The Greatest Evil

goes to this doctor in a family clinic. The wife pushed her husband to go to this doctor for the vasectomy. And he did.”

Delvecchio was beginning to have an inkling. “And this doctor is …?”

“Lucy Delvecchio.”

“Oh!” The monsignor was afraid his fish luncheon would reappear.

“Like I said before, Monsignor, I tend to look at things from a PR standpoint. It’s not going to look good PR- wise that the sister of a monsignor performs vasectomies.”

Delvecchio did not reply.

“But there’s something more, Monsignor. Last month, the U.S. Supreme Court did away with state laws restricting abortions during the first six months of pregnancy.”

“I know that.”

Goldbaum leaned across the table and spoke as softly as possible while still able to be heard over the crowd’s noise. “Well, this clinic that I mentioned earlier-its main business is pregnancy counseling.”

“You mean …”

“Your sister handles abortions, although she restricts her practice to the first three months of pregnancy.”

Goldbaum was not sure Delvecchio was still listening. The monsignor’s face was ashen and his eyes appeared to have glazed over.

“Listen, Monsignor, I’m not telling you this for spite or like gossip, or to hurt you. First, I wanted to make sure that these things … procedures … contraception, vasectomy, were still against your Church’s teaching. I knew abortion was. You just confirmed what I suspected. This guy in my office, once he dropped the name of the doctor, I knew you were in a lot of trouble.”

“I? In trouble?”

“As the saying goes, in ‘deep do-do’ … from a PR standpoint. I would guess-and, believe me, this is an educated guess-that no one in the media is aware that you have a sister who counsels contraception and performs abortions. If any reporter was on to this, you wouldn’t be sitting here hearing it from me. We’d be reading it in the papers and watching it on TV and hearing it on radio.”

“You think so?” For Delvecchio, this was a learning situation. Goldbaum had caught his attention.

“Believe me,” Goldbaum said, “these clinics are no longer news by themselves. They just sit there doing their jobs. Even pickets are no longer news. But if a pro-lifer stinks the place up, or if they dynamite it, or shoot a doctor … or”-his meaningful gaze almost impaled Delvecchio-“if the sister of a Catholic priest-a monsignor-is performing abortions, believe me, that is big news.”

Although it was obvious that Delvecchio’s mental wheels were turning furiously, when he finally spoke, it was with aplomb. “Well, I’m grateful to you, Merl. Of course I’ll talk with my sister about this. It’s intolerable!” he concluded firmly.

“Monsignor, you’d better do more than just talk.”

“Then what?” Delvecchio spread his hands in query.

“We should sit down and work out a statement for the media. It would have to be very carefully worded. For instance, it would say that you just discovered your sister’s involvement. That you can in no way condone this. But she remains your sister. You love her, but repudiate what she’s doing. You will pray for her and you enlist the prayers of all in the pro-life movement.

“We might also get a statement from Lucy. The point is, bring this out in the open-before the news media gets hold of it-and tie up all the loose ends. That way, it’ll be news for only a short while. But if the media breaks this story, it’ll be their story. They’ll push it for days. They’ll be hounding you, Lucy, the medical establishment-and most of all your archbishop.” Goldbaum looked at the monsignor expectantly.

“As I say, I will talk to Lucy. I prefer to think we can keep this from going public. But I thank you for telling me.” He thought for a moment, then said, almost as if to himself, “Maybe I can save Lucy from herself.”

Goldbaum paid the bill, leaving a generous tip. “Monsignor, think about what I said … or you’re going to be up to your ears in what we in the business call public damage control.”

26

Though brother and sister, Vincent and Lucy Delvecchio seldom got together. Each was proud of what the other had accomplished. Each wished a closer bond with their brother Tony. All three of them were busy. And the glue that once held them together-their mother-had dissolved with her death.

With infrequency marking their relationship, when Vince phoned, Lucy was pretty sure what it was about: He had to have learned of her pro-choice activity. If that was indeed the case, this evening would not be pleasant.

Actually, Lucy did not consider herself pro or con anything. She simply followed where the trouble traveled. The recent vasectomy, for example. She handled few such procedures. Partly because few men opted for that resolution, partly because most men preferred a male physician for that “man’s” operation.

She would not have counseled the procedure for this healthy man. But when she learned to what extremes he and his wife had gone to plan their family, and their failure with every method but abstinence, and his determination to have the operation, she went ahead with it.

Lucy was not part of any movement for or against abortion. She was just as apt to counsel carrying to full term with possible adoption thereafter as she was to counsel abortion.

However, she knew the odds of convincing her brother of the validity of her position fell between no way and never.

When the doorbell rang, her back stiffened. The inevitable moment she had most dreaded was here.

They hugged. She took his hat and coat. Dinner was ready. He’d brought a bottle of domestic wine.

It did not occur to Vincent that this was only the second woman with whom he had dined alone. So deep in his subconscious had he buried Jan Olivier that it was as if she had never entered his life. All that stood in that space was an imaginary monument to his victory over concupiscence.

The atmosphere through dinner affected to be convivial, friendly, and old-shoe-much more so than was warranted. Somehow, they made it to the dessert course.

Lucy, unable to stand the tension any longer, broke the ice. “Well, big brother, this has been nice, but there’s no evident reason we should enjoy dining together. No birthday, no holiday-come to think of it, we don’t get together even on those occasions. You called me. So, what’s on your mind?”

Vincent was eager to be the first to dive in; once again, he was on the side of the angels. The problem would be Lucy’s should she not respond properly to his admonition.

“I had lunch yesterday with a gentleman who has a business colleague who recently saw you professionally.”

“Oh?”

“This colleague, your patient, has-or rather, had-a problem with family planning. You solved the problem by giving him a vasectomy!”

“He wanted it,” she said calmly.

“If one of your patients wanted something that was foolish, would you give it to him?”

“It’s not the same.”

“You’re right there: A vasectomy is a sin-a serious sin.”

Lucy sighed deeply. “Vince, either one of us could write the rest of this script. I know what family planning procedures you object to. I know what my patients need. Sometimes there’s a conflict between your morality and my medicine. We know all this. Why go through the agony of arguing about it?”

“You went to a parochial school. You came from a good Catholic home. How dare you question these matters! This is not my morality we’re talking about; it’s the moral stance of our Catholic Church!”

“I was a kid. Sure I learned-and believed-what the nuns and priests taught us. I’m an adult now. I can think for myself. And I can read about a Cardinal who thinks it’s wrong for a man to wear a condom to prevent communicable diseases-even if it’s a gay man. As if a condom has some sort of morality in and of itself!”