2026-10-30 16:41:42
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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
Tiago’s Own Dream
Tiago had a secret.It was not the sort of secret that required locked doors, whispered warnings, or an old guitar that played without being touched.His secret was hidden beneath a pile of exercise books in the corner of his bedroom.Every evening, after finishing his schoolwork and helping his mother with household chores, Tiago would pull out a small notebook and carefully draw.Sometimes he sketched houses. Sometimes he drew bridges, market stalls, and narrow streets with little shops on either side. He paid particular attention to roofs, windows, and the way buildings fitted together.But his favourite drawings were of machines.He had sketched a water pump, a hand-operated cart, and a strange contraption designed to carry baskets up steep streets without requiring someone to lift them.His latest invention occupied almost four pages.It was a small wooden trolley with two large wheels, a platform, and a handle that could be adjusted to different heights. He had designed it to he
The Price of a Small Business
The first sign that something was wrong with Casa das Cordas was the envelope beneath Rafael's account book.Alfredo discovered it on a Thursday morning while searching for the pencil his father had promised to lend him.He had been sent to the counter to sharpen it, but the pencil had rolled behind the account book, leaving him with a choice: move the heavy book or abandon his search.He moved the book.The envelope underneath was thin, folded at the edges, and marked with a date. Several figures had been written across its front in Rafael's familiar handwriting.Alfredo could recognize numbers, although he did not always understand what they meant when adults placed them together.He recognized one thing immediately.The number was large.He lifted the envelope."Papa, why do we have so many numbers written here?"Rafael looked up from the guitar he was repairing."Because numbers help a business owner remember what has happened.""Did something happen?""Nothing you need to worry a
Lessons Beyond the Guitar
The name Tomás Valente followed Alfredo home.It stayed with him through the narrow streets of Ouro Preto, past the colourful houses and old stone walls, past the bakery where the smell of warm bread usually made him forget everything else. It followed him into Casa das Cordas, where his father was repairing a customer's guitar, and into the kitchen, where his mother sang while preparing supper.Even when nobody mentioned the name, Alfredo heard it in his thoughts.Tomás Valente.He tried asking his grandfather about it three times.The first time, Mateus pretended not to hear him.The second time, he suddenly remembered an instrument that needed repairing and disappeared into the shop.The third time, Alfredo found him sitting beneath the window, polishing the body of an old cavaquinho."Grandpa?""Hmm?""Was Tomás Valente your friend?"Mateus's cloth stopped moving.For a moment, the only sound in the room was the distant chatter of neighbours outside."Why are you asking me again?"
The Tune Someone Recognized
Alfredo had practiced the song seventeen times before breakfast. He knew because Tiago had counted. “Seventeen,” Tiago announced, leaning against the doorway of Casa das Cordas. “And you made the same mistake in the middle every single time.” Alfredo stopped playing his little wooden shaker. “I did not.” “You did.” “I changed it on purpose.” “Then why did you look at your grandfather every time you changed it?” Alfredo opened his mouth, then closed it. Across the shop, Mateus concealed a smile behind his hand. The song was called “O Bolo que Virou Confusão” — The Cake That Caused a Commotion. Alfredo had invented it after the neighbourhood argument over the damaged wall, with help from Tiago, who insisted that the baker should blame the flour rather than admit he had put too much salt into the mixture. It had become their most ambitious composition yet. The song featured a baker who ruined a cake, blamed the oven, accused the flour, and finally attempted to sell the disaste
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