Word Puppets Read online

  Indra’s gaze drifted back to the grapevines thrusting through the dry soil. “But the grapes will die without water.”

  That’s why he had stayed out every night, watering the Shiraz. “I know. I’m putting in a drip irrigation system.”

  Indra crossed her arms and leaned back on the couch. “Well, I don’t see how drip irrigation is any different than scheduling the rain.”

  “The temperature and humidity, water retention in the soil—” Bharat could not explain all the variables which made harvests different. He flung out his arms in frustration. “Will you trust me!”

  Her nostrils flared, the gold ornamental stud sparking in the light from the window. “Of course, husband. I am your true companion and life-long partner.”

  The words of their wedding vows crossed the room like a slap. Bharat’s face burned. She had no right to challenge him. He had striven to protect and care for her.

  Rachana cleared her throat. “Weren’t we looking at Deepali’s wedding album?”

  “If your father wants to, then we will.” Indra’s smile chilled him.

  Rachana looked caught between her parents. “If this isn’t a good time . . . ”

  “No. This is a perfect time.” Bharat sat beside Indra.

  As if nothing had happened, Indra opened the album to the first photo. In it, a tiny Deepali danced with her new husband; even in miniature, she looked radiant with joy. Bharat leaned forward. The wedding might have beggared them, but he could not deny his little girl anything.

  Tears streamed down Indra’s face. “This was the happiest day of my life.”

  Bharat smiled at her. “You said that on our wedding day too.”

  Her tears stopped. “I was wrong.”

  Rachana stood abruptly. “I . . . I have some homework.”

  Reaching forward, Indra snapped the album shut. “And I need to make dinner.” She pushed the album to Bharat. “Perhaps you would like to view the rest. Their wedding vows are particularly lovely.”

  Bharat watched her rise. “I thought you had not looked at it yet.”

  “I haven’t, but I remember the vows.” She paused in the doorway. “I like the part where the groom promises to cherish the bride and consult her as his partner.”

  She swept into the kitchen. Bharat winced as pots clanged together.

  He stared at the wedding album for another moment and then returned to the office to list the Sauternes.

  He should have done that earlier.

  Domaine Drouhin Oregon, Pinot Noir, Lauren, 2031, 2032, and 2033

  Typically polished wines from this respected producer in the Red Hills. Uniformly clean, balanced, and delicious Pinot Noir.

  In the winery lab, Bharat hunched over the spectrophotometer, running the numbers on the sugar content and acidity profile of the grape sample. With the unrelenting sunshine, the fruit was ripening faster than he had expected. As long as the vines did not shut down before the drip irrigation system arrived, he might have an early harvest.

  Indra knocked on the door of the lab, holding his eBud. “You left this at the house.”

  “Thanks.”

  She set the earbud on the workbench beside him. “A woman called.”

  Would that be Rachana’s lawyer? “Did she leave a number?”

  “Your eBud recorded it.” Indra crossed her arms as if she were hugging herself. “Bharat . . . ”

  When she did not continue, Bharat looked up. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Indra shook her head. “Nothing.”

  He waited to see if she would say anything else, and then returned to his sample.

  After a silent moment, the winery door closed with a little more force than necessary. Bharat set down his sample. What had he done to make Indra angry? He had thanked her for bringing the earbud down.

  Later. He would ask her later. Bharat clipped the eBud behind his ear and pulled up the last incoming call; the e-bud tapped his optic nerve, flashing Kumari Tupno across his field of vision.

  The woman who appeared superimposed in the winery had hair that seemed like an advert for a high-end designer. “Bharat! Thanks for calling me back. I’m very excited by what I hear about the new direction you’re taking your wines. Very excited.” Kumari’s voice marched through the eBud. “When I started collecting wines, I couldn’t afford foreign wines and your father was my favorite of the local producers. No one else planted Shiraz in those days.”

  Somehow the conversation drifted to the climates for growing grapes. Bharat found himself running through the different great vintages whose weather patterns he had copied over the years.

  “So far, the best results have come from using the Hermitage 1969 patterns. But it gets dull.”

  “I know exactly what you mean.” Kumari laughed. “Though not as a wine-maker, of course. A friend of mine did a vertical flight from Domaine Drouhin Oregon. Dull, dull, dull.”

  “Back to back vintages?”

  “God. Yes, I don’t know what he was thinking.” Kumari sighed. “I tasted a pre-weather control vertical flight from Latour. God. The differences amazed me.”

  “What years?”

  “2000, 2001, and 2002. The 2000 blew me out of this world; still fresh with fruit and truffle, and this wonderful minerality. The 2001 was good, but 2000 was outstanding. 2002 had this earthy, gamey character. They were so different.”

  “Vintage variation.”

  Kumari said, “That’s why I think your return to natural weather is exciting.”

  “I am sorry to disappoint you. I won’t be able to do a natural weather vintage after all.”

  “Why not?”

  Bharat hesitated and then explained the ISRO’s policy, which left him with weather he could not control and could not turn off.

  When he finished, Kuzahli sniffed. “They can’t force you to accept services you don’t want. So we’ll have to stop ISRO from controlling your weather.”

  While Kumari explained her hopes for the case, Indra poked her head into the lab.

  Bharat muted the eBud’s mic. “What?”

  “Dinner is ready.”

  “I’ll be up soon.”

  She nodded and slipped out. Bharat unmuted the eBud as Kumari finished. Even within the privacy of the lab, his next question almost stuck in his throat. “What—what are your rates?”

  Kumari cleared her throat as if she were embarrassed. “Would you consider futures on next year’s vintage? I retain an old fondness for your wines.”

  “Why next year, why not this one?” He should not even question such a generous offer.

  “Well, we won’t have a court date in time to affect this year’s harvest so it will still be produced under an artificial micro-climate. Now, when we come out for the barrel tasting, Mukund can record the current conditions and you can turn the weather control back on.” She laughed. “He and your daughter are so cute together.”

  Bharat split in two, wanting to ask about his daughter and her assistant, but caught by the phrase, “turn the weather control back on.” He grimaced, focusing on business. “Do I have to restore weather control?”

  “I understand your reluctance, but I can make it look good in court. ‘Farmer forced to use ISRO’s services or face losing crop.’ ”

  “But—”

  “Trust me, the press will eat it up.”

  That sounded wonderful, but too late for this harvest. Mechanically, Bharat made arrangements for a tour and barrel tasting. He finished the call and put his head in his hands. This harvest was doomed.

  Unless he turned the rain back on.

  Bharat looked at the numbers he had run on the fruit. It came so close to being ready for harvest, but the vines would not get there without water. He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to calculate if he could make it to the end of the season without weather control. The Sauternes auction had another three days to go and then he could buy the irrigation hoses.

  But even with that, Indra was right; it was little different tha
n using weather control. He groaned. Indra. He had forgotten dinner.

  By the time he got to the house, Indra and Rachana were already eating.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. It took longer than I thought.” He sat at his place. The table groaned under vegetable kebabs, rice, nan, dal, raita, and Sag Paneer. A glass of pale straw wine—probably an Alsatian Gewurztraminer—waited for him.

  “What were you talking about?” Rachana asked.

  Bharat glanced at Indra but she was absorbed in adding more dal to her rice. He looked back at Rachana and shook his head trying to signal that he didn’t want Indra to know about the phone call. “Not much.”

  Indra put the spoon back in the bowl of dal. “You certainly spent a long time talking about not much.”

  “I was arranging a barrel tasting.” His innards twisted in knots.

  “Oh.” Rachana said, “Thanks for doing that.”

  Indra said, “Why am I the only one who doesn’t know who’s coming?”

  Rachana met Bharat’s gaze, her eyes wide. She shook her head, clearly begging him not to tell Indra about her “friend.” Bharat picked up the glass of wine to delay answering. Gewurztraminer, indeed. “Is this the Hugel?”

  Indra shook her head. “Ostertag. Who is coming?”

  “A lawyer wants to talk about futures on the next vintage.” That was true. He swirled the Gewurz in his glass and studied the legs, but his heart pounded as he tried not to look at Indra.

  She said nothing. Then Indra pushed her chair back from the table and picked up her plate. She walked to the kitchen.

  Rachana asked, “Where are you going?”

  Indra paused in the doorway. “I’d rather not eat with people who are lying to me.”

  Bharat set the wine glass down, harder than he intended. “I wasn’t lying!”

  “And you’re not telling the truth.”

  “Every word I’ve said has been true.” He had been very careful.

  “Oh. I’m sure, that’s true. But you can say only true things and still tell a world of lies.”

  Bharat stood, but his knees trembled under him. “When have I lied to you.”

  “Every time you’ve said that nothing is bothering you.”

  Rachana stared at the table like a child being punished. “Stop it! Bapu’s just trying to protect me.”

  Bharat did not know whether he should curse or bless his daughter’s timing.

  “Protect you!” Indra looked like she was going to throw the plate across the room. “From me? What have I done?”

  “No, no. You’ve done nothing, Indra.” Bharat came around the table, holding his arms out to her.

  She backed away. “Don’t try to comfort me!”

  “Matti. I’m sorry.” Rachana put her head in her hands. “I’m dating a boy at university. He’s coming with this lawyer. That’s what Bapu isn’t saying.”

  Indra caught her breath. “You’re dating.” She swung around to Bharat. “You knew this? And didn’t tell me?”

  “I—It slipped my mind.” He winced. How could something so important slip his mind?

  Again, Indra raised the plate as if she wanted to hurl it. She trembled and lowered her arms. “What’s his name?”

  Rachana peeked over her fingers. “Mukund Krishnasami.”

  “And what does he do?”

  “He’s getting his law degree. Corporate law.”

  Indra nodded. “He’ll make a good living then.” She took a shuddering breath. “Well. We’d better go shopping tomorrow to get you something new to wear. We’ll need to call the cleaning service in—”

  “No.” The word surprised Bharat.

  Indra looked at him briefly and then turned back to Rachana. “And I’ll want to meet his parents, of course. Would it be better to have the meal catered or—”

  “Stop!” Bharat pressed his hands against his temples, as his wife’s mouth seemed to hemorrhage money. “We can’t do any of that.”

  Indra slammed the plate against the floor. The porcelain shattered, pieces skittering across the tile. “Why? What are you hiding!”

  Bharat twitched. She wanted to know what he had been hiding, then fine. “We don’t have any money. We spent it all on Deepali’s wedding.”

  “How can you expect me to believe—” He could see the memories of the wedding stride across her face like the elephants which bore the bridal couple off to their honeymoon. Her face paled with understanding. “That’s why you sold the Sauternes?”

  He nodded.

  Indra’s face slowly crumpled. She covered her mouth with her hand, but a moan still escaped from her. Bharat’s heart caught as she began to sob.

  He reached out for her again, but she shook her head and held up her hand, waving him away. Bharat pressed his hands together in supplication. He could do nothing but repeat, “I’m sorry.”

  She lowered her hand. “I thought you were cheating on me.”

  The floor seemed to drop away from him. “What—why?”

  “When you sold the Sauternes, I thought it meant you weren’t expecting more anniversaries. And you’ve been staying out every night for weeks; when you come home you smell like honeysuckle. You hate scented soaps.”

  “I was watering the grapevines.” He forced the rest of the explanation out. “I couldn’t pay the weather bill.”

  “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  He pressed his hands tighter against his forehead to keep it from splitting open. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Do you have any idea what things I’ve been imagining because I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what it was?”

  “I’m sorry.” Bharat could only repeat the words like a mantra. “I—Deepali’s wedding was so important to the family.”

  “I’m not a child. Even Deepali would have understood if you had told us.” Her chin trembled and she backed away from him. “Twenty-four years—you’ve had twenty-four years to understand me and you still think I’m a doll.”

  “No. Indra, I love you—”

  “But you don’t trust me.” She ran out the door.

  Bharat’s chest felt hollow. He turned slowly away, and saw Rachana still sitting at the table. Her shoulders were hunched like a beaten child.

  “I’m sorry.” There was nothing else left in him.

  Château Latour, Bordeaux, Pauillac, 2000

  Simply sublime. Luscious fruit, spice, and silky tannins dance gracefully across the palate in this massive yet elegant wine.

  Another perfect morning shone over the vineyard. Bharat stood in the door of the kitchen and cleared his throat.

  Indra turned from her book. “Yes?”

  “The lawyer and her assistant are due at nine. Will you join us?”

  Indra considered him for a moment and then marked her place and put the book down. “Yes. Let me change.”

  As she passed, Bharat inhaled the scent of jasmine she left in her path. He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. What a fool.

  “Bapu? May I come too?” Rachana stood in the living room, twisting her hands as if she were still a little girl.

  “Of course.” He went to the window. No clouds graced the sky, except over his neighbor’s land. At best, the grapevines at the outer edges would receive moisture from the run-off, but nothing else.

  Indra returned, dressed in work clothes which somehow made her look older and stout. She stood at the window with him.

  He wanted to seek comfort or to comfort her, to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. But they waited, with silence between them, watching the rain on their neighbor’s land. Rachana paced in the room behind them.

  At half-past nine, an aero swung onto the property. With his wife and daughter creating the picture of a perfect family, Bharat led the way outside. They all had smiles like the day, beautiful and dry.

  A young man got out of the aero. Alone. Fresh-faced and eager, he smiled. His eyes darted to Rachana and his smile broadened, bef
ore he held his hand out to Bharat.

  “I’m Mukund Krishnasami. Doctor Tupno had a last-minute emergency, but thought we could still record conditions.”

  “Of course.” So this was Rachana’s “friend” from school. With his easy good looks the boy probably had lots of “friends.” Bharat gestured to the vineyard. “Shall we start with the vines?”

  “Please.” Mukund pulled a small camera bag out of the car. “I’m ready to record.”

  “I can carry that for you.” Rachana stepped forward. “So your hands are free to film.”

  “That would be nice.” His hand touched hers too long when he handed her the bag. “Thank you.”

  What sort of man let a woman carry his bag? Bharat crossed his arms over his chest. Beside him, Indra watched the couple thoughtfully.

  Bharat started down the closest row of Shiraz, explaining that he had watered these vines, so they remained reasonably healthy. He kept trying to watch Rachana and Mukund out of the back of his head. Indra followed behind the couple, surely keeping an eye on them, but she was smiling.

  Bharat stopped with his hand on a leaf. When he had last seen her smile?

  After they finished with the first row, Bharat led them deeper into the vineyard, to rows he had not watered yet. The signs of stress were clear to his eye. The shoots were beginning to droop, the leaves were loosing their waxy green luster, not enough to be apparent without looking at a healthy vine, but even that little bit meant the stress would already show in the wine.

  He pointed at a cluster of grapes he had pruned earlier. The cluster lay on the ground, desiccating in the heat. “See. These grapes show the severity of the current conditions.”

  Mukund took pictures but every time Bharat stopped talking about wine, the boy started a conversation with Rachana. Did he think his employer had sent him to flirt with Bharat’s daughter?

  Indra stooped and gathered a raisined cluster from the ground. She plucked a wrinkled berry off the stem and tasted it. “Bharat, what’s that wine made from dried grapes?”

  “There are several. Most come from Italy, but Amarone is probably the best known. The whole clusters are traditionally dried on straw mats but most people use electric dehydrators now.” Clearly, Rachana needed to explain her behavior with this boy.