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"The boy was poor--his only worthwhile possession was a watch he'd inherited from his grandfather. Thinking about his sweetheart's lovely hair, he decided to sell the watch in order to buy her a silver barrette.
"The girl had no money herself to buy him a present. She went to the shop of the most successful merchant in the town and sold him her hair. With the money, she bought a gold watchband for her lover.
"When they met on the day of the engagement party, she gave him the wristband for a watch he had sold, and he gave her the barrette for the hair she no longer had."
I WAS AWAKENED by a man shaking me.
"Drink this!" he was saying. "Drink this quickly!"
I had no idea what was happening nor the strength to resist. He opened my mouth and forced me to drink a hot liquid. I noticed that he was in his shirtsleeves and that he had given me a wrap.
"Drink more!" he insisted.
Without knowing what I was doing, I obeyed. Then I closed my eyes.
I awoke in the convent, and a woman was tending me.
"You almost died," she said. "If it weren't for the watchman, you wouldn't be here."
I stood up dizzily. Parts of the previous day came back to me, and I wished that the watchman had never passed my way.
But apparently this was not the time for me to die. I was to go on living.
The woman led me to the kitchen and prepared some coffee, biscuits, and bread for me. She asked me no questions, and I explained nothing. When I had finished eating, she gave me my bag.
"See if everything's still there," she said.
"I'm sure it is. I didn't really have anything much."
"You have your life, my child. A long life. Take better care of it."
"There's a city near here where there's a church," I said, wanting to cry. "Yesterday, before I came here, I went into that church with..."
I couldn't explain.
"...with a friend from my childhood. I had already had enough of the churches around here, but the bells were ringing, and he said it was a sign--that we should go in."
The woman refilled my cup, poured some coffee for herself, and sat down to hear my story.
"We entered the church," I continued. "There was no one there, and it was dark. I tried to look for the sign, but I saw only the same old altars and the same old saints. Suddenly, we heard a movement above, where the organ was.
"It was a group of boys with guitars, who began to tune their instruments. We decided to sit and listen to the music for a while before continuing our trip. Shortly a man came in and sat down next to us. He was happy and shouted to the boys to play a paso doble."
"Bullfight music?" the woman said. "I hope they didn't do that!"
"They didn't. But they laughed and played a flamenco melody instead. My friend and I felt as if heaven had descended on us; the church, the surrounding darkness, the sound of the guitars, and the man's delight--it was all a miracle.
"Little by little, the church began to fill. The boys continued to play the flamenco, and everyone who came in smiled, infected by the joy of the musicians.
"My friend asked if I wanted to attend the mass that was about to begin. I said no--we had a long ride ahead of us. So we decided to leave--but before we did, we thanked God for yet another beautiful moment in our lives.
"As we arrived at the gate, we saw that many people--perhaps the entire population of the town--were walking to the church. I thought it must have been the last completely Catholic town in Spain--maybe because the crowds seemed to be having so much fun.
"As we got into the car, we saw a funeral procession approaching. Someone had died; it was a mass for the dead. As soon as the cortege reached the gates of the church, the musicians stopped the flamenco music and began to play a dirge."
"May God have mercy on that soul," said the woman, crossing herself.
"May He have mercy," I said, repeating her gesture. "But our having gone into that church really had been a sign--that every story has a sad ending."
