by Diana Rosie
‘You, Angelita and Alberto have made our lives richer,’ I say gently.
‘That’s kind of you. But you don’t know anything about us – our family, our past—’
I raise my hand to stop him. ‘When you arrived, it was clear you were keen to start a new life for you and your new family. Who am I to judge your people or where you have come from? That’s why I’ve never asked about your background . . . despite my wife’s curiosity. I could see straight away that you would be good for the business and that we would get on.’ I smile at him. ‘And I was right, so let that be an end to it.’
After a pause, he nods.
‘What do you think the brandy will taste like?’ I ask him.
Raúl sighs and says, ‘After four years of hard work, I just hope to God it tastes like brandy.’
There’s a slight breeze and the lanterns gently sway over the bowed heads at the table. Father Sebastián is saying grace and I take a sneaky glance at my family, friends and workers.
Mimi, sitting beside me, opens one eye and squints at me. I wink at her and she shuts both eyes tight again. I, too, drop my head and listen to the father. He gives thanks to God for the strength to work the fields, for the sunshine that the grapes thrive on, for the love of the people around the table that has helped create wine to be proud of. Finally – as the youngsters start to fidget – he blesses the feast that’s laid before us.
Everyone mumbles, ‘Amén’; the sound is quickly replaced by spoons in dishes and cheery talk. A few of the women stand and bring large plates of the roasted baby lamb to serve the men.
I pick up a dish of chorizo and potato, and spoon some onto Mimi’s plate, then some onto mine.
Reaching across for some bread, the little girl looks around her, at the people talking and laughing. Some of the men have had a few beers before coming to dinner, so the conversation is flowing easily. There’s plenty of wine, so it won’t be long before the talk becomes bawdy and I’ll suggest my wife takes Mimi up to bed.
But for now, she’s enjoying watching and listening, and every now and again she smiles at me or Alberto, who sits opposite her. She hasn’t noticed she’s spilt tomato sauce down the front of her best dress. Her mother will not be pleased, but I’m sure Chita will be able to remove the stain.
My wife approaches, holding a large plate. ‘I’ve brought you your favourite,’ she says. She tilts the dish for me to see. On the plate are partridges, cut in half, surrounded by onions and covered in a sauce of cider, herbs and nutmeg. The smell is wonderful and I shut my eyes and breathe in deeply as she serves me.
As she leans over me to spoon a little more sauce on my plate, I open my eyes and plant a huge kiss on her cheek.
‘Dante!’ she says loudly, half embarrassed, half amused. The men on the table near us cheer.
‘Gentlemen, can there be anything better than fine wine, delicious food and beautiful women?’ I say loudly.
‘Add family and friends to that list, Dante,’ replies Raúl, raising his glass.
‘To Don Dante!’ shouts one of the men, his cheeks flushed.
‘Don Dante!’ reply the rest of the table, raising their glasses.
I nod appreciatively at them and smile at my wife as she carries on serving the partridge.
We all eat heartily, and as the table rocks with laughter at a coarse joke, I catch myself chuckling along with them. Glancing towards Raúl, I notice he has slipped out of his seat. His plate is half finished, and as I glance around the courtyard, I see him disappear into the dark of the cellar.
Just then, my wife appears beside me with a plate of food in her hand. At last, she is able to sit and enjoy the meal she has prepared. I quickly stand and offer her my chair. As she sits, I pour her a large glass of wine – she deserves it. She thanks me and turns to Mimi, tutting at the sight of the stained dress. She cuts the child’s food up for her and then turns her attention to Alberto, who has a large piece of lamb on the end of his fork, which he’s biting into with great enthusiasm.
Picking up my almost empty wine glass, I take this opportunity to leave, and as I walk past the tables of people, some shout my name and raise their drinks. I salute them as I pass. Reaching the cellar entrance, I turn back and see everyone is talking loudly and laughing even more loudly. This fiesta is all I hoped it would be – and we haven’t even brought out the brandy yet.
I descend into the gloomy cellar. As my eyes adjust to the light, I walk down the steps to where the large oak barrels line the walls. My shoes tapping on the stone floor, I walk past the rows of barrels looking for Raúl. I find him at the far end of the cellar.
‘Raúl,’ I say softly.
He turns to me and I see he has tears in his eyes.
I wait as he composes himself. I sense he wants to talk, so I let him take his time.
Eventually, he says, ‘I wish she was here, Dante.’
‘We all do. Tonight is a celebration of her.’
He nods. I wait for him to go on.
‘She wouldn’t want me to tell you, but the more you talk about how Alberto and I are part of your family, the more I feel I have to tell you the truth. The truth about why we came here. About why we had to get away.’
I wait.
Eventually, he whispers, ‘Alberto . . . is not my son.’
As he looks me in the eye, I try to hide my shock. I step towards him and put a steady hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait,’ I say firmly.
With that, I turn to the shelves of wine. Down near the bottom is a bottle I placed there just a few days ago. I pick it up and show Raúl the label. It is one of our first bottles of brandy. He looks surprised as I hand it to him to open.
I empty the last wine from my glass and, taking out my handkerchief, wipe it clean.
Raúl eases the cork stopper out and smells the top of the bottle. I hold the glass towards him, and we both watch as the golden liquid fills it.
Swirling the brandy as I would a wine, I look at the small crown it leaves round the glass. I inhale, deeply: I can pick up woody and floral flavours. Then, pushing my nose closer to the liquid, I inhale deeply again. It is fragrant with a fruity aroma. I look at Raúl and raise my eyebrows.
Slowly, I tilt the glass and draw the brandy into my mouth. I let it open up and sense its velvety texture. Then the magic happens. Warm and smooth, the liquid flows down my throat, leaving a full bouquet in the finish. The aftertaste is short, proving the youth of the brandy, but the flavour is good. I am pleased.
Handing the glass to Raúl, I nod with approval.
He does the same as I did, savouring the smell first, then sipping the brandy. He closes his eyes and I see his face relax.
When he opens his eyes, he smiles at me. I smile back. We’ve done it.
‘Now,’ I say gently, ‘tell me.’
Raúl takes another deep breath and hands me back the glass.
‘I had known Angelita most of my life. We met when we were a little older than Alberto and Mimi. I adored her. If it is possible to fall in love as a child, I did. Even as a little girl she was beautiful. That long hair and those soft brown eyes – she just grew more incredible as she got older.
‘We went to separate schools, but we spent our evenings and weekends together. We would talk of everything – and I thought we would be together forever.
‘On the day that I left home to go to university, she went to the station with me. It was there that I kissed her for the first time. I told her that I loved her.
‘As I began my studies at university, I planned our life together – how I would become a renowned research scientist, and we would marry and have at least four children.’ Smiling, Raúl sadly shakes his head. I hand him the brandy and he takes a deep drink.
‘I wrote every week and at first she replied regularly. Then less so. Then barely at all.
‘The next time I returned home, I visited her. I was surprised at how much she had changed. She was thin and serious – it was as though her youth and sparkle had disappeare
d. She was courteous but kept me at a distance.
‘I spoke to her sister, Mercedes, about her. She said that Angelita had started disappearing, sometimes late at nights and she refused to speak of where she’d been.
‘At first, Mercedes said Angelita had been happier than she’d ever seen her. But over a few months, the happiness had become something darker. During this time, Angelita turned to God. She started to visit church whenever she could. She barely ate, she left school and the life seemed to be seeping out of her.
‘Mercedes confided in me that she believed Angelita was having an affair with a married man. She thought her sister was visiting church to repent her sins but the guilt was making her ill.
‘I was shocked, appalled and distraught in equal measure. How could she change from being the innocent girl I had given my heart to, to another man’s mistress?’
I shake my head and refill the glass. Raúl takes another drink.
‘Eventually, I confronted her,’ he continues. ‘At first, she looked horrified at my accusation. I suppose she was so entrenched in it that she couldn’t see what others could. Then she told me that yes, she was having an affair with a man who could never be hers. I begged her to leave him, but she said she loved him with all her heart.
‘I became emotional and I’m ashamed to say I wept in front of her. She looked at me with such pity that I had to leave. I returned to university. I threw myself into my work and did well at my exams. The next time I came home, I avoided Angelita’s family and her friends. But the day before my return to college, Angelita appeared at our door.
‘She looked terrible, dark circles under her beautiful eyes, and her long hair was lank. She asked if I could forgive her and allow her to talk to me. Of course, I said yes to both.
‘We went for a walk in the park. There, she told me that the affair was over. He had finished it a few months earlier. I expressed my relief, but she broke down in tears. She told me that she was pregnant. The father had no idea and she couldn’t tell him now that they were no longer together.
‘We both knew her family would disown her. She told me that no one else knew, not even Mercedes, and she had turned to me, her only true friend, to help. She said she would understand if I wanted nothing to do with her. But I took her to me and held her in my arms.
‘The solution seemed obvious to me. She would marry me and we would leave the area. I would raise the child as mine, and she would never have to see the father again. She couldn’t believe it – that I would be prepared to take care of her and another man’s child without a second thought.
‘I told her that I loved her, that the past didn’t matter. If she’d have me, we would start a fresh life together.’
I smile at my friend. ‘You are a good man, Raúl. A romantic fool, but a good man.’
Taking another sip of brandy, he continues, ‘The rest you know. We married quickly and I began looking for work. We chose this area as neither of us had family or friends near here. Meeting you was the best thing that could have happened to us: learning about the wine business alongside having the opportunity to apply my scientific knowledge to winemaking.
‘We were happy. As her pregnancy developed, Angelita grew healthy; being so far from that other man seemed to help. Very occasionally I would catch her looking out of the window and I knew she was thinking of him. But she said she loved me and that she was looking forward to the arrival of this baby and many others.’
Raúl takes a deep breath and pauses. Then he carries on. ‘You saw what her death did to me. I wasn’t sure that I would recover. But the support I found here and the unconditional love of that little baby kept me going.
‘I’ve never said anything to Alberto about his father. I think it’s enough that he has no mother. Perhaps when he’s older, I’ll tell him, or perhaps there will never be a need to tell him.
‘Whatever happens, I see him as my son. He is his mother’s son in his looks, but he has picked up certain habits and characteristics from me, too. I adore him as I adored her. I’m very lucky, Dante. When I look into his eyes, I have the chance to see my adorable Angelita every day.’
Raúl stops talking and drains the glass.
‘Well, your secret is safe with me, Raúl. If you decide to tell Alberto about his father, I will be here to support you. My wife and I are proud to be the family he doesn’t have.’
‘Thank you, Dante,’ says Raúl. ‘I’ve kept this secret for so many years. It is a relief to finally talk to someone about it.’
‘I’m proud that you decided to confide in me, my friend,’ I say, gripping his arm. ‘Now, what do you say – shall we let the rabble outside try our fantastic brandy, or shall we stay down here and keep it to ourselves?’
Chapter Eleven
The boy sucked noisily on the ice lolly, occasionally licking orange drips off its end. His grandfather pulled gently on a cigarette – a rare treat he sometimes allowed himself. They sat on a cold stone bench set back from a quiet road. The leaves of a line of palm trees rustled quietly above them, and cast a little shade from the sun.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Alberto. When the boy had calmed down, he’d taken him out for this small treat.
The boy stopped licking the ice lolly and looked seriously at his grandfather. ‘We have to find your birthday, Apu,’ he said.
‘It might not be possible,’ replied the old man. ‘Look how difficult it has become already.’
Tears welled up in the little boy’s eyes again.
‘Don’t be upset. Even if we don’t find it, I have found Isabel. I never thought I’d see her again in my lifetime. So something good has—’
‘But we have to find your birthday, Apu,’ interrupted the child.
‘Why? Why is it so important to you?’
Tino looked down, crunching the last mouthful of his lolly and swinging his legs. Alberto waited patiently for him to speak.
‘Just because,’ Tino eventually said, his bottom lip protruding.
‘Because what?’ the old man pressed gently.
‘Because of God.’
‘God?’
‘Mmm.’
‘What does God have to do with my birthday?’
‘Nothing.’
The old man waited again, confused.
After a short wait, the boy sighed loudly.
‘It’s just fairer, that’s all. If you get your birthday back, Papá will get better.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I prayed. I said to God, if I help you look for your birthday and we find it, then he’ll make Papá better.’
Alberto stared at the child, bemused and touched. ‘So you suggested a deal to God? If you do something nice for me, then he’ll do something for you?’
The child nodded, still looking at his swinging feet.
‘Well, I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think God does deals. If he makes your papá better, it’s because he loves you, and Mamá and Papá.’
‘But what if Papá doesn’t get better? Does that mean God doesn’t love me?’
The old man could see the tears welling up again and heard a wobble in the boy’s voice. He pulled the child towards him and held him. ‘God will always love you. Just like Mamá and Papá and me.’
The little boy let out a sob, and the old man held him tighter.
‘Your papá is getting better – remember what Mamá said? But we must both keep praying, and telling God how much we love Papá.’
The old man sat holding the small boy for quite some time.
It was mid-afternoon, and the restaurant was emptying when they sat down to eat their meal. Alberto had accepted Isabel’s invitation but told the boy they would start their journey home afterwards.
The old man was more disappointed than he had ever imagined he would be when they’d started this journey. Having had a few of his memories jogged back to life, he wanted to know more. Where had he come from? How had he arrived at this village? What of his family? There was so much to l
earn, but they had reached the end of their search.
Isabel sat beside him, watching in delight as Tino wolfed down the food she’d put before him. She turned to look at Alberto, who gave her a sad smile.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Don’t be. This search has brought me to you. I’m glad to have seen you again.’
Isabel smiled back. ‘I’m very glad you found me. In fact,’ she said, easing herself up from the table, ‘I know the perfect thing to mark the occasion.’ Isabel turned and walked slowly to the bar, leaning heavily on her stick. Andrés appeared as if from nowhere to help her, but she waved him away.
Leaning behind the bar, she opened a dark wood cabinet and reached towards the back of the shelf. When she stood straight again, Alberto saw she was holding a dark green bottle. ‘I save this for very special occasions,’ Isabel said. She walked back towards them.
By the time she reached the table, Andrés was placing two brandy glasses beside them.
‘And one for yourself, Andrés,’ said Isabel.
Andrés raised an eyebrow to her, but Isabel nodded. ‘If it weren’t for this man, you would never have been born,’ she said.
Andrés silently placed another glass on the table.
With her gnarled fingers, Isabel twisted the cork stopper out of the bottle and poured a little into each of the glasses.
‘This brandy was my husband’s favourite. It’s changed now – it’s not as good – but luckily my husband bought a case many years ago. This is the last bottle of that case. I can’t think of a better person to enjoy it with, Alberto.’
As Tino looked on, Alberto nodded graciously to Isabel.
‘What are we toasting, Mamá?’ asked Andrés, raising his glass.
‘Alberto?’ asked Isabel.
The old man paused a moment, swirling the glass and watching the rich umber liquid slide round inside. Finally, he raised his glass and waited while the others raised theirs. The boy raised his glass of pop.