My conversation with Robert Mondavi, the titan of Napa Valley, continued. While Timothy and Emily were captivated by my technical vision and showered me with questions, Robert looked on at the entire scene with a pleased yet sorrowful gaze.
Perhaps because he was in poor health and could not drink more Ruby Quartz, Robert’s face maintained nothing but a bittersweet smile throughout.
When I felt it was about time to stand up, I carefully brought up the main subject.
“Sir, there is actually something I would like to ask of you.”
“A favor? Of me?”
“Yes.”
“I am old and weak now, merely waiting for my final day, so what could I possibly do for you?”
“Not at all. I simply have something I am curious about and wished to ask.”
“If that is all... Very well, what are you curious about?”
“The truth is, I am looking for a piece of land. A plot with very deep clay soil in lower Coombsville, or perhaps the western slope of Oak Knoll. Do you happen to know who owns it?”
Perhaps because it was an unexpected question, Robert’s hand gripped his knee blanket tightly.
“You are looking for land?”
“That is correct.”
The reason he was shaken was that he was a winemaker and a farmer. By birth... or by profession, if one is a farmer, the most important thing is land. And if one is a winemaker, one is bound to seek out terroir blessed by the heavens.
A winemaker and a farmer... and I, the one with the brightest future in Napa Valley, had pointed to a specific plot of land and inquired about it. It was hardly strange that he would be shaken.
“But you say you are looking for mudflats in western Oak Knoll or lower Coombsville? You do know that those are not highly regarded lands, even within Napa Valley?”
“Of course. The terrain is a bit too cold for Cabernet to ripen, so despite being in Napa Valley, it does not receive very favorable evaluations.”
“Usually, when a man accomplishes something, he enjoys the joy of that fruit for a while and gains the energy to start anew... but you do not seem to be that way.”
“I am the same as any ordinary person. How many people have helped me and congratulated me. It is simply that I am a farmer and a winemaker. I am only doing what must be done.”
Robert nodded expressionlessly at my words.
“Exactly. If there is something that must be done, it must be done. What is the reason you are seeking that terrain?”
“I have taken an interest in Merlot.”
At yet another unexpected answer, Robert’s brow furrowed.
“Merlot? You say you have taken an interest in Merlot?”
“That is correct.”
“I suppose you know that Merlot prices are in the gutter right now?”
“Of course.”
At this time, influenced by the film *Sideways*, Merlot’s value had been driven into the ground. Merlot was the exact opposite variety of the reason I had wanted to make Pinot Noir wine. Therefore, it was only natural that no one in their right mind would enter the sticky mudflats of Coombsville and invest a fortune claiming, “I will make a legendary Merlot here.”
“To think you are looking for Merlot at a time when everyone else is scouring for land to plant Cabernet with eyes popped wide... Honestly, if you have a burning desire for blue Merlot with a violet sheen, the western slopes of Coombsville and Oak Knoll are indeed the optimal site, but I am curious how you know that as well.”
“I learned it from Old Man Warren.”
“Warren? Hmm... if it was him, he might have known...”
It was a lie, but Robert nodded and let it pass.
“If you are looking for Merlot, you have chosen a very precise spot. I call that place ‘Blue Velvet.’”
“‘Blue Velvet’... That is a fine nickname.”
“Isn't it? The land is named Lapis Lazuli. It means a clear blue gemstone. But acquiring it... will be very difficult. The owner is a man named Cedric Vaughan, an old man who has passed ninety this year... Cedric was the stalwart gardener who laid the foundations of my vineyard when I first established my winery. He had no interest in money his entire life. He devoted his life to cultivating a fine vineyard. But now...”
He stopped speaking and made a pained expression.
“He is suffering from dementia. His memory is shattered, confusing the present with the past. His children are desperate to sell the land to a giant winery like Harlan Estate, but every time Cedric sees the sale documents, he flies into a rage and tears them up.”
“He must have a profound attachment to his land.”
“All farmers are like that.”
Perhaps deeply regretful, Robert fiddled with his empty brandy glass as he continued.
“I hear that when he is not in his right mind, he returns to his youth in the 1960s. It is a tragic thing. I feel grateful that I have not fallen ill with such a disease before my death.”
“I see.”
“Will you go? I hope you do not suffer needlessly for nothing.”
Honestly, the mention of a demented farm owner was somewhat distressing, but I could not give up without even trying. I absolutely needed that land to produce the finest Merlot.
There were two reasons that place was optimal for growing Merlot. The first was the difference in micro-climate. If St. Helena and Calistoga in the north of Napa Valley were suitable for roasting Cabernet Sauvignon under the blazing sun, Coombsville was the first place reached by the cool sea breeze and fog blowing in from San Pablo Bay.
Merlot buds and ripens earlier than Cabernet. When exposed to high heat, its acidity breaks down rapidly and it tends to take on a blunt, jammy flavor, but Coombsville’s cool climate helps Merlot ripen slowly, preserving its delicate aroma and acidity.
The second was the difference in soil density. Coombsville was a place where clay, carried by river water over a long time, had accumulated thickly atop volcanic ash deposited by an eruption of the Vaca Mountains thousands of years ago.
Unlike Cabernet, Merlot had a nature that loved water. The sticky clay soil of Coombsville, which retained just enough moisture to keep the root tips damp, was far more optimal for completing the unique, velvety texture of Merlot than the gravelly soil of Oakville, where water drained away quickly.
“I must go. Having met a man who possesses the grapes I desire, how could I stop walking?”
At my words, Robert let out a hollow laugh.
“Exactly. When you see what you want, you cannot stop walking. Very well. I shall send you Cedric’s children’s contact information through my secretary. The children are desperate to sell the farm, so if you can persuade Cedric alone, it should not be difficult. That is, if you can persuade him.”
“Thank you. Then I shall take my leave.”
“Go safely. Today was most enjoyable.”
“For me as well...”
I bowed my head to Robert Mondavi in that manner and exited his study.
Once the young Asian winemaker who was astonishing Napa Valley had disappeared, Robert, who had been wearing a faint smile the entire time, turned a stern gaze upon Timothy.
“What did you feel today?”
Unlike Robert, Timothy, whose expression had been rigid the entire time, bit his lip, thought for a moment, and then spoke.
“He was remarkable. When he first released Aeschlon and Sylphid, I thought he had skill but also luck. But with Quiet Hill and even Astra Veil... and hearing his philosophy on wine and vineyards today, truly... unbelievable though it is, I felt as if I were facing a professor who had studied far more than I have.”
“Exactly. He was born with a genius that makes his age impossible to gauge. What is even more astonishing is that such a genius never ceases striving to improve. I feel regretful and impatient. I have a feeling that child will continue to stand in your way.”
Sensing the weakness in his father’s voice, Timothy instead put strength into his clenched fist.
“I will also work tirelessly to make Continuum rival Harlan Estate.”
“I will help too, Grandfather.”
Emily placed her hand on Robert’s shoulder and spoke. Robert stroked his granddaughter’s hand and said in a low voice.
“I believe you. Therefore, you must strive without cease. Our family is not yet finished.”
As the two looked at their grandfather with firm resolve, Emily suddenly grew curious about something.
“But the farm Brian wants... Couldn’t we simply purchase it? If this Cedric has dementia, couldn’t we purchase it when he returns to normal?”
“One might think so, but Cedric is not the only one who must be persuaded. Cedric’s children want to sell the vineyard, but they are determined not to sell it for a pittance. Because it is in Napa Valley, they want to sell it at a price similar to other farms. However...”
“Ah...!”
Even before he finished speaking, Emily realized the circumstance.
“It is optimal for Merlot but cannot even grow Cabernet, yet they want a price equal to the surrounding farms, so no deal can be made?”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm... But if Brian wants that land, it is surely to maintain the quality of Astra Veil. If so, wouldn’t the same be true for us or other wineries? Rather, even if we have to pay a high price, wouldn’t purchasing the farm to maintain the quality of our blending wine be...”
“One might think so, but cannot we obtain the grapes even without purchasing that land?”
“Ah... That is true.”
“Furthermore, is it truly necessary to maintain the highest grade of Merlot, enough to determine the class of a blending wine? It would certainly help, but... outside Napa Valley, we can secure Merlot of sufficiently good quality without much difference. Do you know how many times the AVA price of Merlot in Napa Valley differs from that in Sonoma?”
“At least threefold, and as much as sevenfold or more...”
“Exactly. Who would shoulder such a loss?”
Emily nodded at her grandfather’s explanation.
“I understand perfectly. There is a reason no one makes the deal.”
“That is so.”
If it had truly been crucial information, Robert would not have even given the contact information and would have secured the land by some means beforehand.
But after Emily went up to her room alone and thought it over, she felt something strange. She had a premonition that Brian would buy it even if the price was not much different from other AVAs in Napa Valley.
“Why...?”
She did not know why she felt this way. It was simply an intuition that with his incomprehensible passion for wine and grapes, he would endure that degree of loss to grasp that farm in his hands.
Thinking this, Emily grew needlessly impatient. She felt as though a treasure before her eyes was about to be snatched away. But she forcibly suppressed such feelings.
*Calm down. Do you think William Harlan of Harlan Estate or Stan Kroenke of Screaming Eagle don’t know that? They are smarter than you.*
Regaining her reason, she thought she ought to look up papers on terroir formation that Brian had mentioned, and opened her laptop.
---
The following afternoon, I drove a pickup truck toward the deepest valley of Coombsville.
Cold, humid air rolling in from San Pablo Bay was trapped in the basin-shaped Coombsville valley, forming a vast lake of fog. Even at a time when other regions of Napa Valley were already bathed in morning sunlight and held warm air, the lower reaches of Coombsville here uniquely allowed the fog to lift late, refusing the sun’s approach.
Following the map, I drove down a narrow unpaved road lined with old fences. The area called “Lapis Lazuli” was hidden near wasteland that did not even have an official road name.
When I stopped the car at the end of the road, an unreal spectacle unfolded before my eyes.
There were none of the meticulously manicured lawns or flashy stone buildings commonly seen in Napa Valley wineries. Instead, massive Valley Oaks that appeared to be well over a hundred years old encircled the farm’s boundaries like guardian deities. The great crowns of the oaks served as a natural windbreak, trapping the fog within.
Between those trees, a vineyard of strange hue revealed itself.
*Lapis Lazuli.*
I got out of the car and scooped up a handful of soil. The sensation against my palm was cool. Beneath the unique volcanic ash soil of Coombsville, sticky, deep clay was mixed in. This was the optimal environment God had prepared for Merlot to perfect its sensual tannins.
“You’re the scoundrel trying to steal my land, aren’t you?”
With a sharp cry, the door of an old shack opened. An old man with disheveled white hair and worn overalls stood holding pruning shears instead of a cane. It was Cedric Vaughan. His eyes were unfocused, but his wariness toward someone was razor-sharp.
Without panicking, I slowly approached the old man. Behind him, I could see a man and a woman in suits standing with troubled expressions. They appeared to be Cedric’s children.
“Please step aside, Father! These people are investors from New York!”
“Shut up!”
“Oh my, really... I’m sorry. He was truly fine just moments ago...”
I did not find Cedric’s wildly thrashing figure so unpleasant. Perhaps because I could feel the heart of a farmer protecting his beloved vineyard, I rather felt pity for him and wanted to help.
So I smiled and spoke to Cedric.
“Sir, how can you farm like this? Do you think Merlot can grow well this way?”
“What?”
In that moment, not only Cedric but also his two children rounded their eyes and looked at me.