Joe noticed the faint earthy taste that Simone reported. “I never tasted a Zin quite like this,
must be the Madera AVA.”
“That is the beauty of Zins, they really are sensitive to the terroir.”
Joe looked over next door and Elise motioned to him. “Could you please take over pouring again?
Things are winding down and I need to help with clean up.”
Joe returned to his table and finished out the evening pouring, all the while reflecting on his dreams
and the connection of this evening’s events to those dreams. He did not sleep well that night.
Sunday morning found Joe awake before the sun, still thinking about the events of the previous evening
and not having slept soundly. He decided to get up and treat his family to breakfast, he couldn’t
sleep anyway. Elise got up while Joe made waffles, “are you ok? You sure tossed and turned
last night”.
“I really need to find that leaking water line”. Joe continued his white lie. He was
known to lose sleep worrying about vineyard matters.
“Can it wait until after Church? The kids and I can help you.”
“No, this leak has been a difficult one to find. I really need to get it fixed. You
guys go to church this morning, Give my regards to Father O’Hagen”.
After breakfast, and the kids grumbling about having to go to church, but not
their dad, Joe loaded up the utility ATV with pipe repair equipment and shovels (to cover his lie) and a bag
with battery powered lanterns and his digital camera. With Porto, his black lab, running along behind,
he was thus able to drive to within a few hundred feet of the brushy area concealing the mine tunnel.
Porto quickly abandoned Joe at a full gallop, on the scent of a raccoon or a deer, having the full run of the
Gambaro property.
Joe climbed down the tunnel roof collapse rubble pile in the tunnel with his bag of battery powered lanterns
and his camera. Upon reentering the front chamber through the heavy wooden door, he placed lanterns on
the floor to shine upon the racks of bottles, shelves of books, rows of wine barrels, and, something that he
did not notice a few nights ago, a massive chest of drawers.
Returning first to the bookshelf, he directed his light across the spines of at least one hundred old volumes.
After blowing the dust off some of the spines, he could faintly make out titles, some in ornate printed
letters and more in incredibly neat handwriting of a calligraphy quality. Most appeared to be in Latin,
but many were in what appeared to be in Greek Letters and a several were in Hebrew letters. There were
at least three or four in some Arabic script. Not one was in English.