Alberto's Lost Birthday (14 page)

Over the years, Raúl and I have visited other brandy- and sherry-makers around the country. In learning the process, we’ve inspected the barrels where the wine is aged and followed
the ancient instructions for blending.

As a scientist, Raúl has enjoyed the study of the production process. And importantly, I think the project has served him well in overcoming his grief at the death of his wife. For me,
it’s the history. The process that has been used in Spain for centuries has a slow, methodical procedure that will continue into the future. It appeals to my sense of heritage.

Since I commissioned the building of a series of ageing barrels four years ago, we’ve been following the process of tapping the oldest barrel and refilling it with wine from the next
oldest. As we repeat and repeat, the blending of wines over the years gives the brandy its character.

I am proud I have begun something that Néstor will carry on, and as long as the wine is good and the barrels are cared for, the brandy will only improve over the years. Even the label has
been designed in the classical style with a flourish of script and the vineyard’s crest.

Although our first bottle is still very young, we decided this was the perfect excuse for a celebration. It has been a difficult few years. The economic problems of the country have affected us,
as they have many others, but we have done what we could for our workers and they seem content, despite the unrest around us. They also know the government is swift in arresting anyone who speaks
out against land and business owners.

As my father always said, support your workers and in difficult times they will support you. So, like my father, I treat the workers as extended family. When times are difficult, I gather them
and explain how we will be affected. I know many of them supported the Second Republic, with its promise of land to the workers. When nothing happened, the workers were disappointed, but they know
that I am modern in my approach to their rights and their pay.

I hope the party tonight will bring us together. It’s an opportunity for us to say thank you to the workers for their loyalty. They’ll bring their wives and children; they’ll
eat well, drink too much and taste our first brandy. As Raúl says, it’s going to be a great party.

‘Let’s take a walk,’ I suggest to Raúl.

He nods to me and we turn to the children. Mimi is trying to pick up her baby brother, but he’s too heavy for her, and as she half lifts, half drags him towards me, his face scrunches up
and he starts to cry.

When Mimi was a baby, she rarely cried, but when she did, it was a heartbreaking sound. Maybe it’s because she was our first, but often my wife and I, and even Chita, would rush to see
what we could do to ease her distress.

Néstor, however, cries often and the sound is shrill and screeching. It’s not an endearing noise and, I’m ashamed to say, all too often we placate him with food. He’s a
portly baby, which is perhaps why he is late to start walking. But my wife insists once he’s on his feet and running around, the weight will drop off him.

I lift the boy from Mimi’s arms and bounce him up and down until his crying eases. He grabs my ear and pulls hard, grinning a toothy smile. His grip is strong and I have to gently prise
his fingers open to release my sore ear.

‘Right,’ I say loudly, ‘who wants to go and inspect the grapes?’

‘Me!’ shouts Mimi loudly and happily.

Alberto nods enthusiastically.

‘Me too!’ says Raúl cheerfully.

Together, the four of us stroll out of the courtyard and down to the land. The new season’s growth looks good. Lines of vines with large, veined leaves stand healthy and strong. As we walk
down the dusty, dry path between the crop, I stop at one vine and fold back a few of the leaves. There, hanging like a bunch of green bullets, are the grapes.

I pick one from its stalk and wipe the dust from it. Bending down, I hold it in front of Mimi and Alberto. Néstor, resting on my hip, looks over my shoulder back towards the house.

‘Look, children,’ I say to them both. ‘What do you think this is?’

‘It’s a grape,’ says Alberto confidently.

Grinning, Mimi shakes her head.

‘It’s much more than a grape, Alberto,’ I say.

The young boy looks confused.

‘It is the blood of Christ.’

Poor Alberto looks even more confused.

‘It’s the toast at a wedding,’ I continue. ‘It’s the completion of a business deal. It’s the heart that beats between family and friends. This tiny grape,
children, is going to be wine. Wine that may be savoured with a loved one, or shared among many. It may be drunk as soon as it’s bought, or hidden away in a cellar. But however and whenever
it is drunk, in that moment, it will be a part of people’s lives.

‘As a family of winemakers,’ I continue, ‘it is our past and our future. And this grape will take a little piece of us to people we’ll never meet, all over Spain.
Isn’t that incredible?’

Mimi nods enthusiastically. She loves to hear about the wine.

Alberto nods a little more hesitantly. Looking up at his father, he says, ‘But I am not a Quintero. Papá and I are Romeros.’

Raúl gives me a worried look, but with a nod I indicate that I will explain.

‘Alberto, family is not always about a name. In our case, family is more than birth. It’s about an unbreakable bond of love. You and your papá have been a part of my family
since before you were born, and that bond is very strong.

‘And if ever you wanted proof of your role in this family, you need only look at the bottle of brandy that we will open tonight. You’ll see on the label how it celebrates you and
your beloved mamá.’

The boy looks a little unsure still. I wonder how much Raúl has spoken to him about his mother. Shifting Néstor on my hip, I hunch down to Alberto’s level.

‘You are an important member of this family, Alberto. You hold a special place in our hearts. And I hope that in the future you will help Néstor run the Quintero vineyard as your
father has helped me. The wine we produce today is the best we’ve ever made, and that’s thanks to your father. It is my ancestor’s name on the bottle, but there’s as much of
your father’s soul in every sip as mine.’

I look at Raúl. He seems uncomfortable but bends his head to me in thanks. He is a good man, and I hope I tell him often enough how much I value him.

Alberto smiles at me and his soft brown eyes melt my heart – they are just like his mother’s.

Ruffling his curls, I stand straight. ‘Right, who can run to the fence and back the fastest?’

Before I’ve finished speaking, Mimi is off, running as fast as she can, kicking up tiny dust clouds behind her. Alberto gives me one last look before dashing after her.

‘Thank you, Dante,’ says Raúl quietly as we slowly start to walk in the direction the children are running.

‘I mean every word I say.’

Raúl shakes his head and says, ‘I mean thank you for taking us into your family. You knew nothing about us when we arrived and yet you took in an inexperienced chemist and his
pregnant wife as if it were nothing. And now you talk about Alberto being part of Quintero’s future, well, it’s incredible.’

‘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.