Chapter 13 The last bottle of wine in the world
a terrible day.A café on the Rue Rivoli near the Maurice Hotel looked nice, and I went in, sat at a table in the aisle, glanced unconsciously at the opposite table, and happened to meet the eyes of a young lady who He recognized me immediately and showed a surprised expression.It was Mrs. Sophia Cassolus.In an instant, it was as if the bottle that blocked the memory was opened, and the past rushed towards me like a ghost.I was so shocked, I could feel the blood slowly fading from my face.
Lady Cassolus came to me in no time.
"Mr. Drummond, what's the matter with you? You don't look well, do you need help?"
"No, it's all right, just a glass of wine. Cognac, thank you."
She ordered my drinks, then sat down and kindly helped me take off my coat. "Oh my God, you still wear so much on such a hot day."
At other times it might have been a very thoughtful gesture, but at this point, I realized with embarrassment that, to the rest of the cafe, this scene was nothing more than a kind granddaughter tending to her poor gray-haired grandpa.
"Ma'am, I really—"
She raised a finger and pressed it hard against my lips. "Please don't talk until you've recovered from your brandy. Don't say a word."
I obediently complied.Originally, Feng Shui took turns.The last time we saw each other was six months ago, and she didn't know what to do when that nightmare happened, and I was the one who gave her strength.Reunited with me, the cruel past must have also given her a heavy blow.I should applaud her for coming through.
My brandy arrives, and out of compulsion - so to speak - I automatically pick up the glass and observe the color of the wine through the sunlight.Mrs. Cassolus's lips curled into a faint smile.
"My dear Mr. Drummond," she murmured, "you are a perpetual connoisseur."
You are right, I am indeed a connoisseur.At the same time, this sentence brings me back to a year ago, it was also such a sunny day in Paris, the starting point of everything...
That day a man named Max de Marechal came to see me at the offices of my company, Bluelette & Drummond Wine Company, on Barry Street.I vaguely remember that De Marechal is the editor-in-chief of a well-known niche magazine called "The Basement", a professional publication on wine appreciation and consultation.It's not a commercial publication, but something like "taxable basements" in the underground, read by a small group of discerning amateur wine lovers.I agree with most of the opinions in the magazine, so I am very happy to meet the editor-in-chief.
However, as soon as I met him, I found out that I didn't like this man.He is about forty-five years old, well-dressed, energetic, a typical abdicated leader.His moody personality almost pushed me to breaking point.I tried to look flattered and deadpan.This kind of person whose emotions go up and down and fluctuate like a ping pong ball lifted by a water column makes me very uncomfortable.
According to his explanation, the purpose of this visit was to interview me for a series of articles in that magazine.He is going to ask a number of red wine experts, among the wines they have tasted, what is the best place and period of grape production.If it turns out that the hero sees the same thing, it can be recorded.if--
"If," I interrupted him, "there is no consensus on 'best,' then you ask a hundred experts and you get a hundred different opinions."
"At first it looked like that, but now I've found a small unification, and two vintages are unassailable."
"Which two?"
"Both are in Burgundy. One is Burgundy 1932 and the other is Romanée-Conti 1934. Obviously, these two vintages are indisputably tied for the top of the list of the most prestigious red wines."
"Indisputable."
"Is your choice of 'you can tell it's a good wine without looking at it' among them?"
"I don't want to make that choice, Monsieur de Marechal. Comparing wines of this caliber is not only tiresome, but inconclusive."
"So you don't trust any of the best vintages by comparison?"
"No, there is at least one other bottle that is considered good. I have never tasted it, and the outside world has heard a lot of praise about it. This bottle of wine is from Burgundy, and there is no doubt that the estate can never make such a good wine again. Wine. A very small estate. You know what vintage I'm talking about?"
"I think I know." De Maréchal's eyes lit up with excitement. "The venerable Niy Saint-Ouen 1929. Am I right?"
"That's right."
He shrugged helplessly. “But so what if you know it’s good, no one has tasted it. I hope this series tastes only the famous wines that still exist. So far, the connoisseurs I have interviewed know this bottle of legendary Saint-Ouen, But no one has ever seen it. It's sad that a legendary wine like this - probably the best ever - exists only in legends. If only one bottle survives-"
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"How do I know?" De Marechal smiled regretfully at me, "Because, my dear Drummond, there is no way. The distillery records there show that only 480 cases were produced in total in 1929. Consider that after all these years, with so many connoisseurs all over the world eagerly seeking it out, there were only 480 cases in total. I can assure you that the last bottle didn't exist thirty years ago."
I didn't want to say it, but I couldn't help it with his arrogant smile.
"I'm afraid your calculations are off, my dear de Marechal." It was nice to see him dumbfounded after giving him a blow with words, "Actually, at this very moment, there is a bottle of Niy Saint-- Owen 1929 is lying in my company's underground wine cellar."
The shock that this incident brought to him was far beyond my imagination.He looked at me with his mouth wide open, his jaw was about to drop, and he was so surprised that he couldn't utter a word.Then his face darkened, and a look of suspicion appeared.
"You're kidding," he said, "absolutely. You just told me you'd never tasted it, and now you're saying—"
"I'm just stating the facts. I found it in my partner's private collection after his death last year."
"And you didn't open it?"
"I dismissed the idea. The bottle of wine is too old. If it is broken after opening, it will bring me incomparable pain."
"Oh, no!" de Marechal slapped his forehead. "You're an American, sir, and that's the problem. Only an American who inherited the Puritan quest for perverted pleasure in self-abuse would speak like that. And The last bottle of Niy Saint-Ouen 1929 left in the hands of such a man! No way, no way. Mr. Drummond, we have to talk about the price. What are you going to do for it? How much is this bottle of Saint-Owen?"
"Priceless. It's not for sale."
"It must be sold!" cried de Maréchal petulantly, and with some effort to control his emotions, "listen, to tell you the truth, I'm not rich. I can't offer more than a thousand francs for the bottle." —Two thousand at most, I can't believe I dare to ask that price. But I have an acquaintance who will satisfy you no matter what you ask. Perhaps you know him, Mr. Kilos Kessolus?"
As the wealthiest man in the whole continent, and with many wealthy businessmen hating him off, it's hard not to know Kylos Kessolus, despite his best efforts to live a reclusive life.
"Of course." I replied.
"Then do you know what is his number one hobby in private?"
"I really don't know. According to newspaper reports, he seems to be an extremely mysterious man."
"Journalists, when writing about a man of his wealth, choose their words carefully in describing his private life. It's not that they are scandalous. In fact, Mr. Kiros Kesoulos is a A great connoisseur of wine." De Marechal gave me a meaningful wink, "That's why he founded and published the magazine "The Basement" at my suggestion."
"And appoint you as editor-in-chief."
"That's right." De Marechal said calmly, "Of course, I am very grateful to him for this. In return, I provided him with reliable wine advice. To be honest, when I first met him, he Depressed, without any bad habits, but he does not know how to appreciate literature, music or art, and the emptiness of his life makes him unable to cheer. Finally, this emptiness leads me to point out that he must better discover his excellent taste in good wine That day was filled. Since then, it has been a strange journey for him to discover more valuable vintages. Now, as I said, he is already an obsessed wine connoisseur No need to tell him. He can tell which bottle is Niy Saint-Ouen 1929 as easily as he can tell which one is the "Mona Lisa" among many paintings. See a business opportunity Is he a good haggler, but for the bottle he will give two thousand francs, I can assure you."
I shook my head. "Again, Monsieur de Marechal, I don't sell that bottle, so there's no price to speak of."
"But I insist that you make an offer."
unacceptable.
"Well," I said, "the price is one hundred thousand francs, and there is no guarantee that the wine will not spoil. One hundred thousand francs."
"Oh," de Marechal suddenly raged, "it seems that you really don't intend to sell that bottle of wine! What a waste of time—"
Suddenly, he froze, his facial features twisted, and his clenched fists beat his chest convulsively.A second ago, his face was flushed with excitement, but now it was frighteningly white, without a trace of blood.He fell heavily into the chair.
"My heart," he explained, gasping for pain, "it's okay, I've brought medicine—"
I'm pretty sure he's got nitroglycerin under his tongue, I've seen my partner Bruulet get sick once and suffer like this.
"I'm going to call the doctor," I said, but when I got to the phone, De Marechal stopped me roughly.
"No, don't bother. I'm used to it, old problem."
In fact, he does look better.
"Since it's an old problem, you should know what to pay attention to." I said to him, "As a person with a bad heart, your emotions fluctuate too much."
"Really? What would you think, my friend, to see a bottle of legendary vintage wine suddenly appear in front of you, but you just can't touch it. Oh no, please forgive me, it's your thing, it doesn't matter if you sell it or not." It's your right."
"Is such that."
"But I have a small request. Could you, at least, let me see the bottle of Saint-Owen? I don't question its existence, but I just want to feel the joy of looking at it and holding it in my hand -"
It was not difficult to satisfy his request. The underground wine cellars of Brunette and Drummond were near the wine market, not far from the office by car.I led him through the winding, bleak, maze-like stone wine racks, and finally found Saint-Owen.This bottle of wine from 1929, which is the only one left in the world, is kept far away from other wines of lesser vintages and is kept separately and properly.I removed it carefully and handed it to de Marechal, who took it reverently.
He examined the label with a professional eye, and touched the cork lightly with his fingertips. "The corks are in good condition."
"So what? A good cork won't do anything if the wine inside goes bad."
"True, but at least an encouraging sign." He held up the bottle and examined it carefully. "The sediment is also at a normal level. And don't forget, Mr. Drummond, that many good Burgundy wines can be preserved." Fifty years, some even longer."
He reluctantly handed the wine back to me, his eyes following me eagerly as I put it back on the shelf, hypnotized.I had to break the spell and wake him up before I could lead him upstairs to the bright surface world.
We bid farewell.
"Keep in touch," he said, shaking hands, "maybe we have dinner later this week."
"I'm sorry," I said openly, "I'm going back to New York later this week to take care of some business."
"Too bad. But I'm sure you'll let me know as soon as you get back to Paris."
"Of course." I lied.
However, with the bottle of Niy Saint-Ouen 1929 waving before his eyes, it was not easy to get rid of Max de Marechal.He must have bribed someone in my Paris office to inform him as soon as I came back from America, or else his phone rang as soon as I sat down at my desk on Barry Street.He greeted me warmly, lamenting that he was so lucky that the time of the call was so precise!It's also my luck.Why do you say that?Because this weekend The Basement Magazine is throwing a dinner party, a real wine-tasting bash.The top executive of the magazine, Kilos Kessolus himself, invited me to attend!
My first reaction was to decline.One of the reasons is that I know the purpose of my invitation.Knowing of the existence of Niy Saint-Owen 1929, Cassolus wanted to call me in for a private bargain, which would be less embarrassing.Another reason is that I don't like this kind of wine tasting meeting full of people and connoisseurs.Discovering a rare bottle of wine is one of life's great pleasures, but for some reason I just can't sip it in front of a group of aficionados who are genuinely down-to-earth but phony when it comes to wine.Plus, sitting there and watching people scramble to express their love and admiration for a particular drink, watching them roll their eyes, flare their nostrils, and search for a different adjective to describe a drink is tantamount to torture for me.
What made me hesitate was pure curiosity.Kilos Kessolus was an unattainable greatness, and now I had the opportunity to meet him.In the end curiosity won.I went to the dinner, met Kessolus, and was delighted to find that the gap between us was quickly bridged.
The reason is simple, as de Marechal said, Quiros Casoulos is an avid red wine lover, and he devotes himself to the quality, history, legend, etc. of the wine, and I can provide him with This kind of information, and more powerful than anyone he knew before.In particular, he pointed out that I am the best expert, even surpassing the omniscient Max de Marechal.
As the dinner party went on, I noticed an interesting thing.Everyone in the room echoed Kessolus's views—especially De Marechar, the unashamed echoman—and Kessolus listened to me.I enjoy it a lot.It didn't take long for my attitude toward Kessolus to change from admiration to heartfelt admiration.
He really is a different person.About fifty years old, short and lean, with a dark face, deep features, and a pair of monkey-like ears.Ordinary people would think he was ugly, only women who were smart enough could find him charming.On the whole, he resembled a figure from ancient times roughly carved in mahogany.Most of the time his face is expressionless, like a rock; on rare occasions, there is a gleam of interest in those eyes that are always on the alert.This light became especially obvious after he finally touched my bottle of the source of right and wrong-Saint-Owen.
He knew the price I was asking, and he joked that a hundred thousand francs, or twenty thousand dollars, was kind of... a little too much.If I could get down to two thousand francs—
I smiled and shook my head.
"This price is really domineering." Cassolus said, "It is probably higher than the total price of half a dozen wines in my basement collection."
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Cassolus."
"Anyway, you still refuse to sell it. Is this bottle still drinkable?"
"Who knows. The 1929 grapes at Chateau Saint-Ouen ripened late and may have kept them for a long time, or the bottle may have gone bad. That's why I don't open it, and I don't want to To be sold for others to taste. As it stands, it is the only remaining bottle of priceless treasure. Once the mystery is revealed, it will be nothing more than a broken bottle of red wine."
Thankfully, he expressed his understanding of my decision and invited me to visit his villa near St. Owen haggled.To put it bluntly, he said in person that he would no longer mention buying this bottle of wine, but he just hoped that I would promise him that if I decide to sell that bottle of wine, he must be the first to bid.I happily accepted this.
I had a great weekend at his villa, and I've visited several times since.The villa is magnificent and vast, and with the help of a grizzled, agile butler named Joseph, the villa is well-maintained.It was clear that Joseph was completely dedicated to the Kessolus family.I have no doubt at all that he had been a sergeant in the Foreign Volunteer Army, and he responded to his master as if he were his own colonel.
What really surprised me was the mistress of the house, Sophia Kessolus.I don't know what my Mrs. Cassolus should be like, but I'm sure she won't be young enough to be his daughter.Gentle, shy, speaking in a whisper.Judging by today's public aesthetics that young girls should be thin, long-haired, and skinny, she may be too sensual and plump, but I think traditionally, and think that women should be plump and round.It would be even more beautiful if she had fair skin, black eyes, and flushed cheeks like Sophia Kessolus.
Over time, I grew closer to the family, close enough for her to talk about their impending fifteenth anniversary of marriage.Sophia Kesoulrus, the distant niece of Kessolus, was born in a poor family in the Greek countryside. She first met Kessolus at a family gathering in Athens.Then, she married him just after saying goodbye to her girlhood.She told me in a gentle and thin voice that she was the luckiest woman in the world.Indeed, to be chosen as a wife by someone like Cassolus is of course the luckiest woman in the world—
But when she said this, it felt more like she was trying to convince herself to believe it.In fact, she seemed terrified of Caesollus, terrified of it.Even in the most ordinary conversations between husband and wife, she would cringe in front of him.This is the state of their daily lives.As a bystander, I can only watch him remain indifferent, continue to treat her with admiration and love, but his indifference makes her even more frightened.
In addition, this family has an unusual phenomenon.I stumbled upon the charming Max de Marechal who always appeared in due time to calm Madame's fears.After a while, I noticed how many evenings I spent in St.-Cloud turned into a brandy chat with Cassaurus, Mrs. Cassaules and Max de Marecha Andre chatted intimately across the room.This makes me very upset.Not that there's anything wrong with the two of them being intimate, but I still don't feel comfortable looking at it.The girl was wide-eyed and innocent as a young doe, and de Marechar had all the features of a professional deer hunter.
The person involved, Kesaurus, turned a blind eye to this and was indifferent.Of course, this is out of his heartfelt respect for de Marechal, which he has said many times in front of me.Another time, when de Marechal and I were arguing about the value of a certain vintage or something else, which caused him to get too excited, Cassolus said to him: "Take your time, Max, don't get excited. .Don’t forget your heart, the doctor has told you how many times, don’t get agitated at every turn.”——The tone of concern is extremely sincere, which is very rare for Kesoulus.Generally speaking, people like him rarely express such deep feelings.
In fact, there was only one time when he accidentally showed his annoyance at his unhappy marriage.That's when I was invited to visit his cellar and tell him the truth that the dozen Vone-Guilray 1955s on the shelf were expensive.Buying them was a mistake, but until the cork is removed, one never knows if the wine in the bottle will hold well.
Kesaulus shook his head.
"It's just a probability risk, Mr. Drummond. It's not a mistake. I never make mistakes." He shrugged almost imperceptibly. "Well, maybe I did it once and married a child."
His words came to an abrupt end.This is the first and last time this topic is touched upon.He only likes to chat about wine, and occasionally talks about the past under the guidance of my loyal listener.Little by little, I learned about his childhood as a thief, his youth as a smuggler, and his life before the age of thirty. The anecdote of becoming a millionaire.His experience reminds me of a play in which the main character is also called Cassolus. His story is the same as that of many excellent vintage wines, such as Niy Saint-Ouen 1929. No one paid attention to it when it was brewed. The production process is against the norm, until a magical natural force occurs, making it bloom suddenly and become a rare treasure.
This period of time was the peak of life for Max de Marechal.Watching him take part in the wine-tasting fray with such enthusiasm, I can't help but chuckle to myself when he once said that Kesaurus is an avid wine lover.It seems more appropriate to place this title on his head.Any description of Max de Marechal could be misjudged, only his passion for fine wine is genuine and constant.
As the months passed, Kessolus kept his word well.He had promised not to haggle with me over that precious bottle of Saint-Owen, and he did.We talked a lot about Saint-Ouen--de Marechal was obsessed--but Cassolus didn't bother me to buy it anyway, he did what he said.
In this way, on a cold rainy day in early November, my secretary suddenly opened the office door and announced with awe that Mr. Kilos Kesoulos was waiting to see me outside.It's amazing.Although Sophia Cassaules, the girl who seemed to have no friends but me and de Marechal, persuaded me to have lunch with her every time I went shopping in town, her husband never Visited my office before, this time uninvited.
He came into my office in the company of the well-dressed de Marechal, who was in ecstasy, which made my puzzlement all the more intense.
We exchanged a few pleasantries, and de Marechal got straight to the point.
"That bottle of Niy Saint-Ouen 1929, Monsieur Drummond," he said, "you remember that there was an offer, one hundred thousand francs."
"Buy it now."
"Can it be cheaper?"
"I've made it very clear."
"How dare you make an offer, Mr. Drummond. But I have good news for you. Mr. Cassolus is going to buy that bottle of wine at such a high price."
I looked at Kesoulus in disbelief, and before I could say anything, he had pulled a check out of his pocket and handed it to me with unprecedented indifference.I glanced at it subconsciously. The face value was 100,000 francs. Even if the franc continued to depreciate, it was equivalent to about 20,000 U.S. dollars.
"This is outrageous," I said with difficulty, "I can't accept this money."
"You must take it!" retorted de Marechal, alarmed.
"I'm sorry, but no bottle of wine is worth such a large sum of money, especially one that you can't even tell if it's bad or not."
"Oh," Cassolus said softly, "maybe that's what I paid for it—to have the right to see if it's broken."
"If that's your purpose—" I tried to argue, but Kesoulus shook his head.
"Of course not. In fact, my friend, this bottle of wine has solved a problem for me. A big day is coming up, my fifteenth wedding anniversary, and I'm struggling with how to celebrate when I A sudden inspiration. What better way to celebrate than to open a bottle of Saint-Ouen and find that it is still of good quality, brilliant in colour, perfect in taste and just right? Could there be a more moving and memorable moment than that?"
"But it's doubly bad if the wine turns out to be bad." I point out the possibility.The check was already warm in my hands, and I wanted to tear it to pieces, but I couldn't.
"It doesn't matter, the risk is entirely on me," said Kesoulus. "Of course, you will also be there and appreciate it for yourself. I insist on doing so. It will be an experience that will never be forgotten, no matter what the outcome. Only the four of us. A personal mini-dinner, Saint-Ouen will be the climax of the evening."
"The main course must be beef slices," said de Marechal panting, "of course it must be beef, the best partner for red wine."
I have unknowingly missed the best regret period.So I folded a check worth a hundred thousand francs and put it in my wallet.Anyway, I'm still a businessman who makes money selling wine.
"When is the dinner party?" I asked, "Don't forget to let the wine stand for a few days before pouring."
"Of course, I've thought about that," said Cassellus. "It's Monday, and the dinner will be on Saturday. There's more than enough time to get every detail in place. I'll fix the restaurant on Wednesday. Is the temperature right, and the table is set, and then stand that bottle of Saint-Owen on the table spout-up to allow the impurities to fully settle. Then I'll lock up that room to avoid terrible accidents. By Saturday, the bottle The last bit of impurities should have fallen to the bottom of the bottle. But I am not going to change the container, I am going to pour the wine directly from the bottle."
"Too risky," I said.
"If it's done by a pair of steady hands, there won't be a problem, such as this pair." Kesoulus stretched out his stubby, vigorous-looking hands, and there wasn't even a muscle spasm in his hands. "Yes, this one-of-a-kind bottle deserves the honor of being poured from its original decanter. It's a risk, but it proves to you, Mr. Drummond, that I'm a man who, if it's worth it, will Adventurous man."
I have good reason to keep in mind what Sophia Kessellus said when I met with her later that week.She called me that morning and asked if I could meet her one-on-one in the restaurant for an hour over lunch, and I thought she wanted to talk to me about our anniversary, so I said yes.We had an appointment at a restaurant that looked like it was going out of business, and all the joy dissipated as soon as I got to my table in a dark corner.She was visibly terrified.
"Looks like something is wrong," I said to her, "what's the matter?"
"Everything is wrong." She said pitifully, "and you are the only person I can count on, Mr. Drummond. You have always been good to me, can you help me this time?"
"I'd love to. Provided you first tell me what happened and what I can do about it."
"Of course, at this point, I have no way out." Mrs. Casules sighed tremblingly. Solus has found out."
My heart sank.The last thing I want to do in this world is to get involved in this kind of crap.
"Ma'am," I said unhappily, "this is a matter between you and your husband. You must be clear that it has nothing to do with me."
"Oh, please! If you understand—"
"I don't find anything incomprehensible."
"There are many such things. Like Kesoulus, like me, like our marriage. I don't want to marry Kesoulus, I don't want to marry anyone. Everything is arranged by the family, and I can't help it." What are you talking about? It was a dead end from the beginning. In the eyes of Kesoulus, I am just a beautiful decoration in the room. He has no feeling for me at all. He puts more thoughts on me than on you There's a lot of wine bought there. And he doesn't care about anything I'm interested in. But Max—"
"I understand," I said awkwardly, "that you find Max to be different. Max cares about you. Or at least that's what he said."
"That's right, that's what he said to me." Mrs. Kessellus's tone was obviously provocative, "Whether it's true or not, at least it's what I need. If a woman doesn't have a man to tell her that she cares She, then, is useless. But I don't want Max to be in a difficult situation, it would make me feel guilty. But now that Kesoulus knows about us, Max is in danger."
"Why do you think so? Your husband threatened you?"
"No, he didn't even say it out loud. But he definitely knew, I could swear it. His behavior, his attitude towards me these past few days shows it. It's a joke that I don't understand. Also, it seems to have something to do with the bottle of Saint-Owen locked in the restaurant. That's why I'm here to ask you to help me, you know about the wine."
"Ma'am, all I know is that bottle of Saint-Owen is ready to be enjoyed at dinner on Saturday."
"Yes, that's what Cassolus said. But the way he talked about it—" Mrs. Cassolus approached me nervously, "tell me, is it possible to Under the circumstances, poison the wine? Is there any way to do it?"
"Oh, come on, do you really think your husband is going to poison Max?"
"You don't know Kesoulus as well as I do. You don't know what he will do."
"Including murder?"
"Including murder, as long as he can guarantee to get away with it, he dares to do it. When I was still in my hometown, I heard such a story that he killed a man when he was very young because he cheated him of a little money. .His methods are extremely clever, so the police have never found him the murderer."
At this moment, I suddenly remembered that Cassolus said a few days ago that he is a person who is willing to take risks as long as he thinks it is worthwhile.I can't help feeling cold all over my body.Then I had a vivid image in my mind of the needle of the hypodermic slowly passing through the cork of Saint-Ouen, dropping a few drops of the deadly venom into the wine.This absurd scene stunned me for a moment.
"Ma'am," I said, "let me answer your question this way. Your husband will not poison anyone at a dinner party unless he wants to poison everyone, which I'm sure he never intends to do. Don't forget, I am also one of the invitees, ready to enjoy Saint-Owen."
"What if you put something in Max's glass?"
"No. Your husband is well aware of Max's palate sensitivity, and he would not play such a poor game. If the wine is spoiled, Max can tell by looking at it, and he won't drink it at all. If the wine is not spoiled, he only needs to take a sip." Take a small sip and you'll find something else mixed in, and you won't touch the rest. Anyway, why don't you go to Max to discuss it? He's the protagonist of the incident."
"I told him, but he just laughed at me. He said it was all in my imagination. I know the reason he didn't care was because he wanted to taste the bottle like crazy and didn't allow anything to get in the way."
"I can understand how he feels." I, who is always calm, can't wait to get rid of this unpleasant topic at this time, "And, he's right, it's all just your imagination. I really want to hear my advice If you don't, I advise you to act as if it didn't happen to your husband, and to distance yourself from Max de Marechal immediately afterward."
In this case, that's all I can say.My only wish is that she doesn't get flustered by it, and that she doesn't feel any real affection for Max de Marechal.
Knowing too much made me restless on the day of the dinner, and I was relieved to see Mrs. Cassolus look normal in the evening.As for Caesollus, I saw no difference in his usual attitude towards Madame and de Marechal.This seems to strongly confirm that the lady's criminal premonition is just fantasy, and Caesolus is not aware of their affair.He was not a man who could take it easy when he was cuckolded, but at this moment he was calm and composed.We sat down at the table, and it was evident that Cassolus was preoccupied only with tonight's menu, or rather with the bottle of Niy St-Owen 1929 standing on the table.
This bottle of wine has been stored here for three days, and every possible preparation has been done to ensure that the quality of the wine is in the best condition.The temperature in the room is neither too high nor too low, and it is kept at a constant temperature, and Max de Marechal assured me that he came to check every day.And I, naturally, couldn't restrain the ecstasy in my heart and stared at the wine bottle, calculating how long it would take to open it.
Even better, the table we're sitting around now is a long table for eighteen to twenty people, so even though we're a little farther apart from each other, there's plenty of room for the wine to stand like shining lone stars. In the center, avoid being accidentally knocked down by people with hands and feet.It can be seen that the servants standing behind us try not to approach it.Joseph, the stout, tried and tested butler, watched the servants fiercely.He must have warned everyone before that anyone who dared to touch it would kill him.
在进行品酒仪式前，凯索勒斯要先完成两项危险的前期准备。通常情况下，对待尼依·圣—欧恩一九二九这样的珍品，要先竖直放一段时间，让杂质全部沉淀至瓶底，再将酒移到其他容器中。这么做不仅能去除所有沉淀物和塞子屑，更是为了让酒充分与空气接触。年份越久的酒，越要让它充分呼吸，以除掉酒里沉积的腐气。
但凯索勒斯执意要让圣—欧恩享受直接从原瓶里倾倒的荣耀，并主动承担在桌上旋开软木塞的精细作业，他必须技巧纯熟，不能让一丝木塞屑掉进酒里。然后酒会继续放在那里，直到主菜上桌。这时他又要极其小心地倒酒，避免沉淀物浮上来。这瓶酒放了整整三天才沉淀完，开瓶或倾倒时任何细微的晃动都会导致前功尽弃，不得不再放三天。
我们刚在桌边坐定，凯索勒斯就开始他的第一项工程了。我们全都屏住呼吸看着他紧紧地握住瓶颈，然后将螺丝锥的尖头扎进木塞中央。接着，他像正在解除一枚炸弹的拆弹专家一样，聚精会神，慢慢地，轻轻地地转动螺丝锥。螺丝锥一点一点深入，幅度小得让人怀疑是不是在空转。他的目标是要让锥子插得足够深，这样才能一口气把木塞拔出来；但又不能穿透木塞。这是避免木塞屑掉进酒里的唯一方法。
要将没有完全穿透的螺丝锥从塞了几十年的软木塞里拔出来，需要难以想象的巨大力量。瓶身还必须保持直立，不能有丝毫晃动，螺丝锥要垂直拔出，不能弯曲更不能旋转，否则木塞会碎成小块。不带任何人工助力的老式螺丝锥是完成此项工作独一无二的选择，因为它能让使用者的感受更真实。
可以看出凯索勒斯用了很大的劲握住瓶身，手指关节都泛白了。他肩膀上的肌肉鼓起，脖颈绷得笔直。即使是他这么强壮的人，似乎也无法开启瓶塞。在他锲而不合地努力下，瓶塞放弃了抵抗，缓慢而顺畅地离开瓶口。时隔多年，囚禁在瓶内的酒终于呼吸到了外面的空气。
凯索勒斯将瓶塞放在鼻子下面来回晃动，轻嗅它所散发的香气，然后耸了耸肩递给了我。
“这么做说明不了任何问题。”他说。这话没错，品质优良的勃艮第酒瓶塞上散发的香气，无法说明任何问题，因为即使酒坏了，依然能有好闻的气味。
德·马雷查尔则看都没看瓶塞一眼。“我只在乎酒。再过一个小时，就能揭晓它的秘密了，看看它是好是坏。恐怕这一小时会很漫长。”
起先，我并不同意他的观点。晚餐十分丰盛，足够分散我的注意力。所有餐点都为陪衬尼依·圣—欧恩一九二九而准备，甚至有些大材小用，如同交响乐指挥家拿出演奏贝多芬名曲的态度，为年轻作曲家排演一场小型演出。芦笋尖奶油沙司，龙虾配蘑菇，为了清口而准备的不常见的冰柠檬馅饼。虽然都是简单的餐点，但安排得恰到好处。
而凯索勒斯选的配餐酒更是不得不提。我简直被迷住了。很明显它们也是用来衬托最后的明星，一瓶上好的夏布利，一瓶高雅的密斯卡岱。两瓶都没得挑，但对葡萄酒鉴赏家来说，最多只会微微点头表示赞赏。凯索勒斯继续用他的方式告诉我们，谁都不能夺了面前那瓶圣—欧恩的光辉。
这时我开始紧张起来。我发现越深入这场游戏，心里越紧张，一道道餐点端上桌，我的双眼却只被圣—欧恩吸引。不久后紧张变成烦躁，急切地等待主菜，然后就是圣—欧恩。
我想知道，谁能有幸第一个品尝到这佳酿？凯索勒斯，作为主人，他有权享此殊荣，但他同样有权为表尊敬，将此荣耀授予在场的任何一位。我不确定自己是否希望被选中，因为还有一种极糟糕的可能性：第一个品尝，却发现酒已经坏了，这感觉如同没带降落伞就跳出机舱。看着马克斯·德·马雷查尔因兴奋而涨得通红的脸，不断擦拭额头汗珠的手，我猜，他此时的想法和我的一样。
主菜终于端上来了，是德·马雷查尔建议的牛排，配菜只有小豌豆。等牛排和豆子都放好，凯索勒斯冲约瑟夫做了个手势，管家马上让仆人们全部退下。倒酒的时候不能有任何闪失，不能分一丝心。
等仆人们全部退下，餐厅沉重的大门关闭，约瑟夫又回到桌边，站在凯索勒斯身旁，以备有什么需要他做的。
到时候了。
凯索勒斯握紧尼依·圣—欧恩一九二九，极其小心地慢慢举起酒瓶，确保不安分的沉淀物不会浮起来。当他伸直胳膊，双眼圆睁盯着瞧时，瓶身反射出一道深红色的光芒。
“德拉蒙德先生，你说得没错。”他突然没头没脑地来了这么一句。
“是吗？”我反问，有些吃惊，“我说什么了？”
“你说的不想打开瓶塞一探究竟的话。你曾说过，保存了这么久的酒没打开时是无价珍宝，一旦打开，就可能变得一文不值，不过是众多烂酒之一。这是一种灾难。简直比灾难更可怕，简直是个笑话。你说得没错。现在我看着它，突然发现，自己没有勇气去探明手上拿着的究竟是珍宝，还是笑话。”
德·马雷查尔已经不耐烦地坐不住了。
“这么说太晚了！”他粗暴地反驳，“酒已经打开了。”
“但还有一种办法解决这个难题。”凯索勒斯说，“看好了，仔细看好了。”
他胳膊一抬，瓶子完全离开桌面，瓶身慢慢歪下来。It's amazing.我看到酒流了出来，洒在擦得锃亮的地板上。酒溅在凯索勒斯的鞋上，打湿了他的裤脚。地板上的酒越积越多，慢慢流到了狭窄的红色地板缝里。
德·马雷查尔发出不正常的窒息声，把我从咒语中拉了出来。索菲娅·凯索勒斯愤怒地痛哭。
“马雷查尔！”她尖叫道，“凯索勒斯，住手！看在老天的分上，住手！没看到你对他做了什么吗？”
她的恐惧我完全能理解，我在看到德·马雷查尔的样子时也吓了一跳。他面若死灰，嘴巴大张，眼神中只剩下惊恐，双眼紧盯着凯索勒斯手中紧握的酒瓶，葡萄酒从瓶口无声地流淌出来。
索菲娅·凯索勒斯连忙跑到他身边，却被他无力地甩开。他试图站起身，双手虔诚地伸向正迅速清空的尼依·圣—欧恩一九二九。
“约瑟夫，”凯索勒斯不带任何感情地说，“照顾一下德·马雷查尔，医生说那个病发作时他不能动。”
约瑟夫钢铁般强劲的手掌压上德·马雷查尔的肩头，阻止他起身。但我看到他无力的手颤颤巍巍地伸进了口袋，这一幕马上让我清醒了。
“他的口袋！”我的声音近乎恳求，“口袋里有药！”
还是太迟了。德·马雷查尔突然抓着胸口，正如之前遭遇无法忍受的痛苦时那样。接着他全身瘫软，脑袋靠在椅背上，失焦的双眸盯着天花板。他看到的最后一幕，肯定是从尼依·圣—欧恩一九二九里流出的细流渐渐变成水滴，水滴又变成瓶底残留的沉淀物，最终凝结在地板上的那摊酒里。
此时无论做什么都救不了德·马雷查尔了。索菲娅·凯索勒斯站立不稳，随时有可能昏倒。尽管我也膝盖发软，但还是将她扶到椅子边，看着她把杯里剩余的夏布利一饮而尽。
酒精使她麻木，她坐在那儿，呼吸粗重，双眼紧盯着丈夫，直到终于有力气吐出几个字。
“你知道这样会要了他的命。”她低语道，“所以才买下那瓶酒，然后倒掉。”
“好了，夫人。”凯索勒斯冷酷地说，“你不知道自己在说什么。你的歇斯底里会让我们的客人难堪。”他转向我，“真抱歉，咱们的小聚会以这种方式收场，但事情已经发生了。可怜的马雷查尔。他就是太容易冲动，才发生了这种惨剧。现在，你最好离开这里。医生来了以后，肯定会做一些检查，然后填写一堆无聊的文件。这种突发事故不需要在场证人，所以也没必要让他们劳烦你。我送你出门。”
我毫无知觉地离开了那里，唯一清楚的是我目睹了一场谋杀，却什么也做不了。即使大声说出我所看到的一切，指控有人犯下谋杀的罪行，可不管哪个法庭，都会把我当成诽谤犯。基罗斯·凯索勒斯的复仇从策划到实现都天衣无缝，唯一的损失——我无耻地为他计算一下——不过是十万法郎和一个不忠的妻子。索菲娅·凯索勒斯应该一个晚上也待不下去了，哪怕只拿几件衣服，她也会迅速逃离那幢房子。
那晚之后，我再没听说有关凯索勒斯的消息。坦白说，我感到十分庆幸……
如今，时隔半年，我竟在里沃利街上的一家咖啡馆里偶遇索菲娅·凯索勒斯。她作为谋杀事件的另一位目击者，和我一样只能保持沉默。考虑到她所受的伤害，我不得不佩服此时她所表现出的平静，甚至还能热情洋溢地关心我的生活。
我看着她的样子，将法国白兰地一饮而尽，接着又点了一杯。我们兴高采烈地聊着毫不相干的事情，仿佛这样能清除彼此脑海中不好的回忆。
她变了，和我之前认识的完全不同，各方各面都更优秀了。从一个胆小的姑娘变成一位招人喜欢的女士，全身散发着自信的光辉。这种改变所蕴含的深意一看即明。我敢肯定，她在某个地方遇到了真正合适的男人，不像凯索勒斯那般残暴，更不是马克斯·德·马雷查尔那种冒牌的卡萨诺瓦。
第二杯白兰地让我稍微恢复了一些，当我发现身边这位善良的姑娘瞥了一眼手腕上那块小巧精致、镶嵌了珠宝的手表时，连忙为占用她这么长时间道歉，并感谢她的好意。
“对像您这样的朋友来说，这点好意不值一提。”她语带责备地说。接着站起身，拿起手套和钱包。“不过我跟凯索勒斯约在——”
“凯索勒斯！”
“当然，凯索勒斯，我的丈夫。”凯索勒斯夫人不解地看着我。
“这么说，你依然和他生活在一起？”
“在一起非常快乐。”她脸色一凛，道，“请您原谅我的后知后觉，我想了一下才明白您这么问的原因。”
“夫人，该道歉的是我。毕竟——”
“不不，你这么问也情有可原。”凯索勒斯夫人冲我微笑道，“不过，我几乎记不起我和凯索勒斯不愉快的生活了，一切全变了，就从那晚开始。”
“当时您也在场，德拉蒙德先生，您也亲眼看到凯索勒斯把一整瓶圣一欧恩都倒到了地板上，就因为我。多么令人惊讶！那一幕唤醒了我！那一晚我意识到，在他心目中，我原来比全世界最后一瓶尼依·圣—欧恩一九二九还重要。我鼓起勇气来到他的房间，对他倾诉衷肠——噢，亲爱的德拉蒙德先生，从那以后，我们就快活得仿佛置身天堂！”
Notes:
Notes: