Sins of The Vineyard

The sun beat down on the vineyard like a hammer as Antonella pinched a shrivelled grape from a cluster. Twelve days without pay. The thought burned hotter than the Tuscan afternoon. “It's not fair,” Fiona protested, throwing a handful of rotten grapes over her shoulder, into the basket tied to her back. “We are doing the work, so we should be getting paid. How do they expect us to feed our families?” “We all know how it works around here,” Francesca said, smiling painfully. “We are at the mercy of the bosses.” “Mom, that's not how it should be. We're doing honest labour, producing grapes that they use to brew wines. What are they doing with all the money?” Antonella asked her mother, adjusting the wide-brimmed hat on her head. “Well, go tell that to them, baby,” Francesca said, waving her hand vaguely in the direction of the farmhouse in the distance. “Why haven't we even done that?” Marissa asked, straightening. “What?” “Why haven't we gone to demand an explanation? We've worked twelve days now without being paid a single cent. We can complain, can't we?” A dark woman with frizzy black hair scoffed. “Bet some people here haven't noticed the difference,” she said, careful to not look at anybody in particular. “Bianca!” Fiona called firmly, glancing for a brief moment at Antonella and her mother, who held their chins rigid. “What? Acting all righteous doesn't change what we all know,” Bianca said. Antonella wiped the sweat from her forehead, trying to ignore the knot tightening in her stomach. “We should speak to the boss,” she said after a brief silence. Bianca scoffed again and Fiona glared hard at her. “Baby?” Francesca looked at her daughter, reaching long arms up a high stem. “Yes, mom. We should raise the issue, otherwise they'll think we don't notice or we don't mind. They don't have the right to deny us wages we have rightly worked for.” Francesca opened her mouth to reply but seemed to think better of it. They went silent as everyone returned to work, picking out the grapes that had gone bad on the stems so they wouldn't ruin the good ones that weren't ripe yet. Not too far away, the men worked, repairing a section of the fence that had collapsed after the heavy thunderstorm the previous night, calling out loudly over the distances. Antonella plucked off a leaf from the stem of a plant and put it to her nose gently, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes to savour the herbal fragrance. She started humming the soft tune bubbling in her chest. Her mother joined in, and they broke into the song. It was one of the more popular ones that she usually sang when they were at work. Everyone joined in the chorus. “Ogni passo, un'emozione, ogni vite ha una canzone.” They repeated it a few times, working in rhythm as they examined and plucked at grape clusters. Later, as they carried their baskets to the compost bin, Antonella's mother spoke to her in low tones. “Is it really worth it to go there?” “We can't remain scared of them forever. We need to speak up.” “But how are we going to do it?” Antonella could not reply, for just then, they walked past Dario, the owner's eldest son, who was currently overseeing the estate. Antonella's jaw clenched as she looked straight ahead. Dario's gaze on her lingered, trailing from her head to her toes and back. “Antonella,” he called, smiling a strange smile. “Hello, Mr. Dario,” Antonella greeted through tight lips. Beside her, her mother nodded at him. She brushed past without waiting for him to speak. “That was rude, baby,” Francesca said in a low voice. “I need to turn this in and go take a bath. The sun is hot and I'm hungry.” She stared curiously at the nondescript van driving past them just then. When the van passed, she looked back just in time to see Dario nod and wave to the driver. Francesca said nothing else until they finished at the weighing station and went to the workers’ cafeteria for lunch. The women sat together, discussing as they ate. The men also sat together at a separate table. Then Fiona went over and called the men to join them. Two followed her. “What are we going to do about our situation?” Fiona asked once they were settled. “What situation?” Valentino asked, breaking off a piece of bread and stuffing it in his mouth. Fiona sucked her teeth. “When was the last time you paid for your meal from your pay for the day?” She asked, gesturing to his plate. The men howled with laughter. “What's funny?” Francesca demanded, dropping her fork sharply and glaring at them. “Hey, Francesca…easy on the temper. You know they'll pay up eventually, it's not the first time,” Roberto said easily. “Why do we have to wait for them to ‘pay up’ whenever they wish? Aren't we working?” Marissa put down her cutlery and flexed her hand, wincing slightly. Valentino folded his hands across his chest. For a moment nobody said anything. “You've all decided on what to do, then?” He asked finally. “We want to make a formal complaint,” Antonella said, meeting Roberto's eyes. She had been quietly eating her pasta. “Oh,” Roberto said, raising his brows. “A complaint? How often have you heard of such on Tenuta D'Amico?” “There's always a first time,” Marissa retorted, rolling her eyes. “A first time, huh?” A sneer curved Roberto's lips. “Hey, calm down, everyone. We're supposed to be a team here, not divided. What we're doing is for our own good,” Fiona said imploringly. It was quiet for a while. Then Valentino spoke up. “Alright, let's do it. But how do we go about it? We can't all march to the boss’ office.” “A formal report would look like a letter, I guess,” Marissa said, looking around the table. The unspoken question hovered. “I'll write it. You decide who will deliver the letter,” Antonella said, looking up at them. Her mother's fork paused halfway to her mouth. A sudden hush fell over the cafeteria. They all turned to the doorway to see Dario D'Amico standing there, his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes already locked on Antonella.