Helping Jorge set the table whilst Thaís finishes preparing the food, your mind storms into a billion thoughts and questions that shout louder and louder until one of them finally translates into words, breaking the – cosy, yet unusual – silence that has been filling the tavern halls:

-        D-Do you think Sigmundo is dead… ?

  For a moment after hearing your inquire, Jorge freezes on his moves and – though she is out of your field of view –, something gives you the “feeling” that so does Thaís. Yet, before any remarks can leave your mouth, they both resume their tasks as Jorge answers it in a comforting tone:

-        Sigmundo may not be the most courageous person in the world but I’m sure he’s ok. He probably just lost his way back, haha… That’s all…

  However, as reassuring as his words are and how optimistic Jorge tends to be, the sorrow he hides behind his tame smile show you that, even he, does not believe that that is the case.

-        But, anyway, take a seat! I’ll go help Thaís with the finishing touches.

  Not wanting to poke an open wound, you decide to comply then and, whilst he heads to the kitchen, the rational side of your mind urges the emotional one to “open the floodgates of sorrow”, yet… It struggles to do so. It struggles as if something inside – that you cannot quite identify – has been gradually dying ever since your amnesiac return  to consciousness.

-        Dinner is ready!

  But before you can descend into an abyss of worries and fears, Thaís announces cheerfully whilst she and Jorge bring countless trays of the most varied foods and dishes to the table: Rice; beans; some type of pork stew and even a few exotic vegetables.

  Upon the two taking a seat after covering the table with a banquet worthy of kings, you extend your hand towards one of the serving spoons, about to fill your plate, but Thaís is quick to slap your wrist:

-        Na-ah. First, we must say our thanks…

  Then, both her and Jorge extend a hand to you whilst holding each other’s and you, in accordance with the few manners that your memory has not lots yet, reciprocate. Causing Thaís to proceed:

-        Obrigada Nameless God for bringing food to our table and safety to the hearts of our friends and families. And please, we ask that, wherever he is, your blessings may also extend to Sigmundo, guiding him back to us. Amém.

  In such moment of prayer, though as quiet as you are, several questions begin to spawn within your mind. One especially relevant to this scenario, stands out from the rest: “What’s my faith?”.

  For indeed, though the customs and traditions from the Nameless God’s faith are not strange to you – at all, really –, they still lack that sense of affinity and importance it would have if such were your own. Rather, they feel more belonging to a close friend or even a beloved one.

  Regardless, as soon as Thaís finishes her sentence and calmly lets go of your hand, nearly all of your thoughts evaporate with the same swiftness as a mountain of food grows on your plate, as a result of you grabbing a little of everything and then immediately beginning to devour it.

-        Hahaha! That’s how it’s done, Orion. There’s no better food than the one made by my loving wife. I want to see you leave that plate spotless!

-        Hehe, though I won’t say no to such a compliment. I think you should go a bit slower. You don’t want to end up with no room for the desserts, do you?

  Jorge’s laughter and words are filled with pride and joy as he notices the pace at which you eat. In turn, showing the same feeling as her husband, Thaís also presents some concern for your wellbeing. For indeed, before her remarks, even your mind was not aware of how ferociously/animal-like your hunger has been expressing itself. For a moment – more specifically, when you have your mouth full to the point your cheeks begin aching from being so inflated – embarrassment threatens to take over your mind, but immediately upon swallowing the food, a rush of gastronomic ecstasy melts it away, making your following words all praises:

-        What’s this? It tastes so good!

  Thaís looks at the pot you are pointing at with your fork and, trying to maintain a modest demeanour but also being slightly betrayed by the proud smile on her face, she answers excitedly:

-        A, that’s a pork-with-black-beans stew very traditional from back home. I had planned to prepare it for the village’s birthday fair but since I only got half of the needed ingredients delivered and, the village is now on lockdown, I decided to make it now and prepare something else for the fair. I hope it’s not too spicy for your liking…

-        No no, it’s just perfect!

  Your answer is as quick as it needs to be, since you squeeze it between two massive spoonful of that delicious stew mixed with the white rice and vegetables.

   Though, her mention of the village’s birthday fair provokes an itch at the back of your mind… An itch of a lost memory that is fighting to return but soon is left to oblivion again as you bring to your mouth yet another spoonful of  food, dissolving all of your thoughts within your mind and all the needless distractions from the world around your body into an absolute nothing, all whilst, your whole attention is absorbed by the intricacies of the layers upon layers of flavour that your tongue submerges itself in.

  However, even such heavenly food can only tame the wild chaos – that your mind has been for the past days – for so long, until a dichotomy between it and your body rises as the latter remains in culinary ecstasy and the former soon disperses into another loose strain of thought:

-        Hmm… By the way, where do you two come from? I know I haven’t recovered much of my memories but of everyone’s accents, yours are the only that still feel unfamiliar…

-        A! We come from Pindorama. It’s in the Australis region of the New Continent.

  Jorge is quick to respond, with an expression of enthusiasm quite akin to the one an artist would have when being asked about their craft.

  In addition, the names he mentioned do bring you a light sense of familiarity, almost as if it is a place you used to hear about or even wanted to visit once. Inevitably, curiosity takes over your voice – once your mouth is no longer full of food, of course – and verbalises itself without a though:

-        Pindorama, hmm… How is it like there?

-        Ai não. Here we go again…

  Thaís remarks in a joking tone as soon as you finish your sentence and Jorge’s expression goes from one of pure and nearly uncontrollable enthusiasm to that of a child before a sweets stall at the market. With star-like glowing eyes and such a cheerful expression that one would do well to wonder if it is possible to overdose on joy, he begins:

-        Bom, it’s a little difficult to describe it as a whole, each region is verry different from the other but, in a way, imagine this:

-        It’s like someone took a pedacinho of the geography, culture, people and food – especially the food, hehe – from many places around the world and mixed it all together into a dough that then was cooked in a dinosaur-shaped tray, Hahaha.

-        Queeeê?!

  Thaís’ surprise takes the form of an – uncharacteristically – puzzled “whaaat?!” as an expression of playful indignation spreads on her face. Uncertain if Jorge is only teasing or, indeed, that is his simplified explanation of their homeland, she gives him “the look” which immediately prompts the warm-hearted man to add:

-        É… To be fair, to me it looks more like a seahorse that a dinosaur, like a buffy one too, you know?… I mean, where are the legs and tiny arms to even be a dinosaur???

  Yet, as soon as his words leave his mouth – quicker towards the end than at the start of the sentence since a nearly uncontrollable laughing fit threatens to take over him – Thaís, looks again at her husband whilst raising an eyebrow:

-        Ok amor, you have just renounced your talking rights…

-        Pff- Hahahaha! But it was just a jo- Hehehahaha!…

-        Nah-ah. That joke was just too bad, even for your standards. I’ll be explaining to Orion now, the right way.

  Though she manages to maintain a serious tone for most of her words, through her smirk, one can clearly see the amount of effort she’s putting into not laughing. After a brief pause – which, without, she surely would not have been able to maintain her composure – Thaís directs her words to you:

-        As much as the seahorse/dinosaur analogy is, shall we say… Dubious, the rest of my husband’s words are very true…

-        … Regardless of which province or city you visit, there are a lot of different cultures and types of people coexisting and sometimes even living wall-to-wall…

-        …The southernmost provinces tend to have weather and geography more similar to the ones from here – minus the excess of snow, of course – while the northeast is very hot and dry, having the sertão and even a desert. And if you go farther inland while still on the north then you’ll find the Floresta Amazônica which is this huuuuge rainforest, full of the most gorgeous species of plants and animals…

  Thaís’ words continue with such an enthralling enthusiasm and sheer plethora of knowledge being shared so “casually” – yet still masterfully – that you cannot help but have your attention completely engrossed by it. She even goes to share her opinions and views on some of those trivia, whilst delighting herself with nostalgia for others.

  However, as soon as your attention span runs out and you begin to drift into whichever thoughts come to mind, confusion swiftly disturbs your enjoyment of Thaís’ explanation: Though, both her and Jorge’s facial expressions are of joy and homesick, for whatever reason you fee- Notices that those same memories that bring so much joy to them, also bring a massive ache… A heartache quite foreign to you but that afflicts them in such intensity that your heart can empathise, regardless.

  Such confusion-spawned unease is so hefty that as soon as Thaís finishes her explanation, you impulsively ask:

-        It sounds like such a nice place. What made you leave?

-        Umm… Ah, we just like travelling, that’s all. It’s like they say: “Being in good company, everywhere is nice”.

  Jorge’s words carry a comforting tone as he gently places his hand over Thaís’. She then looks him in the eye melancholically whilst tightening her grip around his fingers, as if thanking him for the gesture, but, even after a moment of silence, her words carry an unsurmountable level of pain:

-        I… I’m happy here too, even with everything that has been happening lately… But it’s like a great poet once said: “… The birds that sing here, do not sing as they do there…”.

  Those words leave Thaís’ mouth with such ease and honesty that the whole dining hall seems to drop ten degrees in temperature. Moreover, as dispersed  as you have been these past few days, you notice – even if it lasted for a mere fraction of a second – the soft, almost muted trembling of Thaís’ voice when she quoted the poet.

  A trembling that only happens when someone with a heavy heart says the very thing that, could not only break the mask they wear, but also push them into a long night of crying. Perceptive as she is, Thaís realises this and so lets go of Jorge’s hand, quickly leaving the table and heading towards the kitchen:

-        Look at the time! We haven’t had dessert yet, haha…

-        Pera, amor! I’ll help you with the trays.

-        No, no. There’s no need. Just… wait here, ok?

  Before Jorge can even get up from his seat, his offer of comfort – masked as one of help – is denied coldly. He then is left to simply watch his wife fade from view, whilst great concern mutates his expression.

  Placing one of his elbows on the tabletop and beginning to brush his moustache whilst looking at the distant emptiness, lost in thoughts, Jorge shifts into a distant demeanour – that is quite unfitting of his personality –.

  The tavern’s ambiance continues to grow colder, aggravating the fear that you had a hand in this awkward turn of events. As your mind regrets having touched such sensitive topic, your lips produce a murmur, as ordered by the subconscious side of it:

-        I-I’m sorry… If I said anything inconsiderate…

-        Nah… It’s not your fault…

  Jorge is quick to respond still trying to sound as carefree as usual, but sadly failing this time. The air becomes even denser and stagnant once neither of you says anything else. Save for the comforting crackling of the fireplace and the light blowing of the cold air on the windows, the silence is almost absolute…

  Yet, another sound, one so muted that you begin to wonder if it is real or just an artefact of your imagination, echoes muffled, not wanting to be noticed: From the kitchen’s direction, a melancholically sweet voice is forcefully held back, only letting out a hint… Of crying.