Monsignor Quixote (19 page)

‘I am sorry, Excellency. If you will give me a few minutes grace I will be with you in the study.'

‘Stay where you are, monsignor,' the bishop said. (He rolled out the title monsignor with an obvious bitterness.) He took from his sleeve a white silk handkerchief and dusted the chair beside the bed, looked carefully at the handkerchief to see how far it might have been soiled, lowered himself into the chair and put his hand on the sheet. But as Father Quixote was not in a position in which he could genuflect he thought it was permissible to leave out the kiss and the bishop after a brief pause withdrew his hand. Then the bishop pursed his lips and following a moment's reflection blew out the monosyllable: ‘Well!'

Father Herrera was standing in the doorway like a bodyguard. The bishop told him, ‘You can leave me and the monsignor –' the word seemed to burn his tongue for he made a grimace – ‘to have our little discussion alone.' Father Herrera withdrew.

The bishop clutched the cross on his purple
pechera
as though he were seeking a higher than human wisdom. It seemed an anti-climax to Father Quixote when he said, ‘I trust you are feeling better.'

‘I am feeling perfectly well,' Father Quixote replied. ‘My holiday has done me much good.'

‘Not if the reports I have received are true.'

‘What reports?'

‘The Church always struggles to keep above politics.'

‘Always?'

‘You know very well what I thought of your unfortunate involvement with the organization In Vinculis.'

‘It was an impromptu act of charity, Excellency. I admit that I didn't really think . . . Perhaps with charity one shouldn't think. Charity like love should be blind.'

‘You have been promoted for reasons quite beyond my comprehension to the rank of monsignor. A monsignor should always think. He must guard the dignity of the Church.'

‘I did not ask to be a monsignor. I do not like being a monsignor. The dignity of the parish priest of El Toboso is difficult enough to support.'

‘I do not pay attention to every rumour, monsignor. The mere fact that a man is a member of Opus Dei does not necessarily make him a reliable witness. I will take your word if you give it to me that you didn't go into a certain shop in Madrid and ask to buy a cardinal's hat.'

‘That was not me. My friend made a harmless little joke . . .'

‘Harmless? That friend of yours, I believe, is a former Mayor of El Toboso. A Communist. You choose very unsuitable friends and travelling companions, monsignor.'

‘I don't need to remind Your Excellency that Our Lord . . .'

‘Oh yes, yes. I know what you are going to say. The text about publicans and sinners has always been very carelessly used to justify a lot of imprudence. St Matthew, chosen by Our Lord, was a tax gatherer – a publican, a despised class. True enough, but there's a whole world of difference between a tax gatherer and a Communist.'

‘I suppose in some Eastern countries it's possible to be both.'

‘I would remind
you
, monsignor, that Our Lord was the Son of God. To Him all things were permissible, but for a poor priest like you and me isn't it more prudent to walk in the footsteps of St Paul? You know what he wrote to Titus – “There are many rebellious spirits abroad, who talk of their own fantasies and lead men's minds astray: they must be silenced.”'

The bishop paused to hear Father Quixote's response but none came. Perhaps he took this for a good sign, for when he spoke next, he dropped the ‘monsignor' and used the friendly and companionable ‘father'. ‘Your friend, father,' he said, ‘had apparently been drinking very heavily when you were both found. He didn't even wake when they spoke to him. Father Herrera noticed too that there was a great deal of wine in your car. I realize that in your nervous condition wine must have proved a serious temptation. Personally, I always leave wine to the Mass. I prefer water. I like to pretend when I take a glass that I am drinking the pure water of Jordan.'

‘Perhaps not so pure,' Father Quixote said.

‘What do you mean, father?'

‘Well, Excellency, I can't help thinking of how Naaman, the Syrian, bathed seven times in the Jordan and left all his leprosy behind him in the water.'

‘An old Jewish legend from a very long time ago.'

‘Yes, I know that, Excellency, but still – after all, it may be a true history – and leprosy is a mysterious disease. How many good Jewish lepers may have followed the example of Naaman? Of course I agree with you that St Paul is a reliable guide and you will certainly remember that he also wrote to Titus – no, I am wrong, it was to Timothy: “Do not confine thyself to water any longer: take a little wine to relieve thy stomach.”'

A period of silence descended on the bedroom. Father Quixote thought that perhaps the bishop was seeking another quotation from St Paul, but he was wrong. The pause represented a change of subject rather than of mood. ‘What I don't understand, monsignor, is that the Guardia found that you had exchanged clothes with this – this ex-Mayor, the Communist.'

‘There was not an exchange of clothes, Excellency, only of a collar.'

The bishop closed his eyes. Impatience? Or he might have been praying for understanding.

‘Why even a collar?'

‘He thought I must be suffering from the heat in that kind of collar, so I gave it to him to try. I didn't want him to think I was claiming any special merit . . . A military uniform or even a Guardia's must be more difficult to endure in the heat than a collar. We are the lucky ones, Excellency.'

‘A story came to the ears of the parish priest in Valladolid that a bishop – or a monsignor – had been seen coming out of a scandalous film there – you know the kind of films which are shown now since the Generalissimo died . . .'

‘Perhaps the poor monsignor did not know the kind of film he was attending. Sometimes titles are misleading.'

‘What was so shocking in the story is that – the bishop or the monsignor, you know how people can be confused by the
pechera
which you and I both wear – was seen coming out of this disreputable cinema laughing.'

‘Not laughing, Excellency. Perhaps smiling.'

‘I don't understand your presence at such a film.'

‘I was deceived by the innocence of the title.'

‘Which was?'

‘
A Maiden's Prayer
.'

The bishop gave a deep sigh. ‘I sometimes wish,' he said, ‘that the title of maiden were confined to Our Lady – and perhaps to members of religious orders. I realize you have been leading a very retired life in El Toboso, and you do not realize that the word “maiden” used in our great cities in its purely temporary sense is often an incitement to lust.'

‘I admit, Excellency, that it had not occurred to me.'

‘Of course these are very minor matters in the eyes of the Guardia Civil, however scandalous they may appear in the eyes of the Church. But I and my colleague at Avila have had very great difficulty in persuading them to shut their eyes for what was a grave
criminal
offence. We had to approach a high authority in the Ministry of the Interior – luckily a member of Opus Dei . . .'

‘And a cousin, I believe, of Dr Galván?'

‘That is hardly relevant. He saw at once that it would do the Church untold harm if a monsignor appeared in the dock charged with helping a murderer to escape . . .'

‘Not a murderer, Excellency. He missed.'

‘A bank robber.'

‘No, no. It was a self-service store.'

‘I wish you wouldn't interrupt me with petty details. The Guardia in León found the man in possession of your shoes clearly marked inside with your name.'

‘It's a stupid habit of Teresa's. Poor thing, she means well, but she never trusts the cobbler to give the right pair back when he resoles them.'

‘I don't know whether it's deliberate, monsignor, but you always seem to bring into our serious discussion quite trivial and irrelevant details.'

‘I am sorry – it wasn't my intention – I thought it might seem odd to you, my shoes being marked that way.'

‘What seems odd to me is your helping this criminal to escape the law.'

‘He did have a gun – but of course he would not have used it. Shooting us would hardly have helped him.'

‘The Guardia in the end accepted that explanation, although the man had got rid of the gun and denied ever having had one. All the same, they seem to have established that first you had hidden the man in the boot of your car and lied to a Guardia. You can't have done that under threat.'

‘I didn't lie, Excellency. Perhaps – well, I indulged in a little equivocation. The Guardia never directly asked whether he was in the boot. Of course I could plead a “broad mental restriction”. Father Heribert Jone points out that an accused criminal – I was, legalistically speaking, a criminal – may plead “not guilty” which is only a conventional way of saying, “I am not guilty before law until I am proved guilty.” He even allows the criminal to say that the accusation is a calumny and to offer proofs for his pretended innocence – but there I think Father Heribert Jone goes a little too far.'

‘Who on earth is Father Heribert Jone?'

‘A distinguished German moral theologian.'

‘I thank God that he's not a Spaniard.'

‘Father Herrera has a great respect for him.'

‘Anyway, I haven't come here to talk about Moral Theology.'

‘I have always found it a very confusing subject, Excellency. For instance I can't help wondering now about the concept of Natural Law . . .'

‘Nor have I come to talk about Natural Law. You have a remarkable talent, monsignor, for straying from the real subject.'

‘Which is, Excellency?'

‘The scandals you have been causing.'

‘But if I am accused of lies . . . surely we are somewhere in the realm of Moral Theology?'

‘I am trying very, very hard to believe –' and the bishop gave another prolonged sigh which made Father Quixote wonder with pity and not with satisfaction whether the bishop might possibly be suffering from asthma – ‘I repeat
very
hard, that you are too ill to realize what a dangerous situation you are in.'

‘Well, I suppose that applies to all of us.'

‘To all of us?'

‘When we begin to think, I mean.'

The bishop gave a curious sound – it reminded Father Quixote of one of Teresa's hens laying an egg. ‘Ah,' the bishop said, ‘I was coming to that. Dangerous thought. Your Communist companion no doubt led you to think in ways . . .'

‘It wasn't that he
led
me, Excellency. He gave me the opportunity. You know, in El Toboso – I'm very fond of the garagist (he looks after Rocinante so well), the butcher is a bit of a scoundrel – I don't mean that there's anything profoundly wrong in scoundrels, and of course there are the nuns who do make excellent cakes, but on this holiday I have felt a freedom . . .'

‘A very dangerous freedom it seems to have been.'

‘But He gave it to us, didn't He – freedom? That was why they crucified Him.'

‘Freedom,' the bishop said. It was like an explosion. ‘Freedom to break the law? You, a monsignor? Freedom to go to pornographic films? Help murderers?'

‘No, no, I told you that he missed.'

‘And your companion – a Communist. Talking politics . . .'

‘No, no. We've discussed much more serious things than politics. Though I admit I hadn't realized that Marx had so nobly defended the Church.'

‘Marx?'

‘A much misunderstood man, Excellency. I promise you.'

‘What books have you been reading on this – extraordinary – expedition?'

‘I always take with me St Francis de Sales. To please Father Herrera I took Father Heribert Jone with me too. And my friend lent me
The Communist Manifesto
– no, no, Excellency, it's not at all what you think it is. Of course I cannot agree with all his ideas, but there is a most moving tribute to religion – he speaks of “the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervour”.'

‘I cannot sit here any longer and listen to the ravings of a sick mind,' the bishop said and rose.

‘I have kept you here far too long, Excellency. It was a great act of charity on your part to come to see me in El Toboso. Dr Galván will assure you that I am quite well.'

‘In the body perhaps. I think you need a different kind of doctor. I shall consult Dr Galván, of course, before I write to the archbishop. And I shall pray.'

‘I am very grateful for your prayers,' Father Quixote said. He noticed that the bishop did not offer him his ring before leaving. Father Quixote reproached himself for having spoken too freely. I have upset the poor man, he thought. Bishops, just like the very poor and the uneducated, should be treated with a special prudence.

Whispers were to be heard from the passage outside his door. Then the key turned in the lock. So I am a prisoner, he thought, like Cervantes.

II

MONSIGNOR QUIXOTE'S

SECOND JOURNEY

1

It was the toot-toot-toot of a car which woke Father Quixote. Even in his sleep he had recognized the unmistakable tone of Rocinante – a plaintive tone without the anger, the petulance or the impatience of a big car – a tone which simply said encouragingly, ‘I am here if you want me.' He went at once to the window and looked out, but Rocinante must have been parked somewhere out of his view, for the only car in sight was coloured a bright blue and not a rusty red. He went to the door, quite forgetting that it was locked, and shook the handle. Teresa's voice answered him, ‘Hush, father. Give him another minute.'