Destination Havana

By Francisco Angulo de Lafuente

This novel is based on the life of Alfonso Nuñez Balboa, former Iberia commander with more than 25,000 flight hours under his belt.

The nineteen thirties: Nuñez is a boy from a small town called Dos Barrios de Aragón. The flight of a plane captivates his heart. He could have never imagine that years later he would be wearing a pilot's uniform. Before reaching his destination in Havana, though, he will have to navigate through the many and capricious paths presented by life.

This is the story of a working class boy who ended up flying very high.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francisco Angulo de Lafuente
• Release date: Aug 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9781291535044

Francisco Angulo de Lafuente

Francisco Angulo Madrid, 1976 Enthusiast of fantasy cinema and literature and a lifelong fan of Isaac Asimov and Stephen King, Angulo starts his literary career by submitting short stories to different contests. At 17 he finishes his first book - a collection of poems – and tries to publish it. Far from feeling intimidated by the discouraging responses from publishers, he decides to push ahead and tries even harder. In 2006 he published his first novel "The Relic", a science fiction tale that was received with very positive reviews. In 2008 he presented "Ecofa" an essay on biofuels, whereAngulorecounts his experiences in the research project he works on. In 2009 he published "Kira and the Ice Storm".A difficultbut very productive year, in2010 he completed "Eco-fuel-FA",a science book in English. He also worked on several literary projects: "The Best of 2009-2010", "The Legend of Tarazashi 2009-2010", "The Sniffer 2010", "Destination Havana 2010-2011" and "Company No.12". He currently works as director of research at the Ecofa project. Angulo is the developer of the first 2nd generation biofuel obtained from organic waste fed bacteria. He specialises in environmental issues and science-fiction novels. His expertise in the scientific field is reflected in the innovations and technological advances he talks about in his books, almost prophesying what lies ahead, as Jules Verne didin his time. Francisco Angulo Madrid-1976 Gran aficionado al cine y a la literatura fantástica, seguidor de Asimov y de Stephen King, Comienza su andadura literaria presentando relatos cortos a diferentes certámenes. A los 17 años termina su primer libro, un poemario que intenta publicar sin éxito. Lejos de amedrentarse ante las respuestas desalentadoras de las editoriales, decide seguir adelante, trabajando con más ahínco.

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Francisco Angulo de Lafuente

Synopsis

This novel is based on the life of Alfonso Nuñez Balboa, former Iberia commander with more than 25,000 flight hours under his belt.

The nineteen thirties: Nuñez is a boy from a small town called Dos Barrios de Aragón. The flight of a plane captivates his heart. He could have never imagine that years later he would be wearing a pilot’s uniform. Before reaching his destination in Havana, though, he will have to navigate through the many and capricious paths presented by life.

This is the story of a working class boy who ended up flying very high.

Foreword

On September 25, 2010 I was invited by Antonio J. Nevado and Ana Sevilla to one of the conferences that the Ecofa Movement usually organises for informational purposes. On this occasion Antonio Pasalodos presented a solar-electric vehicle and I then spoke about the Nautilus Diver Kit, a prototype that allows to dive independently without the need for bottles. The attendees loved both of the new proposals and after the conference, we all assembled and tested the Pasalodos’ car around the streets of Soto de la Vega. It was then that I was approached by Alfonso Nuñez, whom I knew through our participation in the Ecofa project. His father, who accompanied him, congratulated me on the paper and started sharing some of his ideas. I immediately sensed that this was someone special, the kind of person who has lived many adventures, probably more incredible than manyof the fictional tales I usually tell in my novels. I asked for his profession and he replied that he had been a pilot.

- What type of aircraft have you flown?

- Well, to be honest, almost every one of them, from military aircrafts during the Second World War, to the famous Jumbo, Boeing 747.

I have been an aviation enthusiast since I can remember, and had spent years tossing with the idea of writing a novel about the topic but I had always felt intimidated by the complexity of the topic and neverprepared enough to tackle it.

Let’s leave the subject of diving aside for a moment and let’s start talking passionately about aeronautics. I told him that I was an ultralight airplanes’ pilot and that I even had a Russian-made model manufactured by the MIG Company, in which I started performing acrobatics. He described how to land a 747 and gradually fed me small snippets of his experiences. Time flew and the hall had to close. I was forced to say goodbye and leave. But fate wanted us to meet at the hotel again. There, I took the opportunity to continue listening to some of his fabulous adventures. From that moment I knew I had to write a book, just didn’t know where to start. I have always been a science fiction writer and this would be a biography or a historical novel. So, why not take advantage of my ability and mix fiction with reality?

I wasn’t sure how to go about it, and most importantly, I had not yet spoken with Nuñez to see if he would be agreeable to share his life with me and the world.

That night in my room I started taking notes on paper napkins and I didn’t go to beduntil I shaped the plot of my next novel. The next morning I heard the Nuñez family leaving the room next door. I could not miss that opportunity as I’d probably won’t have another one like this in a lifetime. So I quickly dressed myself and went to the cafeteria. There I met him again and feeling very jittery and not knowing what to say, out of the blue, I told him about my idea of writing a novel based on his experiences.

- I have given it some thought and, yousee, I write novels, well I thought I could write something about your life.

- Why don’t you come by my home one day and we talk about it over lunch?

- Of course!

- But make it soon, I'm too old and don’t have time to waste!

1

Like any good story of sorts, best to start at the beginning.

My fatherwas a strong man with capable hands who tried to make a living as best as he could. He used to find temporary jobs unloading trucks but they didn’t last long and had to travel from village to villagelooking for work to prevent constantly becoming unemployed. At that time my world was quite small, and while I occasionally accompanied him to nearby towns, in my mind I could not imagine that there was anything beyond Aragón.

Motorised transport was scarce and very often, the driving of trucks generally was left to the engineers in the factories. After spending a summer unloading iron beams and forging a solid friendship with Matías, the foundry’s engineer, my fathermanaged to get a seat in the truck. That’s how things were done back then. My father had seen Matías drive for thousands of hours, so he was ready to get behind the wheel. It was the first time he managed to work for more than three consecutive months. They were bad times. After the war, the country was ravaged by the crisis. Finally things started to go well, although my father was more concerned about these issues than I was. After all, I was just a child and my priorities were attending class, submitting my homework on time and hoping not to be bullied at recess. My teacher, tall and strong as an oak, had shaved the crown of his head because besides being a teacher, he was also a friar.

We were in the middle of math class one day when we heard a loud buzz nearing us at high speed. Don Roberto looked out the window and in the sky,he saw a small plane approaching in the distance.

- Let'sall go out to see it! -he said opening the door to the patio.

The engines of the small airplane roared deafeningly but it nevertheless seemed to advance at a very slow speed. We all looked up to the skyprotecting our eyesight with the palm of the hand to prevent the sun from blindingus.

- You see, boys? This is what maths are useful for. If you study a lot, someday you will become engineers or, who knows, maybe mechanics or pilots.

We all followed the flight turning our heads as sunflowers do in their fields. When I looked across the fence, I immediately saw a silhouette that looked familiar. What was my father doing at the gate of my school?

- The class is over now boys, do not forget to bring your homework tomorrow written in good penmanship.

Something was wrong, I was sure of it. Generally, I walked with my neighbour Jorge to the door of my house but sometimes my mother came to collect me, especially when she had cooked a stew for dinner so that I would not get side-tracked and reached home when the food was already cold. It was not at all unusual for Jorge and I to get involved in some adventure and only realise we were due for lunch when our tummies roaredwith hunger.

- How was the maths class? - asked my father forcing a smile.

- What's happened?

- Nothing, why should something have happened? I was on the way home and went by your school.

- And how come you're not working?

- You see, there has been an incident at the factory...

- Don’t tell me you're unemployed again.

- Don’t worry about it, tomorrow I’ll go talk to the people working on the canal, I’m sure they need skilled workers there.

Matías was not a bad person but in this occasion he proved to be a coward. The night before he had drunk too much wine and in the morning he was barely able to stand. The hangover was taking its toll and as the body was deprived of all the alcohol he was shivering and shaking with spasms. The only possible way to get dressed and go to work on time was totake a couple of glasses of coffee liqueur and it was precisely this that made him not see the entrance to the store and crush the truck against the walls. Before losing his job at the factory and having the large sum of money that would cost to repair the door discounted from his salary, Matías felt it would be best if that morning my father was to drive.

The imperial canal of Aragón was used to transport heavy loads. Huge barges were loaded with beets and other seasonal products. The state of the roads was very poor. In fact, they didn’t even deserve to be calledroads as these were mostly dirt roads in summer and mud rivers in winter. A truck would barely manage to climb the slopes, even without carrying a load.

Pascasio was a strong, sturdy man, almost as broad as he was tall. His office - if you could namea small stone house built on the banks of the canal like that- was chaotic. Pascasio had worked all his life caring for mules but now that the barge fleet had been deployed, the manager needed an experienced man he could trust to coordinate all operations. He could barely read and write because he had never attended school but that hardly mattered - he was able to trace all the boats’ movements in his head, memorising the tons carried by each of the barges andtheir departure and arrival times. He knew everything there was to know about every one of the men who worked on the canal and he even knew each of the mules by its name. He felt that these animals needed special attention because they were the engine of these huge vessels.

It was seven o'clock and the black sky dotted with stars seemed unwilling to make way for the new day. In late October the trees dressed in orange and yellow colours, as if they were on fire. After that, their withered leaves would fall to the ground forming a patterned carpet. There was a small cast iron stove in the office, a real treat for Pascasio, accustomed all his life to withstand the inclement weather working outdoors. He didn’t like to turn it on until early November after the All Saints Day had past but this morning it was colder than usual and he could not get his hands to warm up. Now his work was a lot more comfortable but hecouldn’t shake the feeling off that the money he made was not entirely clean because he was not investing any physical effort in doing it. Just as he was about to throw a log on the stove, the door opened. He released the log frightened as if he’d been caught committing a crime and looked nervously at my father.

- Good morning Pasca, what a horribly cold day! As if we were in the Artic itself!

- Yes, it's cold and we are short of a week until All Saints –he said taking the piece of oak once again and tossing it into the stove. He then lit a match that fell to the bottom where some of last winter’s coal awaited. The two men approached the heat placing their hands a foot away from the semi-incandescent metal.

- How is work going? I've heard you are short of workers.

- There’s still some work but the busiest part of the season is over ... It’s getting cheaper and cheaper to transport goods on the railway, we’ll soon have to find something else to do.

My father held his breath for a moment and thought he would have to return to their old ways, wandering from village to village in search of a job that would allow us to survive through the winter.

Pascasio knew the hardship we were enduring. The rumours about the truck accident had spread like wildfire but everyone who knew Matías imagined how the incident really happened. He had also heard what a good a worker my father was.

- It’s not a good time to hire new people -not just because it’slow season but becauseyou’d also have to learn the trade quickly before the bad weather falls upon us. Winter will come early this year and you must know how to face the wind, the mud and the rain – I don’t want to have to get you out of the bottom of the canal.

- Do not worry, I work hard and learn fast...

- I know, so I'll make an exception.

Gradually things started to look better. My father had a steady work and I studied as much as I could. Winter came early and my father had to endure the cold weather. In December it was impossible to stand still without getting frostbite. My father used to pack a piece of bread, a piece of cheese and sometimes a chorizo sausage in his lunch box. Sitting down to eat outside was an absurdity, so that day hetook advantage of one of the corners of the barge where we was sheltered from the wind.

- Juanito, you are in charge of the mules, it's my turn to eat. Make sure they don’t get frightened.

- Yes, yes, of course.

Juanito was over forty years of age but his mind was still that of a child at four. Rumours had it in the village that he was like that because their parents were first cousins, however others claimed that Juanito was born and grew up as a normal child but when he was about six years old he had very high fevers that almost killed him.

His job didn’t involve much, in fact, the mules were very quiet, and theyonly sometimes got frightened when they heard the train go across the canal. My father used to sit on the cargo by using one of the billets of wood as a seat. He untied the small cloth bag and stretcheditto reveal a piece of hard cheese and a slice of stale bread. The greyish colour of the bread was caused by the mixture of rye and wheat. The crust was somewhat coarse and the bread itself tasted acidic but remained tender for several days. The cheese was made by the goatherd of the village although he generally used a bit of milk to make it so it would be whiter and smoother than an ordinary goat’s cheese. My father rationed his food well and never cut a piece larger than calculated. Although most would be inclined to warm themselves up with something hot in winter, he had to eat and get back to work hurriedly. Anyway, my mother, who always thought about him, prepared hot food for dinner, often porridge with bacon, a consistent dish that warmed his stomach and gave him energy to face the new day. As he was cutting a piece of cheese with hissmall razor blade, something shook the boat. It seemed odd, since he had not heard anything and the railroad tracks were deserted. The barge swung sharply, this time towards the interior part of the canal due to the rebound effect of the