Free The Prudence of the Flesh by Ralph McInerny

been on the door and it was on a plaque on Pasquali’s desk, but the librarian obligingly spelled it out for Ned. The prospect of publicity, of his name in the paper, had obviously driven out the negative judgment he had made of Gloria’s paintings in telling Maddie he wanted them out of here.
    â€œThose creeps looking at porn on our computers could paint as well as that,” he had grumbled.
    â€œI don’t think you would want to hang any pictures they might paint.”
    Maddie had been proud enough of that retort to pass it on, but the sting had remained in Gloria’s soul. Now her own vindication had come, with Pasquali babbling away into Ned’s recorder. Ned had brought a camera as well, and he took a picture of the artist and benefactor at the side of the grateful future custodian of a dozen precious paintings by Gloria Daley.

16
    Pasquali came out with Madeline and Ned Bunting, intent on giving Ned a tour of the place.
    â€œMaybe a shot of the exhibit?” Ned suggested.
    â€œOf course, of course.”
    Pasquali led them off to the little windowless lunchroom to which the paintings had been removed. Maddie heard him calling it a temporary home for the paintings while he decided on their permanent disposition. Madeline fluttered her fingers as they went by the desk and winked. In a few minutes, Gloria was back.
    â€œDo you know where he put my paintings?”
    â€œIn the lunchroom.”
    â€œNed gave him hell about that. Where can we talk?”
    â€œThe lunchroom?”
    â€œUgh.”
    â€œCan we go out for a smoke?”
    In back of the building was a loading dock, and it was there that the addicted among the employees of the Benjamin Harrison branch of the Fox River library withdrew to smoke, in goodweather and bad. They were more likely to die of pneumonia than of any ailment connected with smoking.
    Gloria shook two cigarettes free and offered one to Madeline. “Father Dowling wants to meet you.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œNed and I have been attending Mass at his parish. He’s heard about your awful experience and wants to talk with you.”
    â€œIt’s a trick.”
    â€œI don’t think so. No, I’m sure it isn’t. Do you know what I think? He may be the only one who really gives a damn about you.”
    â€œWhy should he?”
    â€œMaddie, he’s a priest. The kind of priest we used to know.” That was a mistake, but Gloria hurried on. “A straight shooter.”
    They talked about it for three cigarettes apiece. Gloria was about to light a fourth when Madeline said, “Where?”
    â€œHere? At the rectory? Your place?”
    Having a priest come to the library was out of the question. Madeline was ashamed of the dirty old men who spent the day calling up pornographic sites on the bank of computers. At home was Marvin, presumably continuing his education in the privacy of his own bedroom. That left the rectory.
    â€œI could go with you,” Gloria offered.
    Madeline found that tempting, but only momentarily.
    â€œBut I can tell him you’re coming?” Gloria persisted.
    â€œGloria, I am perfectly capable of making arrangements myself.”
    That seemed unkind given their close friendship. Who else would have helped Madeline elicit the memories of events that had scarred her soul?
    â€œI don’t want Marvin to know,” Madeline explained.

17
    Madeline Murphy, occupation librarian, lived with her son, Marvin, in a small bungalow not far from Dirksen Boulevard in Fox River. Her day was spent chasing derelicts from the computers on which they called up pornographic sites. Unbathed, with open mouths, barnacles on the ship of decent society that provided gratis this opening into hell, they awaited their Dante. Her zeal often brought her on the carpet of the head librarian’s office. Tetzel of the
Tribune
had written of the assault on the First Amendment in the branch library, ringing