The Chinese Vineyard.

October 9, 2010 alizlol 0 Comments

THE CHINESE VINEYARD
by
Carl Kuntze

The Chinese are more renown for the variety of their cuisine than wine. Yet, fermented beverages were served in royal courts from the period of The Han Dynasty (202 B. C. to 220 A. D.). The refinement of distilling spirits was transmitted into China through The Silk Road, the legendary trade route that sliced through The Middle East, from Europe, which brought the technology of Viticulture. Fine grapes thrived in Xingkiang, Hebei, and Shan-dung, and other smaller provinces, but they were consumed as fruit, rather than converted into wine. For optimal wine production, grapes had to be ripened on the vine for an appropriate maturity of sugar content. Ripe fruit tended to spoil rapidly. Having a ready market for the product in its natural form, farmers were unwilling to gamble on an unpredictable one. Vintage quality varied from year to year making speculation volatile. Thus, the only alcoholic beverage that emerged from domestic distilleries were medicinal brandies. Modern times brought development of Putao Jiu (Grape Wine), Beer (Pi Jiu), and Liquor(Jiu). In 1852, Seok Tong (a medicinal concoction) was introduced. Seeing how Vodka affected The Russians, The Communist Heirarchy of China did not encourage the development of a wine industry.Opium had a damaging enough effect to their national character and survival. Hence, China did not have a strong tradition in wine production.

Stephen Dee was an unlikely wine magnate in Mendocino, California. Christened by the missionaries of Jesuits for China, the given name neutralized his identity. Few people in the region were aware he was Chinese. There was still some friction among minorities and Anglo WASPs. Through his reclusiveness, he managed to keep his ethnicity concealed. He had migrated to The US as a young man, shortly after the war. His career began as a fruit picker in Northern California, a fact he related endlessly to his children until they found his stories tiresome. Born and bred in The US, they didn’t consider themselves “Chinks.” His wife, however, also Chinese, was a mail order bride from Shandung, another grape-growing region. Also frugal, she proved invaluable to his advancement. They both deprived themselves to accumulate the capital for their own vineyard. It had been a bonus that she was an extremely handsome woman, who bore him two beautiful children.

A son, Jefferson, named after President Thomas Jefferson, whom he much admired not only as a national hero, but because he was an amateur viticulturalist, unsuccessful at that though he was. His daughter, Amelia, was named after American aviator, Amelia Earhart, who mysteriously vanished in The Pacific shortly before the second world war. Two shamefully spoiled children “contaminated: by American culture,” sullied by The Youth Revolution of the 60’s. To the disappointment of their parents, they disavowed the traditions of the old country. But their commitment to the Hippie subculture had reservations. Their education had indoctrinated them in how opium had subjugated China, and they were too fastidious to participate in the prevalent promiscuous sex of the time. Poor hygiene and narcotics were important components of the “enlightened society.” Thus, they escaped the ravages of LSD, peyote, heroin, cocaine, and marijuana, and STDs. Timothy Leary did not impress them. But they did adopt the odd costumes, gaudy jewelry, and long hair, which was sufficient to agitate their parents. What distressed them most was their progeny’s lack of interest in the family business, or any “respectable” occupation.

Tuscan Gold Wines were undistinguished, passable vintages, some of which became popular as cooking enhancements. They were cheap, so they had regular patronage among winos in San Francisco’s Skid Row. They were also supplied as medicinal wine to traditional Chinese pharmacies. Stephen had hoped to develop a vintage that would impress connoisseurs. With no one to propagate the winery, he saw no point in investing in riskier excursions. He decided he would maintain his tried and true enterprise, catering to his reliable regular customers. He secretly hoped his son would outgrow his “phase.”

His daughter had married early, and the couple had moved into the family mansion immediately following the wedding ceremony, where he was a daily witness to their idiosyncracies. Amelia’s husband, Joshua Fleming was a young man, who had made body-building his life’s career. He spent hours lifting weights in their front yard, under the furtive hypercritical eyes of his father-in-law, who was having a difficult time concentrating on his ritual newspaper, in their garden, fuming at this waste of energy.

The rest of his time was spent flexing his muscles in front of a full-length mirror. He did earn money from contests, periodically winning trophies, and cash prizes at body-building matches, making Amelia glow with pride, but not in significant amounts to provide for her. These were the days before Arnold Schwartzenegger, and Mr. Universe competitions. Lucrative sports endorsements were decades away. His only saving grace for Stephen Dee was that he did not smoke or drink. An athlete had to watch his health.

His disappointment with his son was deeper. Not that Jefferson was a bad son. He had graduated from two unrelated courses with commendable grades from colleges at The University of California. He first took Fine Arts, but soon lost interest in drawing and painting after completing the course. He then shifted to anthropology. He lost interest in that, too. He had two Bachelor’s degrees. He asserted that he wanted to be a scholar, at one time a respected profession in China. Stephen balked at this, and refused to spend any more money on tuition and books. He had hoped that after indulging him, his dilettante vices, he would turn to more pragmatic pursuits, like Business Management. To appease him, Stephen disbursed a modest allowance, which his son used to finance fledgling rock groups that rehearsed their music in the mansion, “noise” to his tolerant father. Their talent was dubious since they did not land any record contracts. Rage percolated slowly in the elder Dee. The last straw was a police raid that dragged the musicians, and the entire family to the police station for drug use and drug possession. Tox screens cleared the family of the first charge, and a clean record exonerated them from the second. The humiliated couple returned home, estranged from the rest of the family. While their Asian orientation would not permit them to expel their erratic son, his musicians were no longer welcome in the Tuscan Vineyard, and he would only receive the basic minimum allowance for his vices.

Jefferson disappeared, shortly after their return home, to the chagrin of the elder Dee, who was persuaded it was another of his son’s tantrums, but this was a period of the
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draft and Vietnam. He had discovered he had a high number in the Selective Service Lottery, and Jefferson had a scheme on how to avoid the draft., one in which he did not want his family involved. He joined a commune in Santa Cruz. There, he would let his hair grow shoulder length, “neglecting” to wash or groom it. He would forego baths for six months, before reporting for induction. Assembling with other draftees at a meeting place in Redwood City, none of the others wanted to sit next to him. They crowded several seats away, leaving empty spaces between them. Nevertheless, Jefferson was ripe. Holding their noses, the young men were relieved once they arrived at the processing station. Reception was even more dramatic. When he removed his shoes, there was a scramble to get away from his vicinity. The clerks didn’t want to help him fill out his forms. Physicians and lab technicians declined to touch him. Forced to open all the windows of his bus to air it out, the driver refused to allow him on board for the return trip to Marin County. It didn’t matter. His 4F reclassification card clutched tightly in his hand, Jefferson glumly reconciled himself to having to hoof it back to his parents’ residence. While he had friends in the city, he didn’t want them implicated in the event of punitive legal repercussions from his successful ploy even if he had complied with the requisite formalities, and it had been The Selective Service System, itself, that had rejected him.

A startling change was evident when Jefferson appeared at the family breakfast table. He had his hair trimmed, and his garments were relatively conservative, no longer affecting the costume of rebellion prevalent among the “hippie” culture. A plain white shirt
and cordoroy slacks. It was a welcome sight for his parents, who believed that, at last, their son had outgrown his pretensions. They avoided any references to his altered demeanor, not wanting to appear to gloat. But their triumph had been premature. His subsequent behavior would soon disabuse them.

For Jefferson would while away his time in front of the TV set in his room. The theme music of such programs as “Rawhide,” “Gunsmoke,” “The Naked City,” “The Fugitive,” etc. would reverberate through the corridors, while not as explosive and deafening as rock music, they were just as agitating reminders of his parents’ “failure.” It had served, how-
ever, to crack the reserve between them.

The Chinese of the time were not demonstrative people. Respect was paramount
in relationships. Among friends. Superiors. Business associates. Parents and children. Most of all, husband, and wife. There was a strained formality that discouraged intimacy, particularly among cultivated strata of society. They observed strict boundaries. Thus, it was almost intolerable to violate those boundaries. The elder Dee managed the business, made all the crucial decisions, and Mrs. Dee managed the household. She also had the responsibility of rearing their children. Jefferson’s recalcitrance had upset the Confuscian dictums that had been followed for generations.

While retired in their bedroom, Stephen stole a glance at his wife, then blurted out,

“I don’t think Stephen is ever growing up.”

To his astonishment and relief, she agreed with him.

“Perhaps, a suitable marriage would awake his sense of responsibility.”

“But he has no responsibility!” Stephen averred.

“Marriage would be a steadying influence.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?”

“One of our retailers brought over a daughter from China. She’s a bit plump, but has a nice face.. She’s not very sociable. One reason she hasn’t married.”

“How old is she?”

“About Jefferson’s age Twenty seven.”

“How do we get them together? If Jefferson discovered what we plan, he quite certainly would resist.”

“We invite the entire family to dinner, making sure he is present. Then arrange accidental encounters over a period of time. Eventually, love will come.”

“A sound plan,” Stephen assented. “Let’s do it soon.” He turned off the table lamp and turned to a peaceful sleep, grateful he was married to a pragmatic woman.

The family intrigue was anything but a resounding success. It had been an awkward evening, with many false starts and strained conversation. Even Stephen developed misgivings about his intended in-laws. The Leungs proved to be a provincial lot, and their daughter, Gloria. while demure seemed to have nothing to contribute. Dressed plainly, her garb disguised her obesity. She wore no make-up over her regular features. Jefferson was suspicious, but polite. He responded when he was addressed, but did nothing to encourage further intercourse. He was annoyed when the elders made transparent maneuvers to leave him alone with the young woman, and excused himself once dinner was finished.

Later that evening, Stephen looked into his son’s room. Jefferson glanced away from the television set, puzzled. THE NAKED CITY was playing. It was one of the better shows. He peered at his father quizzically. The older man had never intruded into his privacy before. Their relationship was tenuous, at best.

“What did you think of her?”

“Whom?”

“Gloria Leung.”

“She’s okay, I guess,” Jefferson shrugged, constrained to make further comment. The Leungs were not normally people they associated with.

“Good.” Stephen said. “We’re going to see a lot of The Leungs.”

Still unaware of his parents’ plotting, he returned to his show. His unspoken thought was “Anything that floats your boat, dad.” But he didn’t dare make that comment aloud to his father. The old boy was quick to take offense.

The Leungs were frequent visitors to their social gatherings. Communication with them did not improve. The Dees had cultivated some sophistication. They had little in common. But who else would consider a tentative arrangement with Jefferson? His reputation as a wastrel had spread. They were getting old. They had to get him stabilized before they died. Their daughter and her husband were lost causes. At picnics, and dinners, they contrived situations to pair Jefferson with Gloria, frequently leaving them in private. They had to get him anchored. He tried to converse with her, but she was too shy to respond. He was beginning to suspect their parents’ motives, but he did not want to signal his perception. A confrontation with his own parents while he had not found himself would be precipitous. He was simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. Impatient about his son’s hesitation, It was the elder Dee who pressed the issue.

“What do you think about marrying Gloria Leung?”

“Me? I don’t want to get married. I’m too young.”

“You’re twenty seven years old.”

“You were thirty two”

“My situation was different. I had to make some money before sending home for a bride.”

“We’re in America now. There’s no rush to marry today.”

“Do you prefer a Caucasian woman?”

“I just don’t want to get married just yet, dad.”

Stephen Dee was close to apoplexy, but retreated. He had broached the subject.
Now, he would give him room to mull it over. Jefferson stared after him, knowing full well that was not the end of it. He would be walking on eggshells until it came up again. He avoided eating his meals with the family, preferring to sneak down from his room to raid the refrigerator after everyone had retired. He knew he could not sustain the ruse long. And the confrontation came soon enough. A week lapsed.

“Have you made a decision, yet?” His father finally demanded.

“”Decision about what?”

“About marrying Gloria Leung.”

“I don’t want to get married, period.”

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you, you are getting married. It’s about time you learned about responsibility.”

“But she’s as fat as a pig.”

“No, she’s not. She’s a little plump.”

“If you look at her mother, you’ll be able to tell just how “plump’” she’s going to be.”
Jefferson retorted. “ If she’s so great, you marry her!”

Stephen Dee was livid. Jefferson knew he had stretched his father’s patience to its limit. He regretted he had not cultivated any “suitable” contacts. His primary preoccupation as a youth was “pussy.” He thought about the predatory coeds he had seduced, and he knew life with them would not be desirable. They had snubbed him until they found out his family was moderately wealthy. Singles bars were not venues for enduring attachments. At churches, he’d only find sanctimonious zealots, with whom life would neither be a picnic. Had he taken productive employment, he might have met an attractive, competent partner, but he had been sitting pretty at home, too settled in comfort, for any incentive to get a job. As he stared at his father’s cold face, he knew there would be no compromise. No temporizing. The elder Dee had not , as yet, made the ultimate threat: Throwing him out into the streets, but that may not be far off. Jefferson found it more discreet to maintain his silence.

“You can’t continue to live here sponging off the estate,” Stephen replied calmly. “Marrying Gloria Leung would be a small step to accepting responsibility. Showing interest in how this vineyard operates would be even better. Think it over, son.”

With that Stephen Dee turned on his heel and left his son’s room, leaving him in a panic. Despite that, Jefferson was unlikely to commit any rash action. But he had no time to mobilize a relationship with a candidate who would be acceptable to his parents. He was in a quandry.His recalcitrance was disrupting the complacency that once reigned at the vineyard mansion But he was determined to postpone the inevitable as long as he could, hoping his parents would relent and allow him more leeway.

But with his father persisting in pressing the issue, time and again, he sensed his parents’ determination. He decided to try another ploy. He’d furtively steal away from the mansion, seeking refuge with an old classmate from Berkeley. He was Pietro Guardino, a strident radical student, who’d incited many demonstrations that resulted in violent confrontations with the police on both sides of the bay. Guardino had his own theories about family, authority, and private property. He had several pamphlets published by the underground press. While they sold modestly well among wide-eyed idealistic students in both Berkeley and San Francisco, it would be difficult to imagine him earning a living from the royalties. Guardino lived in an urban commune on Haight Street. Ran by a young couple suspected of being small time drug dealers, there were six other tenants in the house. Two unattractive young women, popular because they put out, and four male students at San Francisco State College. With nine people living in a house with only one toilet, no deodorizer was strong enough to subdue the odor of their effluvium, which mixed with feet, unwashed bodies, decaying food, and the lingering wisp of smoked pot, gave the building a distinct aura of decay. One whiff unsettled his resolution, but his options were limited. He had not salted any money away, and renting an apartment on his own was out of the question. He’d need to pay the first and last month in advance, plus a security deposit. Toughing it out would enable him to accumulate a comfortable stake. Morgan had promised to sponsor him for a job at a health food restaurant. He would share a room with an untidy college student, and use a sleeping bag, which he examined suspiciously. Fortunately, it didn’t smell too offensive despite its ragged appearance. He’d just have to make the best of it.

Back at The Tuscan Gold Winery, the elder Dee had just learned of his son’s absence Although the young man had not been seen nor heard from for several days, he was strangely untroubled, fortified with the conviction that he would be back. Jefferson, at that stage, was ill-equipped for the challenges of the “real world.” His mother, was not quite so sure, but did not remonstrate with her husband, reflecting disapproval instead with tacit reproach. In other words, “The silent treatment.” Like most mothers, her sympathies secretly lay with their only son, even when he stubbornly counters their wishes.

Jefferson had no difficulty adapting to his new living quarters, but he was unsuited for a service occupation. He disliked his job as a waiter, which paid less than minimum wage, because tips, unpredictable as they were, were considered a taxable part of his earnings. He always arrived home, exhausted, having been on his feet all day. When he awoke after his first night, he discovered someone had “taken” all his money. Note “take,” instead of “stole,” since the young people had an ambigious morality. This was before the murder of “Groovy” Hutchinson and Linda Fitzpatrick at The East Village in Manhattan, which heralded the death of “Flower Power”. Jefferson sighed. He’d have to remember to conceal his money in his pillow when he slept, and take it with him to the bathroom. He slid into their life rhythmn, and idiosyncracies. Fortunately, he could take his meals at the restaurant.

Nighttime pulsated with loud blasts of rock music, the most tolerable of which were The Beatles, and Jefferson Airplane. He never got to sleep until 2 A. M. in the morning. The lyrics of “Do You Want Somebody To Love” seemed to mock him. He mused as he recalled how his own fledgling rock bands must have annoyed his parents. Dozing off, he stirred when concupiscent moans and labored breathing accompanied his roommates’ sexual exertions . He twisted to his sides, and fell asleep once more. Mornings treated him to a spectacle of four young men scrambling, panic-stricken for the use of the bathroom, then dressing to avoid being tardy in school. They’d sniff at garments scooped from the floor, since they were quite erratic about laundering them. Before they left, they would scavenge the putrid contents of their refrigerator, smelling leftover food, like monkeys, to determine if they were edible. He wondered which of them stole his stash. No room for love here.

While he was patient with his housemates’ quirks, there was one thing he could not countenance. His sleeping bag had been infected with pubic lice, creatures that obeyed God’s mandate to “increase and multiply” . He was even more indignant because he had not engaged in sexual activity in the “giving” household. The callous manner he was treated
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at the free clinic in the civic center, one funded by the “War on Poverty,” persuaded him he could not subsist, if he persisted in the new lifestyle. He just didn’t fit in. That the prodigal
son had to return home was inescapable. Fortunately, he had not stayed away long enough to require explanations. The ghostly image of Gloria Leung’s face loomed before him. As he walked to the bus station, he wondered if the telltale odor of the medical ointment applied to his genitals was discernable. The smirking male nurse who shaved the pubic area asked him if there were others in his household Admitting there were others, he was warned to be scrupulously careful to avoid spread of the contagion. The tiny parasites could hide in the smallest crevices of the human body. There was a possibility that he was still infected. He would not return to the house on Haight Street, but would proceed to The Grey-hound Bus Station on 7th and Market. He dug for coins in his watchpocket, which the thief had overlooked. Fortunately, there was sufficient to take him to Marin County. He was glad he was not reduced to standing at street corners, whining for spare change from strangers. From the bus stop, he still had a long walk home. His brief adventure in the cold hard world had taught him to appreciate his parents more. Despite their uncompromising autocratic tendencies, he knew they had his best interests at heart. He regretted the grief he had caused them.

His reappearance was scarcely acknowledged at the dining room, where his mother served breakfast to the family. There were cordial nods. It was if he had never been gone.

“You win, dad.”

“Win what, son?” Stephen looked up from is plate, setting his fork aside.

Animation seemed suspended in the room as they awaited his reply.

“I’ll marry Gloria.”

“It isn’t a matter of my winning. it has to be your decision. I’m not forcing you to into anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to get married.”

His announcement broke the tension. There were expressions of delight from his mother and sister, who embraced him. There were effusive congratulations from his father and brother in law.

Accepting them, Jefferson announced, “I only have one condition.”

“And what’s that?” The elder Dee inquired warily.

“I want a simple wedding. Only for family.” He didn’t want his friends seeing what fatass he was dragging to the altar. Anyone, for that matter.

Stephen was mildly disappointed. He would have liked to have invited his customers. A gesture that would have been good for business. But he did not want to bully his son further. “As you wish, son.” .

“Thanks, Dad.” Jefferson hugged his father, which he hadn’t done since he was a child. It both startled and pleased Stephen. What had happened to him outside? Well, they would learn in time. He would notify The Leungs later in the day. There were preparations to be made. They should solemnize the marriage as soon as possible before his unpredictable son could change his mind. It was a good match. The western concept of romance fades once youthful passion is spent. For traditional Chinese, love comes after. Through shared hardships and experiences.

Gloria insisted in being married in a Chinese wedding gown. Jefferson was gallant enough to accede.

He had denied her the elaborate wedding she probably had always dreamed about. It was sufficient reward to have him as the bridegroom. As for himself, he would wear a dark business suit. A lugubrious introduction to adulthood. He studied her placid face, deciding it wasn’t half bad.

Gloria never assumed her mother’s heavy proportions, obviously inheriting her father’s genes. She never rejected Jefferson’s sexual advances, but she never responded either, never having consulted marriage manuals. She demonstrated no indications of pleasure, but pliant and submissive, she gratified his needs. Although plump, her body was firm and well-formed. Jefferson learned to appreciate her appearance. She was always dignified and meticulously groomed.A partner, in every sense of the word, after bearing him a son and daughter, assisted him in managing the vineyard, after he took over from his father. She was competent and prudent. Refining cosmopolitan social skills, she remained thoroughly Chinese. A characteristic appreciated by the multi-ethnic circles, in which they socialized. Stephen died at the age of 65. His wife followed shortly after. It was as if they were on a schedule.They died, vindicated. Their bloodline had been sustained, and they had contributed responsible citizens to their community. Even their son in law had found employment as a movie stand-in, and had raised enough capital to open a sporting goods store in San Francisco. He and his wife, Amelia, similarly had a son and daughter.

Tuscan Gold increased their outlets to other states. There was little incentive to expand further. None of their descendants exhibited any interest in the winery. Unlike their parents, at the early stages of their lives, they had definite objectives as of what they wanted to do. There was no ambiguity about their identity. They were third generation Americans. The son, Stephen Dee II became a successful neurologist, the daughter, Clara, a pediatrician. Even if they did not perpetuate the family business, Jefferson and his wife were filled with pride. He learned to love his wife. As Chinese tradition predicted, love comes later. And she learned to return his affection. When they retired, Tuscan Gold was sold to an Italian American family, that diversified the wine that was produced. They continued to produce Chinese medicinal brandy with the same Chinese label, but it was a minor part of their business.

Jefferson and his wife decided to tour China to consider where they wanted to retire.Nixon had visited the country, reinstating the previous cordial uneasy relationship The US had with The Middle Kingdom. The Chinese had always found Americans puzzling. While they did not overtly participate in their dismemberment as Europeans and Japanese, US military forces did enforce “The Open Door.” and protected the usurpers. They considered Americans “inscrutable.” During The Pacific War, The Flying Tigers, Gen. Claire Chennault’s volunteer aviation group held the line against deeper Japanese penetration until The US was drawn into the conflict. American missionaries put up schools, and medical clinics, seeming to expect nothing in return. They would leave an indelible impression. Even during the long antagonism between Mao’s Communists, they regarded Yankees with bemusement. A puzzlement. Although they were treated cordially, Jefferson felt misplaced. He realized, he was American through and through, and was fearful Gloria would want to return to her homeland for their retirement. But he needn’t have been concerned. China was not the same place she left. Despite some improvements in their quality of life, t here was also, deterioration. She didn’t confide her misgivings, but seemed overjoyed when they were returning to The US. They purchased a condominium in Miami, Florida, where they spent the rest of their lives. Retirement seemed fatal to the energetic and active. Faced with nothing to do, Jefferson and his wife similarly expired at the same age as the elder Dees. Soon, Tuscan Gold Vineyard faded from memory, only mentioned as a footnote in tourist brochures offering wine-tasting visits by the new proprietors, that produced wines matching those imported from Europe.