Daughter of Wine

Callida

I'm not saying my dad is using me for free labor, but it sure feels like it. 

I'm filling wicker baskets full of bright red grapes. As soon as I fill one basket, Silenus has another, ready and waiting. 

"If anything, this is making me hate him more." I tell him, taking another empty basket. "How is this supposed to help?"

Silenus sighs. "If you'd stop whining, you'd feel the sunshine. You'd smell the earth and the grapes. You'd feel what your dad felt when I was teaching him how to make wine."

"Did he feel hot and hungry? Because if so, I'm there." 

In response, Silenus tosses a grape into my basket. 

I continue to work, picking through the grapes to collect only the ripest ones. I can tell how good a grape is for winemaking just by touching it, which feels like an incredibly useless skill. 

Once I fill my final basket, Silenus leads me down the hill. I refuse to admit it, but a part of me enjoyed picking the grapes. I enjoyed feeling the sun on my skin, and I enjoyed the smells he described. I don't hate my dad any less, but I liked the peace and monotony of picking grapes. 

"Well, come on!" He scurries down the hill, back down to his hut. I lug the enormous basket beside me, having to move more slowly thanks to my normal, human feet. His hut looks like it could be doll-sized from up here. In the daylight, I see that the big contraption I couldn't make out last night is a large vat. 

He's already dumping baskets of grapes into the vat, humming happily. 

"Come on, add those too!" 

I dump my basket into the vat. "Okay, now you're going to stomp on them?"

"No, you lazy demigod! You are!" 

Of course I am. 

"Fine." I carefully remove my shoes. Despite my anger at my dad, I still love these leopard-print converse. "I just... stomp on them?"

"It's called pigeage." He corects. "And yes. Go ahead!"

I pull myself into the vat and immediately lose my balance, falling into the grapes. 

"This cannot be sanitary." I point out, clumsily stomping around on the grapes. 

"Okay, you have fun out here, I'm getting breakfast!" Silenus says, scurrying off to his hut. 

"What?" I demand. "Wait, no! I'm hungry! You can't just leave me out-"

There's no point. He's already inside. 

"Stupid, old, stupid, drunk, fat, stupid satyr." I grumble to myself, stomping on grapes. How is this supposed to make me like my dad? 

I guess it's kind of fun. I'm so angry, it feels good to crush the grapes under my feet. And it smells good. These grapes are going to make some amazing wine, even if my feet have been all over them. 

Huh. Wines these days are made in presses. People don't stomp their own wines anymore. I guess people wouldn't be wanting a nice glass of red with their steak dinner of they knew a stranger's feet had been swimming in it. But still, this is a lost art. This is how the ancient Greeks made their wine. This is how my dad made wine for the first time. 

Oh, I see what he's doing. And I hate that it's working. I do feel closer to my dad, being here in the same place he was, doing the same things he did. My jeans are becoming stained a deep red, the same deep red that I choose to wear all the time. No matter how angry he makes me, Dionysus is in my blood. He's half of my being. His power runs through my veins. He didn't help me fight the giants because he couldn't. Sure, he could have looked less happy about it, but that's what he does. He's the god of theatre, as well as everything else. Of course he'd make a show of it.