cuentos El Saladar

He lay in bed with the window open and let the night cool his prickling skin. By the foot of the bed, earlier that day, a swallow had zipped into the room through the porch door, turned tight parabolas around the ceiling and out through the window. Except the window was closed and it crashed into the glass and dropped stunned onto the bed.
He sat up at its dead weight on the white sheet. Then a flutter and scramble as he reached towards it and it was up describing wingfully the four walls and ceiling in dizzy motion, and out it went to dip and soar among the others ascribbling the air around the pueblo. He looked down and there was no sign that the bird had been on the thin sheet. He got up and opened the window and a great hump of heat dumped itself into the room.
It was cooler now as he thought of this. The evening air was heavy only with jasmine and his eyelids dipped, dipped, dipped again then sank into slumber.
A burble. A chattering stream seemed to pass under the same window. It was floating him from his dream. He listened passively and enjoyed the feeling of being carried as if in water, in air. A staccato clap opened his eyes and he was indeed still on the bed yet the burbling outside remained. It was voices. Hushed voices excitedly talking.
Up and up and up and up to a high pitch came a voice in musical declaration. It stopped and the crowd outside cheered. Up it went again. More cheers. Then guitars, mandolins and more voices in unison as a song struck up. A song of high romance and yearning.
He bum-shuffled from the bed and looked out the window to the street below and there was indeed a great crowd and troubadours in suits and hats singing up to the window of the house across from his. Someone keeked out that window and quickly shut it again.
Viva la novia ! shouted the crowd.
The musicians struck up another song. It was la Serenata , the serenading of the bride-to-be by her groom. A third song struck up - the crowd beaming in open delight - and as the singers harmonised suddenly the bride-to-be was on the balcony having hurriedly put on some clothes.
Viva la novia ! cried the street.
She was red-faced and giggling and he followed her look down to her partner there on the street with the biggest daftest grin on his face. He was beckoning her down, to come out her front door onto the street to join him. The musicians were giving it romantic laldy throughout.
So she disappeared from her window and the song ended and the street settled to an expectant burbling again. Till out she came to cheers and the musicians striking up a song for the heart, for hope: for lovers. They shared an awkward embrace which turned into a deeper one and she was crying and he was still beaming and many of the crowd were crying too.
Viva los novios! Viva los novios ! 

The couple parted and listened to the song till it finished. Then the crowd rushed to them, family and friends, and everyone suddenly seemed to be embracing everyone else. The street aburble with laughter, and talk, and tears.
The musicians played their original song again as tables and chairs were brought onto the street and food and drink magically appeared.
People sat, people ate, people laughed.
The musicians played another couple of songs then put down their instruments and sat and joined the celebration.
And he ducked back in the window and lay down on the bed again. He found himself smiling and crying. His heart was somewhere out there in the sky soaring on the hopeful music, dipping on the happy glide of swallows. Who needed dreams when a street can bring you these things?