"She is here, monsignor."
"My dear lady, let me shake your hand." The bishop held out his beringed palm down as though he expected a kiss rather than a shake. Teresa backed hurriedly into the kitchen. "Did I say something wrong?" the bishop asked.
"No, no, monsignor. It is only that she is unaccustomed to cooking for a bishop."
"She has a plain and honest face. In these days one is often embarrassed to find even in Italy very marriageable housekeepers -- and alas! only too often marriage does follow."
Teresa came rapidly in with some cheese and retired at the same speed.
"A little of our queso manchego, monsignor?"
"And perhaps another glass of wine to go with it?"
Father Quixote began to feel warm and comfortable. He was encouraged to press a question which he wouldn't have dared to ask his own bishop. A Roman bishop after all was closer to the fount of faith, and the bishop's welcome to the steak of horsemeat encouraged him. It was not for nothing that he had called his Seat 600 Rocinante, and he was more likely to receive a favourable answer if he spoke of her as a horse.
"Monsignor," he said, "there is one question I have often asked myself, a question which is perhaps likely to occur more frequently to a countryman than to a city dweller." He hesitated like a swimmer on a cold brink. "Would you consider it heretical to pray to God for the life of a horse?"
"For the terrestrial life," the bishop answered without hesitation, "no -- a prayer would be perfectly allowable. The Fathers teach us that God created animals for man's use, and a long life of service for a horse is as desirable in the eyes of God as a long life for my Mercedes which, I am afraid, looks like failing me. I must admit, however, that there is no record of miracles in the case of inanimate objects, but in the case of beasts we have the example of Balaam's ass who by the mercy of God proved of more than usual use to Balaam."
"I was thinking less of the use of a horse to its master than of a prayer for its happiness -- and even for a good death."
"I see no objection to praying for its happiness -- it might well make it docile and of greater use to its owner -- but I am not sure what you mean by a good death in the case of a horse. A good death for a man means a death in communion with God, a promise of eternity. We may pray for the terrestrial life of a horse, but not for its eternal life -- that would be verging on heresy. It is true there is a movement in the Church that would grant the possibility that a dog may have what one may call an embryo soul, though personally I find the idea sentimental and dangerous. We mustn't open unnecessary doors by imprudent speculation. If a dog has a soul, why not a rhinoceros or a kangaroo?"
"Or a mosquito?"
"Exactly. I can see, father, that you are on the right side."
"But I have never understood, monsignor, how a mosquito could have been created for man's use. What use?"
"Surely, father, the use is obvious. A mosquito may be likened to a scourge in the hands of God. It teaches us to endure pain for love of him. That painful buzz in the ear -- perhaps it is God buzzing."
Father Quixote had the unfortunate habit of a lonely man: he spoke his thoughts aloud. "The same use would apply to a flea." The bishop eyed him closely, but there was no sign of humour in Father Quixote's gaze: it was obvious that he was plunged far in his own thoughts.
"These are great mysteries," the bishop told him. "Where would our faith be if there were no mysteries?"
"I am wondering," Father Quixote said, "where I have put the bottle of cognac that a man from Tomelloso brought me some three years back. This might be the right moment for opening it. If you will excuse me, monsignor. . . Teresa may know." He made for the kitchen.
"He has drunk quite enough for a bishop," Teresa said.
"Hush. Your voice carries. The poor bishop is very worried about his car. He feels it has failed him."
"In my opinion, it is all his own fault. When I was a young girl I lived in Africa. Negroes and bishops always forget to refill with petrol."
"You really think. . . It's true he is a very unworldly man. He believes that the buzz of a mosquito. . . Give me the cognac. While he drinks, I'll see if I can do anything about his car."
He took a jerrycan of petrol from the boot of Rocinante. He didn't believe the problem was as simple as all that, but there was no harm in trying, and sure enough the tank was empty. Why hadn't the bishop noticed? Perhaps he had and was too ashamed to admit his foolishness to a country priest. He felt sorry for the bishop. Unlike his own bishop, the Italian was a kindly man. He had drunk the young wine without complaint, he had eaten the horse steak with relish. Father Quixote didn't want to humiliate him. But how was he to save the bishop's face? He ruminated for a long time against the bonnet of the Mercedes. If the bishop had not noticed the gauge it would surely be easy to pretend a mechanical knowledge which he didn't possess. In any case it would be as well to get some oil on his hands. . .
The bishop was quite happy with the cognac from Tomelloso. He had found on the shelves among the textbooks a copy of Cervantes' work which Father Quixote had bought when he was a boy, and he was smiling over a page as his own bishop would certainly not have done.
"Here is a very apposite passage, father, which I was reading as you came in. What a moral writer Cervantes was, whatever your bishop may say. "It is a duty of loyal vassals to tell their lords the truth in its proper shape and essence without enlarging on it out of flattery or softening it for any idle reason. I would have you know, Sancho, that if the naked truth were to come to the ears of princes, unclothed in flattery, this would be a different age." In what condition did you find the Mercedes, has it been bewitched by some sorcerer in this dangerous region of La Mancha?"
"The Mercedes is ready to be driven, monsignor."
"A miracle? Or has the garagist returned from the funeral?"
"The garagist has not yet returned, so I took a look at the engine myself." He held out his hands. "A messy job. You were very low in petrol -- that was easy to remedy, I always have a spare jerrycan -- but what was the real fault?"
"Ah, it wasn't only the petrol," the bishop said with satisfaction.
"There were some adjustments to be made to the engine -- I never know the technical names for these things -- it needed a good deal of fiddling around, but it is working satisfactorily now. Perhaps when you reach Madrid, monsignor, it would be as well to get a professional overhaul."
"Then I can be off?"
"Unless you would like to have a short siesta. Teresa could prepare my bed."
"No, no, father. I feel completely refreshed by your excellent wine and the steak -- ah, the steak. Besides, I have a dinner tonight in Madrid and I don't like arriving in the dark."
As they made their way to the main road the bishop questioned Father Quixote. "For how many years have you lived in El Toboso, father?"