Daniel drove several miles in the direction of Lalín, talking all the way. He turned off onto a road that rapidly became all twists and turns. The vehicle tilted alarmingly through the curves and turned so sharply that it left tracks visible in the steep sides of hills that fell away below them to the Mi?o River.
Looking down, Manuel could see hundreds of terraces trimmed with rough Galician stone that looked like a profusion of grayish steps up the steep hillsides. Grapevines grew on trellises that occupied the narrow flat space between one step and another. Handbuilt stone walls were visible as far as one could see. Eventually the vehicle descended to the riverbank and shuddered forward along a narrow road apparently hewn with great effort from the steep wall of the mountain. The SUV stopped in the private parking space of a house with its own pier. When they got out, Café immediately pattered ahead of them onto the floating jetty to which a motorboat was moored.
They boarded the boat and Daniel piloted the vessel downriver. Café stared forward undaunted from the prow, like a diminutive live figurehead.
“But where are we going?” asked Manuel. He waved toward the steep hillside. “I thought you said we were going to visit the vineyard.”
“And that’s where we’re headed,” Daniel responded, clearly amused.
“By boat?”
“Of course! This is the Ribeira Sacra, Manuel, the one that gives the name to the region’s wines. Taking a boat along the river is the only way to get to many of the plantings along its steep banks.”
“There’s no other way?”
“You can reach our winery and warehouse by road.” He pointed toward tracks so narrow they looked hardly wide enough to accommodate a single vehicle. “But some vineyards are accessible only via the river. Others are so steep that in harvest season the workers have to be lowered to them on ropes.”
The wine expert smiled. “You won’t believe it, but when I first came here I hated the place. I’d been working at a huge winery in the center of Spain, nothing like any of this.” The memory of his own na?veté seemed to amuse him. “The old marquis hadn’t been much interested in wine production, but three years ago álvaro established the outlines of a colossal project that’s become a model for many in the industry.”
“álvaro hired you?”
Daniel nodded, busy at the helm. “He had zero experience in the world of wine, but he was blessed with a natural genius for understanding this region, its needs, and its special qualities. From the very start he proclaimed it in the name of our winery, the brand name he chose to evoke his concept of heroic viticulture.” He glanced at Manuel, seeking a complicity his guest couldn’t offer.
Manuel avoided the implied question. “I’m sorry, Daniel, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“álvaro had a different idea. He wanted to pay homage to strength and dedication by recognizing the work of those heroic early vintners. álvaro registered the trademark Heroica for our winery and all our products to honor countless generations of small producers.”
Café abandoned the lookout’s position and came back to them.
“Yes, Café,” the enologist said, “we’re almost there.” He slowed the engine and allowed the boat to approach the bank under its own momentum. He shut it off and moored to a thick post on the shore. Water beat like tumultuous applause between the terrace wall and the side of the boat. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, the mooring cable creaked rhythmically against the post with each wave, and birds warbled.
Manuel pulled on the thick socks and rubber boots Daniel handed him. The terraced steps that rose above them looked like the jagged teeth of a broken zipper. Many of the terraces looked too narrow to accommodate a human foot.
The winery manager heaved himself across the lowest stone wall and held out a hand. Manuel picked up the dog, grabbed Daniel’s hand, and scaled the wall, not without some difficulty.
The enologist turned to the slope. “Climb slowly, one foot at a time. If you sense yourself starting to lose your balance, just lean forward. It’s impossible to fall.”
Café was quickly ahead of them. Manuel discovered that the challenge was the unpredictable placement of the hewn blocks of stone bordering the terraces and the lunatic succession of different elevations that played tricks on his vision.
He advanced in fits and starts. The phone in his pocket began ringing, a sound completely alien to this setting. When it stopped, he heard Café barking above him to celebrate a successful climb.
He joined Daniel on a terrace more than three feet wide and turned to look down at the river. From this height the surging green energy of the trellised vines resembled the waves of an emerald ocean, their movement intensified by the breeze. Way down on the dark deep waters of the river, their boat bobbed and pulled at the mooring line.
They heard the hum of an engine and voices from below. A strange vessel emerged from the river canyon, carrying three girls who couldn’t have been much out of their teens. They were laughing as they bailed water from the vessel with plastic pails. Their absurd vessel looked like a wooden fish crate.
“That boat is typical of the region. It has no keel,” Daniel explained. “It’s used to transport the grape harvest by river. The thing could flood completely, but it’s as unsinkable as a pontoon jetty.”
Mostly to reassure Manuel, he cupped his hands about his mouth to make a megaphone. “Hey, girls! Everything okay down there?”
They turned, looked up, and laughed even more merrily. “Everything under control!” one called, and assured him in Gallego that they’d be fine. They kept bailing.
The two men watched in silence as the young trio disappeared in the distance and took their cheerful noise with them.
Manuel’s cell phone rang again, and this time he took it out in time to see that the call was from Nogueira.
“You can answer it if you like,” Daniel said.
“Never mind. It’s not important.”
And it wasn’t. He didn’t want to listen to Nogueira in this place. Not here with girlish laughter still floating on the breeze, and where a dog that now belonged to him was celebrating their conquest of the slope. Manuel’s recuperation from the extreme emotions of the previous day had entailed a confession, a bowl of soup, an abused dog, sailing a river, and scaling a steep canyon wall. He wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Nogueira, spoil it now.
The cellar master had been leaning over from time to time to try the consistency of the grapes hidden under the leaves. He rolled a grape between his thumb and forefinger. “We start harvesting this weekend. I’d like it if you could come along, and I’m sure the others would appreciate it as well.”
Manuel accepted a grape from the enologist. It was firm and fragrant, with a fresh green aroma that belied the warmth he felt as he held it in his palm. “The others?”
“The rest of the winery employees.”
“Sure,” Manuel responded without stopping to think. “Yes, I’ll be glad to participate.” Then he suddenly had misgivings. “Though I don’t know if I’ll be of any help. I’ve never been to a grape harvest.”
Daniel was grinning openly. “You’ll help, believe me. You’ll be of great help to us.”
They used the same technique to descend the mountainside. It was easier than Manuel had expected when he looked down. The sun still warmed the slopes, but the river was in shadow by the time they reached the boat. As soon as they set off upstream he felt chilled.
“Here’s your explorer’s jacket.” Daniel had already put on one like it. “The days are still warm, but from late August on, the temperature drops quickly.”