Before seven in the morning, Padre Gonzaga had arrived - he had come running, quite alarmed by this strange news. By then, the spectators, who were not as colorful as the early morning spectators, had arrived, and they had begun to speculate about the prisoner's future. The most simple-minded among them had thought that he should be called the father of the whole world. The more hardened people thought that he should be promoted to the rank of a five-star general, so that he could win all wars. Some visionaries thought that if a winged nation could be born from him on earth, that nation would be the best in knowledge and virtue, and they would then take charge of the universe. But Father Gonzaga, a scoundrel before he became a priest, stood by the wire fence, thinking of everything in a moment, answering questions for interrogation, and told them to open the door so that he could go in and see the wretched man up close—who looked like a giant, worn-out hen among the enchanted chickens. He was lying in a corner, his wings spread out, drying in the sun, surrounded by fruit peels and the remains of small gifts, which the early visitors had thrown at him. When Father Gonzaga entered the henhouse, he greeted him in Latin, the audacity and arrogance of the world unknown to him.
He only raised his ancient eyes and hummed something in his own language. The first suspicion that this was a swindler, this old man from the high-rise parish, was aroused in the mind of the first-rate priest, especially when he saw that he did not understand the language of God, nor did he know how to address the ministers of God. Then he noticed that if he looked closely, he looked much more human. An unbearable smell of openness emanated from him, various foreign plants had grown on the back of his wings and all the earthly winds had mistreated his main feathers; he had nothing to compare with the proud dignity of angels. Then he came out of the henhouse and, with a small, silent voice, warned the curious about the dangers of being a guileless, simple-minded person; He reminded them that the devil had a strange habit of sneaking up on the noisy festivals of Roman Catholics, to mislead the unwary. He reasoned that if wings were not essential to distinguishing a hawk from an airplane, they were of even less importance in identifying angels. Nevertheless, he promised to give his bishop a letter which he could write to the archbishop of his diocese, and he could then write to the supreme pontiff, so that the final verdict of the Supreme Court could be obtained.