2:55 a.m.
Camila is practicing cooking. She makes scrambled eggs. They burn. “Sorry, bro!” “It’s okay. Try again tomorrow,” Mateo says. He’s adjusting the stove.
The air feels different tonight. Not cold. Not hot. Warm. Like someone is playing a slow song inside his head.
Ding... ding... The sound of strings. From outside.
2:59 a.m. Creak. The door opens.
A young man walks in. In his twenties. A T-shirt. Ripped jeans. Long hair. An acoustic guitar on his back. Two of its strings are broken.
He sits down. Just like that. He doesn’t order anything. He immediately strums the guitar. Duuung... The notes are off-key.
Mateo comes out of the kitchen. “Evening.” The young man stops. “Evening, sir. Mind if I play here?” “This restaurant isn’t a studio.” “I know. But it’s noisy outside. Here... it’s quiet here.”
He points to his head. “It’s loud in here.”
Camila sits across from him. “Who are you?” “Diego. I write songs. But nobody wants to listen.”
Mateo goes into the kitchen. He doesn’t ask Diego what he wants to eat. He listens to the guitar first.
Off-key. Sad. A mess. But there’s one note he keeps repeating. The same note.
Mateo knows it. It’s the melody of a lullaby.
He cooks Music Soup. It isn’t in the book. Ingredients: chicken broth. Noodles. Egg. Scallions. And he turns on the old radio in the kitchen. Just static. Crackle... crackle...
Fifteen minutes later. He sets a bowl of soup in front of Diego. Plus a cup of tea.
Diego eats while playing the guitar. Slurp... strum... slurp... strum...
He stops after the fifth bite. “Sir...” “Hmm?” “This song... I wrote it for my little sister. Two years ago.”
He points to the broken strings. “She broke them. When she was angry. She said, ‘You love your guitar more than me.’”
Diego laughs bitterly. “A week later, she was hit by a car. She was crossing the street to buy me new strings.”
His hand stops strumming. “I never played again. Until tonight. Because I heard someone playing this song in my head.”
Mateo sits down. “Which song?” Diego sings softly. Off-key. But sincere.
Little one, go to sleep. The stars will watch over you. When you wake up, I’ll be right here.
Camila cries softly. Mateo is silent. He remembers Lena singing the same song to Ana.
Diego finishes the soup. “Sir, thank you. The soup tastes like... like being forgiven.”
He stands. He’s about to leave. At the door, he looks back. “Sir, can I leave this guitar here? So someone can look after it. So it won’t be lonely.”
He sets the broken guitar in the corner. Near Lena’s table. Then he walks out. Ding... The last string rings.
3:40 a.m. Whoosh. Dust falls. But this time, it doesn’t fall to the floor. The dust swirls around the guitar. Its shape: a musical note ♪
Then it falls. The eleventh clean circle. Its shape: a guitar.
Mateo picks up the guitar. Its strings are broken. He strums it once. Plink. It’s out of tune. But it doesn’t hurt to hear.
Camila: “Bro, will he come back?” Mateo: “Of course. To get his guitar. And to finish his song.”
He opens the book.
Chef’s Notes—Day 9 Diego = Music Soup = Guilt over his little sister. 11 circles. 17 more. The guitar was left behind. It means he isn’t finished.
Camila: “Bro, can you play guitar?” Mateo shakes his head. “No. But Lena could.” He looks toward the table in the corner.
On top of the guitar, there’s a single strand of long black hair. It wasn’t there before.
Hummm... The fan spins. From the guitar, it sounds like someone is whispering the final lyric. I’ll be right here... I’ll be here...
Tonight, El Polvo finally has music. Even if it’s off-key. Even if it’s sad. But it’s alive.