Unknown place, unknown time
Italy had no idea of where he was and he had no way to find out. Everywhere he looked, he found nothing but jungle. Trees so tall he couldn't see the sky, only guess it was daytime; mud that spoiled his shoes and pants; a suffocating heat which made him sweat enough to roll up his sleeves; monkeys, insects, snakes, God knew what, crawling near him, making unsettling sounds which echoed all around him.
Where was he? In which period of time? Maybe it didn't matter at all. He didn't have the sands to take him elsewhere. Wherever he was, he was trapped in there.
But even that grim perspective seemed like like a trifle. Japan's past self was fighting his own. He could disappear in any moment. So, what did it matter, where he was, or when?
Minutes passed and he was still breathing, walking. Maybe...he was winning the fight. Maybe his past self was strong enough to kill Japan in 1941. Well, after all, which was the most probable winner in a gun against sword fight? That possibility didn't ease his mind the least. Killing a friend was as monstrous to him as to die in the hands of one.
He let tears come out again, stopping to sit on the enormous roots of a tree he couldn't identify. There, scared, angry, dizzy, cursed war for turning people into monsters; he cursed old Baumgartner, who was rotten by hate and didn't have enough with the crimes he committed in his SS days; he also cursed the sands for merely existing. Just a few days ago, he had thought nuclear weapons were the most diabolical invention of all time, but now he saw them as the most perverse thing in the world, because all human beings and nations too, he had seen, were too deeply connected to each other to make any change in their lives harmless. Just being in one place and not the other at the right time, the existence or not of a certain person, the course of events, could affect millions of lives. The more he thought about it, the more it made his skin crawl to have merely touched that sand.
What did the world look like back in the 21st century, without the two world wars, without America, France and England and their inventions and ideas, Japan developing the A-bomb? He was afraid he knew the answer and almost wanted to stay there. Not that he seemed to have a choice. He was trapped in that place after all, because he had dropped the sand he had kept inside his pocket.
He had little to do but sit and cry to release everything he kept inside.
He was alone. He had never felt so alone in his long life.
After a while, and considering he could stay there, at the mercy of red ants, he stood up and was determined to walk until he reached a town, the sea, something which could help him figure out where he was and when.
He walked until his feet were starting to kill him, until it became so dark he just couldn't move from the spot. Although he was used to electricity, he hadn't forgotten how to make a fire with everything he had in hand, luckily. After all, it was a very recent invention; he had had to live most of his life without such commodities. He tried a few berries and fruit he found hanging from the trees and ate some which didn't hurt his stomach. He didn't have the time to try to use his handiness to build himself a hut or a hammock to sleep; he didn't think he would be able to, actually. All he did was sit in a corner, watching the fire calmly, until there was enough light to keep on moving. There were critters everywhere; probably beasts which could try to devour him too. He couldn't sleep.
He was still alive. That meant his past self had managed to survive Japan. He hoped he still had access to the sands of time and had stopped Baumgartner. He tried to remember, see what he was seeing, but he found he was too tired to try to remember. Too bad that the bad thoughts still came to him easily, making him remember friends and family. That was the cruelest side effect of using the sands: the memory being unaffected by the changes, remembering how things were in every timeline...
He was so willing to endure a thousand-hour G-8 meeting about boring and unpleasant matters...
His eyes started closing on their own, he didn't try to shoo all the mosquitoes away. Even though he was doubting it was a good idea to sleep in that place, he was so tired he just needed to rest. Just ten minutes or so...
But his eyes opened wide open when he heard something. Italy quickly stood up and was about to see what it was when it came right towards him.
A person was running towards the light of the bonfire, their panting resounding among the chirping, and croaks and stumbled with the root of a tree and fell on their stomach. That gave their chasers the chance to reach them.
Italy felt startled when he saw their ghastly faces in the semidarkness, brandishing what seemed to be knives made of stone and bone. The truth is Italy didn't stop to look at them closely, or the person who was curled up in the ground, whimpering: the horrible screams coming out of their mouths and the weapons they wanted to use on that poor thing convinced him that he had to do something, without the time to consider anything. He grabbed one of the branches he had used to make the fire and threatened the apparitions with it.
"Out! Get out of here! Fuori di qui!"
He had never thought of himself as intimidating, but certainly his yelling and the fire he had in hand convinced the men—if they were so—to draw back and run away.
Once he was sure they had disappeared, Italy turned to the person they had been chasing. It was then when he realized it was a woman, all bruised and scratched.
"Are you alright?"
He didn't know where he was or when, but one thing was certain: they were far away from civilization as Italy knew it, for the female was completely naked except for a shell necklace and several paintings in her legs, arms and stomach, including a red stripe of color in her face she displayed like a mask. Although the lady didn't have any shame showing her breasts, Italy made the big effort to look at her face all the time, and when he did so, he saw her features were peculiar. An aboriginal of some sort. Perhaps one of the first homo sapiens, still with traces of the previous hominids. Surely not European.
His instincts brought a chilling sensation to his spine. Every time that happened, he knew he was in front of a fellow nation, someone like him. Something told him the woman before him was not human.
She seemed to be as interested about him as he was about her. She approached, not opening her mouth, and started examining him. He sure had to look like a real weirdo to her, with those clothes, shoes, that pale skin and the red hair. She touched his curl, curled it around her finger, making him giggle involuntarily. She had obviously never seen nothing of the sort either; it was probably the first time she had ever seen a white man. She was in awe.
She suddenly gasped, touching her chest. Italy held her in his arms.
"Whoa! Are you alright, miss?" He knew it was useless to try to communicate with her, most probably, but he still said it.
The lady looked at him. She was hurt, he knew it; she had it in her eyes. Taking his hand, she forced him to follow her. Italy barely had the time to grab the burning branch again. Together, they ran through the rainforest, the lady knowing these so well she didn't seem to need light to know where she was going, while Italy tripped so many times the lady practically had to drag him along.
The animals and insects seemed silent as they approached a clearing, from where they could see the light of more torches and fires. Their sounds became replaced with howls and screams.
When they finally reached what seemed like a village, it was burning to the ground. The few men Italy saw were either lying on a pool of their own blood or dying due to a rival hitting them in the head with a rock, stabbing them. Children were also being slaughtered; there was a man who threw one to the fire of one cabin made of straw in spite of the mother's intense screaming. The women were the only ones who were allowed to live, as part of the loot the other tribe was stealing, and they were being taken away, also crying their lungs out.
The painted woman dropped on her knees, weeping, at the sight of this. Gathering all her strength, she tried to fight the warriors who were destroying her village and slaughtering her people. The problem was, she didn't have much left, and so a big man with tan skin pushed her to the ground, and she couldn't move from there. She was about to become one more prize, the rivals were surrounding her, one with a knife in hand.
"Leave her alone!" Italy shouted.
There was no way he could win this. He knew. They were going to massacre him too. But he couldn't just not intervene.
He dropped on his knees, grabbing the sand he was on, just because he desperately needed something to clench.
I don't know where I am, I don't know if this could have consequences to the future. I don't think it matters anymore. I am tired of war. I can't see this. I have to do something, even if it's useless, even if some years someone else kills this woman and destroys this place. Please, God, I am tired of seeing blood and death. No more, please, oh Lord, no more. Not this time, please.
He stopped all of a sudden, feeling a breeze shake his hair. It was like a caress, like a mutter into his ears. In the sky, above the light and smoke of the fire, he thought the stars were aligned, shining brighter than ever.
Please, God, please...Just this time...Just this time...
And when he realized it, Italy was being surrounded by a cloud of dust rising from the sand pit underneath him.
He breathed deep and looked again at the gruesome scene, feeling how his heart rate decreased, focusing...At his order, the sand enveloped the village, and it produced the change.
It was like watching a movie in rewind. People started to run backwards, the dead bodies stood up, blood entered their bodies, children returned to their mothers' arms, flames extinguished. All wounds closed, screams returned to open mouths. The night gave way to an orange sky.
Before the invaders or even Italy realized, they were quickly surrounded by the men and women of the tribe, who chased them away with all they had, even their own fists. Italy's lady was the first, emitting screeches like one more animal from the jungle.
The surprise attack had been stopped. The village was safe. God had heard Italy's plea.
The tribe turned to him and surrounded him while he was still stunned, contemplating the sand floating in the air around him. Some dared to touch him. Others prevented the others from doing so and dropped on their knees to adore him, soon mimicked by the rest. The lady gazed at him with even more admiration than before, her lips parted, and finally knelt before Italy.
"Oh, please, I..." Italy babbled. He had been worshiped in the past, when people thought he was a celestial being, created by God, but time had convinced him that, even though he was definitely something beyond humanity, he was not a deity. Those people were understandably astonished. He was stunned too. He mentally prayed to God to thank Him, while his lips smiled timidly at the reaction of all those people. They probably thought he was a god, who had manipulated time to save them.
He tried to make his lady stand up and explain to her that he was not to be adored. He pointed at the sky with a finger, trying to tell her it was something that had come from above, not from him. He didn't think she understood. Her brown eyes were fixed on him. They were so hauntingly beautiful...
Who was this woman from a very long past? It had to be a long time ago, back when tribes still had no names. A past when humans started populating all corners of the world, creating societies—creating them, nations. Forgotten civilizations, whose memory was as dead as all those men and women, who had left no trace of their existence or it was buried in the sand.
A name crossed Italy's mind and that is how he finally named that ancient nation: Eve. The first woman of creation. Probably that lady wasn't the first nation created, but he was sure she was one of the first. Perhaps in the future she would birth an ancient civilization. Or be the grandmother of someone Italy knew. Eve, as old as human being.
Eve approached him, to caress his cheek. She leaned forwards to leave a soft kiss on his lips. Perhaps it was her way to say thank you. She then took his hands, while look at him to the eyes.
What did she want from him? Marry him, perhaps? Italy had heard that in the past nations married their heroes; legends said that the result of their union were demi-gods. History was filled with examples of nations who had married each other for protection. It was clear Eve was very thankful, saw him as a savior with a god-like power and wanted him to stay. Yes, she could ask him to marry her.
But he had the sands around him. He had the chance to go where he belonged. That was not his place. He was too old for her; she was too young. They came from very different worlds. He just couldn't stay, even if he liked her, and she couldn't come with him.
He softly let go of her hands.
"I'm sorry, bella. I have to go...It was nice meeting you...Good luck..."
She didn't understand, of course. She could only infer from his voice and gestures that he was rejecting her. She looked at him with disappointment. Wanted to take his hands again. But she seemed to give up and understand. She just stared at him, and Italy almost wanted to save her from oblivion; those pretty eyes just couldn't be forgotten...
He breathed deep, and, muttering a goodbye, closed his eyes and let the sand envelop him one more time.
The people around him gasped, started screaming in excitement, chanting. This was a miracle to them, which soon attributed to whatever primitive god they believed in. Eve placed her hands on her chest and watched him go. Her eyes were the last thing Italy saw before they got lost in the hurricane of sand.
I want to fix everything. Please, God, give me the chance to fix everything, please. Just one more time. I only need this one shot. I will never complain about my situation again...Whatever happens after this, I am accepting it...
When the cloud dissipated, he found himself in a familiar place, smelt a familiar smell. He was standing in the middle of a living room...His own living room! He ran to open a window, and saw the Grand Canal of his gorgeous Venice, filled with little, modern boats and gondoliers with tourists. This was the 21st century, everything was the way he remembered before taking that plane to Tokyo. He wanted to cry. He was home!
He almost ran to his phone on the table.
He didn't know what timeline this was, but hoped Argentina was there. He dialed her number and waited with his heart in his throat...
"¿Holá?"
Argentina had to repeat the question two more times, because Italy felt he was about to sob, hearing her voice.
"Hey, Tina!"
"Ah, Veneziano! How are you?"
"Good, good...Uhm, there's something I need to tell you. I've gotten some info...An old member of the SS, you know, a Nazi, is in your country. He hid there after the war... His name is Ernst Baumgartner, though he's probably going by a different one. He committed crimes in Poland, I have it understood. Germany's still looking for him, so if you find out something about this man...Yeah, yeah, thanks. Uhm, I have to hang up. See you soon, friend."
After hanging up, Italy walked to the window again. There, with the soft breeze in his face, closed his eyes and breathed deep. He could only wait and see now...
