Saving Grapes

by J. T. Lundy

  Stumpy caught my excitement. He talked enthusiastically. “I’ll serve you out on the patio. It’ll be romantic.”

  Stumpy and I went to work creating an elegant patio dinner for two. We strung up lights, set out candles, and placed a small table in the patio corner that offered the best view.

  Stumpy worked in the kitchen while I cleaned and straightened.

  A kitchen towel hit me in the head. Stumpy laughed and put his hands on his hips. “Dawg, you really like this girl.”

  I looked to the ground, embarrassed. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  Stumpy walked over and reached out his fist to me. I punched his knuckles.

  “Well, damn, it’s about time you stopped being so bitter and took a chance on love again.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Laura had ripped my soul apart, and I hadn’t thought love was possible again. I still had plenty of doubts, but the feelings I got when I was with Jacqueline were a pleasure impossible to ignore.

  Stumpy slapped me on the shoulder. “You still got the old J-man charm?”

  I smiled. “I still got it.” I punched him in the shoulder. “You still got it?”

  “I never had it.”

  I laughed. “You got it now. My God, you hit on a flight attendant and then a nun. That’s some NASA kind of confidence.”

  Stumpy shuffled his feet and looked embarrassed. “Betsy didn’t like me.”

  I punched him again. “Betsy, that’s her name. I’m telling you she dug you. She didn’t respond to that online form?”

  “No. Forget about Betsy. Melanie is for me.”

  “And Jacqueline is for me. We are moving on, my friend.”

  “All right, then.” Stumpy winked at me. “We’re going to impress Jacqueline tonight.” He walked back into the kitchen singing “Voulez-Vous.”

  I put on loafers, khakis, and a red polo shirt, but Stumpy said it was too business-casual-like and sent me back upstairs to change. We settled on sandals, jeans, and a button-down shirt with thin green stripes.

  Jacqueline arrived wearing a pink A-line dress with a glossy black belt above the waist. Wow. “You look nice.”

  She smiled and blushed. “And you.” She handed me a bottle of champagne.

  “Merci.” I inspected the bottle and led her into the kitchen where we greeted Stumpy. He stirred a large skillet of paella and added a dash of salt. He grabbed a spice jar and sprinkled it into the mix.

  “It looks delicious,” Jacqueline said. She looked intently into the yellow rice that contained shrimp, scallops, mussels, and sausage.

  “It’s an old family recipe,” Stumpy said.

  “Are you Spanish?”

  Stumpy looked flustered for a moment, and then recovered. “Somewhere down the line, but I forget.” He brushed his hands at us. “Now, out. I will bring some wine.”

  We walked onto the patio. Jacqueline gasped. “Oh my goodness, the view.”

  The fiery orange sun was just about to dip behind the far ridge. The vines waved goodbye, their leaves fluttering in the light breeze. As the sun set further, the ridge’s shadow inched toward us.

  Stumpy appeared in a white apron bordered with grapevines. He held an open bottle of St. Sebastian in one hand and two wine glasses in the other. He handed us the glasses and poured. “Sit, sit.” He walked over and set the bottle on the square table. He pulled out a chair for Jacqueline. I sat down kitty-corner close to her.

  “You’re not joining us?” Jacqueline asked.

  Stumpy shook his head and held up his hands. “You have things to discuss—and I love to serve.” He bowed and returned to the kitchen.

  I held up my glass. “Santé.”

  We clinked glasses. “Santé.”

  The sky turned purple like our rich St. Sebastian wine. Jacqueline looked out over the vineyard as dusk blurred the distant abbey and grapevines like an impressionist painting. “You’d have to be a fool not to fight for this land.”

  I looked out and felt the beauty, but also the history and my place in it. A part of me still wanted to cash in, but it would be a true shame to have the vineyard drowned.

  The sky’s final glow blackened, and the stars took over. A few outdoor lights dotted the distant hills, but otherwise it felt like we were on our own platform jutted into the heavens.

  “Some people are actually very happy to get cash for their land,” Jacqueline said.

  “Greedy bastards.”

  She laughed.

  We both laughed.

  She lifted her glass. “To the greedy bastards. They make my life easier.”

  I clinked her glass, looked into her eyes, and smiled.

  Stumpy walked out silently with steaming plates of paella. The rice, meat, and spices created a tantalizing fiesta of smells. Jacqueline’s eyes opened wide with anticipation. He set the plates down and returned to the kitchen.

  “This is so good.” Jacqueline used her fork to arrange the paella on her plate before taking another bite. “Stumpy is a wonder.”

  I raised my glass. “To Stumpy.” I yelled into the house, “Stumpy, you are a wonder.”

  Stumpy came to the door and bowed, taking full credit for the market lady’s paella. He did a little hop and slapped his hands against his face. “I forgot the champagne. I should have served the champagne as an aperitif.”

  “For dessert,” I said. “Champagne for dessert.” I held up my wine glass to Jacqueline. “To your job and the vineyard. May it all work out.” We clinked glasses in agreement. And to us, I thought. Could there be a future for Jacqueline and me amid such tension?

  Stumpy came outside with an ice bucket and the champagne Jacqueline had brought. He held the bottle for us to inspect and said with perfect pronunciation, “It’s a Perrier-Jouët Brut Fleur de Champagne.”

  I looked at Stumpy in shock.

  He went to work on the cork.

  “I can’t wait,” Jacqueline said.

  “Come on, Stumpy. Put some muscle into it. Do I have to call a nun over here to help you?”

  Stumpy reached over to punch me in the arm. He leaned the bottle unintentionally with his other hand and the cork popped straight into Jacqueline’s eye. She covered her face with her hands and bent over. The champagne spilled forth and dripped from the table onto her dress.

  I jumped up quickly and hit my knee on the underside of the table. I hobbled over to Jacqueline. Stumpy ran into the kitchen.

  The dogs appeared out of nowhere, barking and biting at my heels. I swatted at one and missed.

  “Matthew! Mark!” Stumpy pointed and the dogs backed off.

  I put my hand on Jacqueline’s back. “Are you okay?”

  Stumpy hurried out of the house looking worried and guilty. “I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  I held some ice from the champagne bucket by Jacqueline’s face. “Here.”

  Stumpy pushed his paw toward her. He held a pill. “Take this.”

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “Zoloft. It makes you feel better.”

  “She can’t take Zoloft for her eye.”

  “It’s all we have.”

  I looked at Stumpy. “Why do you have Zoloft?”

  He looked guilty and confused. “I don’t know. Why do people have Zoloft?”

  Stumpy was always so positive. Why would he need an antidepressant? I suppose his life wasn’t so great either. It mirrored mine, more or less, except that I had failed to be as good a friend as he was.

  Jacqueline started to cry.

  I didn’t know what to do. Stumpy looked at me, equally perplexed.

  Jacqueline stood up and leaned into me, sobbing. I wrapped my arms around her.

  “I don’t want to flood your land. You think I like flooding people’s land?”

  “It’s just your job, like you said.”

  Her head rested against my chest. She put her arms around me and we stood, content.

  Stumpy gave me a thumbs-up. He then walked off the cement patio, followed by the dogs, in
to the vines. They disappeared into the dark. I wanted to call out to him, but I had seen him do stranger things, and I didn’t want to ruin my moment with Jacqueline.

  “We should take you to a doctor.”

  Jacqueline stopped crying and looked at me. Her eye looked okay. It was at least open and functioning and didn’t appear to be bruised.

  “No, I can see. I’m fine.” She looked around. “Where did Stumpy go?”

  “Probably down to his shed to work on the backpacks.”

  I tried to kiss her. We were already wrapped up in an arm package, so a kiss seemed a natural next step, but she turned her cheek like a good Christian and pulled away.

  What? Did she not like me?

  Jacqueline put her hand on my face. “I’m sorry, Jason. Perhaps another time.”

  Jacqueline left, and I went out back in search for Stumpy, walking in the dark between the sleeping vines toward the shed. The stars enveloped me in the still night air and all was quiet in the vineyard.

  A dim light shone in the shed. Through the window I saw Stumpy walking in a circle, adjusting a double-hauler strapped to his back. He stopped and sat down on a crate and buried his face in his hands. I felt miserable.

  I walked in. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

  Stumpy looked up, surprised. “What are you doing here? You and Jacqueline were …” He shook his head. “You couldn’t close?”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “But she likes you.”

  I smiled at the thought. “She might a little. Thanks to you, romance maker.”

  “I cork-eyed her. I can’t do anything right.”

  “But your heart is good, Stumpy. That’s what counts. You don’t really need Zoloft, do you?”

  Stumpy looked at me with an expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him. His face wore a forlorn look that made me want to cry. “For a while I needed it. After you and Laura broke up. I was in the dumps, too.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “It’s okay. You had your own problems. I couldn’t find a girl to like me, and seeing you and Laura—the perfect couple as far as I could tell—split up, was just demoralizing.”

  I felt like a drowned golf ball covered with pond scum. “Oh, man. I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry. I wish I would have known.”

  “I said it’s okay. I haven’t needed to take the pills in a while.” Stumpy smiled and regained some of his usual cheerfulness. “And I definitely don’t need them here. I just brought them along in case of an emergency.”

  “Like for an eye wound?”

  We both laughed. “Yeah, I guess that didn’t make too much sense.”

  He put his face back in his hands. “I wish I could see Melanie. We’re so close, but it’s like our relationship doesn’t exist.”

  “Why don’t you write her a letter?”

  Stumpy looked at me like I was the area melon-head. “Like a letter from me is going to crack the Sister’s wall.”

  “Write her a note.” I shrugged. “I can make deliveries behind the wall.”

  Stumpy jumped up. “Like a double agent? You’d do that?”

  “Sure. She might even write back and you two could be pen pals for a while until you figure out what to do next.”

  Stumpy shook my hand vigorously. “Thank you, Jason. You’re the best.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The next morning I awoke to a perfect day. It was still cool, and the new sun had yet to reach full strength. The fresh air had a crisp ozone smell from the recently departed night. I met Sister Claudette and we walked among the rows on our now-ritual morning walk. She was reluctantly growing fond of me, I think, and I her. Oh sure, she was an old-fashioned stodge podge, but I admired her passion. She loved the grapes. And she loved this vineyard like a baby.

  “I’m happy your friend has restrained himself from trying to see Sister Melanie.”

  “He may be a Baptist, but he respects the rules and the institution,” I said, feeling guilty. I had delivered a note from Stumpy and then returned one from Sister Melanie. The love note express looked likely to flourish.

  Sister Claudette appeared doubtful. “Yes, well, hopefully that little episode is behind us.” She tasted a grape every ten yards or so and seemed particularly upbeat this morning. “What do you think?” Her stern face softened and she looked happy, a rare moment.

  “The grapes?” I bit into another. Crisp, sweet, and juicy. “About the best yet.”

  “Yes.” She smiled and put her hands together. “It’s time.”

  “The harvest?”

  “Yes, the harvest. It’s time to begin.”

  I looked left and right. “I’ll go round up the troops.”

  She put her hands on my shoulders. “Easy, Jason. How about a prayer first?”

  We bowed our heads and Sister Claudette chattered on. “Lord bless these grapes as we are about to reap their goodness and turn them into wine.”

  “Like Jesus,” I said. I opened one eye and saw Sister Claudette smile.

  “Like Jesus,” she said. “And bless the good nuns, and Jason, and his friend, as they come to know this land. May we all work diligently to harvest your fruit and to obey your commands. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  She smiled. “Okay, go!”

  I turned and ran toward the abbey yelling at the shed on my way. “Stumpmeister!”

  Stumpy popped his noggin out of the door and shot his “what’s up?” look my way.

  “Rally ho, my friend, rally ho. Ready the crates. The grapes are coming home.”

  I ran into the abbey courtyard shouting at every nun I saw. “Allez, allez, allez.”

  Matthew and Mark joined me and ran by my side, barking like they were repeating me.

  I found Sister Lucia in the office. She came around her desk and grabbed my hands. “Sister Claudette? She tasted the grapes? She approved?”

  “Yes. The grapes are ready.”

  Sister Lucia’s face beamed with anticipation. “I love the harvest.”

  “We have work to do. I have to find the crew leaders,” I said.

  “And I will go get the tanker truck, but let’s say a harvest prayer first.”

  “Ah, Sister. I prayed too much for today. God might catch on to me.” I ran out the door, Sister Lucia’s shocked face frowning after me.

  Out in the vineyard the tractors revved their engines and rumbled a throaty roar as they pulled trailers filled with nuns out into the fields. The nuns climbed off the trailers and spread into the rows and to the vines, silent and thoughtful. The picking began.

  Stumpy worked feverishly from his shed, handing out backpacks and helping nuns adjust them to the proper fit.

  I was appalled to see that hardly anyone was utilizing the double-haulers. I ran down and tried stacking second crates on some of the beefier nuns. A few reluctantly complied, but most flatly refused.

  “Stumpy, you have to start everyone off with two crates.”

  Stumpy ignored me. He was staring into Sister Melanie’s eyes. All hands were on deck and Sister Melanie’s kitchen confinement was lifted for picking duty. Stumpy slowly adjusted her backpack, taking an embarrassingly long time. The waiting nuns glared.

  “Hurry up, there,” I shouted as I felt it my duty as vintner. “The purple babies are waiting, ladies. Save them grapes!”

  Stumpy and Sister Melanie shot me looks, but separated, and the work went on.

  The nuns moved methodically down the rows, snipping grape clusters with their plier-like cutters. When their crates were full, the nuns walked to the end of the row where other nuns stacked them on a waiting trailer. They would then take a new crate and return to picking. When the empty crates were replaced with full crates, the tractor hauled the grapes off to the winery barn where the sorting and crushing would immediately take place. The juice was pumped into the waiting tanker truck and, once full, driven over to Château Dubois.

  I walked up and down the rows with my own crates, filling
in when I found an open spot. I encouraged all the good nuns to work fast and to handle the grapes with care. “We make the wine,” I would say. “Like Jesus,” they would chant.

  I had been walking among the rows soliciting the nuns to try the double-hauler. I found Sister Melanie, by herself, slowly picking grapes at a far end. I was confident Sister Melanie would help out; after all, I had been faithfully delivering Stumpy’s love notes. I held out a red plastic crate toward her. “Carrying an extra crate is a small way to help out in a big way.” I smiled, walked closer, and was about to say hello when I smelled the distinct aroma of marijuana. “Holy smokes.” Sister Melanie had a small joint in her hand and was taking a defiant puff.

  Sister Melanie jerked her head and when she recognized me, grimaced and flipped me the bird. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Wait, what?” I was so shocked I felt like I was choking on a grape.

  She brushed me off. “Leave me alone. Go fuck yourself.”

  I walked away quickly, wondering on the order of the universe and life in general. I was troubled over whether to sink Stumpy’s infatuation barge with my new knowledge or to just let him swim on and discover the shipwreck on his own.

  That evening, exhausted over the long workday, Stumpy and I watched some flashy French variety show on TV and laughed at the stupidity. We sat side by side on the beige couch. The two lamps on the end tables were dim. The moonless sky caused an all-encompassing blackness outside. The light from the TV caused shadows to flicker around the high ceiling and walls.

  I couldn’t contain the truth any longer. I felt it my duty to tell him. “Dude, I have to tell you something.”

  Stumpy looked at me with rapt, innocent attention. It was horrible to have to stomp on his naiveté. “I don’t think Sister Melanie is praying the same prayers as the other nuns.”

  Stumpy gave me the old “I’m-trying-to-understand-you-but-it’s-all-spilled-Legos-to-me-right-now” look. I didn’t hold back and snapped it all together at once for the poor sod. “I saw Sister Melanie today and …” I took a deep breath. “And she’s an obnoxious, foul-mouthed, dope-smoking nun.”

  Stumpy smiled all dizzy love-like. “Yeah, she’s got some spunk, huh?”

  “Spunk? I thought you were into her because of that virginal nun thing she has going on.”