Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

sagging array of rough shelves. He walked across, saw the phone and answered, noticing the pair of clean blue jeans and sneakers on which it rested.
    “Hello?” he said into the phone.
    “Max, is that you?”
    “Alphonse, it’s me, Bruno. I just answered what must be Max’s phone here in Cresseil’s barn.”
    “What? It’s not like Max to leave his phone. Is there no sign of him?”
    “Hold on.” Bruno picked up the jeans and felt the pockets. There was a wallet inside, some keys and some coins. Inside the wallet were Max’s library card and university ID, and tucked behind that, Bruno was not greatly surprised to find a five-euro phone card from France Télécom. He looked further. Over by the wall was a small red bundle. He pulled out a pencil and picked it up, conscious of the eyes of Fabiola and the firemen silently following his every move. It was a pair of cotton shorts, sodden with wine.
    Putain
, he swore to himself.
I never looked in the vat
.
    “Alphonse, I’ll call you back.” He put the phone back on the jeans and turned to the stepladder. “Ahmed, come and hold this thing steady for me. Albert, don’t pack that resuscitation gear just yet.”
    He climbed up, and by the fourth step he was high enough to see in. He went another step to be sure.
    “Hold tight, Ahmed,” he called, and leaned into the vat, perilously far, the stepladder rocking as he plunged his hand down to the thick cap of fermenting grape juice to pluck at the head of blond hair that floated facedown in the vat. It was no good; he couldn’t keep a grip. He tried to grab at the shoulder, but his hand slipped in the thick must of grapes. So Bruno took a grip on the rim and vaulted in, fully dressed, splashing hard through the thick must while still holding the rim. He kept his feet, bent down and with a great heave hauled Max’s naked body out of the dense liquid and braced him against the wooden side.
    “Albert, Ahmed, get another ladder and help me here. Fabiola, can you come up the stepladder?”
    With one hand, he reached into Max’s mouth and pulled out a froth of must and broken grapes, took a deep breath and leaned forward to plant his mouth firmly on the sagging lips ofthe boy. He blew with all his might, trying to force air into Max’s lungs, but there was resistance. He let go of the vat’s rim, put both arms around Max’s chest and squeezed hard. A rush of juice and must fountained from Max’s throat. Bruno took another breath and blew again hard into Max’s mouth.
    “That’s right. You’re doing the right thing,” said Fabiola, her eyes barely above the rim. “Do that again. Keep blowing. Can I help hold him?” She reached in to help hold Max up.
    With a clatter, Albert and Ahmed appeared with proper ladders and began clambering up to help. Bruno heard Pamela’s voice; she obviously had called the emergency number and was asking for more help.
    “Pull him out; bring him down here,” called Fabiola. “Keep blowing, Bruno, hard as you can.”
    Bruno pushing, Albert and Ahmed pulling, they got Max over the rim, and then the two firemen took the weight and laid him on the ground, where Fabiola took over the kiss of life. Ahmed dried off Max’s chest and applied the two paddles of the resuscitator to his chest, then tapped Fabiola to let go, and the body jolted as he applied the electricity. Fabiola bent back to her work.
    Breathing heavily, and suddenly conscious of a sharp headache, Bruno began feeling around the vat to see if anything else was in there, but his legs were rubbery and he felt himself begin to slide. He called out something and flailed with his hand for the side of the vat. The noise attracted Fabiola’s attention.
    “Albert, get Bruno out of there now,” Fabiola shouted, before turning back to the boy. “The fumes can kill him.”
    Bruno felt a sharp pain as his fingernail tore on the wooden side of the vat, and it jolted him enough to get one knee under him. By then Albert had grabbed the collar of his shirt and washauling him up. As soon as his head was over the side, Bruno took a deep breath and felt his vision start to clear. Albert kept hauling, and then Pamela was below him and pulling at his flailing arm. Albert shifted his grip to Bruno’s belt and tumbled him over the rim to collapse on the ground in the arms of Pamela.
    “Get him out into the open air,” shouted Fabiola, “and then come back for the boy.”
    Bruno was prone and retching, a grape-sodden Pamela