English Version: Sands & Sparrow

7

Inside the apartment, Arman Gonzales, a forty-five-year-old man and renowned film director, slowly regained consciousness. His surroundings revealed a clean kitchen that surprised his senses. Dressed in a white shirt and rugged pants, he found himself seated in a wheelchair, attempting to move only to discover his lower body was numb.

Taking in the unfamiliar environment, Arman's gaze swept across the well-equipped kitchen. Stainless steel appliances gleamed, utensils hung neatly on hooks, and matching cups adorned the cupboard. A spotless sink and a neatly folded tea towel adorned the area, while a small bowl held a collection of cabbage, sliced carrots, and a finely chopped onion.

"Hi," a sultry voice of a woman greeted him from behind. It was none other than Margo, who wheeled the wheelchair near the counter. Advancing to the sink, she began washing the cabbage.

Confusion dawned on Arman's face as he watched her, questioning whether this was a dream and why they were in the kitchen.

Wearing a white apron, Margo prepared vegetables, leering at him for a moment before resuming the chopping. "I'm cooking dinner, just for you," her words, delivered with warmth and a foreign accent, made her seem like a dutiful wife tending to her loving husband. "Do you like to watch a movie while I cook?" Without waiting for a reply, she lifted her gaze, turned on the TV, and continued peeling the carrots.

Arman struggled to decide where to focus his attention, torn between the television and the woman in front of him. In his confusion, he glanced around, not fixating on anything, and unconsciously licked his dry lips, brimming with anxiety.

Meanwhile, Margo skillfully glided the knife across the wooden board, fully immersed in mincing and chopping the meat into smaller pieces. The rhythmic sound of the blade cutting through the beef resembled the striking of nails or raindrops falling on a roof.

With every noise, Arman's heart stumbled on its rhythm, echoing like a tap dance. Each strike of the blade felt like a series of staccato beats, creating a symphony of tension. The consistent sound of the knife on the wooden board made him fidget in his seat, a cold sweat forming on his forehead. The rhythmic prod from the chopping board seemed perfectly synchronized with his heart pounding in his chest. The slightest touch of the blade against the wooden surface sent shivers down his nerves, and his pupils gradually dilated with anxiety.

"You can't talk...the drug will wear off at least three minutes," Margo informed without glancing at him, she remained engrossed in chopping the meat into tiny, tiny pieces.

"I will teach you how to cook dumplings instead...it is also called gyoza in Japanese." Margo finally gave her attention by smiling at him then went back again to her work. Arman felt like watching a cooking show for a moment. "First, you need to boil the water in a pot for a minute." She did exactly what she said. "Let's take a sheet of a wrapper and place a tablespoon size of meat mixture." She started to wrap the chopped meat at the same time she heated the pan and poured some oil. The frying pan was ready; then she placed the gyoza. Hissing oil resonated when she covered it with the lid.

Margo took the first step in cleaning the kitchen sink while waiting for the gyoza to be ready. Arman watched her. His fear finally subsided.

After cooking, she prepared the gyoza on a clean plate; then sprinkled it with chopped onion leaves. As a pro, she looked meticulous in creating her dish by carefully placing the gyoza in a vertical position; she sighed and was quite satisfied with the outcome. Margo removed her apron and folded it on the counter.

She advanced to the dining room to prepare the table with an elegant white satin cloth. The table setting was small, more likely they were having a romantic dinner with a rose at the center of the slender vase. The sound of her heels echoed again on the floor. She lowered her head and whispered into Arman's ear. "It's ready." Her smooth black hair fell and covered his eyes. The scent of her hair lingered on his nose, the fragrance of vanilla and a fruity scent made him weak.