“What do you think it means, Antonia?”

“I don’t know, Felipe. It’s very odd. Why would a complete stranger dream of our Carmela? Perhaps, he’s bought a goat from us before.”

“A librarian?”

“No, you’re right. Let’s not think about it any more. Tomorrow, we’ll find the answer. The night, you know…”

“What about the night?”

“It brings counsel.”

Before going to bed, Felipe attended to his goats. He made sure they were safe in the barn. He left them enough water for the night. With a coarse brush he stroked their fleece. Often Antonia accompanied him in these tasks, which they performed with the care they would have devoted to children. They didn’t have any, though not from lack of trying.

That night Felipe, too, dreamt of Carmela asleep on the flat rock; when she woke, the rock was gone and she found herself lying on the grass. She seemed not a bit surprised at the stone’s disappearance. She sprang to her feet and went to play with her companions. At breakfast, Felipe recounted this new dream to Antonia.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Felipe, isn’t it obvious? You have to remove the rock. You have to see what’s underneath.”

“What could possibly be underneath?”

“If you don’t, I will.”

“All right, but let’s not hurry. Let’s finish our breakfast and tidy up here.”

“You’re convinced there’s nothing under that rock, and you’re trying to put off disappointment, is that it?”

He merely shrugged; he couldn’t put it better than that.

“You’re right, no need to hurry. More coffee?” And she added with a wink, “But drink it fast.”

Armed with shovel, rope, and donkey, they went to Carmela’s rocky bed. For once, she wasn’t lying on it. Felipe dug around the slab to release the earth’s grip on it. He fastened one end of the rope around the stone and the other around the donkey. As the donkey pulled, he and Antonia pushed. A few minutes’ intense exertion moved the stone two arms’ lengths. Leaning against it, he took a little rest before he began to dig. It wasn’t long before the shovel struck something that produced a strange echo. It was a jar made of hardened clay, which he dug out with his bare hands.

“It’s an amphora,” said Antonia, who was the reader in the family.

They took it back to the house. They removed the coarse cloth that stoppered it. They turned it upside down over the kitchen table. Out clattered several coins, too many to count at a single glance. They were nothing like the ones in Felipe’s pocket. They shone gold and silver. They gasped in unison; it made them laugh.

“These are ancient,” Antonia said. Now she understood the meaning of Felipe’s recurring dream. The question he’d been seeking an answer for was: “How can we keep our goats?” Every year, to earn enough money, they were forced to sell two or three, heartrending but necessary. “Ancient and valuable. We don’t have to sell any of our goats any more.”

“That’s it! That’s the question. My god, how could I not think of that? I ask it every day.”

Felipe didn’t know where the librarian lived; he waited till Sunday had passed to return to the village. Surely the library would be open on Monday. In his pocket he carried a few of the coins he had dug up. When told what had happened, Emilio reacted with as much relief as wonderment. “Well, at least the mystery is partly resolved,” he said. A month later, after an exchange of letters with the Prado Museum, Emilio and Felipe travelled together to Madrid by train. The museum offered them an unimaginably large sum for their find. Felipe returned to his flock. Emilio went back to Mijas and informed the town council he would move the library into larger, above-ground premises – at his own expense.

There are many such stories of good fortune, thought Emilio, but unlike accounts of horror or tragedy, they are hardly ever recorded. He wrote the story. It survived among his papers at the library and can be read by any of the residents of Mijas or the vacationers who hibernate there, provided they know Spanish.