"He has the kind of humility which is often to be found in holy men."
"Where have you come from?"
"He has been praying at the tomb of the Generalissimo."
"Is that true?"
"Well, yes, I did say a few prayers."
The Guardia examined the card again. He looked a little reassured.
"Several prayers," the Mayor said. "One would hardly be enough."
"What do you mean -- not enough?"
"God can be hard of hearing. I am not a believer myself, but, as I understand it, that must have been the reason why there were so many Masses said for the Generalissimo. For a man like that one you have to shout to be heard."
"You keep strange company," the Guardia told Father Quixote.
"Oh, you mustn't pay attention to what he says. He is a good man at heart."
"Where are you going now?"
The Mayor spoke first. "The monsignor wants to say another prayer for the Generalissimo to the ring finger of St Teresa. You know the finger is kept in the convent outside the walls of Avila. He wants to do his best for the Generalissimo."
"You talk too much. Your card says you are the Mayor of El Toboso."
"I was the Mayor, but I have lost my job. And the monsignor has been promoted out of his."
"Where did you spend last night?"
"In Madrid."
"Where? What hotel?"
Father Quixote looked at the Mayor for help. He said, "A little place -- I don't remember --"
"What street?"
The Mayor interrupted firmly, "The Palace Hotel."
"That's not a little place."
"Size is relative," the Mayor said. "The Palace Hotel is a very small place if you compare it to the Generalissimo's tomb."
There was an uneasy silence -- perhaps an angel was passing overhead. At last, "Stay here," the Guardia said, "until I come back. If you try to start the car you will get hurt."
"What does he mean -- I will get hurt?"
"I think he is threatening to shoot us if we move."
"So we stay."
"We stay."
"Why did you lie about the hotel?"
"Hesitation would only make things worse."
"But they can check the ficha."
"They may not bother and anyway it will take time."
"To me," Father Quixote said, "this is an inexplicable situation. Not in all my years in El Toboso. . ."
"It wasn't until he left his village that your ancestor encountered the windmills. Look. Our task is easier. We have not thirty or forty windmills to encounter, we have only two."
The fat Guardia, who was returning with his companion, certainly brought a windmill to mind by the way he waved his arms as he explained to his companion the strange contradictions he had encountered. The words "Monsignor", "Lenin" and "purple socks" came to them over the slight afternoon breeze.
The second Guardia was very thin and decisive in his manner. "Open the boot," he commanded. He stood with his hands on his hips while Father Quixote fumbled with his key.
"Open your bag."
He put his hand in Father Quixote's bag and pulled out a purple pechera. "Why are you not wearing this?" he asked.
"It's too noticeable," Father Quixote replied.
"You are afraid to be noticed?"
"Not afraid. . ." But the thin Guardia was already looking through the rear window.
"What are those boxes?"
"Manchegan wine."
"You seem very well supplied."
"Yes indeed. If you would care for a couple of bottles. . ."
"Write down," the Guardia told his companion, "the so-called monsignor offered us two bottles of manchegan wine. Let me see his identity card. Have you noted the number?"
"I will do so at once."
"Let me look at that book." He ruffled through the pages of Lenin's essays. "I see you have studied this well," he said. "Many passages have been marked. Published in Moscow in Spanish." He began to read: " 'Armed struggle pursues two different aims: in the first place the struggle aims at assassinating individuals, chiefs and subordinates in the army and police. . .' Are these your aims, monsignor -- if you are a monsignor?"
"That book doesn't belong to me. It belongs to my friend."
"You keep strange company, monsignor. Dangerous company." He stood in silent thought -- to Father Quixote he looked like a judge who is pondering the alternative of a death sentence or perpetual imprisonment. Father Quixote said, "If you care to telephone to my bishop. . ." But he stopped in mid-sentence, for the bishop would certainly remember the imprudent church collection for the society In Vinculis.
"You have the number of the car?" the thin Guardia said to the fat Guardia.
"Oh yes, yes, of course. I took it while we were on the road."
"You go to Avila? Where will you be staying in Avila?"
The Mayor said quickly, "At the parador. If they have rooms."
"You have no reservations?"
"We are on holiday, Guardia. We take the luck of the road."
"And I have taken the number of your car," the Guardia said. The thin one turned and the fat one followed him. In their walk Father Quixote thought they resembled two ducks -- one ready for the table and one needing more nourishment. They went round the bend of road out of their sight -- perhaps the pond was there.
"We will wait till they drive away," the Mayor said.
"What is wrong with us, Sancho? Why are they so suspicious?"
"You must admit," the Mayor said, "that it is not very usual for a monsignor to lend his clerical collar. . ."
"I will follow after them and explain."
"No, no, better wait here. They are waiting too. To see whether we are really going to Avila."
"Then to show them that we are let us drive on -- to Avila."
"I think it would be better to avoid Avila."
"Why?"
"They will have already warned the Guardia there."
"Of what? We are innocent. We are doing harm to no one."
"We are doing harm to their peace of mind. Let them get tired of waiting. I think we should open another bottle of wine."
They settled again among the debris of their meal and the Mayor began to pull a cork. He said, "If I could suspend my profound disbelief in God, I would still find it hard to believe that he really wanted those two Guardia to be born -- not to speak of Hitler and the Generalissimo -- or even if you like Stalin. If only their poor parents had been permitted to use a contraceptive. . ."
"That would have been a grave sin, Sancho. To kill a human soul. . ."
"Has sperm a soul? When a man makes love he kills a million million spermatozoa -- minus one. It's lucky for Heaven that there's such a lot of waste or it might become severely over-populated."