2026-10-31 10:08:34
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A Face in an Old Photograph
For several seconds, there was no response.Then a man's voice spoke.“Professor Augusto?”“Yes. Who is this?”“I understand you have been examining the old music archive.”Augusto sat upright.“Who is speaking?”The caller ignored the question.“You should be careful about what you tell Rafael Ferreira.”Augusto's expression hardened.“Why?”A short silence followed.“Because some records were lost for a reason.”The call ended.Augusto stared at the telephone.He looked towards the photograph of the old gathering pinned above his desk.Mateus and Tomás stood side by side.The third guitarist, Anselmo Rocha, was partly visible behind them.Augusto picked up the telephone again, intending to call Rafael.But before he could dial, a message appeared on the screen.It contained no greeting, no explanation and no signature.Only a photograph.It showed the missing closing-performance sheet.And written across the top, in faded ink, were the words:“THE FINAL ARRANGEMENT — MATEUS FERREIRA
The Missing Record
The old building beside Casa das Cordas had become the most interesting place in the neighbourhood.Since Marcelo Viana acquired the property, workers had been coming and going almost every morning. They measured doorways, examined the walls and carried wooden boards through the entrance. A painter had already covered one section of the exterior with fresh white paint.The sign announcing CASA DA MÚSICA — A NEW HOME FOR THE SOUNDS OF OURO PRETO had been placed against the wall.Alfredo saw it every time he entered or left his family's shop.He did not understand why the sign bothered him so much.Perhaps it was because the words sounded familiar. Perhaps it was because the building stood so close to Casa das Cordas. Or perhaps he disliked the thought that someone else could create a music business beside his family's shop and make it look more important.Whatever the reason, he had begun watching the workers whenever he had nothing else to do.On Monday morning, Tiago found him standi
An Offer for the Shop
The first sign that something was wrong at Casa das Cordas was not an angry customer or an unpaid bill.It was the empty space on the shelf.Alfredo noticed it while arranging a collection of guitar strings behind the counter. Three packets that had occupied the upper shelf were gone, leaving a narrow patch of dust against the wooden wall.He checked the storage drawer.Nothing.Then he checked the cardboard box beneath the counter.Still nothing.“Dad?”Rafael was examining the neck of a customer's guitar.“Yes?”“Where are the silver strings?”“Which ones?”“The ones in the blue packets.”Rafael glanced towards the shelf.“We sold the last of them yesterday.”“When are we getting more?”“Not this week.”Alfredo frowned.“Why?”“Because we have to pay for the other things first.”Alfredo looked at the empty shelf again.It seemed strange that a shop which sold strings could run out of them. He had always assumed Rafael and Mateus simply ordered more whenever they needed them.“Can't
A Better Guitarist
The celebration arrived with bright sunshine, colourful decorations, and more people than Alfredo had expected.By mid-afternoon, the small square near the old fountain had become a gathering place. Families occupied wooden benches, children chased one another between the stalls, and vendors called out their prices above the cheerful noise.A group of musicians had arranged themselves beneath a canopy. Someone was testing a drum, another person was adjusting a microphone, and a woman in a yellow dress was arguing with her brother about where to place the speakers.Alfredo stood beside Rafael, holding his guitar.He had polished it that morning.He had checked the strings twice.He had also practised his opening sequence so many times that Rafael eventually asked him to take a break.But now, surrounded by people, his confidence was beginning to disappear.“What if I forget the lyrics?” he asked.“Then you recover,” Rafael replied.“What if I play the wrong chord?”“Then you correct it
Dona Beatriz’s Warning
The morning after the notice for the neighbourhood celebration arrived, Alfredo found his grandfather sitting outside Casa das Cordas, polishing the wooden body of an old guitar.Mateus had been at it for nearly twenty minutes.The cloth moved slowly across the instrument, following the curves of its body. Every so often, he stopped to examine a small scratch before continuing.Alfredo watched him from the doorway.“Grandpa?”“Hmm?”“Do you think Lucas will play better than me?”Mateus continued polishing.“Probably.”Alfredo frowned. “You didn't even think about it.”“I have heard Lucas play.”“That doesn't mean you have to say it so quickly.”Mateus chuckled and placed the cloth beside him.“Would you prefer that I lie?”“No.”“Then you already have your answer.”Alfredo folded his arms.“I'm practising.”“I know.”“And I've improved.”“I know that too.”“Then why did you say he'll play better?”“Because Lucas has spent more time learning certain things. You have spent more time lea
The Song That Failed
Alfredo had never been so certain that a song would succeed.For three evenings, he had worked on it.He had written the first verse while sitting beside the window, changed the chorus twice, and asked his mother to listen to the melody. He had even abandoned his usual habit of making up lyrics as he went along.This time, every word had a place.The song was called "A Festa na Rua" — The Street Party.It was about a lively neighbourhood celebration where everyone brought something different: a baker brought bread, a fruit seller brought oranges, a fisherman arrived with an empty basket, and a sleepy old man came only because he had heard there would be food.Alfredo imagined people laughing at the characters, clapping along with the rhythm, and joining the chorus.He had written it especially for the neighbourhood celebration.There was only one problem.He had never performed it for anyone outside his family.On Saturday morning, Casa das Cordas was busier than usual.Rafael was pre
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