After the communion service on Good Friday, the whole village (population 30) emptied into the street. Every stone home was empty, the windows black and deserted. We carried candles in a procession through the night--candles in glass globes on sticks while the men carried (groaned under the weight) great biers on top of which stood statues surrounded by flowers (we decorated earlier). The women wailed out eerie Spanish chants while in the distance, a lightning storm lit up the barren peaks. The Spanish there is almost impossible to understand.