I could understand my father sucking the bad stuff out of Michael’s head when he was a baby and desperate but I don’t understand why God wanted St. Moling to go around sucking the snot out of lepers’ heads. I don’t understand God at all and even if I’d like to be a saint and have everyone adore me I’d never suck the snot of a leper. I’d like to be a saint but if that’s what you have to do I think I’ll stay the way I am. Still, I’m ready to spend my life in this library reading about virgins and  virgin  martyrs  till  I  get  into  trouble  with  Miss  O’Riordan  over a book someone left on the table.The author is Lin Yütang.Anyone can tell this is a Chinese name and I’m curious to know what the Chinese talk about. It’s a book of essays about love and the body and one of his words sends me to the dictionary.Turgid. He says,The male organ of copulation  becomes  turgid  and  is  inserted  into  the  receptive  female orifice. Turgid.The dictionary says swollen and that’s what I am, standing there looking at the dictionary because I know now what Mikey Mol- loy was talking about all along,that we’re no different from the dogs that get stuck in each other in the streets and it’s shocking to think of all the mothers and fathers doing the likes of this. My father lied to me for years about the Angel on the Seventh Step. Miss O’Riordan wants to know what word I’m looking for. She always looks worried when I’m at the dictionary so I tell her I’m look- ing for canonize or beatific or any class of a religious word. And what’s this? she says.This is not the Lives of the Saints. She picks up Lin Yütang and starts reading the page where I left the book face down on the table. Mother o’ God. Is this what you were reading? I saw this in your hand. Well, I—I—only wanted to see if the Chinese, if the Chinese, ah, had any saints. Oh, indeed, you did.This is disgraceful. Filth. No wonder the Chi- nese are the way they are. But what could you expect of slanty eyes and yellow skin and you, now that I look at you, have a bit of the slanty eye yourself.You are to leave this library at once. But I’m reading the Lives of the Saints. Out or I’ll call the head librarian and she’ll have the guards on you. Out.You should be running to the priest and confessing your sins. Out, and before you go hand me the library cards of your poor mother and Mr. Griffin. I have a good mind to write to your poor mother and I 304