The foreman spoke up. “The owner said another producer might be interested. We can’t let him get the jump on us, at least not here along our stretch of the river.”
Daniel joined in. “I accompanied álvaro for the discussions. Everything indicated that the deal was about to be struck. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be able to speak with Gri?án.” Manuel knew his reply was evasive.
But the men reacted as if he’d given them the answer they were hoping for. The foreman took his hand, looked him straight in the eye, and thanked him. The workers rose to leave but each of them stepped forward to shake his hand.
Daniel held him back for a moment as the others departed. “You know, I remember that while the two of us were talking with the owner, álvaro was fidgeting with his cell phone as if he were expecting a call. And his phone did ring when we were on our way out afterward. He stepped away, so I didn’t hear much.”
“What time was that?”
“Our appointment with the woman was for four and didn’t last long, maybe twenty minutes.” He shrugged. “Look, I know it probably doesn’t mean anything, but I did overhear álvaro say, ‘Don’t you try to threaten me.’”
THE MARQUIS
The men went to their cars, and Manuel was grateful for Daniel’s offer of a ride home. In the Nissan it was all Manuel could do to hide his pain until they’d gotten past the last of the workers and clear of the winery grounds. After that he grimaced. “Good God, my whole body aches!”
Daniel chuckled and leaned over to open the glove compartment. “There’s ibuprofen in there and a bottle of water in the door.”
Manuel wasn’t about to complain. He popped a tablet out of the blister pack and washed it down.
“Take two. You can have the rest. You’ll need them tomorrow morning. El Abu’s right. The work’s harder than it looks.”
“It looks plenty hard already.” Manuel was in a mood. “Tell me, Daniel. Do you refer to me as ‘the marquis’?”
“No need to be offended.” He smiled. “It’s a compliment. The men around here have worked for the marquis’s family for centuries, and unlike folks like you, they’ve never seen it as serfdom. They consider it part of a social contract. The old marquis, álvaro’s father, wasn’t at all interested in wine production, and he didn’t take it seriously even when the official denomination was established in 1996. He kept the winery running because everybody else did. The business wasn’t very profitable, but it didn’t cost much—the wages of a few day workers, that was all. The estate always has plenty of those. álvaro took over and everything changed. How can I explain it? Two thousand years of tradition; the folks here have kept at it out of pure pride and their love of the land. Suddenly someone arrives and he appreciates what you’re doing and the nobility of it, recognizes who you are, and endorses all of that. And not just that. He fixes it so you can earn a living doing what you love. That makes him very important to you.”
Manuel listened but said nothing.
“Yesterday during our tour you said you didn’t know if you were going to be of much help. I said you would be. And indeed you were. Your presence here today was very important to these men. When álvaro died, our world almost collapsed. We knew that the new marquis, just like his father, doesn’t give a damn about our wine. He’ll keep the operation going, of course; the aristocratic class finds it cool and chic to own vineyards. It’s a mark of distinction for a family to have its own wine. But that’s not what we’re talking about. álvaro raised the profile of this winery, made it not only visible but prominent, and he came to the vineyards just as you did today. That gives those men a promise of continuity, a belief in the future for the project álvaro initiated. It gives them hope for their own lives and aspirations.”
Manuel listened carefully and pondered Daniel’s words but still said nothing. He inspected his own hands. They were chafed, sunburned, and itchy, sensations that on the whole weren’t entirely disagreeable. He sympathized with the enologist’s view. Indeed, harvesting grapes did have that odd mixture of the primitive and the civilized that brings a man to peace with himself. More important to him was the fact that laboring in the vineyards that day had offered him subtle reassurance of possible reconciliation with the álvaro he’d thought he knew. Café had offered a first glimpse; discovering the nature and extent of Heroica provided another. The quiet pride in the winery operations, the hard challenges of tending the earth, the name of the wine, the label with its confident, passionate sweep of the letters; all those, taken together, spoke to him of álvaro, the man he admired, and reminded him of everything that had set álvaro apart, ennobled him, and won Manuel’s heart.
But right now Manuel was in no position to offer these men hope. One long day in the sunshine along the riverbank couldn’t compensate for the fact that he was an outsider. His own proper place was very far away.
“I’m afraid my presence here may have misled you all . . .” He sighed. “I’m not going to go into details, but this is all new to me. A week ago I had no idea this world existed. I don’t know when, but sooner or later I’ll have to go back to my own home and life.”
As he said that, he remembered the strange light invading his living room and breaking his fragile hold on reality, their empty bedroom, the photo of the two of them on the dresser, álvaro’s clothes in the closet like garments discarded before an execution, and the blinking cursor waiting, perhaps forever, for him to finish the sentence . . . And he realized he didn’t want to go back. Or live in that place anymore. He had no home. He shook his head at those thoughts.
His movement must have looked like a repudiation of the cellar master’s comments. Daniel didn’t say another word for the rest of the trip.
Manuel helped Café up onto the bed and stretched out beside him. The next thing he heard was a strident hectoring noise that shook him from the profound sleep that had overcome him as soon as his head touched the pillow.
The golden late afternoon light that had illuminated the exterior upon his arrival was gone, and the only source of light was a streetlight near the window. He fumbled about the bedside table, trying to find his cell phone and stop its alarm. He punched the phone, but the ringing continued, unabated. At last he finally realized that an old-fashioned telephone on the battered desk was ringing. This was the first time he’d noticed it. He staggered to the phone, confused and disoriented and wondering what time it was, what day this was. He lifted the receiver and put it to his ear.
“Se?or Ortigosa, you have a visitor waiting for you in the bar.”
He hung up and switched on the desk lamp. He was amazed to see it was past midnight. He splashed his face with water that smelled of drainpipes. He was sluggish and out of sorts, as if after a sleep of twenty hours or twenty minutes he’d awakened on some different planet with a denser, heavier atmosphere. The only clear sensations were the aches of his suffering muscles. Slowly he returned to this painful existence; his legs burned and his back muscles were on fire. He ignored the cracked and clouded drinking glass above the bathroom sink, cupped his hands for water, and washed down another two ibuprofen tablets.
Café stood alert next to the door. Manuel looked down at the dog, doubtful for a few moments, but he recognized the creature’s stance as very like the haughty, patronizing attitude of the Mu?iz de Dávila family.
“Why not?” he said. He switched off the light.
He suspected that Nogueira had polished off a couple of plates of the inn’s greasy bar snacks while waiting for him. Through the window he saw the man smoking with his characteristic concentration, dragging deep to extract some vital but unavailing essence.
“Jesus, you look like hell! What have you been doing?” That was all the greeting the officer gave him.