It was the day after Mussolini was hanged, and the day before Hitler committed suicide. Peter shaved as closely as he possibly could with his over used army issue razor. He was going to see Blanca. He was going to propose.
The girl back home that he had kissed once still wrote him letters. Since his division had moved into Italy, to his relief, they no longer reached him. Peter’s mother had a famous temper and Peter suspected that his girl back home had one too, although she had been careful never to show it in front of him.
One day Peter’s division stopped to buy bread. That was the first time he saw Blanca. He was not the only one to notice her, but he was the only one that she had noticed. She had acknowledged him with her slow subtle smile.
The next afternoon Peter picked flowers and then wandered the town looking for her. He did not find her that day. By sunset he gave up.
Peter then snuck behind a restaurant to throw the flowers away, so that he would not be seen doing so by any of his mates. He felt embarrassed that he had even picked those flowers, and that he had done so with care. He chastised himself for wondering around town looking for some pretty girl that he did not even know.
Peter was a sensible, substitious man. He was most certainly not romantic. Even at his age, he did not enjoy adventure or surprise. Before the war he had only known the people that he had known his entire life. He had never traveled more than twenty-two miles from his home, the distance to Louisville. Now he was in Italy dogging a girl so pretty she could be in the movies. He laughed at himself for being fanciful and went back to camp.
That night Peter went out with the others to a pub. There he caught a glimpse of Blanca. He had forgotten his self warning and founding himself approaching her without knowing what he would say. She was with an old man delivering a few bottles of wine. Peter only knew a little Italian, and she only the English she had learned from American movies.
Peter said, “Hello, I know you.” and as soon as he did, he wished that he had said something better.
Blanca came back with, “Lassie come home.” She then pointed to the bartender’s dog and smiled to indicate that she understood that the line referenced a dog.
Peter continued to strain out a slow and simple conversation with her. He could not help but believe that she actually liked him too.
The old man tugged on Blanca’s skirt until it was obvious that she had to leave. Blanca said something in Italian, and then in English said “Goodbye”.
Peter wished desperately that he knew what she had said. It seemed to have been some warmly delivered question.
As she walked out, while still looking back at him, Peter said to her, “Here’s looking at you kid.”
She giggled, and he loved her.
Peter went back to the pub at the same time for three nights until Blanca showed up again. When Blanca spotted Peter, he could tell by her expression that she had come looking for him, and this made his nervousness turn to joy. This time Blanca was with a friend who spoke a little more English than she did, but with even more movie idioms.
Blanca said hello to him, and then with an innocent expression she quoted Betty Davis, “I’d love to kiss you, but I just washed my hair.”
Her friend then blankly nodded in agreement.
Peter sat down and bought the girls a pop. The girls smiled at each other as if Peter were being almost too forward. Peter started his mission to get to know Blanca by asking what movies, and which movie stars she liked. He was then able to move from the topic of Gone With the Wind to the fact that he himself was a southerner.
The girls each practiced pronouncing “ya’ll” and seemed delighted that Peter was, “Most Clark Gabel like.”
He knew Blanca was pleased, but immediately worried that she would be disappointed to discover how “Not Clark Gabel like” he really was. Peter decided to warn her that he was “…more Jimmy Stewart like, only not tall”.
Blanca asked Peter if he had fought in battles. She saw a sadness pass over his face.
She tried to comfort him by saying, “Tomorrow is another day…As God is my witness, I’ll never go hungry again.”
Peter laughed and actually did feel comforted. He understood what Blanca was trying to say. She then touched the top of his hand for a second. He now knew that he could not move his hand because Blanca’s touch had made his palm instantly sweaty. If he moved it, she might notice his perspiration on the maple tabletop. Peter thought to himself, “Sweaty palms, not Clark Gable like at all.”
Blanca’s friend was asked to dance by another soldier and ended up moving to his table. Peter and Blanca continued their maladroit conversation. Somehow despite their struggle to communicate they had managed to share very important and personal things. Peter realized that the effort it took them to understand each other had caused them to circumvent delicacy and decorum. This had somehow made their conversation more vulnerable.
Peter told Blanca of the strange and horrible things he had seen during war. He then named cities and drew some pictures as he tried to share the wonderful and beautiful things he had seen as well. He was able to communicate to Blanca that the most confusing thing for him was that sometimes these wonderful and horrible things would come on the same day. He told her that it was all so new and overwhelming he felt that he had almost forgotten himself.
Blanca spoke of the uncertainty she had felt during the war. She confessed to Peter that she had nightly nightmares about the Germans. Even though it was halted and strained, Peter knew that he had never been able to talk this intimately with anyone in his life.
Blanca sincerely thanked Peter for fighting with the allies. Her eyes became teary, and he blushed. He felt ashamed that he had been drafted and Blanca probably did not understand that. He knew any of his friends would have jumped at this moment as a way of getting closer to her, and then maybe convincing her to do something with him that she shouldn’t do, but Peter could not. He could never take advantage of someone he felt so strongly for, although his feelings were still confused. He wanted to believe that theirs was a real connection, but it was too wonderful to believe.
Blanca’s friend came back to the table, and said in Italian that her brother had come to take them home. The brother was standing in front of the movie house next door. Blanca did not want Peter to know that she and her friend planned to sneak in the back door of the theater, and then walk out the front as if they had just watched a picture. Two girls their age would never have been allowed to go to a bar on their own, and so sneaking around this way had been Blanca’s only hope of finding Peter. Blanca did not want Peter to know about this, but not because she wanted to play it cool, but because she didn’t want him to think she was a wild girl.
Blanca said goodbye quickly and to cover herself she added, “The back door is the best door to walk through here.”
Peter didn’t understand why she had said that, but he didn’t care. He asked her, “Will you come here again tomorrow night?”
Blanca said “Yes” and added, “You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.”
They grinned at each other.
Peter knew that Blanca meant that to be funny, and he thought that it was.
After that evening Blanca kept sneaking away to meet Peter. The war was basically over in Umbria and so Peter had only a few tasks assigned per day. After praying to return home for eleven months, he was now afraid he would be sent back at any time and loose Blanca. He had only had five weeks with her, but today he would propose. He had never even kissed her, partly due to propriety, and partly due to the red waxy lipstick she wore which was sure to smear and give them both away.
Peter dressed even more carefully than he had for officer inspection. He did not say good night to his friends, concerned that they would guess his mission. He slipped out and made his way to the big tree by the post office. Tree and post office were nouns that Peter could say in Italian, and so he had arranged for them to meet there.
Peter walked Blanca to the nicest spot he had seen in Montefalco. It was a spring just feet from the river. It came out from an incline creating a miniature waterfall effect. It was a hot spring, and so it produced a misty fog. It seemed warm and romantic to him but Blanca didn’t notice. She was afraid that he was going to tell her that he was leaving. She so hoped he would kiss her. She lifted her right calf as she had seen women in movies do while being kissed, hoping it would be a signal to him.
Peter got down on one knee. Blanca was jolted by the shock that he was about to purpose, but her heart dropped when he only handed her a piece of folded paper. When she forced a smile and unfolded it, she saw Peter’s drawing of an engagement ring and “I.O.U” printed at the bottom. Being only eighteen, this was a perfectly acceptable proposal to her.
Blanca said “Yes!” in English and added, “I do not know how to kiss or I would kiss you. Where do the noses go?”
Peter kissed her, and at some point in time he was miraculously able to stop.
Blanca asked Peter to come to her home for dinner the next night. She explained to Peter that he must ask her grandfather and mother if he could propose and never tell that he already had, because it was disrespectful. He agreed and said goodnight, but was deeply afraid something would go wrong and he would have to return to Kentucky and marry the mean girl.
Blanca called him back to her as he walked away. Peter hadn’t realized that he had no idea where she lived. Blanca drew directions to their home on the back of the engagement ring paper and handed it back to Peter. Peter was not superstitious, but he still took this as some kind of bad omen, as though she had given an actual ring back.
The next night Peter borrowed a newer razor than his and pomade for his hair. He headed off to Blanca’s home. He had far to walk and so he made an extra effort not to get lost by asking a little girl if she knew where “Annaffiare Parole Magiche” was. These words were written at the top of Blanca’s map like a title. The child explained that this was the name of the family’s vineyard. The girl then said to follow the yellow road, not the red one. This made no sense to Peter until he reached a fork. One path had red clay dirt, and the other a sandy Champaign colored soil. He took the yellow road and soon smelled the pure crisp sent of grape blossoms.
When Peter finally stood at the entrance to the vineyard, the house was still so far down the path that he could not yet see it. The vines were overfull and crowning the path with their grapes. The leaves were deep and rich but the grapes, like the soil, were a translucent gold. Peter strained to his tip toes to try and spot the house, but he could only see the snowcapped mountains that encircled the town. He could hear, but not see a river. Everything seemed so quiet, clean, and perfect.
Back home Peter live so near the coal mine where his father worked and died, that it’s dust covered even the inside of their house. Trains ran by every few hours. They shook the ground and blew their whistles, but never constantly enough that you could expect them, and so learn not to be startled.
Viewing the perfection of her home made Peter realize that he felt inferior to Blanca and her family. He stopped walking to take a moment to marshal his courage as he had recently been forced to learn to do for battle. He smoothed his hair and checked his tiepin. He wanted to smoke a cigarette but feared the smell might not mix well with the sent of his pomade.
Peter marched on until the full view of her perfect house came into sight. It was solid crisscrossed red brick. Peter had never seen bricks laid that way. Covering most of them were rose trestles which were covered in red roses at all staged of bloom. He considered stealing one for his lapel, but decided against it. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, but it flew open before his knuckles made contact.
Blanca’s mother grabbed his hands and pulled him inside, and into the middle of a crowd of people. She kissed both his cheeks, which embarrassed him. Then everyone began slapping his back and shacking his hand. Peter realized their exuberant greeting was not because of Blanca, but because the family was grateful to the American solider. The allies had provided help to the Italian Partisans who had just hung Mussolini. The family was quite cheery about the hanging. Mentally Peter appreciated the greeting but emotionally he was already unnerved and this noisy, tactile, emersion into the home was overwhelming.
Peter finally spotted Blanca and they smiled deeply at one another. The family moaned in unison at their reaction to one another and Peter again felt his face burn with embarrassment. Blanca explained to Peter as best she could how she was related to each person there, but he wasn’t able to remember for more than a second who any of them were except her mother and grandfather. Peter focused in on them, believing his fate was in their hands.
Blanca’s mother kept grabbing Peter’s jaw and saying something with a smile that he did not understand, but he felt sure was complimentary. Blanca’s grandfather however just stared and smoked a cigarette. He smoked it in its entirety without ever removing it from his lips in-between lighting it and spitting the butt into the fireplace. The grandfather was small and very old, but scary enough for Peter.
At dinner Peter sat across from Blanca. His dinner was served and he struggled to finish it. It was delicious, and nothing like anything he had ever eaten, but he was too nervous to enjoy. Then another plate was served even more full than the first and filled with entirely different dishes. He breathed a few deep breaths and reminded himself of how far his body had been push during basic training. He convinced himself that he could do it. He could eat this plate of food without stopping or even getting sick. He had been raised that it was rude to not finish the food served to you, and after his dad died his mom would even beat him for wasting a bite. Peter managed the plate. To his horror, still more came.
When dessert arrived he was relived. The end was in sight. He was grateful that at least all the blood was leaving his head to digest his meal. This was making him feel less nervous. A little girl at the end of the table dropped her cake on the floor and began to cry. Peter quickly gave his slice to her. Everyone smiled and cooed over his kindness to the child. Peter let them believe it was kindness and thanked God that he did not have to attempt to consume the cake.
Blanca’s grandfather and a male cousin then took Peter into a small sitting room. The cousin spoke good English. They gave him coffee in a tiny cup. He marveled over the cup, but then wondered if enough space remained in his stomach to even try and drink it. Was it possible that it would just sit in his throat until space opened up below? The grandfather asked Peter his intentions toward Blanca via the cousin’s translation. Peter suspected that the cousin’s translation of the grandfather’s words was softening up the old man’s tone.
Once finished explaining and answering all the grandfather’s questions, Blanca and her mother came into the room. The cousin told Peter to ask now. Peter turned to Blanca, but the cousin’s eyes instructed him to address her mother and grandfather. Peter did so and gave his best possible speech on why he loved Blanca wrapping it up with his request to marry her. Blanca’s mother cried while the grandfather remained unmoved. The two stepped out of the room to make a decision.
Blanca twisted her handkerchief as her cousin hugged Peter hard saying, "You ponied up good, see." A phrase which Peter vaguely recalled James Cagney having said.
Peter had never been hugged by a man before arriving in Italy and it was more than uncomfortable. Peter carefully responded by punching the cousin on the shoulder and saying, "If I hold you any closer, I’ll be in back of you.”
The cousin greatly appreciated the quote, cheering in response, “Groucho, Groucho.”
The cousin abruptly collected himself when the door opened.
Blanca’s Mother returned with crystal wine glasses. Not the ones that had been used at dinner. These were a thick elaborately cut crystal that created a sort of prism effect. The cup was low and shallow. Blanca covered her mouth with her hand and squealed. She told Peter that they were being given a chance. He was profoundly confused.
The Grandfather returned with a bottle of wine. The family name was handwritten on the label along with the words "Matrimonio Vino". The grandfather uncorked the bottle with a slow ceremonial reverence. Blanca’s mother held the glass stems firmly to the tabletop as he poured. The glasses remained in place as the two sat down. Now in the glasses, the wine appeared to be exceptionally dark below, but like a swirling rainbow on top. Blanca’s mother began to speak, at times being corrected or aided by the cousin.
She began,
This wine is from our family’s vineyard. It is not like any other wine in the world. Everyone in our village knows of its properties. Before they marry they all come here to drink. No one would be so foolish as to marry without taking the wedding wine with their betrothed. When you drink this wine with your love, you will see far into your future together. You will feel what it feels like to be husband and wife. You will see your children. You may even see your death. You will know your destiny.
I drank with my husband Carlo, God rest his soul. I saw his death. I saw the coffin. I saw myself faint. I heard myself cry, but I also felt the love we had. I saw the way he looked at Blanca. I saw her grown. I knew that even though we would not have long together, I could not miss these loves in my life.
Blanca and her mother cried a moment, as did the grandfather and cousin. Peter had never seen men cry before, but was too distracted by the story to react. Peter didn’t know if this was some trick or superstition she was speaking about, but he never considered it to be possible true.
She went on with the explanation,
Many drink this wine and do not marry. Some see misery. Some see adultery. Some see boredom, and occasionally someone sees themselves murdering the other one. This person, who sees themselves doing the killing, is usually the women. However, most see love and joy and life. Peter, are you ready to drink with my daughter? If you do not drink, you may not marry at all. If you have a bad vision, you may not marry. If you see a life you want, you may marry with our blessings. You may marry and this home and this vineyard will one day be yours.
Peter was handed his glass by the grandfather without answering. Blanca took hers. With jesters alone they were lead into the garden. Squash on one side and roses on the other, they sat on the hand carved bench Blanca’s father had made her mother after Blanca was born. Everyone went back inside leaving them alone to drink. Peter did not know what to say to Blanca.
In their long silence, Peter caught himself thinking that he could lie and say that he had some sort of positive vision that would convince the family to allow him to marry her, but then realized that she would have to agree to play along. Peter carefully asked Blanca if she believed in this “vision stuff”. She proclaimed that she was certain it was true and magic. She said that she was so thankful to have no fear in marrying Peter because in moments she would see everything.
Peter began to wonder if Blanca was too provincial, too ignorant for him. He had plans to go to college under the GI bill once back in the states. He had dreams of becoming a college professor one day. He just had yet to decide what kind. He wondered if he had taken this foreign romance too far, if he had seen too many movies. After all they could barely converse and she apparently believed in some sort of witchcraft.
Blanca then kissed Peter hard on the mouth. It was maybe hello, maybe goodbye, but it grabbed his attention and made his worrisome thoughts dissolve. They drank.
Blanca suddenly felt nauseous. Then she realized it was morning sickness and eight months had instantly passed. She was pregnant with her first son. He was healthy and she had named him Peter junior. She could see his face. Time was skipping around. She could see him growing up before her eyes. He was some sort of successful business man, as no one in the family had ever been. He had some freckles like his dad and big forearms. He had the kind of face that could give the kindest smile or the meanest glare, but never mean toward her of course.
Time leaped fourteen years, and as an answer to her prayers she had a daughter, who Peter had apparently given the odd name of Jennifer. Blanca was grateful to have a girl despite the fact that boys were more prestigious. Her daughter would be slimmer than her, but with her hair and skin and mouth. Jennifer would get her fathers blue eyes, which was a striking combination that Blanca loved.
She then saw three years go by since Jennifer’s birth. She was sad that she had not had another child. She would pray for God to give her one more. Then she saw and felt herself pregnant again. This son would be Tomas. He would become a priest, which made her proud and sad. She was now forty-two.
They lived on the vineyard and gained even more land. They had added more grapes like tocai and picolit to there sauvignon and grechetto. The children had a sweet horse that they loved. It died after they had grown-up.
Blanca felt Peter’s hand on her waist. She turned and looked at him. He was now an old man, almost eighty-three. He was so thin when they drank the wine, but now he was filled out with thick arms and a broad chest. His eyelids now looked as if they were folded over his eyes, and the color of his eyes was much paler, but they were the same eyes looking at her the same way.
Peter’s vision began with him holding a handful of grapes. He now knew things about the grapes that he had not know when they drank the wine. He knew Italian very well. He realized that he was now working on the vineyard. He had not gone to college. He was not wearing a suit, but pants made from some stiff cotton he had never before felt. A bee came from the bunch of grapes and stung his hand. He swore an Italian swear. His present mind was heartsick to see that none of his dreams would come true.
Blanca came to him. She was even more curvaceous, now with lines under her eyes and a grey streak in her bangs. She took his hand and carefully and quickly removed the stinger. She kissed his hand and he kissed her mouth.
A child ran up behind them and said "eweh, stop that!"
Peter looked at his little girl, dark like her mother but with eyes just like his. She had curly hair that bounced as she toddled away. His son’s were wrestling down the path. The little girl turned back around to tell on them. Peter felt heartache, and joy, and hope in his kids. During his vision he never saw his children as grown-ups, but in life he was never able to either, thus making his vision even more accurate.
Peter turned back to Blanca, now a gorgeous fifty-year-old. He then gazed at his elderly wife, who he found to be cute and soft and dear. Then she gradually morphed back into the pretty eighteen-year-old that was standing before him.
They reported back to the family what they had seen. Peter never doubted the wine again. They were married three days later in that garden.
After the ceremony Peter said to Blanca, “Today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”
Blanca responded in kind by quoting Fred Astaire, “Chance is the fool’s name for fate.”
Chapter two
Peter loved the wood shop best of all the places on Annaffiare Parole Magiche. He tried again to explain to his grandson Paulo the different woods they used to make their wine barrels, and how their choice would affect the flavor of the wine. Paulo made no effort to hide his boredom from his grandfather.
Paulo was now two years older than Peter had been when he had married Blanca. To Peter, Paulo seemed to be a child still in mind and appetite. However, Peter was not too old to remember that his grandfather had called him lazy and weak even after he fought in the war. Peter wondered if he misremembered the intensity of being that age, or if Paulo had been somehow watered down.
Paulo was Peter’s only grandchild, although he still held hopes that Jennifer would give him one more scion. Jennifer was about the age that her mother had been when she was born, but Jennifer had never married. Peter felt the same kind of concern for Jennifer that he felt for Paulo, that some how the idealism of their lives had taken their ambition, or weakened their character.
Peter sometimes wondered if the marriage he had with Blanca had set too high a standard for his children to meet. Peter junior had never married Paulo’s mother. The mother had left Paulo in their care since he was eight-months-old. Junior had never drunk the wine with anyone, not even with her. Conversely, Jennifer held the record for the greatest number of wedding wine visions, each a failure. Tomas had only tried the wine once and saw himself alone. He was now a priest as the wine had told he would be.
Paulo wandered away as Peter’s wood lesson trailed off. Some of the wine barrels were as old as the vineyard itself, but Peter wanted to create something new with his grandson. Something that would not mature until Paulo was perhaps himself a grandfather. Something personal for Peter to be remembered by.
As Peter inspected a slice of oak, the tour group approached. Peter slipped out of the shed and headed down a path that he knew they would not take. He hated the entire wedding wine industry that Junior had long ago created, but he and Blanca had allowed it out of fear of loosing him to some unknown city and foreign life.
Junior had tried desperately to convince the family to mass market wedding wine. When they refused, he persuaded them to allow him to at least create a tourist industry for the vineyard. Now almost sixty, Junior had amassed a fortune, not only for the family, but also for Montefalco itself. He employed most of the younger people in town and owned its hotel, inn, and spa. Plus, he had just added a secular wedding chapel, an addition which Tomas in particularly resented.
Peter snuck into the kitchen door. Blanca sat sorting beans, and so he began to help. Blanca gave Peter the big eyed expression she always gave him when the petitions came in. He felt tired just thinking about them, more and more every season.
Years ago when Junior had spread the word about the wedding wine beyond Umbria, the number of customers for wedding wine became immediately out of control. Lines began forming each morning at the vineyard gates. Soon people began camping out to be the first ones to purchase a bottle the next day. Eventually so many people tried to steal the wine, two rottweilers and a very mean cat were moved into the cellar.
Junior had finally gotten the hordes under control, but not the number of requests for the wine. They simply could not produce anymore without adulterating its properties. They had refused to allow Junior to have it analyzed for mass production because it seemed somehow disloyal to the wine and family’s history. Additionally, it demonstrated a lack of faith that made Blanca nervous. Secretly, they were also afraid of the ciaos that would ensue if he did succeed.
Peter and Blanca created their own solution to the lack of available wine. They began having the betrothed couples write petitions; a letter telling why they had a particular need or want to take the wine before committing. Blanca and Peter would then select only about five couples out of the thousands. The couples would stay with them and drink the wine the upcoming season. (Always putting some aside for Jennifer, just in case.)
Tomas walked up the path to the house only to be blocked by the tour group his father had dodged. The guide was speaking German. Tomas now thirty-eight was feeling the need to take on his older brother once and for all. The wedding wine business was spidering out across Europe and would soon be know in the states. Once the American’s knew of the wedding wine Tomas believed that it was just a matter of time before Junior’s greed would usurp his respect for the family. Also, pondering his parent’s age made Tomas realize that he must act soon. When the vineyard was left in the children’s hands, Paulo would also get a share, giving Junior an extra vote in its fate.
Money wasn’t what Tomas took issue with, nor history, nor the other family wines being caste aside in favor of the famous one. What troubled Tomas was the wedding wine itself. What was it? What made it work?
Tomas had no parish. He taught theology to young priest. No new class came in without questing him about the famous wedding wine. Tomas himself had always accepted the magic wine without concern, until he began teaching curious young minds. Now he was forced to question the power behind the wine, and felt more and more uneasy as he did.
There were too many possibilities for him to come up with an answer on his own. Was it something of the occult? Was there some combination of elements from the grapes and water and soil that caused something to effect the brain in an unheard of way? Was it a gift from God? Was it just wine, but the power of hope and fear made people believe? Whatever the answer, Tomas felt the truth must be found before Junior unleashed wedding wine on the world.
At this point Peter and Blanca carefully selected the couples who drank the wine together. They coached and monitored the couples before they partook. They then consoled the ones that broke-up, and celebrated with the ones whose visions were good. The taking of the wine was now at least an intimate and supported journey. Tomas knew that if Junior got his way, wedding wine would be for sale at Starbucks.
Tomas finally took the long way round to the house. It was hot and he had many books to carry. When he reached the kitchen, he felt angry at Junior without understanding why. Blanca got him a glass of lemonade. Tomas let the glass cool his hand before he drank. Blanca rubbed his shoulders and asked him what was wrong. Tomas did not answer her, but he felt at that moment that everything wrong in his life was somehow Junior’s fault, even the fact that he felt overheated. Tomas decided that tonight he would force the rest of the family to question the wine as he was.
Junior arrived talking loudly on his cell phone. He took more than his share of space in the kitchen, and grabbed an apple from the bowl of apples that Blanca had just washed. Tomas knew she was washing them for a pie and said so to Junior. Junior hung up on his call and in seconds the two were wrestling between the table and sink.
Blanca popped them with a dish towel until they stopped. She gave them chores to help prepare dinner, as she had been doing to divert their fights since Tomas had become old enough for Junior to fight.
Blanca added her standard admonishment, “At least I have one girl.”
She would always say this as she twirled her index finger in the air.
Dinner was finally ready. Tomas always said grace, and then the food would be passed around in silence. This time Tomas began their meal without a prayer. He instead began repeating some of the questions his students had asked him about the wedding wine. Jennifer became uncharacteristically quiet as her parents tried to answer. Junior began creating his own fictitious, but highly marketable answers.
Tomas looked past Junior, focusing on Peter and Blanca. Tomas wanted to begin by making them question the wine themselves. He had asked a question or two in the past, but never wanted to question his parents to the point that he was questioning their marriage itself. After all, the wine was why they married, and so indirectly responsible for Tomas’ own existence. The wine was to a degree sacred, no matter its properties’ source.
Blanca was only concerned that Tomas seemed to be. She had never questioned the wine at all. She tried to appease him by telling all she knew of the wines history. Facts Tomas had heard before, but she hoped at this point he could glean an answer.
Blanca began,
I know that your great grandfather wanted the wedding wine grapes grown only on the north hill. He himself laid the stones that outline that section. He also wanted the grapes watered only from the hot springs water, but Peter and I grew tired of caring all those buckets, and so that practice ended only a few months after my mother’s death, God rest her soul. The barrels, and cellar, and vines are all the same.
Tomas planned to ask his parents permission to test the soil, and grapes and every other organic element involved, but he did not wish to do so in front of Junior. If the wine’s power was a natural occurrence, Tomas had to get an answer without giving Junior the secret of how to mass produce the wine and so ruin their lives.
Tomas knew Junior would make fun of him for asking about any spiritual elements that could be involved, but he went ahead, “Is there anything supernatural about the wine’s story or the vineyard itself? Were any spells cast or rituals performed here?”
As his parents carefully pondered the possible answers, Junior kicked Tomas’ shin under the table. Paulo came in from the kitchen with his own plate.
Peter suddenly blurted out, “Nazis”. Blanca’s eyes grew wide as Peter went on to say,
The Nazi’s tried to steal the wine. They only got a few live vines and some grapes. They had threatened to come back and take the vineyard but they were defeated first. Hitler himself was said to have given the order to get the wine. He was obsessed with the occult you know. Anything magic. The Nazi were connected to Satan himself, and we never found out how they had heard of the wine to begin with. Perhaps it is connected to a dark force.
Blanca rubbed her arms from the chill she got just thinking of it.
She reminded her children, “I still have nightmares about the Nazis. Even after all these years.”
Blanca became upset by the thought that their families wine might be evil. She remembered the stories about her great grandmother being able to see into the future. She had always felt cursed due to her difficulties conceiving, and believed that each of her children was the product of prayer alone.
As Tomas and Junior argued over the existence of the supernatural, Blanca had more and more dark thoughts, her father’s death, Jennifer’s loneliness, Junior having Paulo out of marriage. Just before Blanca burst into tears Peter had gotten up to hold her. He could always see it coming. Blanca collected herself enough to tell Tomas that he must find the answer.
“If it is evil wine, the vineyard must be destroyed.” she stated.
Peter never dismissed Blanca’s beliefs, not since he came to believe in the wine, but he had always maintained as much logic as his current occupation would allow. This time he had let his imagination go and said too much without thinking. He had just recently started blurting out whimsical thoughts, and it made him feel old.
Peter comforted Blanca by saying that the wines properties were much more likely to be supernaturally good than evil. Peter then confessed that he believed the wine was a combination of all the possibilities that Tomas had broached.
Peter said, “This wine is like a person. It has a body and mind and soul; the soil, the fermentation, its history. We can never understand all its elements. We just have to trust that the wine is what it is, and that it is good.”
Jennifer burst out sobbing, “If it’s not really magical, it has cost me my life. We have to find an answer. I have to know.”
Tomas said nothing. He did not remind Jennifer that it had affected his life as much or more than it had hers.
Junior began supporting Jennifer by exclaiming that, “An answer must be found!”
Tomas knew that Junior did not seek the truth, but the formula.
Jennifer looked at Tomas, “Dad believes its something incomprehensible and
complicated, but he trusts it. Mom believes it’s just supernatural good or evil. Junior must believe it’s only organic, or else it couldn’t be reproduced. What do you believe?”
Tomas was afraid to misspeak. It was too important a question.
Jennifer added,
No matter what any of us believe, we are all staking our lives on our belief. Mom and Dad’s marriage. Tomas’ receiving the priesthood. Paulo, and Junior, you are staking your lives on the wine having a chemical explanation only. I am staking my life on it being some link to God.
Paulo spoke up saying, “No one has an answer. No one ever knows the truth about anything. We all have to look into our own heart to decide what we believe for ourselves.” And then to gain his fathers favor, Paulo added, “I believe religion and theology are some else’s truths. You can only have faith in yourself. You have to find your own truth. That’s why I will never commit to a religion.”
Tomas did not hesitate to answer,
Everyone has religion and theology and you just stated yours. That is radical faith, believing that it doesn’t matter what you believe as long as it comes from your own conscious. That’s a commitment. Plus, you’re adding that everyone has to share your belief or they are wrong. That’s theological absolutism; nobody has the truth, everyone has to think for themselves…not open and not uncommitted at all. The only difference between you and religious people is that we know we are doing it and don’t pretend to be our own God.
Peter could see Tomas starting up. They had always had like minds but Peter, unlike the priest, sought peace before resolution. Peter wanted to say something that would calm everyone down, but he was also saddened by his grandson’s lack of faith.
He added to what Tomas had said,
Back in my day we believed that right and wrong was determined by something outside the self, and it was our job to harmonize with it…God, nature, community, law…But you young people think you should figure it out on your own. That the truth is in your own heart and mind. You think that’s unbiased and liberal. If that’s what you believe, that only you know what’s right for yourself, than you are again adopting a particular way of thinking based on the Americans. It’s the land of the free thinking, but still it’s something you’re saying everybody’s got to do. You’re saying your view is right and everyone else’s is wrong, but its individualist therefore it’s good and fair. That’s American narcissism.
Blanca interrupted to scold Peter for speaking against America. Tomas looked over at Jennifer. She was almost despondent. He assured her that they had not really gotten so far off point.
Tomas quieted himself and said,
The point is that we cannot look to what we have been taught about the wine from our family’s stories. We cannot look to our own experiences, because they have been only ours. We cannot ignore possible answers outside our own beliefs and feelings. We must sincerely seek the truth with our hearts and minds. We will analyze all possibilities and all combinations of possibilities. One thing we do know is that Jennifer is right. We are all staking our lives, and the lives of those who come here to drink, on our beliefs about the wine. We have to find the truth no matter how uncomfortable or strange. We must find it for our own sakes, and we must be responsible to those who come here and drink. They come to us seeking the truth, we must duly warn them of what they are partaking.
Junior felt panic as he realized that Tomas intended to reveal the truth to outsiders. He knew the wine would never sell well if it were merely some biochemical reaction. There was nothing romantic about that. How would he get tourist to come to the vineyard, or pay thousands for the wine if it were not perceived as magic. Junior never believed in supernatural wine, but he was staking his fortune on others believing in it.
After dinner Blanca and Peter sat down amidst the piles of petitions. They were quite as they considered the possibility that their work was not as righteous as they had always believed it to be. Peter grabbed a bright pink envelope out of one stack. The handwriting was full and round with hearts and stars dotting the “I”s. He handed it to Blanca and she threw it in the trash. The overly romantic never stood a change, and were the most difficult to console. Peter and Blanca were just too old to bother anymore. They tried to select the couples with a true conundrum at their center. Couples with true need, and maybe a nice little mystery for them to watch unfold.
Blanca drew a letter post marked from New York. She recognized the stationary and handwriting. This woman had sent more petitions than Blanca could count. Her name was Geraldine Drew. Blanca sighed as she opened her latest request. Blanca was unable to separate the tone of Geraldine’s desperation from that of her New Yorkness. Blanca was very put off by what she perceived to be rudeness, but had also become curious as to how such a nasty woman had found a man to drink with, while Jennifer was still alone. Peter read the petition too and they agreed to finally accept her.
Geraldine was thirty-nine and had never married. Her parents had divorced in the seventies and then remarried, only to redivorce in the eighties. Geraldine had a successful dog walking business that had bloomed into the largest in Manhattan. She had over fifty walkers under her and got a percentage of each of their fees. She also had a massive rent controlled apartment, and boarded dogs year round. She had become rather wealthy from her business, but had never used her journalism degree.
Geraldine’s betrothed was named Mark. He was ten years her junior, and had failed to complete high school. He was a sweet tempered man she had come to know after hiring him to walk dogs for her. Geraldine had sprained her back three years ago, and Mark had come to her aid. She never considered him a potential mate, until she became pledge by dreams of him. The dreams became so persistent and so lucid that she had tried using medication just in an attempt to get a few hours rest.
Eventually Geraldine’s dreams became prophetic. She would dream that Mark brought her a cup of coffee, and then he would. She dreamed that she would run into him on the subway, and then she would. Finally, she dreamed he would ask her to dinner, and even predicted the restaurant he would choose, and he did.
After six months or so she began to dream that they would marry, but she wanted wedding wine confirmation. She had to have it. Mark was just too odd a choice for her and she struggled to admit that she loved him. Mark himself was entirely accepting of the dreams and did not feel the need to go further with the wine, but he had agreed to the trip to Italy if it made her happy.
Blanca took out her calligraphy pen and wrote on her thick linen paper Mark and Geraldine’s acceptance note. She drew the letters carefully, knowing that her card might well become a family heirloom. She placed the card in its envelope, and begrudgingly added the disclaimer that Junior now required each couple sign and returned before their arrival.
Peter drew a messy looking request from the stack to his right. Due to its slapdash state, he assumed it was from a man. Peter was correct. The young man’s name was Tiberius, and he was naturally desperate for the chance to drink with his love.
Tiberius had a slightly unusual situation however. Jane, the girl he loved, did not love him and was now engaged to his brother James. Tie had persuaded his brother and the girl to allow the two of them to drink together before she married his brother. Tie had put just enough doubt in Jane’s mind, and just enough guilt in James’ heart that they had agreed to appease Tie. Blanca and Peter agreed to accept Jane and Tie and were delighted by their intriguing scenario. It was always a rare treat for them to see something new.
Blanca closed her eyes and dove her hand into a pile on the floor. She retrieved a petition from Heather and Jude. She had always preferred that the man and the woman write their petition together. Heather and Jude had lived together since college and were now almost thirty. They just could not be sure if they should marry or not?
Peter felt they were a waste of wine. He said that the man would have married her by now if he was ever going to. Blanca felt that they should drink and stop living in sin; marry or break up. Plus, thinking of Jennifer, Blanca worried that the girl might waste her youth with the wrong, but comfortable man. He might leave her in another ten years for a younger girl. Blanca persuaded Peter to accept them.
Peter and Blanca agreed to only take the three couples this time. Usually there were more, but they could not ignore Tomas’ concerns. Had they discussed the topic further perhaps they would not have taken any, but bring couples in to drink was a sixty year habit and hard to change.
Blanca wrote in her large blank book the names of the new couples next to their numbers. Blanca had begun recording the couples since she and Peter took over. She logged Heather and Jude and realized that they were number thirteen hundred. She felt very uncomfortable about the number thirteen. To comfort herself when Blanca closed the book she laid her Bible on top of it.
Peter took his evening walk alone. He always took it after dark. Since the war, Peter felt safer walking at night when he could not be seen. He picked some grapes to eat, but then remembered that they had started spraying them with pesticides and so he cast them back near the stalks of the vines.
The sound of Paulo’s music came all the way from the house down the path. Peter was very annoyed that no one in his family seemed to cherish quite as he did. Paulo’s music was not just distasteful to Peter, but perfectly bizarre.
Peter gave up on having his peaceful walk and headed back to the house. Junior’s new car was parked out front. To Peter it was an odd color and strangely shaped. He heard Paulo turn off his music and answer his phone. Peter sat on the porch for a moment to enjoy the return of quite.
Peter knew he that would not live to be much older. He was not ill, but his facilities were fading at a newly rapid and steady pace. He could accept this, but was troubled by the state of affairs he was leaving behind. The new questions about the wine made his uneasy feeling grow. He was feeling a sense of urgency over many things that he could not really control or act upon. He had always been so thankful to have his mind that he had forgotten to pray for peace.
Blanca came out and sat with Peter. Peter never mentioned the topic of death with Blanca because she would become very upset. Peter sometimes wished that he could outlive Blanca, for her sake only, but knew that would not be the case. He pondered when to begin preparing her for his demise. He did not want it to be a shock to her, but he did not want to end his life talking only about the end of his life.
Blanca sat silently with Peter until he kissed her forehead and went inside. She waited until she heard him going up the steps, and then she took out a flashlight and headed for the wedding wine grapes. She had a Mother Mary medallion that her father had given her. She had worn it every Sunday since she was a child. Blanca tried to locate the exact center of the wedding wine vines, and then she buried the metal as close to thirteen inches into the soil as she could.
Blanca began praying for protection, but felt despair more than comfort.
She then boldly asked the Lord to, “Burn down these grapes if they do not serve Your purpose.”
Blanca was afraid that He might, but she was much more afraid that her family might be an unwitting instrument of evil.
When Blanca came back to the house Tomas surprised her by asking for her guest book. He wanted to contact some of the couples who had drank the wine in the past and find out if their visions had been consistent and accurate.
“Mama, I have realized that the efficacy of the wine is only known within the family. Maybe the whole issue would be solved as simple as this: the wine doesn’t really work.”
Tomas seemed hopeful that this would be the answer. No complications, or ethical dilemmas. Blanca was saddened that her son would be pleased if the family’s special purpose turned out to be nothing but a hoax. Then she reminded herself that he was a priest, and no other answer would be easy for him. She gave him the book, her hand still dirty from digging the medallion’s hole.
Blanca knew Tomas would be disappointed to find that the visions were consistent. Of that much Blanca was old enough to be certain. The wine was magical.
Blanca went to sleep that night in faith that if the wine was evil, the grapes would be gone in the morning. If they burned overnight she would tell Peter of her prayer and he would help her smash the remaining bottles and barrels. She would be very firm with Junior, as she had never been. Then she would spend the rest of her days praying for her family to be forgiven. If the grapes remained, she would try to have faith that they were not evil. Although she knew she would still have a bad feeling.
Blanca woke and before dressing she made her way to the wedding wine grapes. They had not burned. They were instead misted with dew. It was a strange moment for her. She would have entirely accepted the Lord’s response if the grapes had burned. Now she had to wonder if He had simply not yet answered her question.
