I tried to keep in touch with my cousin, bringing him wine each time I invited myself to his place. I asked him the question I remembered his father had asked, "So, what do you think? You like it?" and I mentally took note of what he said. When something he said was particularly interesting I went to the bathrooms and wrote it down. But it was not so difficult. Most of the time, he repeated more or less the same things. And I became quite learned, without drinking much of the wine I was able to describe the quality of wine with the words of my cousin. I did not open the door but I had discover the secret of the cellar.
In the beginning, I did not care. I was even pleased by the tricks I was able to play. Especially when I went out with girls. I offered them a glass of wine and asked them the ritual question, "So, what do you think? You like it?" and since most of the time they were not able to answer, I also gave them the words to go with the wine. Not my words for sure, but powerful ones altogether. And they loved that. How nice it was to see their eyes glitter with pleasure. I could not help repeating them.
It lasted a while, but for some reason I started to feel ill at ease. The conviction that I was cheating everybody, my cousin, my girlfriends and myself tormented me. I also became certain that someone was spying on me, especially when I was dating. In the middle of less and less passionate kisses, I frantically turned my head away. Where were they? I did not see anybody but it did not mean anything to me. These were the people from the cellar. I had no doubt of their presence. Years ago, they saw me while I was seated in front of that door. Maybe some of them had slipped out of the cellar while my uncle went down to look for a bottle. But they have not forgotten me. They knew everything about me and my poor tricks. I had no choice: stop dating girls or no longer pretend to be an expert.
I hesitated. I enjoyed both. But then I met Cassandra. It was the grand opening of the museum of R. They had built a new pavilion and there was a big feast and I was invited by chance as the guest of a guest ... I saw her as soon as I entered the room. She was standing in front of a picture, not particularly beautiful and not well dressed. But she attracted me. I spent most of the evening following her and at the very second she was alone, I was next to her. "I've always wondered which wine these guys had in their glasses". It was not premeditated, it was all I found. She turned slowly her head, looked at me and laughed. It was so violent, crazy and at the same time pure as crystal. A faction of second, this laugh stopped all the noises. Of course, it was a Rembrandt. The name rang a bell. I was not really sure. Her eyes half-closed, she started to describe the painting, speaking of the density of the colors, "a dark painting but it smells of sun and of spring" did she say, and the depth of the characters, "their eyes are so intent", and the movement, "it is so lively, probably one of my favorite paintings". I was confused. I had no education about paintings and did not know that one could be so precise about them. I did my best not to be definitively ridiculous. "This is the same with wine", I said, "Would you accept an invitation to drink a glass of wine?" Once again, no premeditation. She agreed. I knew I was in love. I also knew that I had no choice now. I had to be true to her and to my cousin and to myself to gain her heart.
