26

“Good grief!” Benjamin cried out, patting Elisabeth’s cheeks to revive her. “She’s fainted.”

A few seconds later, Elisabeth came to. “I’m fine, Benjamin.” In truth, she looked pale and weak. “I just need some air.”

“It’s the black angels,” Zoltán muttered. He told his cousin to help her out of the cellar. “In this maze she’ll never find her way.”

“Let me go with you,” Benjamin said.

But Elisabeth refused his help. “Have your tasting. You’ve been looking forward to it.” She took Pavel’s arm, and the two started heading toward the entrance.

Benjamin knew that Elisabeth would be fine once she was outside and breathing fresh air. He felt guilty for insisting that she come along. “All right, let’s get on with it,” he told his tour leaders.

Benjamin picked up his glass again, giving it the respect it deserved. The gönci barrels were never subjected to unnecessary intrusions. They were virtual safes, where the wine aged for as long as eight years. Here, the Tokaji was precious as gold.

Benjamin sniffed and inspected the wine and then carefully chewed his first sip while Vilmos
and Zoltán watched. A second later, the cellar went black.

The winemaker heard Vilmos call out to his brother. No response. Vilmos barked Pavel’s name again. Still, nothing.

“No panic,” he heard Zoltán yell. “He must be out by now.”

Benjamin was wondering if he could feel his way out of the cellar, but he decided against it. Two steps, and he’d be walking straight into a wall. Better to let his guides figure out what to do. Surely this wasn’t the first time they had lost their electricity.

He felt someone patting him. “Are we all here?” he heard Zoltán ask.

Two seconds later he heard the flick of a lighter, and the cellar took on an eerie glow. Benjamin looked around. For the first time he noticed a passageway filled with bottles wrapped in black crepe. Their golden caps stood out in the funereal ambiance.

Zoltán lit a candle, which he handed to Vilmos. The cousin propped it in a glass next to Benjamin’s and Claude’s. The winemaker noted how the flame highlighted the amber color of the exceptional aszú. Then he glanced at Claude. In the candlelight his solemn face resembled a subject in a Maurice Quentin de La Tour painting.

But where was Pavel? By now, he should have been back.

“I’m worried about Elisabeth,” Benjamin said. “She might have fainted again. We should make our way out of here.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Zoltán said. “She just needed fresh air. We shouldn’t miss this. Who knows if we’ll ever return?”

Vilmos suggested they taste a new cask. Benjamin didn’t need much coaxing. Indeed, when would he have this opportunity again? It was an older vintage, perfectly syrupy, with tones of apricot and mango and a hint of gingerbread.

Concentrating, Benjamin clicked his tongue against his palate three times to assess the aszú. He swallowed. Benjamin closed his eyes, as if he were communing with an unseen force, and said nothing. How could such bliss be expressed in mere words?

Finally, he spoke. “Silky and sweet. Luscious.”

As Zoltán and Vilmos looked on, Claude imitated the winemaker’s act of devotion. “Yes,” he said. “A fine balance of fruit, acidity, and residual sugar.”

“It’s like Sauternes.”

At that moment the electricity came on again. An orangish light illuminated the men and the casks. With a bright smile that displayed his perfect teeth, Zoltán greeted the return of the lights. Benjamin took the opportunity to examine the dates chalked on the casks. Aszú wine was not made every year. Like French sweet wines, it depended on the quality of the harvest.

Vilmos seemed eager to end the tour. Benjamin figured there was nothing more to be gained, as far as their guide was concerned, unless he was ready to hand over a fistful of cash for a couple of bottles.

Just as they were turning around to leave, a whistle resonated in the cellar. A second whistle ricocheted off the walls ten seconds later. The electricity flickered again, and Vilmos encouraged his group to hurry toward the exit. As they picked up their pace, Zoltán told Benjamin and Claude that prolonged human presence could alter the Tokaji, the same way frescos on the walls of ancient grottos could be damaged if too many people breathed around them.

Benjamin harrumphed. He knew about Lascaux, the famous caves that had to be closed because the drawings had deteriorated, but he had never heard such twaddle about wine in a cellar. It didn’t matter. He was ready to leave anyway. Emerging from the labyrinth, he blinked in the harsh daylight and mopped his forehead. He looked for Elisabeth. She was nowhere to be seen.