Short Stories by Phoenix Hocking

I wrote this some time ago in Arkansas.

My name is Padre Kino. I am wine.

I am not great wine, but I am good enough. I am rich and red and quite sufficient for a glass or two by the fire after a long day. I will not cause you to flinch when you buy me in the market, nor will you think twice before stopping there on your way home from work to purchase me. I am inexpensive, yes, but I am not cheap.

Ah, but I digress, for as interesting as my tales might be - and oh! the stories I could tell! - this particular story is not about me at all, but about my container. Containers have stories as well, did you know that? Coffee cans, jelly jars, cardboard boxes, wooden fruit crates, and yes, Padre Kino carafes, have all been pressed into service at one time or another beyond their intended purpose.

This is one such tale.



I began, (begins the carafe), as all of my kindred do, in a factory. I am made of glass and am truly no different in that regard than any of the others you might find on the shelf. I am clear and have a distinctive shape that is perfect for wrapping your fingers around to pour my contents. After the factory, I was shipped to the winery, where I was filled with wine, a label slapped on, and sent to market.

I shall not bore you with details about my stay at the market, for that would be an entire other story, but suffice it to say that eventually I was purchased by a fellow who was, indeed, on his way home from work after a long day.

Jose is a nice enough young man, not given to excess in drink, or any other way. It took him a few days to drink the contents, some of which he shared with Maria, his bride. It is Maria who saved me from living out my days at the bottom of a landfill.

“Oh, Jose,” she said as his hand was poised over the waste basket. “Don’t throw that away. I can use it for something.”

And so began my career as something other than simply a container for wine.

First, I held flowers. Jose was in the habit of bringing flowers home to Maria, who would coo and smile, then fill me with water and arrange them nicely. Their marriage was in its early stages, and both Jose and Maria thought of little else but the other. The flowers were not usually something bought at a shop, but instead some of the brave buds that grew in profusion along the dusty lane that led to their tiny house.

Next, I held buttons. Marie liked to sew, you see, and as she collected buttons for her many sewing projects, I began to fill with buttons of all shapes, sizes and colors. I’m afraid I filled with rather more buttons than Maria could use, for once I began to overflow, Maria removed my contents and found another home for them.

Briefly, I served as a trash container on Jose’s desk, but that didn’t last long. I was glad for that, for being a trash container seemed highly undignified. I longed for the sweet smell of my friends the flowers, or even the colorful comments of the buttons as they chatted amongst themselves and wondered what garment or other they would end up in.

Often, I simply held water, and kept by the bedside for the odd drink at night. Or I was placed out in the laundry room, where I was used to refill the dog’s water dish. Humble work, but necessary.

For a while, I lived under the sink. I had been pushed to the back, behind the dish soap and bleach, and there I stayed for what seemed an awfully long time. It was dark and I collected an amazing amount of dust while I was there.

But one day, Maria opened the cabinet door, and I could tell that she was not looking for dish soap.

“I know it’s here somewhere,” I could hear her muttering. “I wouldn’t have thrown it away.”

Familiar fingers grasped my neck and pulled me free from the undersink jumble. “Ah!” Maria said. “There it is!”

She washed the dust from my insides and outsides, clucking all the while. She was singing, laughing, and talking to herself all at the same time. She not only washed me, but took out a soft dishcloth and began to rub me shiny.

“Have I got a surprise for you!” she sang. “Jose, my love, have I got a surprise for you!”

After I was shined and polished, she filled me with water, and put the stems of six beautiful red roses inside me. She put me on the table, and I was surprised to see one of my cousins also there. He was brand new from the market, and filled with Padre Kino wine. We had a nice chat as we waited for whatever was going to occur, for it was obvious that this was no ordinary evening by the fire.

The table was set with newly quilted placemats, and the good silverware, and Maria’s mother’s china. In the very middle, on a hand-embroidered scarf she placed myself, my good cousin, and two long candles in elaborate candle-holders.

Jose was surprised when he came home. He looked at the unusual display and asked, “What’s all this?”

“Sit down,” Maria said, as she poured a glass of Padre Kino from my good cousin. “I have some news.”

“Aren’t you going to have some?” Jose asked, seeing that she did not pour herself a glass as well.

“No,” she replied. “I won’t be having any wine for about...oh, maybe seven months or so.”

It took him a minute to understand. “You don’t mean?”

“Yes!” Maria cried. “I’m pregnant!”

And what a lovely evening that was! There was much talking and kissing and making of plans. My good cousin dispensed one more celebratory glass for Jose, then was placed in the refrigerator for another day. And as for me, well, I stayed on the table, amongst the fine china and the good silverware, and shared the happiness of this fine young couple.

I can’t help but wonder though. What will I be used for next?