Introduction of the story below:
The Monster and the Canela by Federico Levin
"Two guys converse one afternoon in October 2010 at a farm in San Rafael, Mendoza. One is younger, skinny, and curly-haired, with a somewhat urban look: Santiago Salgado. The other guy, José Antonio, is an older man who looks like he has lived his entire life in this precise spot. They spend a good while standing around drinking mate. They sit down and share some wine. Zunilda comes over and brings some homemade bread, cheese, and olives to go with it.
At dusk, a strong wind picks up. Along with the sound of the swirling leaves and the peremptory threat of a day that may suddenly come to an end, the breeze brings Santiago something unexpected, a smell that quickly turns into an aroma: it smells like cinnamon. It smells green, to the tone of the slightly psychedelic hue of vine blossom, and, surprisingly, like canela, which translates to cinnamon. First, Santiago doubts his nose, despite its usual faithfulness, after all, it is his main detective tool. Is it or isn’t it? He looks at the vineyard and does the math: Syrah, Torrontés, Malbec. No, it can’t be. Until his look averts and finds, not in the vineyard but next to José Antonio’s house, two stray vine rows. That’s where the smell is coming from.
He feels a euphoria erupt that is hard to put into words, impossible to understand for someone who does not know its history. The smell is not that of cinnamon sticks, the ones that are boiled to make tea, prepared with curry, or sprinkled onto the foam of coffee to make a cappuccino in the big cities. No. It is the canela grape that releases that subtle breath during its flowering.
Is it?
We still don’t know. But to understand the enormity of this moment, the profoundness of this question, in order to switch on our curiosity, we must first know Santiago’s story. And that of the Canela grape."
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