"The Guardia in the end accepted that explanation, although the man had got rid of the gun and denied ever having had one. All the same, they seem to have established that first you had hidden the man in the boot of your car and lied to a Guardia. You can't have done that under threat."
"I didn't lie, Excellency. Perhaps -- well, I indulged in a little equivocation. The Guardia never directly asked whether he was in the boot. Of course I could plead a "broad mental restriction". Father Heribert Jone points out that an accused criminal -- I was, legalistically speaking, a criminal -- may plead "not guilty" which is only a conventional way of saying, "I am not guilty before law until I am proved guilty." He even allows the criminal to say that the accusation is a calumny and to offer proofs for his pretended innocence -- but there I think Father Heribert Jone goes a little too far."
"Who on earth is Father Heribert Jone?"
"A distinguished German moral theologian."
"I thank God that he's not a Spaniard."
"Father Herrera has a great respect for him."
"Anyway, I haven't come here to talk about Moral Theology."
"I have always found it a very confusing subject, Excellency. For instance I can't help wondering now about the concept of Natural Law. . ."
"Nor have I come to talk about Natural Law. You have a remarkable talent, monsignor, for straying from the real subject."
"Which is, Excellency?"
"The scandals you have been causing."
"But if I am accused of lies. . . surely we are somewhere in the realm of Moral Theology?"
"I am trying very, very hard to believe --" and the bishop gave another prolonged sigh which made Father Quixote wonder with pity and not with satisfaction whether the bishop might possibly be suffering from asthma -- "I repeat very hard, that you are too ill to realize what a dangerous situation you are in."
"Well, I suppose that applies to all of us."
"To all of us?"
"When we begin to think, I mean."
The bishop gave a curious sound -- it reminded Father Quixote of one of Teresa's hens laying an egg. "Ah," the bishop said, "I was coming to that. Dangerous thought. Your Communist companion no doubt led you to think in ways. . ."
"It wasn't that he led me, Excellency. He gave me the opportunity. You know, in El Toboso -- I'm very fond of the garagist (he looks after Rocinante so well), the butcher is a bit of a scoundrel -- I don't mean that there's anything profoundly wrong in scoundrels, and of course there are the nuns who do make excellent cakes, but on this holiday I have felt a freedom.. . "
"A very dangerous freedom it seems to have been."
"But He gave it to us, didn't He -- freedom? That was why they crucified Him."
"Freedom," the bishop said. It was like an explosion. "Freedom to break the law? You, a monsignor? Freedom to go to pornographic films? Help murderers?"
"No, no, I told you that he missed."
"And your companion -- a Communist. Talking politics. . ."
"No, no. We've discussed much more serious things than politics. Though I admit I hadn't realized that Marx had so nobly defended the Church."
"Marx?"
"A much misunderstood man, Excellency. I promise you."
"What books have you been reading on this -- extraordinary -- expedition?"
"I always take with me St Francis de Sales. To please Father Herrera I took Father Heribert Jone with me too. And my friend lent me The Communist Manifesto -- no, no, Excellency, it's not at all what you think it is. Of course I cannot agree with all his ideas, but there is a most moving tribute to religion -- he speaks of 'the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervour'."
"I cannot sit here any longer and listen to the ravings of a sick mind," the bishop said and rose.
"I have kept you here far too long, Excellency. It was a great act of charity on your part to come to see me in El Toboso. Dr Galvan will assure you that I am quite well."
"In the body perhaps. I think you need a different kind of doctor. I shall consult Dr Galvan, of course, before I write to the archbishop. And I shall pray."
"I am very grateful for your prayers," Father Quixote said. He noticed that the bishop did not offer him his ring before leaving. Father Quixote reproached himself for having spoken too freely. I have upset the poor man, he thought. Bishops, just like the very poor and the uneducated, should be treated with a special prudence.
Whispers were to be heard from the passage outside his door. Then the key turned in the lock. So I am a prisoner, he thought, like Cervantes.
II
MONSIGNOR QUIXOTE'S
SECOND JOURNEY
1
It was the toot-toot-toot of a car which woke Father Quixote. Even in his sleep he had recognized the unmistakable tone of Rocinante -- a plaintive tone without the anger, the petulance or the impatience of a big car -- a tone which simply said encouragingly, "I am here if you want me." He went at once to the window and looked out, but Rocinante must have been parked somewhere out of his view, for the only car in sight was coloured a bright blue and not a rusty red. He went to the door, quite forgetting that it was locked, and shook the handle. Teresa's voice answered him, "Hush, father. Give him another minute."
"Give who another minute?"
"Father Herrera's gone off to confession, but he never stays long in the box if there's no one waiting, so I've told the young fellow at the garage he had to go quickly up to the church before Father Herrera leaves and keep him busy with a long confession."
Father Quixote felt completely at sea. This was not the life he had known for so many decades in El Toboso. What had brought about the change?
"Can you unlock the door, Teresa? Rocinante has returned."
"Yes. I know. I would never have recognized her, poor dear, with all that bright blue paint she had on and a new number even."
"Please, Teresa, unlock the door. I must see what has happened to Rocinante."
"I can't, father, for I haven't the key, but don't worry, he'll manage all right if you give him another minute."
"Who?"
"The Mayor, of course."
"The Mayor? Where is he?"
"He's in your study, where else would he be? Breaking open your cupboard which Father Herrera locked -- with one of my hairpins and a bottle of olive oil."
"Why olive oil?"
"I wouldn't know, father, but I trust him."
"What's in the cupboard?"
"Your trousers, father, and all your upper clothes."
"If he can open the cupboard can't he open this door?"
"It's what I said to him, but he spoke of what he calls priorities."
Father Quixote tried to wait with a patience hardly encouraged by a running commentary from Teresa. "Oh, I thought he got it open, but it's still stuck fast and now he's got one of Father Herrera's razor blades. There'll be hell to pay because Father Herrera keeps a regular count of them. . . Now he's broken the blade and God's sakes he's at work with Father Herrera's nail scissors. . . Wait a bit -- be patient -- God be thanked, it's coming open. Only I hope he does your door quicker or we'll be having Father Herrera back -- the young boy at the garage hasn't all that imagination."