A Visit to Domaine de Bablut, 2023
René Daviau leaned against the frame of the cellar door, and took a moment to drink in the cool evening air.
The world had changed much in his lifetime. War had spread across Europe when he was just a boy, and afterwards everybody had told him it would never happen again. And then of course it happened again. But now, with France and indeed all Europe liberated, the fighting had ended, and the process of rebuilding France had begun. It would take many years, but that did not matter; what mattered was that the French people were at peace once again, free from occupation and oppression.
“For good, this time, I hope,” he muttered to himself. “I much prefer wine to war.”
René turned around and surveyed the results of his work. He had passed the afternoon stacking bottles, right the way up to the cellar door. He picked up a couple of nearby bottles, both of the 1944 vintage, one in each hand.
“I wonder who will pull the corks from these bottles?” he enquired aloud, his words carrying across the dark void of the cellar, bouncing off the walls, damp with condensation and encrusted in dark wisps of mould.
He was alone. He received no reply.
