Beneath The Valley Of The Moon© astrid young 2002 Chapter I Driving through Rutherford, the smell of fermenting pomace dominated the oddly humid October twilight. The moon itself was but a smiling sliver of its former self, a spray of stars rocked in its delicate cradle. All was well in paradise. Harvest was almost done for the year, though tanks of near-wine still bubbled and gasped in their passage from earthly to ethereal. The Toad drove leisurely west along the Trail in the 1986 Audi convertible, driving into the wind, thinking about the end of harvest and what was lurking down the road. Nice to have a job, though you gotta curse it every day for the sheer relentlessness of it. Wine waits for no one, and it would still be there even if Toad showed up hours late. Tank after tank after endless, stinking tank. Punch it down, pump it over, press it off, barrel it down. And then, like a summer storm, it's all over. No more tanks. No work. No girl, no address, no future plans and a long road to nowhere lying just ahead. Almost made the Toad wish that the torturous job would last forever. At least there would be someplace to go every day. The Napa Valley was all soft on the inside. It was like a family here, everybody knowing everyone else's business. Not a leaf stirred on the vine without the tribe at large knowing about it. And yet, Toad had gone virtually unnoticed for years now. Maybe it was because he only came for harvest, and nobody's paying attention to anything but the wine then -- and seasonal harvest help bulked up the population right around now. Toad wasn't even a blip on the radar for practically anybody. Mostly he hung around with the border crowd - migrant workers who were now fleeing to Mexico for the winter. Soon, the rains would come. There was a girl in Calistoga, a Latina. It wasn't love, of course, but it was an option. The girl was smitten, and would cook elaborate meals for the Toad, almost any time. The exception was one night when her sister cooked. That was just fine, too. Martyr was her name, a curse of a name to thrust upon a child, Toad thought. He wondered how appropriate a label it really was. Made you think. Anyway, he called her Marta. For whatever reason, it kind of made him feel better, and she didn't seem to care. Neither Martyr or her sister Lola spoke a word of English, and so Toad was exotic and worldly to them, being that he was Mexico born, but having had lived all over the world. His father was a Merchant Marine. His mother was an exotic dancer in The Netherlands, and though Toad had never come to know her, he knew that his powers of persuasion and charm had come from her. There was a way to convince anybody of just about anything, be it right or wrong. It was a gift, it was an art. In his thirty hard won years, these gifts had served him well. In short order, they would have to come to his rescue yet again. For now though, it was not to worry. There were still two weeks left in his contract. Much could happen in two weeks. The wandering fancy shattered as Toad's headlights barely caught the person crossing the highway, facing into the oncoming light, arms outstretched. Toad slammed his brakes and spun the car around, losing focus on star and sky as the world cracked its whip, Toad being on the end of it. There was a cry out, and a thud, he thought -- but when the car came to rest in a ditch facing the gate to Glass Mountain Estates, all Toad could think about was the guy, the guy he hit: dead or alive? The Audi died quietly, and the still night air smelled less like pomace and more like burning rubber and metal. Toad disentangled himself from his seatbelt and ran into the road to find the guy. "Hey -- you all right?" Circling around, Toad sees nothing. "You out there, man? Hey, I can help you." Silence greets him as he turns, first towards the mountain: nothing. Nothing but dark. Silhouettes of vineyard fans and a water tower. Row upon row of vines, a tractor in a gravel drive. "I want to help you. Are you hurt?" Down the road he turns. More nothing. Still, the night was dark. The moon, in all its newness, wasn't enough to light the road. "Shit. What the fuck now." Toad checked out the Audi for damage. A nasty scrape down the side where she brushed the mountainside, one that wouldnÕt wipe off even with a concerted effort. Hell, it was a beater anyway. As long as there wasn't some poor fuck lying underneath it, there was no reason to stress. Fetching a flashlight from the trunk, he scanned the rough at the side of the road for some kind of sign, some indication of where the unfortunate young man on the road had disappeared to. There was no trace of him. It was all very odd. It also seemed somehow odd to the Toad that the vineyard gates were open. There was no winery here, just the hillside vineyards, stretching for miles up towards the summit of Mount Saint Helena. Idle curiosity got the best of him, wondering if fruit still hung, what they were planting. Eyes adjusting to the night, he stepped through the gates and down the first row. Clusters hung heavy, low and obviously ready to go. A few raisins, but on the average looking very good. Tasty even. He pulled a pruning knife from his pocket and dropped a couple of clusters, thinking, hell, I could pick a ton of grapes out here tonight and have my own little wine. It'd be that easy. His attention concentrated on the vines, Toad started as a noise came from the distance. A car approached up the Trail. It might be wise to move the car. Besides, even if Marta was patient, he didn't like to keep her waiting. Thoughts of her Carnitas made his stomach rumble, and he hoped to God the car would start. Toad trudged toward the road with his clusters, expecting to encounter the approaching vehicle, but none came. Maybe there never was one after all. The Audi turned over all right, started up like always. A hissing from under the hood hipped him to the true damage: Radiator. Preferable to what could have been, all things considered. Six short miles back to Calistoga. She oughta make it. Bone dry in the desert, she's always got him there somehow. Throwing the old girl in neutral, Toad pushed the Audi back up on the road. And thought about the Guy. |