Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

As Ian handed the bottle back to her, Consuelo said matter-of-factly, “You know, here in our country, many people would be jealous of your fair skin. The more fair, the more aristocratic.”

Doyle realized that he had lot to learn about Honduras.

Blanca eyed Doyle for a minute and, speaking over Consuelo’s back, asked, “Has Consuelo been talking about me to you?”

“A little.”

“So, what did she say?”

“Something about your father, tu papa, that he was un experto de jugar al tenis.”

“Not actually a champion. He was a bronze medaler-I mean medalist-in doubles of tennis.”

She cocked her head and asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice, “Do you like tennis?”

“I’ve played the game, but you know, I never really liked it. No me gusta el tenis. It is just a whole lot of sweating just to hit a ball back and forth, back and forth. And it’s kind of an aggravating game. I found it a little too competitive: even if you practice a lot and hit the ball just right, there is always someone who can hit it just a little bit better, or who is just a little bit faster, and they can ace you out. So, no offense, but it’s not for me. If I want to practice my hand-to-eye coordination, I’d rather be in a flight simulator or, better yet, up in the air, formation flying or doing aerobatics.”

Blanca smiled. “Aerobatics?”

“Oh, yeah. The F16 is built for it-well, with a big turning radius, that is. Lots of power, great handling. The controls are a dream. Incredibly responsive.”

“Ay, that sounds wonderful.”

Consuelo jumped in: “Ian, you should show Blanca those videos you shot from the backseat that you showed me and Pablo.”

“Si, senora, me encantaria . . . uh . . .” At a loss for the right words in Spanish, he finished: “. . . to do so.” After a moment he added, “That video may make you dizzy to watch, and there is not much narration, just me and the pilot grunting, you know, tightening our abdominal muscles, doing our best to pull the g’s.”

“No, it won’t make me dizzy!” Blanca said. She then just smiled, nodded dismissively, and lay back down, putting on sunglasses, and pulling her sun hat over her head. But Doyle noticed that she was looking in his direction.

With her large dark sunglasses, he couldn’t be sure if she was sleeping, or staring at him. He was having trouble reading her. Was she genuinely interested, or just being polite and properly social? He decided that it was best to just give her more of the “silence and sunbathing” treatment. He reached down and pulled out his Sony Discman portable CD player and put the headphones on. He closed his eyes and got lost in the music for a few minutes. Then he noticed something had shaded his face. He opened his eyes to see Blanca standing over him.

“Oh, hola, Senorita Araneta,” he said casually.

Gesturing to his CD player, she asked, “What are you playing on that thing?”

“Oh, this? Here, take a listen.” Blanca perched on the edge of Consuelo’s lounge chair and Ian handed her the Discman. He leaned forward to put the headphones on her head. It was the first time that he had ever touched Blanca. It gave him a tingle.

Blanca put on a huge grin the instant she heard the music.

“You like Ottmar Liebert? No way! This is his first album, Nouveau Flamenco. You really like it?”

“Yeah, I sure do. I’m a recent convert to that music. I’ve really gotten hooked on flamenco guitar since I came down here.”

She nodded. “Well, Ian, what is currently your favorite band?”

“I’d have to say the Gipsy Kings. It’s almost hypnotic. From the first time I heard them sing ‘Bamboleo,’ I just couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Blanca shook her head in disbelief, then smiled and said softly, “Wow, I really like them too.”

The next time that Ian met Blanca was at a weeknight dinner party, just three days later, hosted by Consuelo and Pablo. The evening before, in halting Spanish, Doyle asked Consuelo, “How should I dress for this?”

For the first time at one of his immersion class sessions, Consuelo lapsed into English: “Well, it is a dinner, you should wear a coat and a tie.”

“I’m just TDY down here and I don’t have a suit with me. The only thing I have with a tie is my service dress uniform.”

“That will be fine. Wear that.”

Ian arrived early carrying a clear plastic grocery bag with a bottle of Chilean white wine and a can of Almond Roca. In the crook of his other arm were two large bouquets of white orchids.

Inviting him in, Pablo Dalgon said, “You can relax, Ian. We’re speaking all English tonight. This is not a class night. Purely social.”

Ian was taken aback to see that Blanca was already there. Doyle handed the flowers to Consuelo, and said, “I brought a bunch for each of you.” Pablo exclaimed, jokingly, “Oh, how nice of you. Flowers for both of us.”

Consuelo gave Pablo a sharp look and elbowed him in the ribs, chiding, “He means flowers for both of the ladies.”

Pablo laughed and said, “I know. Just kidding.”

As Blanca and Consuelo each took their bouquets, Blanca glanced down to see what was in the bag. She recognized the pink can. Her jaw dropped a bit and she gave Doyle a quizzical look.

In rapid damage-control mode, Doyle explained, “I heard from Consuelo that you liked Almond Roca, so I bought a can. You know, to serve with dessert.”

As Consuelo began serving dinner, Blanca’s eyes locked onto the can of candy sitting on the sideboard. Then she stared at Ian.

Blanca started laughing. She pointed a scolding finger at Doyle and said, “Ian, I think you are trying to manipulate me.”

“Yes, I am, senorita. I freely admit that. But I’m doing so in a kind of nice, gentlemanly way.”

Through the rest of the dinner, the talk was mainly about aviation and differences between American and Honduran customs. It was a very pleasant evening. Pablo was quiet, as was his nature. Ian and Blanca made plenty of eye contact. Consuelo, clearly looking like a victorious matchmaker, steered the conversation. She often returned to topics in which she gave Ian and Blanca opportunities to ask each other questions and talk about their accomplishments.

After dinner, Consuelo served flan with a piece of Almond Roca topping each piece of the gelatinous dessert. She was quite the diplomatic hostess.

Pablo and Consuelo stepped out to clear the dishes. In phrasing that he had practiced several times with Consuelo’s coaching, Ian asked Blanca in Spanish: “Senorita Araneta, I wish to ask your permission to court you in the coming days, with completely honorable intentions, if you would be so kind as to have me in your presence.”

Her answer was immediate, “You may call me Blanca, and yes, you may court me, with your promise to be a gentleman.”

Their next meeting was a lunch the following day at the air base canteen. But just as their conversation was starting, it was cut short: one of Blanca’s coworkers rushed to their table and exclaimed that the tower boss had fallen ill with a flu and Blanca was needed back at the control tower. Then he turned and stepped away just as quickly as he had arrived.

Blanca stood, and said, “I’m now in a hurry here, so this as you say is the Reader’s Digest version: I like you a lot, Ian. I think you are fascinating. So now it is the time I should take you up to the estancia, so mi papa can give you the, uh, ‘third degree.’ You are seeming just way, way too good to be true . . . and my father, he is an expert at digging out the flaws of character in suitors. We’ll see if he can scare you off.” She raised her index finger and added, “He has scared off all the others, you know. I’ll schedule a dinner for next Saturday.”