Jaén

The market in Jaén smelled of cocoa, ripe mangoes, and hot dust. Perusino thought it was a very successful blend. Franz thought so too, but said nothing, as his nose was already deep in a basket of cocoa beans.

“Franz,” Perusina said, “that’s not breakfast.”

“Just checking the situation,” Franz mumbled.

Then there was a bang.

Not loud enough for anyone to run away. But loud enough for all heads to turn to the center of the market. There stood a new cocoa machine made of gleaming sheet metal. A merchant with a red scarf proudly patted it.

“Today I’ll show you Jaén’s oldest cocoa!” he shouted.

Perusina froze.

On a small table next to the machine lay an inconspicuous brown sample in a glass dish. Next to it was a crooked label: Montegrande. Do not heat.

“That shouldn’t go in there,” she said.

The merchant didn’t hear her. He reached for the dish.

“Stop!” Perusina cried.

Too late.

The sample slid into the hopper with a rush of normal beans. The machine hummed, coughed, and started to whistle. First deep. Then shrill. Then so off-key that a merchant dropped her mango basket.

Perusino leaped forward and slipped on the mangoes. Franz shot after him, collided with a sack of cocoa beans, and disappeared into it except for the tip of his tail.

The machine spat brown dust. A lid flew up. People shouted in confusion.

“Turn it off!” Perusina yelled.

“I’m looking for the button!” Perusino called from the ground.

“All I see are beans!” Franz shouted from the sack.

Perusina climbed onto a wooden crate. From there, she saw what no one below noticed: behind the machine, a small metal sieve vibrated. The old sample must be caught in it. If it got into the rollers, it would be lost.

“Perusino! There’s a lever on the left side!”

Perusino crawled under the table. The machine was now shaking so hard that cups, spoons, and cocoa bowls were bouncing across the stall.

Franz rolled across the market in the sack.

“Not helpful!” Perusino called.

“Yes!” Franz cried. “I found something!”

The sack caught on a nail and ripped open. Franz tumbled out, with an old strip of paper between his teeth. It read: Museo Jaén. Montegrande sample. For display only, not for processing.

The merchant turned pale. “I thought it was decoration.”

“Decoration with a museum number?” Perusina asked.

No answer.

Now the machine shrieked. The lever was stuck.

Perusino took a cocoa scoop, wedged it between the lever and the casing, and pushed with both hands. Franz pressed against it with his paws. Perusina pulled the emergency cord.

A jerk.

A crash.

Then silence.

Only a last cocoa bean sprang from the hopper and hit Perusino on the forehead.

“Attack from the confectionery department,” he mumbled.

Perusina carefully opened the sieve. The old sample lay inside. Intact. Small, dark, dry. Nothing that looked like chocolate. And yet more important than all the sweets in the market.

“This is not a snack,” she said. “This is a piece of history.”

The merchant lowered his head. “I wanted everyone to be amazed.”

“Then tell them the real story,” Perusina said. “That cocoa in this area is ancient. That Montegrande is important. And that artifacts shouldn’t be thrown into machines.”

Franz licked cocoa from his nose. “Even if they smell good.”

In the afternoon, Don Mateo from the museum brought the sample back. The merchant was allowed to stay, but only with normal beans. A new sign now hung above his stall:

Jaén tastes of cocoa. But some beans tell stories first.

Perusino read it twice.

“Nice,” he said. “And which beans don’t tell stories?”

Franz pointed to a fresh plate of chocolate.

“Those have nothing to say right now.”