It took me time. I had to choose the right bottle. I had to be sure of what I would say. I would not use my usual tricks and play with my cousin's list of adjectives. I had to choose precisely those words that would reflect my feelings exactly. So I went to see Marie-Hélène, the French girl who sold wine close to my apartment. I proposed a deal: I would buy her most expansive bottle, we would taste it together and she would help me to understand what this wine was about. She was more than surprised, "You almost know wine better than I do", she replied, "I am unable to teach you anything". "Remember what you told me when we met for the first time? And you want me to believe that you are ignorant". Yes, I had tricked her too. I wanted to explain that she was mistaken, that I was a kind of fraud and that I knew nothing about wine. Too difficult. Too risky. I insisted: "You just to have to teach me about this one". She smiled. Eventually, I convinced her. And eventually the Day arrived. I was ready.
Cassandra was seated at my right on the nice couch I had bought a few weeks before. Can I say that she was more beautiful than ever? And that my conviction that I was close to something great was firmer than ever. Tonight, I would offer her a really expansive wine, coming from an open cellar, whichever it was, in which there were no dark forces at work and I would be able to explain to her why this wine was exceptional. And if all of this had some sense, it would happen. And, of course, I had invited my cousin. He was seated on a chair in front of me, would understand what I meant. The cellar door could remain closed or be opened for the rest of eternity, it would not change a thing.
I gave them glasses, big and elegant glasses such as those my uncle gave us when we were young. My cousin's wife said she did not drink, not even this one because she did not know anything about wine and it would be wasted on her. My cousin replied that he would give some to their son, who was playing at his foot with cars. The little boy resembles his father and his grand-father quite closely. He looked at the glass through his thick glasses. He stuck his nose in the glass, noisily sniffed and then gulped the liquid. And then ... all the words I heard coming from his mouth, all the words that I've heard from his father's lips and that I've used for so many years. It was as if I were speaking though his mouth or as if he were speaking through mine. All my lines, so patiently and so exclusively rehearsed for the love of my life stolen by this little thing.
That night when Cassandra kissed me adios— I never saw her again — I understood what my uncle had said, "You should never open the cellar door".
"You should never open the cellar door" was previously published at Scifi Short Story.
Alain Marciano is French and writes in English. For years, he wrote essays, articles and books in English and it was a substitute to writing fiction. Two years ago, after a class in creative writing, he decided to switch to fiction and poetry. Since then, eight short stories have been published or accepted for publication and a few poems too. He is working on a collection of short-stories. He is also an illustrator. Check all that at alainmarciano.wix.com/dfp.
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