Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blanca stand up and whip off the ankle-length swimming skirt-wrap that she had been wearing. She tossed it on top of her flight bag. He noticed that she carried that bag everywhere. Beneath, she was wearing what by modern standards was a very conservative one-piece swimsuit with an integral skirt, but it couldn’t hide her traffic-stopping figure. Ian Doyle gulped and whispered to himself, “Ay, ay, ay.”

Blanca spent almost fifteen minutes in the pool, swimming lap after lap. After she got out and returned to her chair, Ian rose, smiled, and took his own turn in the pool, swimming in a medley of strokes for about ten minutes. He thought that at this stage it was best to seem slightly standoffish and more interested in swimming than in chatting her up.

After he climbed up the pool’s ladder, he could see that Consuelo and Blanca had turned on their chairs and were applying sunscreen to each other’s noses. Ian again toweled but just slightly, returned to his chaise, and put on his sunglasses.

Consuelo asked, “?Bloqueador solar, Ian?”

He answered, “Si, muchas gracias por su amabilidad, senora,” and raised his hands as if ready to catch the bottle.

But instead of tossing the bottle, Consuelo pivoted to hand him the bottle directly. Leaning forward, she whispered, “She has been very curious about you.”

As Ian slathered the waterproof sunblock on, he explained, “With my skin, I don’t tan, I just burn. I’m feeling a little too white to fit in here. I’m just another ugly ghost-pale gringo.”

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?”