Pinot Noir

by Lorraine Evanoff

  “That’s my job!” Luke said, placing a canning jar fitted with a vacuum-controlled base filled with water in one of the buckets. “This is my bucket.”

  Louise noticed an old clay pot inside the bucket. “They have a little house in there.”

  “It’s the escargot château!” Luke said.

  Magali filled a similar canning jar with wine and placed it in another bucket. “We keep a separate bucket for the adults and make pre-marinated mollusks using wine instead of water, like the Romans.” Magali placed a lid on the bucket. “Because a snail can lift five times its own weight, we cover them to keep them from organizing an escape.” Magali went over to another bucket. “These have already undergone the three-day fasting period. Now, they need to be de-slimed.” She filled a jug with water at the utility sink, added salt and vinegar, and poured it into the bucket. “We cover the snails with this mixture and soak them until they release all their slime. In four hours, they will be ready to go.”

  “We will set them free!” said Luke.

  “That’s right, mon ange. They will go to paradise,” Magali said. “Will you join us for the special dinner tonight, Karen?”

  The gourmand in Louise couldn’t believe her good fortune. “It sounds delicious!”

  T W E N T Y – F O U R

  January 8, 2002

  Louise’s long black hair swirled into vortices over her ears, sapping her powers and deafening her to rational thought. Muffled voices failed to penetrate the vacuum. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t make out the words. She invoked her dream rule: when the nightmare was too scary, she let go, stopped fighting, and allowed the monster to take control. Aroused by the danger heightening her senses, she finally awoke.

  “Karen, we’re waiting for you.” Matthieu’s disembodied voice sounded different, erudite, the antithesis of the farmer role, and definitely altered from their previous wake-up encounter. It combined many personas, from Gary Cooper’s everyman to the suave but self-deprecating Cary Grant.

  “Karen. Vous dormez?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Louise managed to say. Hearing him walk away she sat up and groggily checked her watch, 7:30 a.m. It wasn’t exactly late, but for her it was tantamount to oversleeping. With the persistent jetlag and agrarian lifestyle, she wasn’t quite her usual self. The garlic-laden escargot the night before had also given her strange dreams. She dressed comfortably layering a long slouchy black V-neck sweater over a black cotton turtleneck and black leggings. She put on her Dr. Martens and went to the main house.

  “Bonjour, les enfants!” Louise said. “That smells good!”

  “Maman made pain d’épices!” exclaimed Luke.

  “I thought you would like to try an old specialty of Burgundy,” Magali said.

  Louise devoured the dense spiced bread, still warm from the oven and topped with crème fraîche. As her taste buds were being aroused, she swore that after this was all over, she might open a restaurant with Magali. She washed it down with a revitalizing café au lait. Matthieu interrupted her food revelry.

  “Alors, we go north today?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’d love to visit Vézelay on the way to Auxerres.”

  “That is quite a lot for one day. We’ll take the scenic route and see how you feel when we get to Vézelay.”

  “I’ll drive,” Louise said, taking her dishes to the sink.

  “Why don’t I drive?” Matthieu said. “It will be quicker since I know my way around.” Louise couldn’t argue with his reasoning.

  “Bonne journée!” Magali said as they left.

  Louise walked toward the family’s Peugeot 306 station wagon. But, Matthieu walked on, opened the wooden door of the old stone coach house and disappeared inside. A minute later Louise heard a rumbling then, through a dust cloud, Matthieu emerged in a 1964 Mini Moke. Louise had a flashback to Jean-Philippe’s four-wheel-drive Citroën Méhari. In similar fashion to that off-road vehicle, the mechanical parts of the 1960 Mini Cooper had become the four-wheel-drive Mini Moke.16

  “Allez!” Matthieu waved for her to get in. “Now I’ll show you my Burgundy!”

  Louise soon realized she was seeing an entirely different side of Matthieu. He was suddenly talkative and engaging, pointing out the historic highlights as he drove. After about an hour driving northwest through Saint-Brisson National Forest they reached the castle of Chastellux-sur-Cure rising out of the forest.

  “It looks like a fairy tale!” Louise said. They drove past groves of oak, beech, and chestnut trees and large conifer plantations of Christmas trees. “This is near where I took the boat.”

  “That’s right!” Matthieu said, continuing his guided tour. “This is the Morvan forest. The River Cure used to be part of the transportation system. Logs from this forest were shipped to Paris to keep the capital warm.”

  “Very interesting.” Everyone really knew their history around here.

  Matthieu looked at her and saw that she was serious. “I find you interesting,” he said as they drove through the pretty village of Domecy-sur-Cure.

  Louise was about to reply to Matthieu’s compliment when another one of her senses were triggered. “That smells wonderful!”

  “Wild garlic grows all along the banks of the river.”

  “It’s making me hungry.”

  “We’ll stop here. Magali prepared a picnic basket for us.” Where does Magali find the time, Louise thought. Matthieu veered off the main route and drove through a village. “This is the town of Pierre-Perthuis. named after a rock that forms a natural arch.”

  “It looks medieval.”

  “It was built in the tenth century.” Matthieu parked on the right bank of the River Cure and took the picnic basket from the back. They hiked up a path to the top of the arch and sat dangling their feet while snacking on baguette sandwiches of brie and cornichons. Louise thought they would be perfect for the lunch menu at her fantasy Magali’s Café.

  “Pierre-Perthuis is old French for pierced rock.”

  “Oh, I see, it’s actually a giant rock,” Louise observed.

  “The hole in the rock was worn through over thousands of years by the river.”

  Louise looked across the valley below, feeling the great void of the arch just beneath her. “It’s magical.”

  “It’s a very special region.”

  “It makes me want to do a handstand!” Louise found a flat space and kicked into a handstand. Matthieu instinctively jumped up, throwing her off balance. She came down landing near the edge, but Matthieu reached out in time and pulled her close to him.

  “I almost fell.”

  “Your heart is beating very fast,” Matthieu said.

  “Yours is beating very slowly.”

  “I’m tall. My blood has more distance to travel.” Being in his arms felt perfect. They held still for a minute, his heartbeat piercing a hole through hers.

  They got back on the road and drove about ten minutes.

  “Here we are,” Matthieu announced as they approached Vézelay. The tower and basilica rose high above the town on the hill. “As you can see from here, the basilica is a masterpiece of Romanesque architecture. It is also close to Les Fontaines-Salées on your itinerary.” They made their way up the hill to the village. “Vézelay and its Basilica of Saint Mary Magdalene have been the center of the pilgrimage since the Middle Ages. It used to be a Benedictine abbey.”

  “How do we get up to the basilica?” Louise wondered aloud.

  “We have to park and walk up.”

  “We need more time to explore here. Let’s go to Auxerre and come back,” Louise said, making Auxerre the priority of the day.

  “I agree.” Matthieu drove down from the village and got back on the autoroute.

  As they approached the city of Auxerre, Louise sensed Matthieu’s pleasant disposition growing stormy. She had always been very sensitive to other people’s moods whether they realized it or not. Over the years she had trained herself to be tactful because
most people won’t admit uncomfortable mood swings, no matter how obvious. Louise usually kept her perceptions to herself until the other person was ready and willing to discuss it. That had just played out with her mother’s confession last month in New Jersey.

  Louise saw a sign for a vaguely familiar culturally historic site, Via Agrippa, and tried to draw out his inner tour guide.

  “Is that the same Via Agrippa I think it is?” Louise asked, breaking the silence with her impressive memory of college Geography 101.

  “Yes, well done!” Matthieu sounded like a professor. “Auxerre used to be a Gallo-Roman city called Autissiodorum. Via Agrippa was one of the main Roman roads during the first century. It crossed the Yonne River right here. In the third century, Auxerre was the seat of a bishop and a provincial capital of the Roman Empire. It became part of France under King Louis XI in the fourteen-hundreds.”

  “Where are we going?” Louise asked, intrigued.

  “You’ll see.” They approached a trio of imposing churches perched above the Yonne River. Matthieu drove through the steep, crooked streets past ancient timber and stone buildings through a gateway to the heart of Auxerre Old Town. A fifteenth century clock tower with an ochre and gold colored sun- and moon dial displayed the time, two o’clock.

  “We should hurry if we want to finish today’s tour.” He drove a few blocks and parked on boulevard Vauban. They got out, and Matthieu paid the small entrance fee as they entered the museum. He walked straight to a display of a small Cretan limestone sculpture less than three feet tall.

  “This is The Lady of Auxerre,” Matthieu said reverentially. “The sculpture is from the seventh century B.C. when Greece was emerging from its Dark Age.”

  “It says this is a replica, and the original is at the Louvre,” Louise pointed out.

  “Yes, in 1907 a Louvre curator, Maxime Collignon, discovered the original in a storage vault right here. I find it interesting because it is believed to be a votary17 rather than the Goddess Persephone herself. Her right hand touches her solar plexus and her left remains stiffly at her side. See how she still has the narrow waist of a Minoan-Mycenaean goddess, and her stiff hair suggests Egyptian influence. The Early Archaic style was the first stage of Daedalic Greek sculpture. Its style is based on a simple formula, which remained dominant for about two generations before evolving into the Archaic style. Her hint of a smile is often characterized as the archaic smile, secretive, knowing and serene.”

  Louise was thrown by Matthieu’s knowledge of ancient art. “You said it’s Greek, but was found here?”

  “Correct. The provenance is unknown, and its mysterious arrival here gave it some notoriety in the press at the time.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  Matthieu looked at Louise as though he just realized she was there. “You are beautiful.”

  Louise pretended not to hear. “You know a lot about archeology.”

  Suddenly it was about Matthieu. “I know a lot about archeology and even some anthropology. I have a PhD from the University of Bourgogne in Dijon and used to be an archeologist for the Musée du Châtillonnais. Have you heard of it?”

  “No, should I have?”

  “You are in for a very special treat!”

  He led her out hurriedly and they got back into the car. Matthieu spoke animatedly as he sped down the national route toward Dijon.

  “Celts were fascinated by mineral springs.” All over Burgundy, magical springs bubble continuously out of the earth. There are many springs dedicated to deities, almost all of which are gods of healing and fertility.”

  It was as though he hadn’t been able to talk to anyone for years and just needed someone to listen. Louise was happy to be his therapist at this point. Besides, the subject of mineral springs was starting to get really interesting. But Louise could hardly catch her breath. Between this new gregarious side of Matthieu and his knowledge about archeology, anthropology and mineral springs, she started to wonder if something, or someone had led her to him.

  “Did you know that the goddess Sequana is associated exclusively with the source of the Seine?” Matthieu was still talking. Louise nodded, but had no idea what it meant. “Most other gods, such as Borvo, gave their names to sources in many regions like Bourbon-Lancy, Bourbon-l’Archambault, Bourbon-les-Bains, the Springs of Borvo at St. Moré. But Sequana is associated only with the Seine.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Do you know what ex votos are?”

  Suddenly Louise got a chill at hearing the words of both LaFontaine and the barman Jules. “Religious offerings?”

  “Exactly. The ex votos have great charm as objets d’art, but they also tell fascinating stories of the pilgrims, their health problems, and their sense of gratitude. They are a wealth of knowledge for archeologists and anthropologists. The idea was to place a little effigy of the ailing body part, such as an ear, foot, leg, lung, or head into the pool for Sequana to work her magic. Ex votos of women with large bellies, or couples entwined together, or swaddled babies suggest Sequana’s function as fertility goddess. The Sequana finds are in the Musée Archéologique in Dijon. But many fascinating ex votos discovered in other wells and springs can be seen at the museum in Châtillon-sur-Seine.”

  “Where you used to work as an archeologist?”

  “Oui, the Musée du Châtillonnais that houses the amazing Treasure of Vix.”

  “Treasure of Vix?” Louise wondered if it could be the long sought-after ex voto that LaFontaine had alluded to.

  “You’ll see.”

  They arrived in the town of Châtillon-sur-Seine, which, as the name indicated, was on the River Seine. Matthieu turned onto a country lane and parked. They walked a short way and entered through the gate.

  “Et voilà, we are now in Paris!” Matthieu pointed to a sign that designated the location to be the source of the Seine River.

  “Isn’t Paris 240 kilometers from here?”

  “Yes, but in 1867 the city of Paris sequestered this land surrounding a Celtic healing shrine called Sequana’s pool.”

  They descended a hill to a garden then followed the little stream until they came to a pool.

  “The museum in Dijon has many objects from excavations here in this boggy pond, which was once a ritual bathing pool.” They crossed over a small stone bridge and came to a grotto with layers of moss covering bulging stones forming a cave with two alcoves. At the center between the alcoves was a sculpture of a reclining nymph.

  “This grotto was built in 1868 under Napoleon’s orders. But, during Celtic times in Burgundy, this site was a major destination for pilgrims coming to cure their ailments. More than 1,500 coins and ex votos of stone and wood have been found here, dating to at least 150 BC. Would you like to visit the museum?”

  “Is that where the Treasure of Vix is?”

  “Oui. Follow me.” They walked back up and entered the museum. “This is the Abbey of Notre Dame. It used to be a Cistercian monastery before being transformed into a museum.” Matthieu explained. “The light airy spaces display the exhibits to perfection.” They gravitated to the center where a huge bronze vase stood. “This is the centerpiece of the Musée du Châtillonnais.”

  “It’s so pristine, it looks like new,” Louise said.

  “In 1953, a tomb from the sixth century B.C. was discovered near Vix, in northern Burgundy. The skeleton of a thirty-year-old princess wearing jewels including a massive gold torc was uncovered in the tomb. This Vase of Vix also in the tomb is the largest piece ever found from the Celtic period.” Matthieu pointed to a section of the vase. “This sculpted frieze and Gorgons’ heads on the handles with snake-like legs is a recurring theme in Burgundian sculpture. How these magnificent objects found their way to such a remote place is a mystery. The village of Vix is the highest navigable point on the Seine. It’s thought that the Celtic chieftains who controlled it received such gifts possibly from Cornish tin traders coming from Britain on their way to the Adriatic. There is still so much
to discover on the site.”

  “You have a great passion for archeology.”

  Lights flickered indicating the museum was closing. “Allez, we should get back,” Matthieu said.

  “Thank you for the beautiful adventure.”

  “It is only the beginning.” They went out to the car.

  “Oh? Where to next?”

  “I’m doing some investigating of my own, if you recall, of my vines. I’m coming back here tomorrow, and you are welcome to join me. It should be very interesting.”

  Matthieu opened the car door for Louise, but instead of getting in she leaned against it and slipped her arms around his waist. There would be no hesitation this time. His bearlike physique, chiseled jawline, and salty grey blond hair made him irresistible. She kissed his receptive lips and he slid his tongue into her mouth just enough to taste the tip of hers. Opening wider, she flicked her tongue along his teeth with a hunger that was heightened when her teeth clicked against his. He pressed against her at just the precise spot to weaken her. But she squirmed away into the car seat. Matthieu got in and pulled her to him, but she pushed back. Trying to ground the electricity in the air, Louise almost pleaded.

  “There’s just so much I need to understand.” Louise touched his temple. “In here.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Why did you give up a career in archeology that you clearly loved so much?”

  Matthieu started the engine but left the parking brake engaged. Before hitting the clutch, he leaned over and put his forehead against hers. “You seem to have your own secrets,” he said, pointing to her temple.