The wind was still cold and the sun had not yet risen when Nestor was already awake. The entire barangay in San Pablo, Laguna was silent, only the barking of dogs in the distance and the crowing of roosters could be heard.
Every day, as early as four in the morning, large steamers would be parked outside his house. But for the past two weeks, a strange occurrence had been raising big questions in his mind.
Whenever he would leave his seat for a few minutes to get hot coffee from the kitchen, a small bundle of puto would always be missing. It wasn’t money that was missing, but exactly six pieces of ube cheese puto wrapped in banana leaves.
What’s even more surprising is that in the very spot where the food disappeared, a folded piece of paper was always left behind.
When he opened the paper the first day it happened, he was greeted by a beautiful charcoal drawing. A detailed sketch of his steamer steaming.
The next day, he lost his coat again, and the paper left behind had a drawing of a dog sleeping next to his place.
“Who does this?” Nestor asked himself as he wiped his hands from the flour. “If someone needs food, why not just ask properly? And why do they leave only lines?”
He thought maybe the youth in his area were just teasing him. Maybe it was a challenge among his friends to see who could get the food without getting caught. But as a businessman, he couldn’t afford to lose money every day, even if it was just six pieces.
He must solve this mystery and catch the culprit who is making a joke of his profession.
That evening, Nestor got ready. Instead of going into the kitchen to make coffee after brewing the first batch of puto, he hid in the dark part of his garage, behind a large aratiles tree.
Carrying a small flashlight, he waited silently while trying to fight off drowsiness and the cold of the fog.
Almost half an hour passed. At exactly four thirty, he heard faint footsteps coming from the alley. A thin figure slowly approached his desk. He was wearing a faded jacket and was hunched over, clearly afraid of being seen by anyone.
When the stranger lifted the lid of the bilao and took out a wrapped puto, Nestor quickly came out of his hiding place and turned on his flashlight.
“You’re late! What are you doing with my goods?” Nestor shouted loudly.
The stranger stepped back and dropped a piece of paper. When the flashlight’s light hit his face, Nestor’s eyes widened. This was not a thief or a thief with evil intentions.
It was a young man, probably only fifteen years old, who was familiar to him because he lived at the end of their street. Leo.
Leo’s whole body was shaking. He tried to speak, but no voice came out of his throat. Instead, he used sign language as tears kept rolling down his cheeks. Leo was born mute, and the entire village knew it.
Nestor looked at the paper that had fallen to the ground. He picked it up. Another beautiful drawing.
This time, the child drew an old woman lying in bed, holding a piece of puto, and smiling.
Nestor’s shoulders slumped. Suddenly his anger disappeared and was replaced by a deep sense of pity and conscience. He had recently heard that Leo’s mother had become seriously ill and could no longer stand. With no other relatives, the mute child was the sole caregiver.
Nestor took the wrapped hat and handed it back to the trembling young man.
“Is this for your mother?” Nestor asked calmly.
Leo nodded, trying to wipe away his tears. He pointed to the drawings, seemingly explaining that that was the only way he could pay since they didn’t have a single penny. He was ashamed to beg, so he used his talent to leave something in return.
What Nestor thought was theft was a desperate step by a son to feed his sick mother without completely losing his dignity.
“Your drawings are so beautiful, Leo,” Nestor said with a smile as he patted the boy on the shoulder. “But you don’t have to take them secretly anymore. From now on, I want you to help me. Can you draw signs? I need a nice sign board for my place. In return, I will pay for your and your mother’s breakfast every day, and I will also give you an allowance for your mother’s medicine.”
Leo couldn’t believe it. He hugged Nestor tightly while continuing to cry, but this time it was out of deep gratitude.
From that day on, Nestor never lost his business. Instead, he gained a loyal business partner, and his humble puto stall became known not only for its delicious food, but also for the beautiful artwork displayed around it—proof that the true value of art is its ability to give hope to those most in need.
