He made the sign of the cross and rejoined Sancho.
"Have you prayed enough?" the Mayor asked him.
"I haven't prayed at all."
They left Rocinante parked and walked at random through the streets. Just off the Burgo Nuevo they found a shoe shop. The hot pavements burnt Father Quixote's feet and the hole from which his left big toe protruded had grown considerably larger. It was a small shop and the proprietor looked at his feet with astonishment.
"I want a pair of black shoes, size thirty-nine," Father Quixote said.
"Yes, yes, please take a seat." The man produced a pair and knelt before him. Father Quixote thought: I am like the statue of St Peter in Rome. Will he kiss my toe? He laughed.
"What's funny?" the Mayor asked.
"Oh, nothing, nothing. A thought."
"You will find the leather of this pair very soft and supple, Your Excellency."
"I am not a bishop," Father Quixote said, "only a monsignor and God forgive me for that."
The man fitted the shoe over the undamaged sock. "If the monsignor would just take a few steps. . ."
"I've taken more than a few steps in León already. Your pavements are hard."
"Certainly they must have been, monsignor, walking without shoes."
"These shoes are very comfortable. I will take them."
"Would you like them wrapped or will you wear them, monsignor?"
"Of course I will wear them. Do you think I want to walk barefoot?"
"I thought perhaps. . . Well, I thought, maybe it was a penance. . ."
"No, no, I am not, I fear, a holy man."
He sat down again and let the man fit the other shoe over the protruding toe which he adjusted with gentleness and even a touch of reverence, pushing it back into the sock. It was obvious that to be in contact with a monsignor's naked toe was a new experience for him.
"And the other shoes? The monsignor does not require them wrapped?"
"What other shoes?"
"The ones that monsignor has discarded."
"I didn't discard them. They discarded me," Father Quixote said. "I don't even know where they are. Far away from here, I expect, by this time. They were old shoes anyway. Not so good as these."
The man saw them to the shop door. He asked, "If you would give me your blessing, monsignor?" Father Quixote sketched the sign of the cross and mumbled. In the street he commented, "The man was far too respectful for my liking."
"The circumstances were not normal, and I'm afraid he is likely to remember us."
On the way back to Rocinante they passed a post office. Father Quixote halted. He said, "I am anxious."
"You have reason. If that scoundrel you saved is caught and talks. . ."
"I was not thinking of him. I was thinking of Teresa. I can feel in my head like a thunderstorm that something is wrong. We have been away such a long time."
"Four days."
"It's not possible. It seems a month at least. Please let me telephone."
"Go ahead, but be quick about it. The sooner we are out of León the better."
Teresa answered the telephone. Before he had time to speak she said in a tone of fury, "Father Herrera is not here and I don't know when he will return." She cut the line.
"Something is wrong," Father Quixote said. He dialled again and this time he spoke at once. "This is Father Quixote, Teresa."
"Praise be to God," Teresa said. "Where are you?"
"León."
"Where's that?"
The Mayor said, "You shouldn't have told her."
"What are you doing there, father?"
"Telephoning to you."
"Father, the bishop is in a terrible state."
"Is he ill, poor man?"
"He's in a holy rage."
"What's wrong, Teresa?"
"He's been on the telephone twice to Father Herrera. Half an hour it was they were talking both times with no thought of expense."
"But what about, Teresa?"
"About you, of course. They said you are mad. They say you should be shut in a madhouse to save the honour of the Church."
"But why? Why?"
"The Guardia have been searching for you in Avila."
"I haven't been in Avila."
"They know that. They say you are in Valladolid. And they say you exchanged clothes with the Red Mayor to escape."
"It's not true."
"They think you might be mixed up with those mad Basques."
"How do you know all this, Teresa?"
"Do you think I'd let them use your telephone and not leave the kitchen door open?"
"Let me speak to Father Herrera."
"Give nothing away," Sancho said. "Nothing."
"Father Herrera is not here. He left yesterday before it was light to see the bishop. The bishop's in such a fetch it wouldn't surprise me if he telephoned to the Holy Father himself about you. Father Herrera said to me it was a terrible mistake that the Holy Father made appointing you a monsignor. I said to him that's blasphemy. The Holy Father can't make mistakes."
"Oh yes, he can, Teresa -- little mistakes. I think I'd better come home at once."
"You can't do that, father. The Guardia will grab you for sure and you'll end your days in the madhouse."
"But I'm no more mad than Father Herrera is. Or the bishop, come to that."
"They'll pretend you are. I heard Father Herrera say to the bishop, 'He's got to be kept out of mischief. For the sake of the Church.' Stay away, father."
"Goodbye, Teresa."
"You will stay away?"
"I must think about it, Teresa."
Father Quixote said to the Mayor, "The Guardia have been in touch with the bishop and the bishop with Father Herrera. They think I'm mad."
"Well, there's no harm in that. They thought your ancestor was mad too. Perhaps Father Herrera will behave like the Canon and start burning your books."
"God forbid. I ought to go home, Sancho."
"That would prove you mad indeed. We have to get away from here quickly, but not to El Toboso. You should never have told Teresa that you were in León."
"She has a mouth like a padlock. Don't worry. Why, she never even told me about the horse steaks."
"There's a lot else to worry about. These computers work like lightning. They may be confused for a while by the change in the number plate, but if the Guardia have fed your title into the machine, we are in for trouble. We'll have to take off your bib and your socks again. I don't suppose there are many monsignors driving around in an old Seat 600."