Beto never thought he would be one day cooking for his family, just the way his mother used to cook for him and his siblings. The most astonishing of it all was that he was actually enjoying it.
Before starting to chop the onion he was feeling a little down, with this hot and dry weather, and all these gloomy thoughts about the end of his life. He hoped it would start raining soon.
“These people are looking for me. One day, they will find my whereabouts. There is no doubt they will, it is just a matter of time.” All day long these bleak words had been turning around his head.
He chopped the tomatoes while the onion was cooking, and began to feel almost happy; it was stimulating to smell his own cooking. Cobi, his poodle, must have been thinking the same, because he showed up, and sat down, patiently waiting for a bit of tomato.
The huge monolith could be seen from the kitchen. He wondered how many stories and legends this big rock had seen: Indians, conquistadores, mestizos, maybe even dinosaurs… (He didn’t know about dinosaurs, he would have to ask his wife about that.) Many battles, many dead. And now the stone was a silent witness of his own story. “For how long?” he asked himself.
He mixed the cooked onions with the chopped tomatoes and added hot chile pepper –which he had always called chile piquín, a variety of paprika--, salt and pepper. He now knew that the more you cook tomatoes the better, and he liked this knowledge. He started chopping the zucchini.
“Tell me big rock, do you know when my story will end? When will they find me?” He didn’t ask the question in a gloomy mood, he had already been stimulated with the cooking. He asked it with acceptance, knowing that we cannot escape our destiny.
He mixed the zucchini with the cooked tomatoes, and added more spices. Then, he opened a tuna can, knowing that Luna, the cat, would be very soon around asking for her share.
A gray cloud covered the tip of the monolith, the wind started to blow and he saw birds flying low. “At least,” he thought, “the rain is coming.”
Before starting to chop the onion he was feeling a little down, with this hot and dry weather, and all these gloomy thoughts about the end of his life. He hoped it would start raining soon.
“These people are looking for me. One day, they will find my whereabouts. There is no doubt they will, it is just a matter of time.” All day long these bleak words had been turning around his head.
He chopped the tomatoes while the onion was cooking, and began to feel almost happy; it was stimulating to smell his own cooking. Cobi, his poodle, must have been thinking the same, because he showed up, and sat down, patiently waiting for a bit of tomato.
The huge monolith could be seen from the kitchen. He wondered how many stories and legends this big rock had seen: Indians, conquistadores, mestizos, maybe even dinosaurs… (He didn’t know about dinosaurs, he would have to ask his wife about that.) Many battles, many dead. And now the stone was a silent witness of his own story. “For how long?” he asked himself.
He mixed the cooked onions with the chopped tomatoes and added hot chile pepper –which he had always called chile piquín, a variety of paprika--, salt and pepper. He now knew that the more you cook tomatoes the better, and he liked this knowledge. He started chopping the zucchini.
“Tell me big rock, do you know when my story will end? When will they find me?” He didn’t ask the question in a gloomy mood, he had already been stimulated with the cooking. He asked it with acceptance, knowing that we cannot escape our destiny.
He mixed the zucchini with the cooked tomatoes, and added more spices. Then, he opened a tuna can, knowing that Luna, the cat, would be very soon around asking for her share.
A gray cloud covered the tip of the monolith, the wind started to blow and he saw birds flying low. “At least,” he thought, “the rain is coming.”
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