a bird who cannot fly nor sing (spain, france, austria, pg)
a bird who cannot fly nor sing | spain, france, austria | pg | 625 words
“You cannot really believe that you can have both the crown of Spain and that of France as well, do you?”
i
“You cannot really believe that you can have both the crown of Spain and that of France as well, do you?” Roderic continues, all indignant and lit up. It’s an emotion that rarely gets used and now begins to erupt from being kept in all this time. This is a struggle for power laid out in complex words and movements of the tongue to create sound and small gestures bigger than all the world.
“Why, I do! It is my king’s crowns,” Francis emphasizes crowns, it is his key. “afterall, Antonio would be fine with it!” but Antonio, unlike now-lively Francis and Roderic who bounce words and almost visible tension back and forth as if time was infinite, sits awkwardly, back laced straight against the Cherrywood chair, the matching dining table only inches away from his body.
“Blasphemy! We will not let you have the whole of Europe as if it was one of your women or men that come to you almost on call.”
“Oh, but that’s truly unjust Roderic. Why should you Hapsburgs have all the power?” He spits out, harsh, acid talk. “Why can’t we?” And he gestures over to Antonio who fidgets, smiles nervously, but he has no control over this, he has already lost the reigns to his magnificent steed, his empire. “It’s not because we have Bourbon kings now is it? Because that would just be some sort of prejudice.”
“I assure you, it’s not the reason. We want to keep equal amounts of power among all of the royal families, understand?” Antonio, somewhere deep in his heart, which he at one time pondered if he even had, is being pulled apart. One wants to believe in Francis and the other wants to follow the justice of Roderic’s words. But he is still silent.
“I can’t say I do.”
ii
Antonio has always felt this trapped, at least ever since Charles II. And he notices everyone going about, rushing over to the newest lands, or the most vulnerable and conquering. Conquering. Conquering. (And he’s one to know how good that feeling is, like all the nerves in your body just received the best rush of your entire life, past, present and future.)
But now, he is just like one of those savages that he had conquered. He doesn’t like the feeling, the space is too cramped, the air too thin, and bullets coming too close.
iii
Over the horizon, that at one time, seemed to stretch farther than anything his young eyes could possibly see, France is moving towards him, and like a wave, he sees French forces retreating and then returning brandishing their arms. And with them comes with rest of those who want to have want Francis wants.
The tear he’s been feeling has gone deeper, almost to the pit of his stomach so that when he can see the soldiers coming for him, he loses his bravado. Tosses it aside as if it was burning coal and gets violently ill. Doubled over, he feels the sting of the warm, fight-filled air of sweat and blood and piss and vomit in the air; all Antonio wants to do is breathe clean ocean air.
And after a few more months, a few more decisive battles he watches from afar as he notices his own problems, a few more of his cities taken and a thousands dead, the war is done and the air grows brisk and clean again. At least up in the mountains where he used to play, and in the late afternoon of 1714, he wonders if he will ever return to those mountains, the place of his youth, and live a life of freedom because he hates the feeling of being caged like a bird who cannot fly nor sing.
“You cannot really believe that you can have both the crown of Spain and that of France as well, do you?”
i
“You cannot really believe that you can have both the crown of Spain and that of France as well, do you?” Roderic continues, all indignant and lit up. It’s an emotion that rarely gets used and now begins to erupt from being kept in all this time. This is a struggle for power laid out in complex words and movements of the tongue to create sound and small gestures bigger than all the world.
“Why, I do! It is my king’s crowns,” Francis emphasizes crowns, it is his key. “afterall, Antonio would be fine with it!” but Antonio, unlike now-lively Francis and Roderic who bounce words and almost visible tension back and forth as if time was infinite, sits awkwardly, back laced straight against the Cherrywood chair, the matching dining table only inches away from his body.
“Blasphemy! We will not let you have the whole of Europe as if it was one of your women or men that come to you almost on call.”
“Oh, but that’s truly unjust Roderic. Why should you Hapsburgs have all the power?” He spits out, harsh, acid talk. “Why can’t we?” And he gestures over to Antonio who fidgets, smiles nervously, but he has no control over this, he has already lost the reigns to his magnificent steed, his empire. “It’s not because we have Bourbon kings now is it? Because that would just be some sort of prejudice.”
“I assure you, it’s not the reason. We want to keep equal amounts of power among all of the royal families, understand?” Antonio, somewhere deep in his heart, which he at one time pondered if he even had, is being pulled apart. One wants to believe in Francis and the other wants to follow the justice of Roderic’s words. But he is still silent.
“I can’t say I do.”
ii
Antonio has always felt this trapped, at least ever since Charles II. And he notices everyone going about, rushing over to the newest lands, or the most vulnerable and conquering. Conquering. Conquering. (And he’s one to know how good that feeling is, like all the nerves in your body just received the best rush of your entire life, past, present and future.)
But now, he is just like one of those savages that he had conquered. He doesn’t like the feeling, the space is too cramped, the air too thin, and bullets coming too close.
iii
Over the horizon, that at one time, seemed to stretch farther than anything his young eyes could possibly see, France is moving towards him, and like a wave, he sees French forces retreating and then returning brandishing their arms. And with them comes with rest of those who want to have want Francis wants.
The tear he’s been feeling has gone deeper, almost to the pit of his stomach so that when he can see the soldiers coming for him, he loses his bravado. Tosses it aside as if it was burning coal and gets violently ill. Doubled over, he feels the sting of the warm, fight-filled air of sweat and blood and piss and vomit in the air; all Antonio wants to do is breathe clean ocean air.
And after a few more months, a few more decisive battles he watches from afar as he notices his own problems, a few more of his cities taken and a thousands dead, the war is done and the air grows brisk and clean again. At least up in the mountains where he used to play, and in the late afternoon of 1714, he wonders if he will ever return to those mountains, the place of his youth, and live a life of freedom because he hates the feeling of being caged like a bird who cannot fly nor sing.