heh! You win! I've had four! Now seriously, I know, it sucks...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..."

"Sure, sure. We understand...Just tell me something, America..."

"Yeah?"

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

Carrero had expressed his wish that America left Spain alone and took his bases and troops with him...America had realized that the President was turning Spain against him...

The American embassy was just a few meters away from the place...Did the terrorists really put explosives under America's nose, just the day after his and Kissinger's visit, and he never noticed?

Silence from the other side of the line.

"You've been watching too many spy movies lately, Spain." America chuckled. "Merry Christmas in advance." 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 Spain and his people felt: nervousness, anguish...How could have America ordered to do such a thing? Surely the communists were behind it. An act of vengeance for the arrest of the CCOO leaders, for all the repression, or just because they needed to see the world burn, as Franco said.

"Spain."

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. Alfonso's grandson...He had aparently come to his house when he was a child to receive proper education from a priest and a Civil Guard, along with some other children from aristrocratic families. As an adult, he graduated on Laws and Economy and received military training. 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." The prince said.

"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 just realized he had not inherited a meek nation. The atmosphere turned cold.

Still, Juan Carlos drew a smile.

"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.

One proof of that was that they had lied to him. Carrero had not been murdered by the communists. It was those Basque Country supporters, those students which went around stabbing and shooting at Civil Guards and cops called Euskadi ta Askatasuna, ETA for short.

«We will carry on with the only type of fight we can do today, the only way fascist conscience has left us open; we will keep on moving as long as the people helps us, supports us and wants us to keep going; as long as our nation understands that being Basque and being a nation means fight. Fight to death.»


1975


They were not the only ones recurring to violence. Another group, FRAP—Revolutionary Antifascist Patriotic Front—inspired by the student demonstrations in 1968 at France's house, guessed France had done well inventing the guillotine and wanted to see some heads roll. Since Spain had never had any guillotines at home, they used guns instead to save Spain from Franco and America, the only good thing he could become. Two policemen were murdered in Madrid and Barcelona. And let us not forget the GRAPO guys—First of October Anti-Fascist Resistance Groups—, whose majority of members were younger than twenty-five but still tried to make Spain a communist by shooting at Civil Guards, policemen and any other person they targeted at as 'fascist'.

There were some arrests. Among them was Santiago Carrillo and other communist leaders who were allegedly pulling the strings. After all, it was proved that they helped ETA blow the Rolando Cafeteria up in Madrid, killing thirteen innocent people, only one of them a policeman—they were acting just like during the Republic and during the war, killing to get what they wanted. Although some of them, including Carrillo, had their sentences reduced or were even pardoned thanks to Spain's intercession, two men met the garrote. Once again, Spain's friends from abroad protested about it. That was not the way to do things, they said to him, like he didn't know.

He knew, he surely knew, and didn't want all of his friends to be disappointed and think of him as a monster again, but what could he do? Franco did what he pleased. He was determined to show everybody that he still kept Spain tight and would let no one come near him. He believed that those who took people's lives deserved to have their human rights removed.

Ever since Portugal was freed from Salazar's control, he was obsessed with him escaping, ending up in the communists' arms... Although he had suffered a cardiac arrest, he still built himself a micro-hospital in his Pardo palace so he could still control Spain. He would never let him go...Not as long as he was alive...


And it all ended early in the morning. He was having a really nice dream when a phone call woke him up. In a wink, he completely forgot what it was about—urgh!

He rubbed his face and extended his arm lazy and clumsily 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 over 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, choking on his own words because the grief barely allowed 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 pitifully, 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. He had to do it for him. Franco would have hated to see him sad.

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. Nor Catalonia, nor Basque Country, not one of the important people in the room.


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 hesitating 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 did so and looked around.

"Quite a minimalist room..." He observed.

"I used to have lots of junk I have been accumulating for centuries." 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 heard so many promises: amnesty, political freedom, reform of the laws...Had Carrero Blanco lived to hear about this, his mouth would have foamed. The living ministers, who wanted things to stay the way they were, were foaming indeed. Spain was starting to think Juan Carlos would be kicked out or murdered 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 stormed 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 free to make your own decisions. You are a democracy."


Spain used to have this ritual. After he made sure that his boss was sleeping, he locked the door, turned off the lights and used a torch to get something he was hiding under a false bottom drawer compartment. He covered himself with the sheets of his bed completely and read. Now that there was no one controlling what he read, he just grabbed it, sat on the couch and read it. It felt really weird.

Little Marisol had grown into a woman. He was seeing it, in Interviú's cover.

He had difficulty thinking of that the candid girl he once knew and admired and the woman he was seeing posing naked in varied postures were the same person. He was barely capable of looking at her to the face, because it made him midly uncomfortable, but he could still see in her eyes that their stares were still the same. She was also free, daring to do the forbidden—no one would tell them what to do anymore and control their actions.

Without taking his eyes off her delightful silhouette and the shape of her bare breasts, Spain took the most out of his freedom and placed a hand on his groin.


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 these 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.

After what happened to those five labor activists in Atocha, he thought the right-wing extremists had managed to induce terror on his people. He had felt quite scared for a moment that Franco's claw was moving the strings from the grave. He had felt scared...he was never going to leave him alone, not even after his death...

But this fear only gave him more reasons to be brave.

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. I am your product, therefore it is you who decide my destiny the ballot boxes. Yesterday, you 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 went to live under Juan Carlos' roof, at La Zarzuela Palace, although it was a very different thing. There would be no one serving him and controlling his moves at the same time. He had a whole wing of the palace just for him. It was almost like living in his own house. He could live however 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 noise, not music, what they were making; 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, bringing sensations he had never felt outside the battlefield.

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!" Spain told England 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 a torn 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!"

"You wish. 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 clear. 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, induced by the atmosphere in the club and the atmosphere of freedom and rule-breaking, he removed the spine of both and left a mischievous kiss on England's lips.


1981


"Mr. Joaquin Muñoz Peirats. Yes...Mr. Joaquín Nasarre de Letosa Conde. Yes."

Suárez was not Spain's president anymore. Spain had decided he wanted someone else. He never told him to the face, but that vote of no confidence from the opposition, the coldness his own party had shown him, the king and the military putting pressure on him to step aside, it was clear what his posture was. "I don't want to be the reason for a break in democracy. I don't want another civil war.", Suárez had told him before announcing his resignation. They looked at each other and Suárez smiled at him. This was not the end of their relationship, of course. Suárez had promised him they would still keep in touch, have drinks together. There were no hard feelings. He wished he had been able to deal with the disastrous economic crisis and the terrorists better. But Spain was used to work with him and now he would have to get to know another man, this...uhm...

"What was his name again?" He asked the man by his side.

"Calvo Sotelo."

"Wait, didn't they kill that man in 1936?"

"Leopoldo Calvo Sotelo."

"Ah. Yeah. Right."

"Mr. Carlos Navarrete Merino. No." The President of the Congress kept on counting the votes.

It was not that he wasn't interested in their names. It was just that he had never had as many people in the government for such a short period of time. It was difficult to him to keep track of so many names, as hard as he tried.

"Mr. Manuel Núñez Encabo..."

This one as a socialist, if Spain was not mistaken. Oh, well, was that important?

"You see, it's difficult to remember names when you've had thousands of bosses..." He whispered to his companion.

The President of the Congress interrupted the voting. A door burst open. A rumor of voices broke the silence in the room. A man with a mustache, dressed with the Civil Guard uniform, three-cornered hat included, came into the room. He glanced around and climbed the stairs to the tribune.

"Nobody move!" He exclaimed.

The people present glanced at one another with great confusion. One man behind Spain cursed under his breath. Spain stood up. More guards came into the room, blocking the exits. One more person got up from his seat and was brave enough to walk to them, not listening to Suárez, who was begging him to stay in his seat: it was the vice-president and lieutenant Gutiérrez Mellado.

"Who is your commander?!" He demanded to know, looking directly at that man's face. "Who are you receiving orders from?!"

"Get down! I'm telling you to get down!" The man with the mustache replied. He had a pistol in his hand.

But Mellado wasn't going to obey, he was the highest rank in there. So the civil guards tossed him around.

"Hey!" Spain yelled.

"Leave him alone!" Suárez exclaimed, extending his arm to Mellado.

"Get out of here! Everyone get down on the floor! On the floor!"

No words could have been more convincing than the burst of shots aimed to the ceiling and the press tribune that followed. Soon most of the people magically disappeared under their seats.

"Sit down, fuck damn it!"

All except Santiago Carrillo, president of the Communist Party, Suárez, Mellado—and Spain himself, who was still standing up. After all, it was him the one they were after.

And, indeed, while those men destroyed the cameras in the room and made the journalists who were broadcasting the session give them their film rolls, the man with the mustache walked to him.

"Mr. Spain..."

"Yeah...I think I know what this is..."


«We are here on live to give you the latest news from Madrid. The situation inside of the House of Congress is still uncertain. The Ministry of Internal Affairs has asked all civil authorities to be on alert. The nation is inside of the building!»


One by one, the hostages returned to their seats. No one dared to speak, not even mutter. One of the assailants went to the speaker's podium and announced:

"You will have to wait until the military authority shows up. Stay in your seats and calm down."

"So I guess I have no authority here..." Spain gazed at the man with the mustache.

No response from him, who stood firm.

"Please, I can't take this anymore!" One of the congresswomen exclaimed.

"Shut up!" Was those men's answer. A young captain even aimed at her with his submachine gun.

"Please, she is pregnant with twins, let her go." Spain spoke directly to the man in front of him.

"Let her go!" He exclaimed, and, like moments later she was escorted out of the room, like they did with some of the civilians present.

Not listening to the men who ordered him to stay in his seat, Suárez climbed the stairs to reunite with Spain.

"What is this all about?"

"Go back to your seat." The man replied.

"As the President, I demand to speak to whoever is in charge here."

"You are no longer president of anything."

"Sit down, damn it!" Somebody yelled.

"He is" Spain faced the civil guard. "And I also want to know who you are and who is in charge."

"I am lieutenant-colonel Antonio Tejero. You can address me."

"Lieutenant Tejero, I demand an explanation."

"The explanation is simple, Mr. Spain: this folly has gone too far."

"Are you talking about democracy and freedom?"

"You have gone mad, completely mad. You are letting people do what they want with your house, with us...You let these rascals destroy what always worked...There are no jobs now...We are penniless...Everybody makes a fool of you...And you let them!"

"So is that what all of this is about? Going back to the old times? To Franco's designs?" Spain frowned.

"He wanted the best for you and you threw all of his hard work away—and ignore all these people who are dying..."

"Their deaths are hurting me more than you can imagine, lieutenant..."

"You have nothing to hold against him!" Suárez grunted.

Tejero frowned, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the room.

"Adolfo!" Spain exclaimed.

He followed them, but was stopped by some more guards.

"You stay here, Mr. Spain."

"Hell, no! Adolfo!"

"We are doing this for your own good..." The captain who stopped him told him in low voice.

"For my own good..." Spain grunted, and the man looked away with an expression of shame.


«In the name of the European Economic Community and as the nation of Netherlands, I completely condemn the coup d'etat against Spain and wish this is solved as soon as possible with no injured.»

«Yeah, well, the attack on the House of Congress is a domestic issue Spain has to solve himself...»

«America, you bloody ungrateful manky wanker! A domestic issue? Are you fucking serious? This concerns us all! This is an outrage! This is terrorism! Me and my government will not tolerate this, and if we need to send our army, we will!»


They took some other men out: Felipe González and Alfonso Guerra, from the PSOE, Santiago Carrillo, the minister of Defense, Rodríguez Sahagún and Mellado. Were they going to kill them? Spain didn't hear shots, but he had these chills in his back...

"Tanks have taken over Valencia, aiming at the Courts and the Town Hall." He was informed by lieutenant Ramos Rueda. "Captain-general has declared the state of exception. From now on, he is the president."

"He will only be if I legitimize him," Spain harshly said, "and I will do that when hell freezes over..."

"But your number 2 will. The king will have no other choice but to accept our conditions. The army is with us."

"After all we've been through to get our freedom..." Spain shook his head slowly.

"The lieutenant told you: this was a mistake..." Ramos walked away, leaving Spain alone.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep.

"It's okay, everyone!" He claimed so everyone could hear. "Everything will be alright!"

Would it? He wasn't that sure...If the whole army was on those people's side and there was no government...Juan Carlos could save his skin by handing him to those men...

He thought this time maybe...maybe...

Oh, it was surely too good to be true!


«Good night, ladies and gentlemen. We have just been informed that an assault to the headquarters of Radio and Television has been frustrated. The rebels apparently tried to spread the message that the coup d'etat was a success. However, here we have declarations from the Captaincy General of Madrid and Granada showing their loyalty to Spain, the King and the Constitution. Hold on, the Ministry of Internal Affairs has just declared that a provisional government has just been formed.»

«Do we know something about Spain, Magda?»

«Unfortunately no, there are no news from our dear Antonio.»


"Sit down, Mr. Spain" One of the assaulters asked Spain, in a much softer tone of voice than the barking he used for the rest. "We can bring you something to eat, if you want to."

Spain raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me?" He grumbled.

It was then when the doors opened and someone came in. A general. Spain wanted to approach, but they didn't let him. The man talked to Tejero privately.

"I come in the name of the King to stop this madness and propose a solution. A new...government...of your liking..."

And he handed him a list.

Why did they leave him out, being the nation? If there were negotiations going on, he had to be present, he...

It seemed it was over, then. This was the end of his freedom. He had no power now, not even over himself. Barely fives years he could taste it...Back to be controlled by others again...

"I'd rather shoot you and kill myself before accepting this!" Tejero exclaimed.

And the man who came in was kicked out, so violently Spain thought for a moment they were going to shoot at him.


"But is Spain alright?"

"We are not sure, Your Majesty. Those who were let out say there were no injured but..."

"Alright, let's go. This must end now, before someone gets hurt..."

"You'll be on air in three, two, one..."

«I address the Spanish people with brevity and concision. In the face of these exceptional circumstances, I ask for your serenity and trust, and I hereby inform you that I have given the Captains General of the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force the following order: given the events taking place in the Palace of Congress, and to avoid any possible confusion, I hereby confirm that I have ordered the Civil Authorities and the Joint Chiefs of Staff to take any and all necessary measures to uphold constitutional order within the limits of the law. Should any measure of a military nature need to be taken, it must be approved by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Crown, symbol of the permanence and unity of the nation, will not tolerate, in any degree whatsoever, the actions or behavior of anyone attempting, through use of force, to interrupt the democratic process of the Constitution, which the Spanish People approved by vote in referendum.»


"The ladies can leave the room. In order and in silence."

Tejero was nervous. After that last phone call, he did nothing but walk around the room. Like pondering on something. Bad news, Spain thought. He focused on his own feelings and perhaps it was due to being locked up in there so long, seeing that the Civil Guard was not going to shoot at anybody, bored, tired, but he found himself very calm and collected. And following this feeling, he approached Tejero.

"Sir..."

Tejero turned to him. His eyebrows furrowed.

"...I am doing this for you. All of this, all of this we are doing...is for you..." He said to him.

"I know. And you have no idea of how tired I am of people doing things for me." Spain replied.

A long pause.

"Surrender now, lieutenant."

"I cannot do that."

"I will make sure you and your men have a fair trial."

"I gave my word of honor."

"That doesn't matter, lieutenant."

"Yes, you don't care about honor anymore, but I do...When everything is crumbling around you..."

"Let me tell you this, from Antonio to Antonio: there are things which are more important than honor, discipline and glory..."

He looked at the man, eye to eye.

"...Even more important than me."

"Lieutenant..." A guard called Tejero.

And he turned his back on Spain and got out of the room. The nation sighed and walked around.

"Why wasn't I born a kitty? A simple kitten. They don't have these troubles...They just play with yarn and drink milk and sleep..." He muttered, running a hand on his face.

Whatever Tejero had to do outside, it took him long.

First, Suárez, Carrillo, González, Guerra, Mellado and Rodríguez returned to the room. Spain felt such relief he practically ran to them.

"Did they...?"

"It's alright. We're fine." Carrillo smiled, and González patted his back.

Tejero reappeared soon later.

"Everybody...can leave..."

Spain sighed in relief. "Thank Jesus..." He muttered.

Outside, the press was crowded together to film the exit of the congressmen and the Civil Guard, who were immediately put under arrest. They tried to interview the hostages, and get a picture of the assaulters. The reporters who were forced to stay had excellent testimony to publish as soon as they got out; some of them managed to hide their recorders and rolls and were ready to share them with the whole world.

"What will become of them?"

Suárez glanced at Spain with a smile, expelling the smoke of the cigarette he was smoking through the nose.

"Do you care?"

"Yeah..." Spain muttered.

"You are too nice."

"Mr. Spain!"

Spain turned around to find one of Juan Carlos' assistants.

"The king has been very worried and asked me to come pick you up."

It was then when Spain was told of what Juan Carlos had done: the speech, how he made the army obey him. You are with Spain or you are against Spain, he basically told them. And they didn't follow those rebels. It seemed Spain had some authority after all, and Juan Carlos was not the man of straw many said he was.

"Mr. Spain, good to see you. Are you alright?"

So when Spain finally saw him, the first thing he did was to hug him.

"You can call me Antonio, you sure earned it..."