The secret of Bordeaux red wine is translated by Zhang Bao

"You don't have to be in France to enjoy good wine," Charles Tyusse Gruze always said to his foreign friends whenever he entertained them at his residence in Paris. Pen %Fun %Pavilion www.biquge.info but he added with a smile, "But you can only really feel this feeling in France." ”

After serving almost his entire career as a French diplomatic minister, Count Gruze and his wife lived in an elegant villa in the Voltaire region of France. He is a lovely person and, of course, he has a well-deserved good name, a generous host and a funny talker.

Tonight's guests are all Europeans, and they all believe that immigration is the root of Europe's problems. Gruze didn't say anything, because he despised this point of view, but didn't want others to know. Under no circumstances did he ever take care of these special guests.

The first glass of Bordeaux wine is served after veal has been served. One of the guests turned to Gruze and said, "Come on, Charles, simple arithmetic." In terms of race or skin color, you're sure to have a few bags of experience with it. What would you say?"

"Yes, General. I've had a few bags of this experience!"

Gruze didn't speak again. He raised his glass and introduced his bulbous, wine-smelling nose. After a moment, he raised his watery eyes.

"A truly full-bodied Bordeaux," he says mildly, "in this wine." ”

All four guests raised their glasses towards the light, pondering the blood-red liquid in the glasses. They all thought it was the best wine they had ever tasted.

Little by little, white dots of light are rising over the Seine, and you can see the patches of light from the windows on the first floor. Then the food was served, and people began to drink more Bordeaux wine.

"Can you imagine," asked Gruzer as he poured the Bordeaux wine into his glass, "and there are actually some people who know nothing about wine. ”

"Is that really the case?" Said a guest who is a German politician.

"Personally, when I open the bottle I want to know what's inside. ”

"What should it be?"

"I love hunting around the vineyards. That's why I've been to Bordeaux. I know the brewers there. So, I know what you're drinking. ”

"It's the bloodline, Charles. Another politician said.

"This fellow," Gruzer continued, seeing that the Dutchman had not spoken, "I can always tell you some stories about wine. One of them is the most unusual story I've ever heard. We tasted it at his winery, and we came to a barrel and he frowned. He said that Bordeaux red wine is the best wine in the world and asked me if I agreed with him. I said of course I agree. Then he made the strangest statement. ”

"This barrel of wine," he said, with tears in his eyes, "is the best wine in the world." But it originally grew in a kingdom far from where it was born. ”

Gruze paused to see if the food and drinks were served.

"Huh?" Said the Dutchman.

Gruze and his wife exchanged glances.

"Tell them, my Shirley," she said.

Gruze leaned forward, took another sip of wine, and wiped his mouth from the corner of a napkin. That's the story he's going to tell you.

At the age of 21, Pierre, that's the name of the brewer. He was sent by his father to Madagascar where his uncle stayed for a while. Within two weeks of his arrival, he fell in love with a local girl named Faniri, or "desire" in Malagasy. You can't blame him. She was only 17 years old at the time, and she was in the prime of her life. In the Malagasy sun, her skin is golden. Waist-length black hair fell from the sides of his face. Big eyes are unfathomable. They can be described as a pair of true lovers. So, they got married after knowing each other for less than five months.

Fanery had no family, but Pierre's parents had travelled from France to attend the wedding. Strictly speaking, their marriage was not consented to by them. After their marriage, the young couple lived happily and happily on the island of Madagascar for three years. One day, however, a telegram came from France. Said Pierre's parents and his only brother were killed in a car accident. Pierre flew home to attend the funeral and began to manage the vineyard left behind by his father.

Faniri also traveled from Madagascar to France two weeks later. Despite his grief, Pierre settled in the vineyard with Faniri. Gone are his family, and those lazy days, and the idyllic and good times under the tropical sun. But he was happily married, and very wealthy. Perhaps, he thought that life in Bordeaux would not be so bad.

However, he was wrong. Fanery soon became very jealous. Her beauty in Madagascar is unparalleled. In France, however, she was jealous of almost everyone. The giggles of the maid and the secretary, as well as the peasant girls who picked the grapes, also made her very annoyed and disturbed by the giggling laughter in her accent. She even suspected that Pierre was in love with each of them.

She began to accuse Pierre in sarcastic, simplistic and crude ways, and the people she made up didn't even know him. Then she tried to accuse Pierre and the other women of messing around in their bedroom in a blunt way. Whenever he denied it, she resorted to violence against him, humiliating and abusing him at any time, whether in the kitchen, in the winery, or on the plantation. The angel whom Pierre met and fell in love with in Madagascar was blindfolded by jealousy and turned into a shrew. He was helpless, no matter what he said or did, it was useless. Usually, she would not say a word for a week, or even more, and when she spoke, she would only shout at him with screaming and swearing that she was leaving him. By the third season of the grape harvest, they had begun to openly dislike and hate each other.

One Friday evening, Pierre went into the underground cellar. The grape pickers are gone. He was the only one left, running a new electric wine press. At this moment, the door suddenly opened, and Faniri, who was wearing heavy makeup, walked in. She walked up to Pierre, threw her arms around his neck, and threw him to the ground. Smelling her booze, Pierre knew she was drunk.

"Honey," she sighed, "what are we going to do?"

He wanted her so much, but the scenes of being insulted and humiliated by her in the past came back to his mind. So, he pushed her aside.

"But, dear, I'm about to have a baby. ”

"Don't be ridiculous anymore. Go to bed! You're drunk. Look at the paint on your body, it makes you look like a pie. ”

Faniri's face darkened suddenly, and she immediately blamed him like crazy. said that he never cared for her. He is only interested in sex and is only obsessed with having sex with white women all day long. And then the white women of France are the pie. And he only loves them. Shouting and cursing, she grabbed a knife from the wall and stabbed at him. And her eyes were full of tears. He struggled desperately to keep the knife from getting into his throat.

Then, he pushed her away, and she stumbled onto the press. Pierce stood still, breathing heavily, curling her hair in as the screw spun and crushed, dragging her body into the machine as well. She howled and struggled for her life. But the propeller slowly bit her shoulder, and she screamed a few times before passing out and losing consciousness. Perhaps it was the pain or the smoke that he kept looking elsewhere until the disgusting voice told him that it was all over. He raised his arm and cut off the power.

The guests were shivering with creepiness. And Gruzer interrupted his story.

"Well, I'm not going to give the details of it at the table," he said, "and Pierre stuffed the rest of the body into the press and cleaned it up." Then he went back to the house, took a shower, had a meal, and went to bed. The next day, he told everyone that Fanira had finally left him and returned to Madagascar. No one is surprised by this. ”

He paused again. The guests sat motionless, staring at him.

"Of course," he continued, "'sixty-five years was a bad year for Bordeaux wines." With the exception of Pierre's. This is a very unusual thing. He won the big prize again and again, and no one could understand why. ”

The general's wife cleared her throat and said, "Maybe yes, but you didn't taste it." ”

"Yes, I haven't tasted it. Although Pierre had assured me that his wife had made the wine inflict on its incomparable aromas. ”

There was silence for a long time, and the Dutchman moved awkwardly in his seat, his glass resting between the table and his open mouth. The other guests looked at each other unnaturally, staring at each other. They just can't understand it.

"But look here, Gruze," said the general at last, "you don't want to tell me we're drinking this damned woman right now, do you?"

Gruze looked indifferently at the Englishman.

"God forbid, General," he said slowly, "everyone will know that the best vintage should always come first. ”

"Then you're not going to buy some?" asked the general.

"Can I not buy it? It's not every day that you can see a red wine of this bloodline. (To be continued.) )