Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

“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.”

Before he could answer, Blanca smiled, gave a little wave, and dashed away.

Ian sat dumbfounded at what he had just heard. Then he said a long, silent prayer and ate his lunch.