Late Harvest Havoc Read Online Free PDF Page B

luck happens in threes,” said Virgile, who had climbed out of the vehicle to join Benjamin.
    â€œStop it with your unfounded beliefs, son. They make no sense.”
    â€œI know, but back in Bergerac, we’d say we’ve been hit with ‘ mafrés .’ It means bad luck, a jinx, whatever.”
    Virgile had told Benjamin all about the superstitions he had been exposed to as a child in southwestern France. And Benjamin had to admit that he went along with some it, even though he himself didn’t give such notions much credence. For example, he and Elisabeth would never send a newlywed couple a kitchen knife as a wedding present. According to superstition, a knife could portend the end of a friendship. Benjamin and Elisabeth didn’t believe it themselves, but they didn’t want the couple to take their gift the wrong way.
    â€œVirgile, just forget your stories of witches and evil spells. What good are all your years of scientific study if you keep hanging on to such nonsense?”
    â€œâ€˜Reason is not always right,’ my grandmother used to say.”
    Benjamin had to smile. The boy was hopeless. The rain had let up, and he took off his glasses to wipe the lenses.
    Virgile wasn’t finished. “She also said, ‘When you’re sure you’re right, you don’t need to argue with those who are wrong.’”
    â€œWell, your grandmother was certainly witty,” Benjamin said, putting his glasses back on. “Like your grandfather.”
    â€œMaybe we should go find the vintner whose stock you amputated,” Virgile said, pulling on the windbreaker he had brought with him. “We could go to the town hall in Ribeauvillé. If we look at the land registry we could find the owner.”
    â€œI doubt very much that the town hall would be open at noon,” Benjamin said, wrapping himself in his Loden before climbing back into the mud-encrusted Toyota. “Everybody’s probably out having lunch.”
    â€œWell, then, we should get ourselves a bite to eat. I’m starving.”
    â€œTo tell you the truth, this business has taken away my appetite.”
    â€œI think you might be letting it get to you too much, boss. Something to eat would do you some good.”
    â€œSon, you’re one of the things getting to me right now. Let’s just drive into town and see if the land registry office is open.”
    â€œThat’s fine with me, but wasn’t it your distant relative, the English playwright and poet, who said, ‘After a good meal, one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations’?”
    â€œOscar Wilde said that?” the winemaker fumed as he put the key in the ignition and released the handbrake.
    The car plowed through the mud and finally reached the paved road leading to the village. Benjamin tried to ignore his bad mood and didn’t say anything. He was glad Virgile was staying quiet too. The back and forth of the windshield wipers took the place of any conversation.
    Approaching the Domaine Bott Frères, Benjamin couldn’t resist stopping to say hello to the grand master of the Confrérie Saint-Étienne d’Alsace. Pierre Bott was an old acquaintance. The wines he produced, along with those of his son and grandson, always received high marks in the Cooker Guide . Benjamin enjoyed his Osterberg and Gloeckelberg grand crus, and Bott’s late harvests had the full and hearty support of Elisabeth, who preferred his wines to many Sauternes. She had Benjamin order her two cases of Tokay pinot gris from the Maison Bott at the beginning of each winter. Her love of earthy cuisine blended perfectly with the smoky notes of this full-bodied wine, which had little to do with its Hungarian counterpart. In fact, the kinship was quite distant. For that matter, in 2007 the European Union officially forbade the use of the name Tokay for the Alsatian pinot gris, so that the Hungarians would stop using the