From Death Comes Life
by Drew M
France, Juin 1916
She looked over her shoulder and giggled. “You’re too slow, Theo Dubois!”
He stared back at her with a furrowed brow. “I could catch you if I really wanted to.”
He could not.
She was off again in a flash, her black ponytail whipping side to side like a fish’s fin. She scampered into the vineyard, past the fattening grapes and into the maze of trellises filled with vines reaching toward the sky. A summer breeze stirred a melody of fruit, grass, and earth.
He followed her in, all effort and exertion. But she was gone. “C’mon, Claire, tag is for little kids, we’re nine years old.”
He stood still and listened to the quiet. The humidity drew a bead of sweat from his temple.
“C’mon, Claire!”
She rounded the corner and tackled him. They fell to the ground, laughing. Their bare feet were colored black with soil.
They rolled themselves upright and sat side by side amid the rows of vines. Somewhere nearby, a robin serenaded its love interest. It was a song of hope and wanting. Theo whistled a clumsy imitation, his notes static and off rhythm.
“When’d you learn to whistle?” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“Pfft, I’ve been whistling since I was six.”
“No you haven’t. I think you’re just trying to impress me.”
His face went flush. “I think you’re stupid.”
The feathered Romeo continued his song until another robin fluttered across the vineyard and joined him in his tree.
“Let’s play the kissing game,” Claire said.
“How do you play?”
“We kiss.”
“That doesn’t sound like a real game. How do I even know if I win?”
“You just know.”
She leaned toward him. His milk chocolate eyes grew wide like saucers. Their lips touched.
He won.
Août 1925
The two giggling teens escaped into the vineyard beneath the silver glow of the night.
“Whoever dreamed up the idea of a formal soirée?” Claire said as she slipped her heels off beneath her white gown. “Such a bore.”
Theo flashed a crooked grin before turning his attention to a nearby vine. He cupped a bunch of grapes in his hands and inspected the tiny fruits. “The vines are stressed. Not enough rain. This year’s wine will be harsh and sour.”
“You can tell that just from looking at grapes in the dark?”
“I can,” he said.
“But you’re just eighteen. How can you know so much about wine?”
“My grandfather taught me. He said he’d never seen a quicker study. That I could be a master winemaker.” He settled the grapes back into place as if he were putting a baby to bed. “But my father has decided that my future is in banking.”
“Oh.” She smiled, wide and unsure.
Theo cleared his throat. “Do you want to see something amazing?” He dug into his pocket, pulled out a pebble-sized piece of amber, and held it up to the full moon. “Come, look.”
She moved closer and lowered his arm until she could look at the amber through the backlight of the moon. A small object was encased in the middle.
“What’s that inside?” she asked.
“A seed,” he said with wide eyes. “Millions of years ago, it was trapped in resin, and now it’s preserved.”
She leaned into the hollow of his arm. “It’s magnificent. What type of seed is it?”
He felt her warmth against him. “No one can know. But my grandfather claims it’s a grape seed.”
“You should plant it and see what grows,” she said.
He lowered his head so that he could once again see the seed in the light. Their cheeks touched.
“That won’t work. The amber preserves the physical form, but it can’t preserve life.”
She turned around and faced him. “Do you remember when we used to play here as kids?”
He cocked his head to the side and looked around. “I do.”
She smiled. “You’re too slow, Theo Dubois.” Then she was off in a flash.
But he had grown tall and strong, and he was upon her in an instant. He spun her around and held her close. Goosebumps dotted her skin as his hand found the small of her back. She reached behind his head and ran her fingers through his hair before pulling him toward her.
Septembre 1936
Claire wiggled her toes in the cool soil as she stood clutching her protruding belly. The breeze shook the leaves into a quiet roar, like a crowd applauding politely.
She found him tending the vines. He saw her and his face came alive. “You look beautiful today, my love.”
“I’m as big as a house and I waddle like a duck. How can you say I’m beautiful?”
“Because you are.”
He brought her a plump grape and held it to her lips. She bit into it and smiled. A drop of juice trickled down her chin before he wiped it away with his thumb and gave her a peck. She breathed in, and the scent of grapes and aftershave and sweat filled her nose.
“What do you think?” he said.
“It’s amazing.”
“I’ve been experimenting, cross-breeding. This one is complex, flavorful, and perfectly balanced. It will produce a remarkable wine.”
She put her arms around him. “You should leave your job at the bank and become a winemaker. It’s obvious that’s where your passion lies, not to mention your talent.”
“My father wouldn’t hear of it,” he said as he looked down the row of vines. “The irony is that it is wealth that motivates him, and yet I suspect my wines might prove the more lucrative endeavor.”
“I believe you are correct,” she said with a laugh. “There are few things our countrymen covet more than a good wine.”
Septembre 1939
He looked at his watch. “I have to go, Claire, or I’ll be late for the train.”
“You don’t have to go,” she said coldly. Her eyes were red and raw.
“I will not sit at home knowing my neighbors are off fighting the Nazis. Our country needs me.”
“Your daughter needs you.”
“I cannot have this conversation again, my love.”
“Your wife needs you.”
He took her in his arms, and she melted into his chest. She squeezed her hands into fists and pounded against him. There was a great evil in the world and he was a good man, so she knew he must go.
“When there is fighting, you head the other way,” she ordered. “Promise me, Theodore Dubois. Promise me that you will run and hide.”
“I will run and hide,” he said.
But he did not.
Mai 1940
An ambulance wound its way up the hillside to the house above the vineyard. It stopped at the door, and a nurse helped Theodore into his wheelchair. Blood stained the white bandages wrapped around stumps where his legs had once been.
The nurse had just begun to wheel him up the path when the front door burst open and Claire sprinted out. She flung her arms around him and wailed. Inside the house, the little girl with the black ponytail and the milk chocolate eyes stood in the shadows and cried.
Theodore felt nothing.
le 14 Juin 1940
“Paris has fallen.”
Claire’s words hung in the air like the stench of rotten meat.
Theodore sat by the second-floor window, clutching a bottle of brandy. He looked down at the abandoned vineyard; its vines were overgrown and tangled. “The Nazis will kill me when they get here.”
“But you’re not a threat.” She cringed the moment the words left her mouth. “What I meant to say is…”
“Enough! Now leave me be.”
“You cannot push me away, Theodore Dubois. Your physical predicament does not diminish my love for you.”
He wheeled around to face her. His eyes were bloodshot, lids heavy. Two-day stubble shadowed his jaw. “If you only knew, my love. If you only knew.”
le 17 Juin 1940
Theodore and Claire sat by the radio as France announced its surrender. She wept into her hands. He poured another glass of brandy.
That night, his wife and daughter kissed his cheek as he stared into the shadows. “Will you be coming to bed soon?” Claire asked.
He said nothing.
After the house fell silent, he wheeled himself out the door, down the wooden ramp installed over the steps, and toward the vineyard’s entrance. The moonlight reminded him of a night long ago, and he flashed a wistful smile. But the moment was fleeting.
When he reached the vineyard, he took a mighty swig from his bottle and felt the brandy warm his throat. He studied the hillside before him. It was too steep for his wheelchair, so he slid down into the dirt and began dragging himself forward. His thighs flailed like broken oars behind him. A breeze rolled down the hill, as if trying to help the broken man along. But the effort was easy without the weight of legs.
As he clawed at the ground, the long fingers of his memory wrapped around his mind and pulled him down into the darkness. He thought of the boy and cursed the Germans. What type of people put a uniform on a face barely old enough to shave?
He relived the moment for the thousandth time.
___
The fighting was supposed to have been over. The Germans had retreated, they’d said. Theodore had only been looking for a place to sit and cry. That’s when he stumbled upon him. The boy had a rifle. Or maybe he hadn’t.
He’d thrust his bayonet into the boy. At first, it had been a reflex, primal. But he kept stabbing, over and over, again and again, until the boy’s eyes rolled back and his lips stopped pleading for his mother. Those empty eyes and piteous whimpers of “Mutti” took more from him than a landmine would two weeks later.
___
Theodore shook himself out of his stupor and realized he’d reached his destination. It had once been his favorite planting spot: gentle airflow and just the right amount of light. Now it was untamed and wild.
He cupped his hands and dug out scoops of dirt. The moist soil released a breath of iron and moss each time he pressed his fingers into it. When the hole was deep enough, he pulled the piece of amber from his pocket and held it up against the moon so that he could see the encased seed. It was beautiful, even through the blur of tears.
He dropped the amber into the hole and refilled it. When he was done, he looked toward the sky and said, “Can something dead inside still seed life?”
Then he unsheathed a blood-stained bayonet and emptied his veins over the soil.
Mars 1945
The girl tiptoed into the kitchen, leaving a trail of mud in her wake.
“Where have you been?” said Claire as she stood at the sink.
“In the vineyard.”
“What have I told you, dear? It isn’t safe there. That vineyard hasn’t been tended in years.”
“But I was playing with Daddy.”
Claire’s hands froze beneath the dishwater. Her head dropped. “Marie, I know it’s hard, but we mustn’t make up stories. Daddy is in heaven.”
The girl shrugged as she started up the stairs. “He said we should replant the grapes.”
Claire opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped.
That afternoon, Claire slipped into the vineyard. It was gray and stank of decay. She pulled her coat collar tight around her neck as the wind whipped against her face. She went to a trellis and ran her fingers along a shriveled vine. It snapped like a brittle bone when she gently pulled at it.
Everything is dead here.
Weeds had claimed most of the hillside. It was a wonder that anything grew in the hard and cracked ground. She stood for a moment and looked at nothing before closing her eyes and letting out a long exhale.
You’re a fool.
She meandered back through the ruined trellises, pausing at the exit for a parting glance. The wind calmed, and for a moment the world was still. Then a gentle breeze rolled through, like a friendly wave guiding a lost ship. It tickled her nose with the scent of grapes and aftershave and sweat.
Avril 1945
Claire winced as she placed her hand on her waist and arched her back. She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her glove and looked at the freshly tilled soil below the trellis. She took a deep breath. The air was sweet with the perfume of spring flowers. But it was not the smell she longed for.
Every day, I look for a sign that doesn’t come.
A giggling blur ran past. “You’re too slow, Daddy.”
Claire’s jaw clenched. “Marie Dubois, come here.”
The little girl walked back to Claire with her shoulders slumped.
“Sweetie, you need to stop pretending.”
“It’s not pretend, Mommy. Daddy is playing tag with me.”
Claire narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Shouldn’t he be up in heaven?”
“He said he has to do something before he goes.”
“He said that, did he? Well, why doesn’t he ever talk to me then?” Claire surprised herself with the hurt in her voice.
“He can’t,” Marie said meekly. “Not until you believe.”
Claire’s eyes welled and her cheeks reddened. “That’s enough of that, young lady. Go to the house and get ready for supper!”
“But Mommy…”
“Go now!” she roared, pointing toward the house.
Marie shuffled off with her head down. When she disappeared from view, Claire took off her gloves and let out a long sigh.
What am I doing?
She closed her eyes tight and thought of what had been and what should be. It was too much. The air went out of her, and her knees buckled. She lost her balance, like a great tree felled in the forest. But as her world turned sideways, something caught her and pulled her back upright. She felt a gentle touch against the small of her back and a warm sensation came over her, as if she were being held in a tight embrace on a summer night. Goosebumps dotted her skin, and a smile crept across her face.
She opened her eyes and saw nothing before her.
le 17 Septembre 1945
Claire stormed into the vineyard, holding a crumpled sheet of paper in her hand. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
She went to a trellis, dropped to her knees, and yanked a handful of vines from the earth. “Damn you, Theodore Dubois. Damn you!” She dug her nails deep into the soil and ripped the roots out before tossing them aside. “Why? Why did you have to go?”
Claire took the paper and slammed it against the ground. “Her test results came back. Cancer! Our little girl has cancer!” She placed a clenched fist over her mouth as if she might retch. Then she made guttural sounds as she rocked back and forth on her knees.
She grabbed fistfuls of dirt, lowered her forehead to the ground, and whispered, “I don’t have the money to pay for her care, Theodore. Because I don’t have a husband who contributes.” She pounded her fists and threw the dirt to the side. Then she began savagely stomping and tearing at the plants, yelling as she went.
“I’ll have to sell the estate.
We’ll move away from the only home she’s ever known.
And even then, it might not be enough.”
Claire continued until there were no plants left to ravage. She looked at the destruction before her: shredded leaves, mangled vines, and grape juice that ran like blood.
“Why? Why did you have to go?” she whispered.
le 18 Septembre 1945
Claire lay in bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate above her with vacant eyes. Her nails were torn and black with soil.
The door creaked open, and Marie stuck her head inside. “Are you awake, Mommy?”
“Sweetie, you should be resting.”
“I feel good today, Mommy. And I want to give you something … because I know you’re sad.”
Claire’s face softened into a smile. She pulled herself upright and sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you have for me, dear?”
Marie took her hand out from behind her back and revealed a grape. “Here you go.”
Claire gasped. “Where did you get that?”
“From the vineyard, just now. Daddy told me to bring it to you.”
Claire calmed herself with a deep breath before feigning a smile. “Did he now?”
She took a bite. The grape was complex, flavorful, and perfectly balanced.
Later that morning, Claire made her way to the vineyard’s entrance. She stood for a very long time looking out over the grounds. They were quiet and still.
So many memories.
She took a step forward before stopping and retreating. “I wish you were really here, Theodore. More than anything,” she whispered. “But I can’t keep doing this.”
She started back the way she came when a sound stopped her cold. Something in the vineyard was whistling a tune. It was a melody she’d heard years ago, a song of hope and wanting. Or rather, it was a clumsy imitation, the notes static and off rhythm.
She followed the sound down the hillside, toward a spot that she no longer visited. Her eyes grew wide as she turned the corner and saw it. Lush, green vines sagged with the weight of grape bunches. She followed the vine to where it disappeared beneath the ground. It had a strange amber color.
Claire picked a plump grape. She closed her eyes, took a bite, and let the juice trickle down her chin. A soft kiss touched her lips, and the vineyard’s chorus of chirping and rustling faded to nothing.
His voice pierced the silence. “It will produce a remarkable wine, my love. One that our countrymen will covet.”