Deep in the heart of old Madrid, Cafe de La Luz serves coffee and cake in the day, and wine and olives by night. It is full of the Macbook crowd... those bearded graphic design boys, and the girls with nose piercings and colourful hair. As the moon swaps places with the sun - the atmosphere becomes a chicken coup of fiesty Spanish and tourists being misunderstood. But, it was not always this way.
Before gentrification made the flaky paint desireable and the rent expensive, this was a shop of illumination. The skinny Senor Delgado paced around the tightly packed shop. Full-length lamps with pastel-coloured shades surrounded the perimeter of the room. Elegant glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling and he had turned a broken sherry cask into his desk. He would leave the lights on at night, glowing across the narrow cobblestone street.
It was quiet most of the time. He would read his newspaper with its the political squabbles - raise an eyebrow and shake his head. Elderly ladies would come in to browse, the bell would chime and they would recieve Senor Delgado's graceful attention. "Guapa, guapa, guapa" he would call them. They would take away more lightbulbs and lampshades than they had space for in their squashed apartments - but who could resist his walrus moustache and the way he made you feel so... light.
Downstairs the storage room told a different story. It was full of the unpopular and difficult to sell lamps. Delgado liked these as much as the ones above, but he was ahead of his time and couldn't share designs that were too weird. In an evening after closing time he came down here to enjoy some time away from the public.
He could smell the dust burning on the hot bulbs mixed with a faint damp smell. The brickwork of the cave was crumbley - this was his retreat away from the world and his noisy apartment on the paseo. He would never feel more cosy or peaceful than when he was here.
The man was slightly maverick and liked making lights from non-lighting objects. These would be unsellable to the public, but they would please Senor Delgado mucho. He would take old glass vases and put a bulb in them. He would rewire metal fans and put lightbulbs in the centre. The gleam of the light would bounce off the blades and fill an entire room. Broken movie projectors would get lamps in them. Flowerpots, Airplane propellars - anything with a strong spirit at the flea market, Senor Delgado would take and remake.
During the bankruptcy of a prominent landowner in the mountains - he had won a pair of white marble lions at auction. They were small enough to fit down the stairs here and sat in the two back corners. Between them a wing-backed chair stood in front of bookcases
One of his most interesting projects were the lions on their little plinths. He'd chiseled out their eyes and had drilled wiring through their bodies. He'd replaced the eyes with short fat bulbs. Then at the flick of a switch, their eyes would gleam.
It was a dusty summer's night when he came down into the basement and turned the lion's eyes on. He could hear the happy drunkards above in the street talking loudly and moving in waves. Weary from the day, he sat in his chair and closed his eyes to the warm gloom.
He nodded off and then the lions started walking and circling with their big bright eyes. They walked around in front of him and stood on their hind legs. He was scared and sat bolt-upright. And then they licked his face.
A doorway at the opposite end of the room appeared. The man walked towards it and went down the steps. Wherever they were leading it was very bright.
When he arrived at the bottom, it was like a crypt crossed with a bar of a glamorous old hotel. There was a circular bar in the centre, arches on the roof and numerous tables where people were gossiping away in their best clothes. An extraordinary chandelier hung aloft from the center and endless lights of all varieties were scattered around the room. Many of these were more wild and audacious than Delgado's unsellables.
He walked around to take a measure of the place. Everyone was fairly occupied in their own conversation and world. They all looked familiar. He'd seen them before. He tried to put his finger on what connected all these people. They had all been customers in his shop and they were surrounded by the lighting they'd bought from him.
From the bar a young woman was staring at him.
"Senor Delgado, encantada" she reached across to kiss his cheek. He noticed her red lipstick and straw-coloured hair. His heart was aflutter.
"You no remember, no?! she said
"Where am I?" he replied
"Ah somewhere between a dream, your subconcsicous, another dimension and your imagination. It is hard to put words for ideas if the words no existe."
"And I have been here before?" he asked
"You are here very often, but you don't realise. You get your lights and your ideas from here to take and present in your shop. When you offer your lights, the people who are waiting for them find you."
"Let us meet your friends" she pulled his arm and toured the gentleman around the bar where he met his old customers. They would share memories, war stories, tales of woe and poverty and also their happier times.
He nodded and smiled and listened carefully. Before returning to the bar with his amiga.
"Let me get you a drink." She caught the eye of the barman and got him to pour a sherry. She was unusually assertive for a woman, especially one of her age.
"Once your time passes - your lamp shop will no longer be here. It will be converted into the 2nd best cafe in Madrid according to TripAdvisor. Don't ask - the technology is too complicated for me to explain to you now."
He shook his head bemusedly and she continued.
"However, for your time here you must bring the lamps from this world to yours. Make sure everyone gets the light they need in their home."
With that last comment she shapeshifted into a waxwork figure. The rest of the room had stopped talking too, had become solid wax too and in the heat of the bulbs they all began to melt.
He woke up sweaty. Although the shop was closed, he heard a knocking from the door upstairs.