As they walked rapidly away to where they had parked Rocinante, Sancho said, "I think we should abandon the car and take a bus."
"We've done nothing wrong."
"The danger is not what we have done, but what they think we have done. Even if it's no longer a crime to read Marx it's still a crime to hide a bank robber."
"He was not a bank robber."
"A self-service store robber then -- it's a crime to hide him in the boot of your car."
"I won't abandon Rocinante." They had reached the car and he put his hand protectively on the wing where he could feel a dent which had been caused when he scraped once against the butcher's car in El Toboso. "Do you know Shakespeare's play Henry VIII?"
"No, I much prefer Lope de Vega."
"I wouldn't like Rocinante to reproach me as Cardinal Wolsey did his King.
"Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies."
You see this bruise on her bonnet, Sancho? It was seven years ago and more that she suffered it through my fault. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."
2
They drove out of León the quickest way, but as the road climbed Rocinante showed signs of fatigue. The mountains of León rose before them, grey, stony, jagged. The Mayor said, "You told me you wanted silence. The time has come to choose between the silence of Burgos and the silence of Osera."
"Burgos is a place of unhappy associations."
"Bravo, monsignor, I had thought the memory of the Generalissimo's headquarters might have attracted you."
"I prefer the silence of peace to the silence which comes after success -- that silence is like the permanent silence of death. And not a good death either. But you, Sancho -- doesn't the thought of a monastery repel you?"
"Why should it? They can defend us against worse evils, as Marx wrote. Besides, a monastery has the same advantage for us as a brothel. If we don't stay too long. There are no forms to fill up."
"Osera then, Sancho, and the Trappists."
"We shall at least have good Galician wine there. Our manchegan will soon be running low."
They picnicked on wine only, for the cheese was gone with the robber and the sausage was finished. They were nearly a thousand metres up and the whole empty landscape lay below them, and a small wind freshened the air. They finished a bottle quickly and Sancho opened another. "Is that wise?" Father Quixote asked.
"Wisdom is not absolute," Sancho said. "Wisdom is relative to a given situation. Wisdom too varies with the individual case. For me it is wise to drink another half bottle in a situation like ours when we have no food. For you of course it may well be folly. In that case, when the time comes, I will have to judge what it is wise for me to do with your half of the bottle."
"That time is unlikely to come," Father Quixote said. "In my wisdom I must prevent you drinking more than your share," and he poured himself out a glass. He added, "I don't understand why our lack of food can affect the wisdom of our choice."
"It is obvious," Sancho said. "Wine contains sugar and sugar is a very valuable food."
"In that case if we had enough wine we should never starve."
"Exactly, but there is always a fallacy to be found in a logical argument -- even in those of your St Thomas Aquinas. If we substituted wine for food we would have to stay where we are and so we would eventually run out of wine."
"Why would we have to stay?"
"Because neither of us would be capable of driving."
"True enough. Logical thought does often lead to absurd situations. There is a popular saint in La Mancha who lost her virginity when she was raped by a Moor in her own kitchen when he was unarmed and she had a kitchen knife in her hand."
"She wanted to be raped, I suppose."
"No, no, her thought was quite logical. Her virginity was less important than the salvation of the Moor. By killing him at that moment she was robbing him of any chance of salvation. An absurd and yet, when one thinks of it, a beautiful story."
"This wine is making you talkative, monsignor. I wonder how you will put up with silence in the monastery."
"We shall not have to be silent, Sancho, and the monks have permission to speak to their guests."
"How quickly this second bottle has vanished. Do you remember -- what a long time ago it seems -- how you tried to explain the Trinity to me?"
"Yes. And I made that terrible mistake. I allowed a half bottle to represent the Holy Ghost."
"We won't make that mistake again," Sancho said as he opened a third bottle.
Father Quixote made no protest, and yet the wine was working in his brain like an irritant. He was ready to take offence as soon as an opportunity arose.
"I am glad," the Mayor said, "that unlike your ancestor you enjoy your wine. Don Quixote frequently stopped at an inn, he had at least four of his adventures at an inn, but we never hear of him drinking so much as a glass. Like us, he had many meals of cheese in the open air but never a glass of good manchegan to wash it down. As a travel companion he wouldn't have suited me. Thank God, in spite of your saintly books, you can drink deep when you choose."
"Why are you always saddling me with my ancestor?"
"I was only comparing. . ."
"You talk about him at every opportunity, you pretend that my saints' books are like his books of chivalry, you compare our little adventures with his. Those Guardia were Guardia, not windmills. I am Father Quixote, and not Don Quixote. I tell you, I exist. My adventures are my own adventures, not his. I go my way -- my way -- not his. I have free will. I am not tethered to an ancestor who has been dead these four hundred years."
"I am sorry, father. I thought you were proud of your ancestor. I never meant to offend."
"Oh, I know what you think. You think my God is an illusion like the windmills. But He exists, I tell you, I don't just believe in Him. I touch Him."
"Is he soft or hard?"
Father Quixote began to raise himself in wrath from the grass.
"No, no, father. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to joke. I respect your belief as you respect mine. Only there's a difference. I know that Marx and Lenin existed. You only believe."
"I tell you it's not a question of belief. I touch Him."
"Father, we've had a good time together. This is the third bottle. I raise my glass in honour of the Trinity. You can't refuse to drink that toast with me."
Father Quixote stared glumly into his glass. "No, I can't refuse, but. . ." He drank and this time he felt his anger dissipate and in place of the anger a great sadness grew. He said, "Do you think that I am a little drunk, Sancho?" Sancho saw tears in his eyes.