Euro Tripped

by Sally Bryan

  I recalled the many portraits adorning the stairs of the family’s past generations, an ever-present reminder of Alberto’s most important duty but I wasn’t sure what I could say on the matter. Legacy was that one thing that rested heaviest on the minds of men but it seemed to me that as long as his children were good people then a father had done as well as he could. I thought about my own dad and how many of the same things occupied his thoughts.

  Dayna stared blankly over my shoulder. “If only he’d told her more often that he loved her, all this could have been avoided.”

  I tried to recall a time my dad had ever said those words to me, or even praised me in any such way, and could not. That was something I’d always been aware of but had always thought it was an old aristocratic or Scottish phenomenon and that my dad was Scots aristocrat was a double whammy of stiff upper lipped, keep your loved ones at a distance bullshit that deserved to die out.

  “And it came at such a bad time,” she continued, “with everything else surging over us, that she’s pretty much given up. These things, they can either make or break…” she stopped and blinked up at the sky before proceeding to aggressively fan her face, “I never get used to this bloody heat.”

  The minivan juddered up the dirt track, throwing out a large cloud of dust and I reached out to place my hand on Dayna’s shoulder.

  “I can’t promise any miracles and I can’t speak for that girl,” I nodded towards the vehicle that had disturbed the peace, “but you got me for a maximum of five weeks. All I ask is for an arse kissing reference at the end, that wonderful bedroom and your company at breakfast. Anything you need of me then I’ll do my very best to see it done.”

  This time she made no effort to hide the tears and I thought she was adorable. “Thank you, Freya.”

  “It will be my pleasure but I want you to lie down and take it easy.” I retrieved the pruning scissors. “Now, if you’d excuse me, but I have work to do.”

  She did and a minute later Arwen was bounding down the hill with a train of men stumbling after her; five, six, seven, eight of them, a mixture of nationalities by the looks of it and they were all absolutely drooling. The girl had her strengths, I had to hand her that.

  “Babe,” she swiped an errant branch out from her path, “we have to talk.” She was probably right about that.

  “Arwen?”

  She scowled at the cart as I threw in a large bunch of grapes. “You’re actually still doing this, huh?”

  “I actually still am, yes.” I glanced beyond her shoulder to the eight men who were still standing behind her, mostly North Africans but also two sub-Saharans.

  Arwen noticed and twisted around, “andate a prendere dell’uva,” and after nobody moved, “will you go and pick some bloody grapes,” she said louder and pinched the skin at the bridge of her nose. They scattered. “I thought they knew what they were doing. Anyway…”

  “How was your errand? No trouble?”

  “Oh, any idiot could do it but that’s all by the by,” she closed her eyes and shook her head, “anyway, why are you even doing this? Why are we doing this? We got the labour now, so put those stupid prunes down and let them do it.”

  “Prunes?”

  “Those!” She cuffed at my pruning scissors and they fell into the soil. “Look, Frey, I brought the men, the crazy lady has her slave labour, now please,” and she turned to jab a finger in the direction of our camper van, “can we just drive away, nice and easy, no fuss, and never look back. What can she do, really? She can’t stop us. I want to see Rooooooome,” she sounded whiny now, “and from there to Naples, Pompeii, the Amalfi Coast, Sicily and on to Greece.”

  I stooped down to retrieve the implement. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…”

  She nodded, “uh huh, and you’re still standing here, why?”

  “Look, Arwen, there’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. I’m staying to help out.” I spoke as evenly as I could but to hear the words inside my head was to doubt them.

  Her expression remained apathetic for a count of two. “You’re serious? For how long?”

  I shrugged, “I already promised Dayna … five weeks.”

  “The fuck?” Her mouth fell open and she spun bodily away before returning to centre and raising her voice. “Are you insane? It’s contagious around here, ain’t it. That’s the rest of your holiday. Are you for real? And were you not thinking to discuss this with me? The fuck, Freya?”

  I nodded, conceding certain points. “I probably should have discussed it with you, of course, I just, kind of made a commitment to Dayna on the hoof and…”

  “On the hoof?”

  “Um, it means I wasn’t thinking at the time but I made the promise and I’m not sorry I did because the thing with Dayna and Alessia is that…”

  She kicked the cart then her eyes glazed over, “I know why you’re doing this,” and she held her finger up, “you’re doing this just to prove to me that you’re not that thing I called you.” She made a friendly exhalation for my benefit. “Well, rest assured, Frey, you’ve already proven it, so consider yourself an unselfish person, I’m sold. I’m sorry, I apologise, now, can we please stroll over to our beautiful camper and quietly drive away without another word?”

  I held out my palms, “Arwen, I’m sorry but I’m staying, I just feel like I need to be here because Dayna and Alessia really need…”

  She held a hand up. “Fine! I’m going.” She spun around and stamped away but turned back after three paces. “Ok, Freya, you’re not selfish but now you’re stubborn and stupid and being taken advantage of, so which do you think is better?”

  I tried. I’d tried twice to tell her why I was staying but she wasn’t listening and the horrendous thing was that I was almost certain that even if she could shut her mouth for long enough to allow me to explain the situation, I really didn’t think it would make a difference. Who was the selfish one now? No, Arwen was more bothered about herself than anything else, and way more than I ever was, and that realisation appalled me.

  But more than being selfish, I finally realised what Arwen’s real problem was.

  “You can’t handle things when they’re tough, can you?”

  She stepped back, “what are you talking about? And what does this have to do with anything?”

  I tilted forwards, “it’s so true,” I muttered to myself and then spoke up, “you’re not stupid, Arwen, you can see what’s happening around here but either you don’t care, which I find hard to believe, or you literally can’t handle life when it’s even the least bit difficult.” I examined her, the beautiful woman, but it was so true, “it is.”

  She folded her arms and stared fixedly at me. “Look, I just don’t think it’s right that either of us should waste any more of our time toiling in filthy fields, spinning big wheels or anything else. You said so yourself, this is literally the only chance in years you’ll have to travel, yet you’re wasting it all to be a slave here?”

  I stepped forwards, “you really can’t handle it when everything doesn’t go your way.”

  It all made sense now. The tantrum she had with Dan when he drove her through the Alps, which might have been understandable but there were more obvious examples. The way she ran away when I rejected her, and how she was on the verge of doing it again when Dan refused to speak to her and I’d caught her sneaking away. She could quite happily turn down a wealthy nightclub owner but lost her mind back in that bathroom in Barcelona when I’d barely even rejected her and she’d proceeded to dance with every girl and guy who happened to be near. Now she was threatening to leave again and all because I wouldn’t do what she wanted. Arwen lacked responsibility, she hated not getting her own way, and rejection made her lose her shit.

  “You know what, Arwen, in this world, you can’t always get what you want … you just have to learn to deal with it. Occasionally, life can be hard.” I glanced over to where Dayna was cuddling Alessia by the stream. “I’m sorry
but I’m staying.”

  She kicked a lump of soil that flew into the vines. “Are you really fucking serious?”

  It was strange but I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t hurt, I wasn’t even upset, it was what it was because Arwen was the girl who she was. And now it looked like Arwen and I had reached the end of the road, and to prove it, I delved into my pocket and threw her the camper keys.

  “It’s yours, keep it. Consider it a parting gift.” But still, I could hardly believe I was saying the words.

  She stared at the keys and looked back to me as she sought the words. “Are you really saying goodbye?”

  I shrugged and hoped it wasn’t. “If it is then it’s for the best. I’ll remember you with fondness.” I returned to the vine I’d left half-trimmed. “Now, if you’d excuse me, I must prune.”

  The last thing I heard was, “damn you.”

  And a few minutes later she was driving down the path and out of my life.

  * * *

  The day after Arwen left, I drove for the labour myself, arriving in Siena and selecting six men who were standing in a group of many dozens. It was the kind of thing I’d never imagined myself doing and really should have had an escort, or at least a can of mace, but until Dayna could find a new bunch of permanent staff, which seemed unlikely for the time being, I’d be doing this every day for many weeks, so I’d have to get used to it. The men were there to work, after all, which was why they were standing out in the rain at eight in the morning.

  They were from Eritrea and a man named Tesfay, at least I think, spoke English for the group, not that much was said, but he shepherded his companions into the van from where he tried to negotiate a price for their labour.

  “Hey, I’m just the driver, take it up with the office.” By which I hoped that would mean some person other than Dayna.

  Negotiating wages was a little beyond my authority but it forced me to ponder how Arwen had handled the very same thing only the day before, which then made me think more about the girl, her impossible curves and beauty, which I didn’t need to be doing right now. I’d bought a burner phone in Nice and the only people who had my number were Arwen and Dayna, but I quickly dropped any thoughts of contact. I’d have them again and they needed to be fought. There was work to do.

  With a large group of men working in the vines, I was able to spend the day doing other things, like crushing grapes in the press. It was a satisfying experience and an intense cardio workout but not something I could maintain for long periods. Later, one of the Eritreans, a man named Massawa offered to take over and Salvo showed me how to pump the extracted juice into the vats, an easy task which involved the turning of yet another wheel.

  There were twelve vats in total, each almost as high as the ceiling and Salvo, in his broken English told me they were seventeen feet from top to bottom, each as wide as the camper van Arwen had taken off in. Most modern vats are made from stainless steel but of course, here they were constructed from oak and although they looked aged, I was told they were actually less than ten years old and had a limited lifespan, after which they’d need replacing.

  This was the stage where the wine was fermented, remaining in the giant tanks on a rotational basis, the vat that had been full the longest was next to be drained and then the liquid was transferred via pipe into oak barrels and taken to the cellar to be stored for a period of one year.

  This was by far the most time consuming part of the process and the real reason Giordano wine was considered premium and the day after I was tasked with filling the barrels and, by use of a pulley, lowering them down into the cellar from where Salvo would store them, again using a rotation system.

  The barrels that had been stored for a year or more were brought up and due to the staff walkout, this was where the largest backlog existed, and so I was happy to be given the neat task of bottling and corking.

  The bottling was completed using nothing more complex than a siphon, filling the bottles to the neck before the real fun part. They used a floor corker where the bottle was placed on a small spring loaded platform, the cork slotted into position and all I needed to do was pull down on a lever and the cork was compressed and thrust down the neck. The bottles were then labelled and placed in boxes of six before being stacked for delivery.

  By the end of the third day, I’d experienced every part of the process and Dayna would frequently stop by to chat.

  “I’m getting very bored.” She complained and I told her to enjoy the boredom because all that was about to change, which quietened her on that front, though in truth, I knew she was still doing admin work but at least that was nothing physical.

  I picked up bits of Italian from Salvo, the radio, TV and because I’d expressed an interest in languages, Dayna gave me a few basic lessons so that I was able to recognise the crazy verb system most other languages used and was the real reason English speakers found linguistics so difficult. Dayna herself had studied Italian at university, which was the reason she’d ended up living in Tuscany and so I had someone qualified to teach me which, she said, enabled her to finally use the skills she possessed and it was the least she could do. By the end of the third day, I was able to converse with Salvo using the basics.

  I rarely saw Alessia because she scarcely left her room but Dayna often brought me news of how grateful she was that I was here and that she already considered me a friend.

  “As do I,” Dayna said, flapping her fan, and that was when her waters broke. “There goes my cup of tea and it was the last of the Earl Grey too. Feel free to finish the Kit Kats, I should probably stop eating them now. Oh well, I suppose I’d best get to the hospital then. Are you sure you’ll be all right here on your own?”

  My body was vibrating, “what? Just get out of here woman. Here, let me help you.”

  “You couldn’t call Alessia, could you? She’s sort of the love of my life. If she doesn’t answer just tell her … well you know what to tell her … and she’s sure to get a move on.”

  I hadn’t been sure whether Alessia would be going to the hospital but I was relieved to find there were no problems with her rousing and it was the fastest I’d yet seen her move when she ran down the stairs and grabbed the keys to their Peugeot convertible.

  When I waved them off it was early evening on a Friday and although the vineyard was operating at a much-reduced output, with a large section of the fruit remaining uncollected and going rotten, at least every process was being handled to some degree.

  A large truck juddered its way up the path before using the carpark to turn around and manoeuvre itself so that the back was positioned at the entrance to the warehouse. A man jumped out, slammed the cabin door closed and as he walked towards the warehouse, swivelled his head and noticed me. He stopped mid-stride, paused for a beat and then continued.

  At seven in the evening, I was in the office handing Tesfay an envelope for each of his companions. “Same time tomorrow?”

  “We be there.” He left and then another man entered.

  “Ciao, sei la nuova manager?” He was leaning against the doorframe and cast a glance back at Tesfay until the house door closed.

  I shut the desk drawer and gave the man my attention, “um, my Italian is very basic.”

  “Are you the new manager?”

  I laughed, “only if I’ve been promoted without my knowledge. No, but I’ve been entrusted with certain responsibilities.”

  For a while, he continued to stare without speaking. “You should not be alone in the house with the immigrant workers, it’s not safe. Next time ensure Salvo’s here, or me if I’m around. I was watching today but next time I might not be here.”

  I readjusted myself, “I’m sorry, I assumed Salvo was busy filling up that big truck. Is that yours?”

  He nodded, “I just returned from Milano. I make the deliveries now. I’ll be away again in the morning.” The man was of stocky build, had a dark complexion and wore a red bandana. He was probably in his mid-thirties but maybe older, had a ha
ndsome face and was not altogether unpleasant to look at, even if I wasn’t sure what to make of his introduction.

  “I’m sorry,” I began, thinking back to his earlier words, “but Tesfay’s ok, as are the rest of them.”

  He smiled, “of course, but you can never be too careful, a beautiful woman like you…” his gaze lingered and I had to look away. “Anyway, I just had to make sure nothing happened … you hear stories about these people.”

  From somewhere not far away, the clattering of bottles found its way through several walls to reach my ears and when I looked up, the man was walking away.

  He returned half an hour later and leaned against the doorframe, this time the manly smell of body odour was thick within the confines of the small office. “Two hundred cases packed, ready for Rome. I’ll need my delivery list first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh, gosh, right.” I subconsciously looked down at the desk, as though the list might be amongst the papers there. Finding that would be fun. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.

  “You look very beautiful when you’re confused.”

  I glanced up at that and when I did, he was holding a bunch of flowers.

  “In case you thought I was impolite before, I meant no offence.”

  My hand touched my chest. “Oh, thank you, but really, it’s fine.” I stood and walked over to take them and his eyes never left my own. There were several vases containing nothing but dead flowers and I chose one to make the exchange. “That will surely brighten the room.”

  “You’re working all night?” His accent was different to most of the Italians I’d spoken to and I wondered if he was from a different region.

  I blew out air, “I’ll probably call it a night soon, I was just researching a few things.” From what I’d gathered, working hours around here were far longer than in the UK and I didn’t wish to be the one letting the side down, especially considering some of the new tasks I’d taken on were less physical than everyone else’s.