Chapter 26 in the R.M. Dolin novel, "What Is to Be Done"
Read companion poem
“I don’t see why,” Dario mumbles as he doggedly follows Jake into the distillery.
“It’s not right, I can’t expect you to always step up.” Jake stops at the table beside his Column Reflux Still and opens the logbook. The distillery’s fresh with the fragrance of Jemez Mountain juniper, high mesa sage, chamisa, and Rio Grande rose hips. The Bombay Pot’s loaded and the cooling water’s chilled. Jake enters the time and date in the log book officially marking the start of his gin run.
“You know I got your back, Doc. Any time, twenty-four seven.”
“I appreciate that, I just sometime worry I’m taking advantage.”
“Please, Doc! It’s shameful enough you pay me.”
Jake completes his logbook entry and walks between the gin pot and Thumper reading from the series of gages mounted on the wall. He records each measurement and uses the data to compute the temperatures at which methanol and ethanol will boil given today’s barometric pressure. He next calculates how long it will take his Still to heat the mash to methanol’s boiling point. Just as quickly he determines the temperatures at which the ethanol’s heads, hearts, and tails will each start and end. “It’s a distiller’s day,” he smiles to Dario “all dials vectoring in the right direction.” He grabs his newly rebuilt pump and positions it halfway between his mash tank and Reflux Still.
Without being asked, Dario drags the air hose to the pump. “Doesn’t make this a three-man operation.”
While Dario’s doing his thing, Jake takes two gin hoses down from the wall and connects them to the inlet and outlet couplings of his pump. “Think of all the times we needed an extra man.”
Dario connects the other end of the inlet hose to the mash tank while Jake connects the free end of the outlet hose to the Still. “Get a freaking Mexican like we always do.”
“I’m just at that point where I need a permanent person.”
Dario waits for Jake to open the Still’s valve then opens the mash tank’s drain valve. “What about the other stuff? We can’t risk someone always around during pre-launch?”
Jake’s about to open the air flow valve on the pump but pauses. He owes so much to his friend and while Dario remains unconvinced, this is for the best. “Chance is okay, just keep an open mind.”
Before Dario can respond Jake opens the pump’s airflow and mash begins its transformative journey. After a couple of pumps the air compressor kicks on creating so much noise the boys retreat to the large entryway where they can keep an eye on the mash transfer in relative quiet.
Theresa arrives with two cups of coffee. “Bueno dias Senor Dario, I brought you coffee.” She attempts to hand Dario a cup.
“No thanks!”
“Don’t worry,” Jake interjects, “it’s not pinon.”
“I made it fresh just now,” Theresa adds with a reassuring wink, “the way you like it.”
Dario eagerly takes the cup. “Since you went to all the trouble.” He holds his cup in both hands while taking a sip. “Muy bueno,” he tells her relieved he doesn’t have to muscle through an uncut cup of Jake’s crap. “How’s Hector?”
“Peachy bueno, he says thanks again for the elk meat.”
“Got plenty more when he and the boys chew through that. My cousin says Hector’s his best mudder, does the work of two men and plasters like an artist.”
“My Hector is many things, but artist? I think not.”
Jake’s already bored with their idle chit chat and walks inside to verify the mash transfer is proceeding without issue.
“How’s the boys?”
“Eager for school to be done. Especially, Danny, I don’t think becoming a professional’s in his path.”
“When he’s old enough he can work here.” Dario looks inside watching Jake tinker with his gin pot. “Apparently, we’ve grown into needing full time help.”
Beyond the driveway and a fair piece down the canyon road, the reverberating roar of a Harley competes with the strained piston pump and air compressor.
“Have you met the new guy?” Theresa asks.
“No,” Dario states unable to hide his angst.
The Harley’s rattle subsides for a moment before growing loud as it ripples up the driveway in undulating syncopation with the road. Chance emerges from the ceder-lined road stopping in front of the Distillery. He removes his leather jacket and backpack. “Bueno dias senorita.” He says to Theresa, he smiles at Dario while passing on his way inside.
Theresa expects Chance to stop. When he doesn’t, “Chance,” she guides him back. “This is Dario.” Theresa smiles at Dario in a way that compels niceness. “Dario, Chance.”
Chance eagerly extends his hand, but Dario only begrudgingly offers his. “Hey.” Dario says deciding he doesn’t like Chance, even though he sees no reason not to.
“Oh,” Chance exclaims dismissing Dario and digging into his backpack. “I got you this.” He hands Theresa a European dark chocolate bar. “Didn’t get you anything,” he teases Dario.
“Jury still out,” Dario mumbles.
“And.” Chance continues digging through his backpack. “I got this for our lovely Sympatico.” He hands Theresa a slightly more impressive looking chocolate bar.
“You know Sympatico?” Dario interjects.
“Well yeah, we both live here.”
“You live here!” Dario shouts in shock.
“In the guest house out back.” Chance causally offers.
“But that’s where-,” Dario looks at Theresa to confirm this calamity is really happening. “I stay.”
“Not anymore dude,” Chance jests. “I’m not really roommate material.”
If flawless timing was measured in money, Jake would be a millionaire. “I see you two have met,” he says approaching the drama.
“What the hell, Doc!” Dario says in search of rational. “The guest house?”
“He has to stay somewhere.” Jake knows any attempt to redress Dario’s offense will only lead to another rabbit hole, which he’s just not up for.
Dario storms into the Distillery. “The jury’s reached its verdict, Doc.” Dario pretends to busy himself adjusting the air compressor pressure but he’s far too upset to make any real changes. “That’s all I’m saying, the verdict’s been rendered.”
