Italy Fiction – The Grape Harvest Part 6

The Grape Harvest Part 6 is the continuation of my Italy Travel Fiction segment that I began in April. This is a 7-10 part series following Mike, a newly successful author along his travels in Italy. Do not let the innocuous description steer you away from this story of introspection, compulsion, and deviance. Here are links to the first 5 chapters.

Parts - One - Two - Three - Four - Five

Previously - Mike fired another round through the bridge of the German's nose and he died. At that moment the iPhone text tone sounded and the message said "have you finished your business Dad? ready for that walk?"

He stared at the message all too aware that Viola was wandering through the vineyards with the winemaker and waiting on him to join. 4 gunshots although muffled a bit by the thick walls and the annoying bathroom exhaust fan were more than a little obvious. In the quiet space that exists only in the most fleeting moments Mike knew he had to go. Viola would have to forgive her father again for an unannounced departure which gave him a sad pause.

Just as quickly as the quiet began it ended with the sounds of shouts from below. Mike's Italian was clouded and tone was all he could detect. Fear, confusion, and panic were pitching higher in the female shouts as he pushed open the blood-spattered windows and hopped down onto the ivy covered ledge below. Above all forms of literature he despised action thrillers the most. Everyday Joes succeeding at near impossible feats of will, intelligence, and agility while under pressure from extraordinary circumstances actually offended his sense of reality and pragmatism.

He tucked the .380 into his waist and enjoyed the curious cool steel along the upper initial separation of his ass crack. Gripping the terra-cotta tiles along the edge of the lower easement Mike scaled down the ivy much more adroitly than he believed was possible. Now, on the back of the villa Mike knew going for the car would be certain folly, so he made for the vineyard house where Roberto kept the Ape.

An Ape (ah-pay) is a 3 wheeled vehicle with a fully enclosed cab and a small bed like a pickup in the back, used for hauling. Every farmer in Italy owns at least one Ape (which means Bumblebee) and they can often be seen taking their wives on weekend dates into towns motoring at 20 miles per hour along wine roads, dirt roads, highways, and sidewalks.

An Author and an Ape

Mike reached the shed and slipped on a pair of Italian denim overalls covered in noxious sulfur powder. He did his best to dust them as he slid open the small barn door of the 15th century shrine, which had been at one time abandoned and was recently converted to a tool shed and storage for the Ape and other vineyard equipment. A statue of the Blessed Virgin hung above the sliding door and the light shown through the small cracks over her head. At that instant the desperate writer noticed the keys in the ignition, fired the Ape to the sound of a chorus of bees and sped away down the oldest wine road in Canale. It would not be unusual to see a man in overalls driving an Ape and while the neighbors would certainly know who it belonged to this was truffle season and lunches would be long and the roads empty

Viola stared at her phone as the desperate shouting reached she and Roberto down in the cellar. The magnum of 1990 Bruno Giacosa Barbaresco Riserva Red Label had only been opened for 5 minutes and the sanctum created was near Eucharistic levels just as the chaos began.

Viola (in Italian but translated here for ease to readers) - what happened?

Roberto - there has been a terrible tragedy

Hotel Desk Clerk - the German man is dead, he is dead! mother of God, mother of God!

Roberto - calm down, have you called the police?

HDC- no, we are looking for you

Roberto - good do not call! seal the doors and tell Eugenio to go to the road and not let anyone in or out. Most of the guests are in town?

HDC - only the very old man remains

Roberto - he could not have heard..leave him...rather, bring him his coffee at the normal time. Tell Elena to leave the room as it is and do nothing of it till I say. If any guests return have Eugenio tell them there has been a gas leak and the villa is off-limits. send them to town and call Maurizio at the bar and tell him all coffees are on me. Do this now and report to me.

Viola - it's my father?

Roberto - I am not sure.

Viola- what? is he OK?

Roberto - he is missing, so I can say he is maybe OK

Viola - what do we do?

Roberto - we have a glass of this sacred wine

Viola - now?

Roberto - these are the first moments of life for this very wise child. we cannot leave it here to share its knowledge with only the walls and the ghosts my dear. we will drink now, then you will go having never been here

Viola knew Roberto was "one of those guys" she knew that her father was "one of those guys". She felt the strongest urge to cry she had experienced in years. Instead she breathed deeply and watched as Roberto poured a splash of wine from the 1 and a half liter bottle into the first glass then rolled the goblet along the edge of the massive countertop. Seasoning the glass was something she learned before she could write and the calming image of orange tinged 25-year-old Barbaresco swirling in kaleidoscopic turns inside the dark and protected cellar gave her momentary serenity.

As they drank their first sips from the enormous hand-blown glasses a man with dark skin, thick hands, and a trucker hat moved down the stairs and handed Roberto a wadded brown paper sack then silently marched back up the stairs. Viola assumed it must have been a weapon of some kind and was relieved when the winemaker pulled warm, cracked, and salted chestnuts from the bag and offered them to her.

Roberto - eat this in remembrance of me

Viola - body of Christ?

Roberto - now taste the wine

Viola - blood?

Roberto - you see how they are at once different and then the same? you must see how even in life it is like this. now go in Peace, Franco is parked just outside and will deliver you to the station. I suggest the regional train to Genova...you will like it there

Viola - the sacrament?

Roberto - it is done, this is done...the last. peace be with you

Viola - thank you...you are a good man

Roberto - of this, I am not so sure.

.....to be continued

Italy Fiction – The Grape Harvest Part 7

An exploration of Italy Fiction - The Grape Harvest Part 7 is the story of a newly published author, his daughter, and their passion for Italian food, life, and danger.

The Grape Harvest

SCENE 1

Mike really enjoyed driving the Ape. As close to wine as he was he had never been a winemaker and the discomfort of the sulfured-overalls did not affect the joy he derived from the costume. Much like a play from his youth dressing the part somehow made him the character. This was a dress rehearsal for deception and Mike would have it no other way.

The miniature truck whined along the road towards Alba and the train station. Trains were slow in this part of the world but anonymity was worth the nuisance. There was a prevailing oncoming wind from the east and the Ape did not make good time under a patch of clouds. Along the wine roads there was not a car nor even an opposing work vehicle to be seen until Mike happened along a grove of trees at the apex of a hill. There was Pino the truffle hunter perfunctorily pointing out the secrets of fungus finding to the soon-to-be devastated German family. The boy was far more interested in the truffle-sniffing dog than the lecture and the little girl twirled at her department store scarf while the mom looked as though she might have felt a hint of moisture in the presence of the handsome Pino. The gun-toting author slowed the Ape to a crawl as he drove by. The little girl made eye contact with him and they gave each other a cutesy wave.

He called out to the family in Italian: “in boca al lupo Tedeschi!”, good luck Germans, as he twisted the handlebar accelerator and the bumblebee crawled back to top speed. Pino yelled out something profane and esoteric about the Teutonics as the writer disappeared down the back of the hill.

SCENE 2

When they pulled away from the villa Viola told Franco she would indeed go to Genova even though she knew she would be returning to Perugia. Her father had always been the most intriguing man she knew and while she had accepted long ago his heart was good, she finally allowed herself to consider it a good heart, inside a very bad guy.

She wondered if she might not ever see him again and that thought gave her a bit of comfort even as the tears formed in the back of her brow and the tingle of loss made its way to her stomach. “we were eating fucking Robiola!...there was going to be carne crudo with white truffle for lunch!...now I want to vomit” she thought as Franco took another corner way too fast for most of the 3 billion non-Italian drivers on earth.

Roberto had given them all time and while Mike could not have known this his leisurely drive in the Ape suggested he indeed expected the winemaker’s running of interference. What he also could not have known was that he would still enjoy a walk with his daughter on this day.

SCENE 3

Mike parked the Ape inconspicuously (for Italy) on the sidewalk behind the Alba train station. He tore away the overalls and left them in the cab along with a 50 euro bill to cover the gas. At a tourist shop on the main street he purchased an ITALIA football jersey and baseball cap from the Juventus Italian soccer club. One look in the bathroom mirror confirmed his suspicion that he would look like the biggest idiot first time Italy traveler on the train and it pained him almost as much as tossing his black V-Neck T into the restroom trash. Wet paper towel on the chest and armpits was a telling reminder of just where this day had gone and while he was happy to clear away the sweat, the residual aroma of sulfur disgusted him and he hoped no one would make the mistake of sitting close to him on the train.

The father and daughter met at the electronic ticket kiosk. Viola completely ignored Mike’s existence not recognizing him in the slightest. He knew her immediately and thought how he might simply walk away, but fortune favored the brave and he spoke:

Mike: (in midwest USA accent) do you know where I can get a ticket for Rome?
Viola: (brushing off the question) non parlo Inglese!
Mike: hai capito stavo parlando in Inglese, ma non ti parli Inglese?
Viola: fuck off old man, not the time or day for bullshit!
Mike: Viola (removing the accent and the hat revealing his wiry hair and grey streak)
Viola: Dad! (loud then whispering) dad..what the fuck?
Mike: where you headed?
Viola: where do you think?
Mike: company?
Viola: you buying?
Mike: do I have a choice?
Viola: you never have
Mike: truer words…..

The two purchased first class tickets to Perugia and made their way to the regional train for Milano Centrale station. Of course there was no first class car for the local train and the two sat quietly among elderly men and women on their way to the city to see loved ones who had migrated to the factories and shops of Italy’s ugliest city.

Scene 4

Mike explained what had happened with the German and how he had narrowly escaped death. Viola questioned him incessantly as to the whats and whys with only vague answers and non-sequiturs in return. This was not going to be the day when it all came to light, not yet.

Mike was enamored with his daughter’s mind and her patterns of speech which mirrored his in so many ways. He had always assumed genetics was a bit of bullshit and at the same time he was very clearly created from the molds of his own father and his late grandfather. Complexities of human interaction were the principal studies of his characters when he wrote, and he had learned long ago that the best information comes from the most open and vaguely leading interaction.

While it was true he had killed someone that morning, he knew intimately the details of that chapter and preferred to satisfy his curiosity questioning his daughter. What was her story? What had she seen? Assuming she was not a very good girl, he wondered where she might have broken bad.

As they chewed on breaded chicken sandwiches from the Chef Express just outside track 11 at Milano Centrale he quickly knew he would not be disappointed….

To be continued.