The survival classes for young girls
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Chapter XI: About volcanoes and their ashes
On the way towards Bariloche, Río Negro, Argentina
I must admit, for once I doubted Grandfather’s ability to come out of this situation with his pride intact; even though, I had observed him rise to the occasion on other rather tricky situations.
“Look Manuelita,” Grandfather began gently, “remember that New Year’s when we slept over in Managua City? If my memory doesn’t fail me, your mother was visiting from Honduras, and she stayed with the kids. Then somebody gave us a box with… what was it? Oh, yes, I remember now, of course, those six bottles of rum. Let me see… Mm, the Cacique Rum from Venezuela, obviously. Now, don’t tell me you don’t remember how tasty and soft it was? Well, well; where was I… Yes, of course, we drank four of those bottles and then decided to sleep in Managua instead of driving back.”
As he finished, I was struggling to maintain a poker face and stay out of trouble. Meanwhile Grandmother wore a faraway, dreamy look on her face and faintly flushed, but spending so much time with them both, I was used to these awkward moments.
“Anyway, on that day I was with my brother, Diego. We were drinking cold beers, Victorias, to ward off the heat; the big ones. On that particular day, the place was packed with gringos. They were happily going about their beers and rum. We were sitting at the bar and talking about the war and stuff, Diego had just arrived from Esteli and Jinotega and we were catching up on things. He was telling me about the bombing raids in Esteli.”
Now that caught my attention, especially because my father was stationed at Esteli.
In the land of volcanoes’ Chapters Purchase the book