By Zephyria As is typical of the farms in Earldom Ernhardt, the farm that came into our sight was also loosely fenced and low. The gaps in the wooden fence, put up to announce ‘this is my yard,’ were so wide that several calves, not even crawling, came out from beyond the fence to greet us.
They jumped and leaped, their tails wagging enthusiastically, which was incredibly heartwarming. Seeing them greet us as if we were their owners, despite being strangers, how could I call them guard dogs? Smiling at their gentle faces, I stroked their heads and scratched their necks, coaxing them.
While I did this, Ruben hid halfway behind me, looking down at the dogs with a reluctant expression. Perhaps it was because they had run out with leaves stuck to them. I gently pushed away a black dog that wanted to cling to Ruben and spoke to them calmly.
“Don’t just do this yourselves, go quickly and call your master.”
The black dog, which had been whining, licking my hand, rubbing against my body, and presenting its rear, ran towards the building after I repeated the same words three or four times. When one left, the others followed, rushing off in a pack. Watching their backs, I laughed again.
Ruben, who had been standing quietly for a while, brushed off my collar and asked,
“Did they understand you?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know?”
“Dogs with gentle eyes and large bodies are naturally more intelligent than humans.”
Indeed, from far away, an old man’s voice, calling out “Aiku!” and soothing his dogs, echoed warmly. Here they come, here they come. Why all the commotion? The muttering voice might have reached my ears, but it wouldn’t have reached Ruben’s. Since it seemed the old man was alone, I walked towards him, so he wouldn’t have to walk as far.
The old man, spotting us, stopped abruptly from a distance and rubbed his eyes.
His hair was white, but his back was straight, his shoulders broad, and his arms muscular. He was a man bearing the marks of a life spent with sun and soil. He had been sauntering along, wearing comfortable clothes with a vest thrown on casually without buttons, and his shoes scuffed, but he suddenly rubbed his heels on the ground to adjust them.
“E, E, Ernh, Ernhardt…” he stammered, his mouth opening and closing without words. Smiling, I simply nodded once, and he took off running towards Ikyun. Fearing he might fall while running so roughly, I gestured for him to come slowly, but it was no use. As their master ran, the dogs also got excited and barked. Woof woof, bark bark, yip yip, grrr groan, it was quite a commotion.
“Come slowly, slowly.”
“A, are you, hic, are you really Count Ernhardt? Young Master Michael Ernhardt?”
“Michael Hart Sierren. I’m past the age to be called young master.”
“Th, then. Then, then who is beside you?”
Ruben also nodded with a benevolent smile. Rubel, who had caught the old man’s elbow as he was about to prostrate himself on the spot, helped him up and said in a gentle voice,
“I just came by nearby to quietly taste and buy a few bottles of wine. Could you help me?”
“Yes, yes! Of course! Among the farms around here, I make the best wine!”
The old man, thoroughly excited, clenched his fists like a child, then grabbed the smallest of the dogs nudging him and stroked it vigorously. Though small, it stood up to my waist, and the large dog wagged its tail happily as its face was pressed flat with affection. Ruben, who had stepped back a couple of paces to avoid the wagging tail, finally burst out laughing.
The farmer didn’t stop talking as he led us to the wine cellar.
Thanks to him, Ruben and I learned that his name was Jack, that he was born and raised on this farm, that he had a lovely wife and three sociable children, that they had many livestock and couldn’t all leave the farm at once, and that today, he had decided to watch the farm alone while the rest of his family went to the festival.
We also learned that Jack had started tasting wine from the age of ten and took great pride in his work: managing grapes, producing, and making wine and brandy.
“What is this in the vessel here?”
“Water! For aging wine, temperature, humidity, and blocking light are the most important. That’s why wine cellars are usually dug underground. Our Earldom Ernhardt is generally dry and doesn’t get much rain, so we put about twenty of these earthenware pots in one cellar to regulate humidity. I change the water to fresh water every three days.”
“All of this?”
“If I replace about five or six pots a day, starting from that one over there, it’s more manageable than you’d think. Of course, I don’t do it alone; my sons, daughters, and grandchildren help. My youngest grandson is only eleven, but his hands are already so nimble that he’s better at removing grape seeds than my eldest.”
Beneath the oak barrels, larger than my body, were small hoses and stoppers.
Jack carefully selected barrels, talked enthusiastically about the climate of each year and how the wine was made, and offered Ruben and me glasses with a few sips of wine each. I could only distinguish between ‘this is wine,’ ‘this is also wine,’ ‘this is a bit sweeter,’ and ‘that is a bit more sour,’ but Ruben was thoroughly enjoying himself.
“…What year is this?”
“It’s exactly four years old. Wasn’t that summer very hot? The acidity is very low, and the aroma is very bright and rich. I plan to age it a bit longer before releasing it, but it’s not bad to taste now.”
“…Yes. It truly is.”
“I set aside the ones made in the year His Majesty ascended the throne to be treated with special care later, but honestly, they haven’t fully matured yet. Let’s move on from the wine, would you like to see the brandy too?”
“As you advised.”
I knew Ruben enjoyed alcohol, but I didn’t realize he enjoyed it this much. Ruben was a very picky eater. He rarely ate red meat, and for fish, he mostly preferred well-cooked white fish. He would only eat fruit if it was thinly sliced, and he wouldn’t eat pastries or cakes if they were even slightly greasy.
But now, he accepted everything he was offered without hesitation. Every time he drank a glass of wine, Jack would pour a different wine into a newly cleaned glass and offer it again and again, and he never refused. He would inhale the aroma of each glass deeply, moisten his tongue to taste it slowly, and then fill his mouth with a mouthful before swallowing.
This was especially true when he tasted the brandy made by distilling wine. To me, they all tasted like similar floral wines, so I stopped accepting glasses halfway through, but Ruben meticulously distinguished them, saying, “This one has a strong vanilla scent, this one has a strong fruity scent, and this one smells like apples, not grapes.”
Jack, excited as he helped Ruben with the tasting, his nose tip turning red, finally said,
“Th, this isn’t a wine for high-ranking officials, it’s something we drink amongst ourselves… but I think His Majesty would really like this one too, so I’d like you to try it.”
“…Really? What is it?”
“It’s made by distilling rough wine from fruit peels and seeds. Since it’s made from the dregs left after making the most precious wine, it’s a bit awkward to offer to esteemed guests, but as I watched you, I felt Your Majesty might like this lively taste. It’s very rough at first, but it has a very lingering taste when aged. Th, this one. Even just the aroma…”
“……!”
Ruben inhaled sharply. He lightly moistened his lips, then extended his tongue to lick his lower lip. After downing a glass in one go, Ruben’s brow furrowed slightly. Ah. He likes it.
“…How many bottles of this are there?”
“I’ll give you everything we have! What you just tasted is exactly seven years distilled next month, and this is when it’s truly at its best. There are about thirty bottles left, and, hic, I… I’m also an amazing cook for snacks.”
“……”
“May I prepare a spread for you?”
Ruben looked back at me. Then Jack looked at me pleadingly. In the old man’s clasped hands, I saw a plea not to take away the epic tale he could tell until his dying day: that he had shared a drink with the Emperor. I chuckled in disbelief and nodded.
“Yes. Please do.”
“I’ll prepare it right away! This way, please. Uh, the seating might be a bit uncomfortable, but…”
“No, it’s fine. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
Each time Ruben, carried on my back, breathed in short gasps, my nape grew warm.
His hands, which had been hanging limply below, unable to hold onto my neck, moved up to cup my face. As I allowed it, he traced my forehead, swept over my eyes, pinched my cheek, gripped my chin, and bit my neck. Laughter escaped me with each whimpering breath.
“Drunkard.”
“…No.”
“How many times have I seen it already, and you say no?”
“……”
“Ouch.”
Perhaps he disliked being scolded, Ruben bit my nape hard. At first, I thought he was just biting down, but then he let out a little yelp and blew on it, making my chest tickle and my lower belly tighten.
When I playfully said “Ouch, ouch” a few more times, Ruben whined and shook my shoulder.
“It doesn’t hurt…”
“Haha, yes. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
Still, there would be teeth marks. As I soothed him, the sulking Ruben put his finger in my mouth and wiggled it. It felt like he wanted me to bite, so I did, gnawing on it, but then he pushed it too deep, and I shook my head and spat it out. The whimpering boy then snuggled back against my back, slumping down.
Perhaps it was because he had lived in a brewery since he was young, but Jack’s snack-making skills were indeed superb, just as he had boasted. The summer farm was abundant, with plenty of food. Each snack—grilled eggs drizzled with fragrant herbs picked fresh from the garden and a sweet and sour oil, thick, high-quality jerky, and dried fruits—had a perfectly matched wine.
It didn’t take long for Ruben, who preferred wine to snacks, to get completely drunk. For a while, he tried to maintain his composure, but when he tasted the wine Jack brought out as his “secret weapon,” he even declared beforehand, “Take good care of me.”
And now, this is the result.
I really should break this bad habit, but he looks happy now, so maybe next time.
With my right hand, I held Ruben tightly so he wouldn’t fall off, and with my left hand, I carried the box Jack had packed. The way back was longer than the way we came. The sun was setting over the vineyards stretching out in the distance, painting the world red and casting long shadows. Ruben, who had been rubbing his forehead against my neck, straightened his back and looked into the distance.
I stopped for a moment so the child could enjoy the present. Ruben’s hand slipped between my lips like a horse’s bit, and I bit down again. Then, from above my head, Ruben said,
“I want to.”
…What?
Here?