Читать книгу Vintage Sterling - Charles A. Witschorik - Страница 7

Dark red grapes dangling above him, filling his hands, overflowing in buckets. It was the time of harvest in his family’s vineyard, and Sterling recognized at once the unmistakable savor of juice in the air. He had no idea what this strange adventure was all about, but he was somehow glad that Chris had chosen to take him to such a happy part of his childhood. Each year harvest was a time when his family came together to work side by side; his sister, Mindy, and his parents, Rosita and José, and even his grandparents, uncles, aunts, close friends and neighbors. All gathered each year in the late summer when the countless rows of grapes they harvested were ready to be picked and taken for pressing.

Often, if the harvest were large enough, they would have help from Mexican farm worker families traveling through the area to find work. Sterling hadn’t studied Spanish in school as a child, but he picked up quite a bit working alongside the families’ children in the field as well as from his parents and grandparents in their ancestral tongue. His Spanish wasn’t exactly elegant, but he’d learned enough to get his friends in trouble with their parents when he’d innocently pepper his phrases with liberal doses of colorful Mexican idioms and expressions.

As Sterling smiled, amused at his childhood cleverness, the scene gradually came into clearer view. He was standing at the top of the hill where his family’s house sat overlooking the rolling expanse of vines extending in neat rows before him. He noticed that the workers were already starting their picking as the morning sun streamed out gradually from behind the foothills in the distance.

He even thought he could make out his parents in the background, heading toward the bins they would need to load onto the truck that would eventually pick up all that day’s grapes. He called out to them and waved, but they kept on walking. Funny, he thought. He was about to call out to them again when, from seemingly out of nowhere, there was Chris again, standing at Sterling’s side.

Smiling, Chris looked at Sterling and explained that this was no ordinary day in the vineyard. “Sterling,” Chris said with gentle yet decisive care, “they can’t hear you or see you.”

“Really?” Sterling responded. “Is this a dream?”

“No,” replied Chris. “It’s very real. In fact, it’s another day in your life that really happened many years ago. It’s one of many places that we’ll go together. But you’ll have to just watch and observe. The time for making decisions and acting in each place has already come and gone. What you can do now is listen and see. Go, check it out.”

Sterling wasn’t sure what to make of Chris’ instructions or really any of what was happening, but he knew it felt good to be back there—to be in a place that felt like home.

As he made his way reflectively down the driveway of the old house, considering what Chris had said and wondering just what day he’d arrived for, a scream suddenly pierced his eardrums, startling him and drawing his attention toward the small pond in the distance at the end of the row of vines.

Suddenly, instantly, he knew exactly what day it was. In his childhood years he’d known many families that passed through the area to help harvest the grapes each year, and he met and befriended many of the families’ children. One family stood out in particular, though. The Domínguezes were one of several families that passed through each year, but Sterling had gotten to know several of their children, who were around his age, especially well. The friendship grew even deeper as the family eventually decided to put down roots in the valley and seek a way to make it their permanent home. This was not easy, as official visas were hard to come by. But little by little, coming and going back and forth to Mexico, the family eventually received official permission to immigrate, and Sterling was thrilled when he found out they would be long-lasting neighbors and friends.