"We'll go and report," the other Guardia said.
Professor Pilbeam returned with a monk. They carried a mattress between them. He said, "Father Francisco is telephoning. This will have to do for a stretcher."
Father Quixote was shifted with some difficulty on to the mattress and the four of them carried him into the church and up the nave. He was muttering what might have been prayers, but might equally well have been curses. As they turned in front of the altar towards the stairs he made an attempt to cross himself, but the cross remained uncompleted. He had fainted again. The stairs were a difficulty and they had to take a rest at the top.
Professor Pilbeam said, "Quixote is not a Spanish family name. Cervantes himself said that the real name was probably Quexana and that his home was not in El Toboso."
The Mayor said, "Nor was Monsignor Quixote born there."
"Where was he born?"
The Mayor quoted, ""In a certain village in La Mancha, which I do not wish to name.""
"But the whole story is absurd. And Rocinante. . ."
Father Leopoldo said, "Let us put him safely to bed in number three guest room before we discuss the difficult distinction between fact and fiction."
Father Quixote opened his eyes. "Where am I?" he asked. "I thought. . . I thought. . . I was in a church."
"You were, monsignor. The church of Osera. Now we are taking you to a guest room where you can sleep comfortably till the doctor comes."
"Again a doctor. Oh dear, oh dear, is my health so bad. . .?"
"A little rest, and you will be yourself again."
"I thought. . . in the church. . . and then there were some stairs. . . I thought if I could only say a Mass. . ."
"Perhaps. . . tomorrow. . . when you are rested."
"Too long since I said one. Sick. . . travelling. . ."
"Don't worry, monsignor. Perhaps tomorrow." They got him safely into his room and presently the doctor from Orense came and told them he thought there was nothing seriously wrong -- shock and a minor cut on his forehead from the broken windscreen. Of course at his age. . . Tomorrow he would examine him more thoroughly. Perhaps an X-ray might be necessary. Meanwhile he should be kept quiet. It was the Mayor who needed more attention, more attention in more than one way because after the doctor had finished with him (a half dozen or so stitches) the head of the Guardia in Orense telephoned. The Guardia had checked up on Father Quixote by telephone to La Mancha -- his bishop there had told them that he was in fact a monsignor (by some oversight of the Holy Father), but his mental health made him irresponsible for his actions. As for his companion -- that was quite another matter. It was true that he had been Mayor of El Toboso, but he had been defeated at the last election and he was a notorious Communist.
Luckily it was Father Leopoldo who answered the telephone. He said, "At Osera we are not concerned with a man's politics. He will stay here until he is fit to travel."
3
The doctor had given Father Quixote a sedative. He slept deeply and it was one o'clock in the morning before he woke. He couldn't make out where he was. He called, "Teresa," but there was no reply. Somewhere there were voices -- male voices, and an idea came to him that Father Herrera and the bishop were discussing him in the sitting-room. He got out of his bed, but his legs folded under him and he sank down again and cried out more urgently for Teresa.
The Mayor came in, closely followed by Father Leopoldo. Professor Pilbeam watched from the door without entering. "Are you in pain, monsignor?" Father Leopoldo asked.
"Please do not call me monsignor, Dr Galvan. I have no right even to say Mass. The bishop forbids it. He would even like to burn my books."
"What books?"
"The books I love. St Francis de Sales, St Augustine, Senorita Martin of Lisieux. I don't think he trusts me even with St John." He put his hand to the bandage on his head. "I am glad to be back in El Toboso. But perhaps at this very moment Father Herrera is burning my books outside."
"Don't worry. In a day or two -- father -- you will feel yourself again. For the moment you must rest."
"It's difficult to rest, doctor. There is so much in my head that wants to come out. Your white coat -- you are not going to operate, are you?"
"Of course not," Father Leopoldo reassured him, "just another pill to make you sleep."
"Why, Sancho, is that you? I'm glad to see you. You found your way home all right. How is Rocinante?"
"Very tired. She's resting in the garage."
"What an old pair we are. I am tired too."
Without resistance he took the pill and almost immediately fell asleep.
"I'll sit up with him," Sancho said.
"I'll stay with you. I wouldn't be able to sleep for worrying," Father Leopoldo said.
"I'll lie down for a while," Professor Pilbeam told them. "You know my room. Wake me if I can be of any use."
It was around three in the morning when Father Quixote spoke and awoke the two of them from a shallow drowse. He said, "Excellency, a lamb may be able to tame an elephant, but I would beg you to remember the goats in your prayers."
"Dreaming or delirium?" Father Leopoldo wondered.
Sancho said, "I seem to remember. . ."
"You have no right to burn my books, Excellency. The sword, I beg you, not death by pin stabs."
There was a short period of silence, then, "A fart," Father Quixote said, "can be musical."
"I fear," Father Leopoldo whispered, "that he is in a worse state than the doctor told us."
"Mambrino," came the voice from the bed, "Mambrino's helmet. Give it me."
"What does Mambrino's helmet mean?"
Sancho said, "It was the barber's basin which Don Quixote wore. His ancestor, as he believes."
"The professor seems to regard all that as nonsense."
"So does the bishop, which inclines me to think that it may be true."
"I am sorry and beg pardon for the half bottle. It was a sin against the Holy Ghost."
"What does he mean by that?"
"It would take too long to explain now."
"Man has learned many important things from the beasts: from storks the enema, from elephants chastity, and loyalty from the horse."
"That sounds like St Francis de Sales," Father Leopoldo whispered.
"No. I think it is Cervantes," Professor Pilbeam corrected them as he entered the room.
For a while there was silence. "He sleeps again," Father Leopoldo whispered. "Perhaps he will be more peaceful when he wakes."
"Silence with him is not always a sign of peace," Sancho said. "It sometimes means an agony of spirit."
The voice that came from the bed however sounded strong and firm. "I don't offer you a governorship, Sancho. I offer you a kingdom."