Johan Liebenberg

Last night had an Eikendal Sauvignon Blanc that was breathtakingly good. I did not have the opportunity or inclination to try to identify the composition of flavours that made it so magnificent but even today, I am trying in vain to recall its distinctive flavours. It was a terrific amalgam of vivid flavours which I thought were in perfect balance.

One summer’s day, I was sitting at the table, on the sunlit terrace, across from Neethlingshof winemaker. We tasted three sauvignon blancs of different vintages which clearly illlustrated what interesting things can happen to a sauvignon blanc in the bottle if you are not in a hurry, like me, to open it immediately and guzzle it down.
Perhaps something happened to that Eikendal in the bottle in the year it lay resting in the bottle cellar.
Mysteries.
I think back of the wine I had last night, and I think back of an unknown Malay girl appearing briefly in the doorway 15 years ago.
Both have an elusive quality. And it was all to do with my failing memory. Or perhaps I was never that sharp, never that observant anyway. What was that flavour silently appealing to my palate while I was ingrossed in conversation? And while I was talking to the mother, and biting into a Malay koeksister, what impression had that young girl made on me? She was backlit somewhat by the sun that was behind her. It makes me realize there was a window somewhere behind her in the passage.

In the case of Mrs Noerdien, things were different. She did not so much as glance at Coetzee or acknowledge that his father had just introduced him. She averted her gaze. She spoke to the father, wishing him good night. She left.

There is something spellbinding about being thus ignored by a beautiful woman. Or should I amend that to read: “a gazelle-eyed” young woman who is soft and round. It creates a tension. I recall now reading what Hitchcock said about sexual tension. It appeared in this week’s New Yorker and is from a review written by Anthony Lane, a fine writer.
“During a famous exchange with François Truffaut, Hitchcock argued that “if sex is too blatant or obvious, there’s no suspense. You know why I favor sophisticated blondes in my films? We’re after the drawing-room type, the real ladies, who become whores once they’re in the bedroom.” He then referred to the scene in “To Catch a Thief” where John Robie (Cary Grant), a former cat burglar, joins Frances (Kelly), an heiress, and her mother for drinks at a Riviera hotel. “I deliberately photographed Grace Kelly ice-cold and I kept cutting to her profile, looking classical, beautiful, and very distant. And then, when Cary Grant accompanies her to the door of her hotel room, what does she do? She thrusts her lips right up to his mouth.”

And so, consequently, when Mrs Noerdien ignores Coetzee upon being introduced, the first germs of sexual tension are sowed and, we expect, sooner or later things will come to a head. He will either make an utter fool out of himself or he will be loved.

(Note: This is a thread. To read the beginning please go down a post.)