"There aren't all that many in El Toboso except for the nuns. You didn't tell him you slept with a nun, did you?"
"I would never say such a thing, father. I'm secretary of the Children of Mary."
"And Father Herrera will surely end up in Opus Dei," the Mayor said. "For God's sake, let's be gone."
"What exactly did you say and he say?"
"I said, 'Bless me, father. I have sinned. . .' "
"No, no, leave out all those preliminaries."
"Well, I told him I'd been late at Mass and he asked me how many times and I said twenty and then I told him I'd lied a bit and he asked how many times and I said forty-five."
"You did go in for rather big figures, didn't you? And then?"
"Well, I couldn't think of anything more to say and I was afraid Teresa would be angry if I couldn't keep him any longer."
"You tell her from me when you see her that she'd better be on her knees tomorrow at confession."
"And then he asked me if I had sinned against purity and that gave me an idea, so I said, well, I had slept with some girls, and he asked me how many girls and I said, 'Around sixty-five,' and it was then he got angry and he turned me out of the box."
"I don't wonder."
"Is it Hell I'll be going to?"
"If anyone is going to Hell it will be Teresa and you can tell her I said so."
"It's an awful lot of lies I told in the confessional. I was only late for Mass the once and I had good reason -- there were so many tourists at the pumps."
"And the lies?"
"Two or three at most."
"And the girls?"
"You won't find one of them who'll do anything serious in El Toboso for fear of the nuns."
The Mayor said, "I can see Father Herrera coming down the street from the church."
"Listen to me," Father Quixote said, "make an Act of Contrition and promise me you won't lie any more in the confessional, not even if Teresa asks you to."
He was silent while the boy mumbled something. "And your promise?"
"Oh, I promise, father. Why shouldn't I? I don't go to confession anyway more than once a year."
"Say 'I promise before you, father, to God.' "
The boy repeated the words and Father Quixote gave him absolution, speaking rapidly.
The Mayor said, "That damned priest is only about a hundred paces away, father, and he's putting on speed."
Father Quixote started the engine and Rocinante responded with the jump of an antelope.
"Only just in time," the Mayor said. "But he's running nearly as fast as Rocinante. Oh, thank God, that boy's a treasure. He's put out his foot and tripped him up."
"If there was anything wrong about that confession, the fault was mine," Father Quixote said. Whether he was addressing himself, God or the Mayor will always remain uncertain.
"At least push Rocinante up to fifty. The old girl's not even trying. That priest will be on to the Guardia in no time.
"There's not so much hurry as you think," Father Quixote said. "He'll have an awful lot to say to that boy and after that he'll want to speak to the bishop and the bishop won't be home for quite a while."
"He might speak to the Guardia first."
"Not on your life. He has the prudent soul of a secretary."
They reached the high road to Alicante and the Mayor broke silence. "Left," he said sharply.
"Not to Madrid, surely? Anywhere but to Madrid."
"No cities," the Mayor said. "Wherever there's a country road we'll take it. I'll feel safer when we reach the mountains. I suppose you haven't a passport?"
"No."
"Then Portugal is no refuge."
"Refuge from what? From the bishop?"
"You don't seem to realize, father, what a grave crime you have committed. You've freed a galley slave."
"Poor fellow. All he got was my shoes and they were not much better than his own. He was doomed to failure. I always feel that those who always fail -- he even ran out of petrol -- are nearer to God than we are. Of course I shall pray to my ancestor for him. How often the Don knew failure. Even with the windmills."
"Then you'd better pray hard to him for both of us."
"Oh, I do. I do. We haven't failed enough yet, Sancho. Here we are again, you and I and Rocinante on the road, and at liberty."
It took them more than two hours to reach a small town called Mora travelling by a roundabout route. There they found themselves on the main road to Toledo, but only for a matter of minutes. "We have to get into the mountains of Toledo," the Mayor said. "This road is not for us." They turned and twisted and for a while, on a very rough track, they seemed, judging from the sun, to be making a half circle.
"Do you know where we are?" Father Quixote asked.
"More or less," the Mayor replied unconvincingly.
"I can't help feeling a little hungry, Sancho."
"Your Teresa has given us enough sausage and cheese for a week."
"A week?"
"No hotels for us. No main roads."
They found a spot high in the mountains of Toledo, a comfortable place for eating, where they could drive off the road and conceal themselves and Rocinante. There was a stream too to chill their bottles as it trickled down to a lake below them which with difficulty the Mayor identified on the map as the Torre de Abraham -- "Though why they named it after that old scoundrel I wouldn't know."
"Why do you call him a scoundrel?"
"Wasn't he prepared to kill his son? Oh, of course, there was a much worse scoundrel -- the one you call God -- He actually performed the ugly deed. What an example He set, and Stalin killed his spiritual sons in imitation. He very nearly killed Communism along with them just as the Curia has killed the Catholic Church."
"Not entirely, Sancho. Here beside you is at least one Catholic in spite of the Curia."
"Yes, and here is one Communist who is still alive in spite of the Politburo. We are survivors, you and I, father. Let us drink to that," and he fetched a bottle from the stream.
"To two survivors," Father Quixote said and raised his glass. He had a very healthy thirst, and it always surprised him to think how seldom his ancestor's biographer had spoken of wine. One could hardly count the adventure of the wine skins which the Don had broached in mistake for his enemies. He refilled his glass. "It seems to me," he told the Mayor, "that you have more belief in Communism than in the Party."
"And I was just going to say almost the same, father, that you seem to have more belief in Catholicism than in Rome."
"Belief? Oh, belief. Perhaps you are right, Sancho. But perhaps it's not belief that really matters."
"What do you mean, father? I thought. . ."
"Did the Don really believe in Amadis of Gaul, Roland and all his heroes -- or was it only that he believed in the virtues they stood for?"