Don Quixote and Me

By Donald Barr

As a 12-year old boy, Sandy Preston loves reading books about the great knights of the Middle Ages. One day in the public library, a kindly librarian shows him a book about the famous knight, Don Quixote, written by Miguel Cervantes more than 400 years ago. While reading this book, Sandy is sent through a time warp to 17th century Spain, where he meets the very same Don Quixote who is in the book. Sandy gets to accompany Quixote on a series of adventures. Quixote explains to Sandy that it is the duty of a true knight errant to hold to his own beliefs and values, no matter what other people think or say. As they go through many of the adventures originally described by Cervantes, Sandy begins to see Quixote’s nobility. Sandy adopts the principles of knight errantry as his own. Quixote shares with his friends the story of how “Sir Sandy” has now come to represent a new generation of knight errantry. Thus ennobled, Sandy finds the time warp has re-opened, allowing him to get home just before his Mom returns from work. Over dinner, Sandy explains to his Mom what it is about knights that is so important to believe in. It’s about setting a moral standard to live by, even if others can’t see its value. Sandy’s Mom offers Sandy the opportunity to demonstrate this new standard through his schoolwork, and through helping those in need.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646546787

Book preview

Chapter 1

In which books about knights and chivalry cause a problem

Sandy thought he heard his mother coming up the steps. He got up and checked to make sure the door of his bedroom was shut. He listened but didn’t hear anything, so he got back on top of the bed and started reading again.

Sir Edwin, the Knight of the Shining Sun, mounted his chestnut charger. Firmly grasping his shield, which had on its front the image of a rising sun, he held his lance at the ready and urged his faithful horse forward. The giant, on seeing Sir Edwin in his brilliant armor, put down the fair maiden, Hillary, and prepared to do battle. The giant’s monstrous size was not to help him today, for before he could respond, Sir Edwin thrust his lance…

Sandy, are you in bed yet?

Oh, no! It’s my mom. I was supposed to be in bed a long time ago. I had promised her I was only going to read one more page…

Sandy… What are you doing?

That’s me, Sandy. My real name is C. Sanders Preston, so they call me Sandy for short. The C is for Clarence, and don’t you dare call me Clare. Whoever thought of naming a boy Clarence should have his head examined! If I were to let my friends (most of whom are 12, like me) know what the C stood for, the whole school would start calling me Clare. That’s why my name is Sandy.

Just a minute, Mom, I’m almost ready.

Too late! My bedroom door opened and there she stood.

Are you reading those books again? she said. I thought we’d already talked about this.

But, Mom, these books are important!

Getting to bed at a decent hour is more important! All these books about knights and dragons and rescuing young maidens are starting to pollute your brain.

I think the thing that bothers Mom the most is the part about rescuing young maidens. Mom’s a feminist.

If you don’t stop wasting your time with all this nonsense about knights and chivalry, you’ll never catch up on your schoolwork.

But this is history! How can I be wasting my time if I’m studying history?

For the last time, young man, these books are fantasy and not history. They tell make-believe stories about make-believe people who do make-believe things. All this stuff about knights in shining armor is a bunch of…

I think she wanted to say crap, but after stopping herself, she said nonsense.

If I catch you reading these silly knight books one more time when you’re supposed to be doing something else, I’m going to get rid of every last one of them. Now go to bed!

I can’t figure out why Mom doesn’t like these books. Maybe she’s right, and some of the stories might be make-believe. But make-believe or not, they’re great! Sometimes after reading them, I can imagine myself as a knight sitting at King Arthur’s Round Table, living by the code of chivalry, traveling all over the place helping people. With all the trouble the world is in these days, it’s too bad we don’t have any more knights left.

There’s something about stories about knights that really bothers Mom. I have a feeling it has something to do with my dad. My parents split up when I was little, and my dad moved away. I spend a couple of weeks with him every summer, and sometimes he’s here during Christmas vacation and we go shopping or to a movie or something.

My dad’s a doctor. He works at a big hospital in San Francisco. (Sometimes Mom calls San Francisco the pit.) He used to be a doctor in a little town in the middle of Idaho. In my dad’s house, there’s a picture of the place that he and Mom used to work. The sign over the door in the picture says Mountain Health Center. It’s not there any more. Now it’s a chiropractor’s office. Mom doesn’t like to talk about the health center. Which reminds me, if I don’t get back in bed now, Mom is going to do something drastic.

I finished putting on my pajamas, turned out the light, and got under the covers. For a long time I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. What was going to happen to Sir Edwin and the giant? Did he kill the giant? If only I could read one more page, I could find out, and I could get to sleep. One more page wouldn’t be that bad.

I found the mini-flashlight I keep in the back of the drawer of my nightstand and pulled the covers completely over my head.

Sir Edwin thrust his lance through the giant’s evil heart. With a dreadful moan and a thunderous crash, the giant fell to the earth, never to torment the kingdom again. Sir Edwin rushed to Hillary’s side and, after finding her unharmed, knelt down on one knee and once again pledged his loyalty. They mounted his horse, and rode together towards the setting sun.

The next morning at breakfast, Mom didn’t say anything about my knight books. She told me she had a big meeting, and that she might be a little late getting home. She’s always having meetings. She’s the head of some community agency that helps poor people in Boise, where we live.

I grabbed my backpack and headed for the school bus. My corner is the next-to-last stop on the school bus route, so I usually end up sitting in front. That’s not too bad, ’cause it means I get to get out first. Today it was my English teacher’s turn to watch the kids get off the school buses. Mr. Priestly usually just stands back and doesn’t say anything unless the kids start goofing off. Nobody from my bus goofed off today, so he was in a pretty good mood when we got into class.

First period is math, so that goes by pretty fast. It’s second period I dread: English. I don’t think Mr. Priestly likes teaching English. He usually reads the first few paragraphs of whatever we’re working on, and then gives us twenty minutes to read the rest. Talk about boring! Today he started talking about archeological artifacts.

"Class, I want you to be aware that scientists working in Spain have found some important archeological artifacts. They believe they have found the bones of Miguel Cervantes, a man who died about 400 years ago. Before he died, Cervantes wrote the first modern novel, a book titled Don Quixote. Many scholars consider this one of the finest books ever written. Those of you who go to college may one day get the opportunity to read this great work. Unfortunately, as middle school students you simply aren’t ready for a book as challenging as Quixote."

I didn’t want to hear about archeological artifacts! It wanted to find out what was going to happen to Sir Edwin and Lady Hillary. I snuck my book out of my backpack and put it in my lap.

When Sir Edwin and Lady Hillary arrived back at her father’s castle, there was wild rejoicing. Everyone had believed that Hillary would never be seen again. To see her not only alive but also unharmed was a clear signal to Lord William, Hillary’s father, of the bravery and skill of her rescuer. Lord William invited Edwin into his castle, and offered him…

Preston! Come here and bring that book with you.

Mr. Priestly didn’t sound very happy. Just like my mom, he’d warned me about reading knight books in class. I closed the book and sheepishly walked up to his desk. I could feel my face turning red. I hope nobody laughs at me. Why can’t he understand that these books are just as important as archeology and artifacts?

Ensconced in chivalrous drivel again, eh, Preston?

I wish he wouldn’t use words like that. I never know what they mean.

I thought we had talked about this. Mr. Priestly was glaring at me in front of the whole class.

We had.

Somebody in the back part of the room started to giggle.

Well, I guess I am just going to have to speak with your mother. You may return to your seat, but please leave that book here.

By the end of the day I wasn’t feeling nearly as embarrassed. A couple of my friends at lunch told me they thought I was brave. I couldn’t help but worry about what Mom would do when Mr. Priestly called her. Fortunately she wasn’t going to be home until late. Maybe Mr. Priestly would forget about it if he called and she wasn’t there.

The school bus route in the afternoon is the reverse of the one in the morning. That means that mine is the second stop. I let myself into the house with my key, got a bowl of ice cream from the refrigerator, and went up to my room. As soon as I got in my room I could tell that Mom had already been there.

My bookshelf was completely empty. My Far Side and Calvin and Hobbes books were still there, and so were all my Sports Illustrated for Kids, but there wasn’t a single knight book left. There was a note.

Sandy—I’m sorry I had to do this, but after talking with Mr. Priestly on the phone, I knew it was time to stop all this knight business for once and for all. I’m going to take your books to the recycling center. We’ll talk about it more when I get home from my meeting.—Mom

He must have called her at work. Now what was I going to do? All the books about knights and chivalry and adventure that I’d been collecting for years were gone. All the stories about Sir Palmerin of England, about Sir Olivante de Laura and Sir Belianis, about the Knight of the Cross and the famous knight Tirante the White. She even took my favorite, the book about Amadis of Gaul.

It was as if some evil wizard had, with one swipe of his wand, made all my books vanish in a puff of smoke.

Chapter 2

In which we meet a strange knight in a strange place

I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to knock my bookshelf onto the floor. It seemed as if no one understood how important those books are to me, and how important knights used to be. I knew one thing, though. I didn’t want to stay in my room any more. For all I cared, the evil wizard who had made my books disappear might as well have made my room disappear, too. I didn’t even want to be in the house. I just wanted to get outside.

Without thinking about where I was going, I started walking downtown. I was hoping I wouldn’t see any of my friends from school. They’d probably just laugh at me if I tried to explain what’d happened. I sat down on the steps of a building and began to think about Sir Edwin and Lady Hillary. Were they going to get married? What would Sir Edwin’s next challenge be? Would Hillary’s father send him off on a quest before he let him marry her?

I’ve seen what happens to stuff taken to the recycling center. It all gets shredded up and made into shopping bags. I would never see my books again, and I would never find out what was going to happen to Sir Edwin. Wikipedia thinks Sir Edwin is some guy who designs buildings.

Just about then I noticed that the people walking up and down the stairs where I was sitting were holding books in their arms. Of course! I was sitting on the steps of the public library. They’d have books about knights. My mom couldn’t stop me from reading library books, and she certainly wouldn’t take them to the recycling center. I had no idea where they would keep their books on knights, so I asked the lady at the front desk.

Knights… Well, let’s see. You might look in the history section. Then again, maybe what you really want is the fiction section. What kind of knight books did you want?

You know, things like King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and Sir Lancelot, and Sir Edwin, and Amadis of Gaul. The real stuff.

Oh, I see, that type of knight. A funny look came over her face. Why don’t you try talking with Mr. March. His desk is on the second floor.

I went looking for Mr. March. The second floor was where they kept all the old books. I’d never been up there before, so I didn’t really know where to go. There was one big room at the top of the stairs. I looked all around the room. In one corner there was a man sitting behind a desk reading a big book with a red leather cover. He seemed kind of old—at least older than my mother. He was wearing a red sweater, but the thing I noticed most was his head. He was completely bald. When he looked up, his eyes were so gentle and sparkly it seemed as though he could see right into my thoughts.

My, what a sad countenance! He smiled.

Huh?

Your face…it has sadness written all over it. What, pray tell, has happened?

Do you have any books about knights?

Of course I do. Is that what this grief is all about?

Yeah, I guess so. I used to have all these great books about knights, but my teacher and my Mom kept telling me I wasn’t supposed to read them. They said they were nothing but fantasy. My mom keeps saying there’s no such thing as knights, and that I’m wasting my time. She caught me reading one of the books at night, and my teacher caught me doing it again at school. They got together and said they were going to take all my books about knights to the recycling center. Even my favorite—the one about Sir Amadis of Gaul!

He nodded his head and smiled. The recycling center, eh? That must have wounded you severely.

I don’t know about being wounded, but I sure feel bruised and battered by it all. They had no business doing that. They were my books!

So now you’ve come to the library, hoping to find the same. Tell me, just why are these books so important to you?

Because they tell about important things about honor and dedication and chivalry and all the stuff knights used to stand for—things that people don’t believe in any more. All people think about these days is money and power. I don’t ever want to grow up and be like that. I want to find something I can believe in and strive for. That’s what knights were all about. They had something they believed in. Even if my mom and Mr. Priestly think it’s stupid, that’s what I want to be like.

For a long time, Mr. March didn’t say anything. He just sat there looking at me, slowly tapping his fingers on the desk. Finally, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a little box. He took something out of the box and turned to look at me.

If you’re sure that that’s what you want, then you may use this. But before you do, ask yourself if you really mean what you say, for the worst type of knight is the false knight. The true knight will stand by what he believes in and stick to his quest no matter what happens or what other people say. If you’re sure your belief is true, then this is what you’ll need.

He held out an old key. His face had a different look on it know. Instead of smiling, his lips were pulled tight. Only the look in his eyes was the same.

It felt as though he was testing me some how. If I took the key, I would have to prove to him that I meant what I said—that I would stick to my beliefs even if my teacher got mad or my friends laughed at me. I knew deep down inside that honor and dedication were what the world needed most; that was what I was going to do. I reached out and took the key. For a key that wasn’t very big, it seemed awfully heavy. Maybe it was made of some kind of special metal.

I believe you will find what you want in the room at the top of those stairs. He pointed to an opening in the wall across from his desk. It’s funny, but I hadn’t noticed the opening before. I must not have looked very carefully.

The stairs were the metal kind that curved all around as you walked up them. At the top was a door with the word Errantry on it. I put the key in and turned it. As the lock made a loud click, it was almost as if I could feel something inside me click too—as if something had turned and opened.

Inside was a small room with a table and one chair. The walls were completely lined with old books—the kind Mr. March had been reading at his desk. I began to look at the books, and my heart skipped a beat. They were all about knights! I recognized a lot of them. There were the same books I used to have in my room. Now I could find out what happened to Sir Edwin and Lady Hillary.

On the table was a book that was larger and thicker than all the rest. Every time I began looking at the other books on the shelves, it seemed as though my eyes were drawn back to the one on the table. Finally I sat down and opened it.

The Adventures of the Ingenious Gentleman,

Don Quixote of La Mancha

by Miguel de Cervantes

I turned the page and began to read.

To he who reads this book—You must know by my very oath that I have tried to make this book the most beautiful book you can imagine; the liveliest, the cleverest, the most interesting book you could hope for. I have worked on it for a long time, and it has nearly worn out my mind.

Now, I don’t claim that Don Quixote, about whom this story is told, is a perfect knight. Like all of