Марио Пьюзо
The Godfather / Крестный отец

© Шитова Л. Ф., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2018

© ООО «Издательство «Антология», 2018

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BOOK I

Behind every great fortune there is a crime.

Balzac

Chapter 1

Amerigo Bonasera sat in New York Criminal Court[1] and waited for vengeance on the men who had so cruelly hurt his daughter, who had tried to dishonor her[2].

The judge rolled up the sleeves of his black robe.

“You acted like the worst kind of degenerates,” the judge said harshly. The two young men bowed their heads.

The judge went on. “You acted like wild beasts in a jungle and you are fortunate you did not sexually molest[3] that poor girl or I’d put you behind bars[4] for twenty years.” He spoke again.

“But because of your youth, your clean records[5], because of your ﬁne families, I sentence you to three years’ conﬁnement to the penitentiary. Sentence to be suspended[6].”

Only forty years of professional mourning kept the frustration and hatred from showing on Amerigo Bonasera’s face. His beautiful young daughter was still in the hospital with her broken jaw wired together; and now these two animales[7] went free? It had all been a farce. He watched the happy parents around their darling sons. Oh, they were all happy now, they were smiling now.

Out of control, Bonasera shouted, “You will weep as I have wept – I will make you weep as your children make me weep”. A huge bailiff moved quickly to where Bonasera stood. But it was not necessary.

He turned to his wife and told her, “They have made fools of us.” He paused and then made his decision. “For justice we must go on our knees to Don Corleone.”

In a richly decorated Los Angeles hotel suite, Johnny Fontane was as jealously drunk as any ordinary husband. It was four in the morning and he was having drunken fantasies of murdering his wife when she got home. If she ever did come home. It was too late to call his ﬁrst wife and ask about the kids and he felt funny about calling any of his friends now that his career was going down. He heard ﬁnally his wife’s key in the door, but he kept drinking until she walked into the room and stood before him. She was to him so very beautiful, the angelic face, violet eyes, the delicately fragile but perfectly formed body. A hundred million men all over the world were in love with the face of Margot Ashton. And paid to see it on the screen.

“Where the hell were you?” Johnny Fontane asked.

“Out fucking[8],” she said.

He jumped over the cocktail table and grabbed her by the throat. But close up to that magical face, the lovely violet eyes, he lost his anger and became helpless again. She screamed, “Johnny, not in the face, I’m making a picture.”

She was laughing. He punched her in the stomach and she fell to the ﬂoor. He fell on top of her. He beat her but he was not hitting her hard enough. He couldn’t. And she was giggling at him. Spread on the ﬂoor, she taunted him between giggles. “Come on, stick it in. Stick it in, Johnny, that’s what you really want.”

Johnny Fontane got up. He hated the woman on the ﬂoor but her beauty protected her. Margot rolled away, and got to her feet facing him. “Poor Johnny. Goodbye, Johnny.” She walked into the bedroom and he heard her turn the key in the lock.

Johnny sat on the ﬂoor with his face in his hands. The humiliating despair overwhelmed him.[9] But as he had learned to survive the jungle of Hollywood, he picked up the phone and called for a car to take him to the airport. There was one person who could save him. He would go back to New York to the one man with the power, the wisdom, he needed and a love he still trusted. His Godfather Corleone.

The baker, Nazorine, still dusty with ﬂour, scowled at his wife, his daughter, Katherine, and his baker’s helper, Enzo. Enzo was one of the many thousands of Italian Army prisoners allowed daily to work in the American economy but he lived in constant fear that he would be sent back to Italy. Nazorine asked ﬁercely, “Have you dishonored my family? Have you given my daughter a little package to remember you by now that the war is over and you know America will kick your ass back to your village full of shit in Sicily[10]?”

Enzo, a very short, strongly built boy, put his hand over his heart and said almost in tears, “Padrone[11], I swear by the Holy Virgin I have never taken advantage of your kindness[12]. I love your daughter with all respect and I ask for her hand. But if they send me back to Italy I can never come back to America. I will never be able to marry Katherine.”

Katherine was weeping. “I’ll go and live in Italy,” she screamed at her father. “I’ll run away if you don’t keep Enzo here.”

Nazorine glanced at her. She was a “hot number[13]” this daughter of his. He had seen her brush her buttocks against Enzo’s front. The young man’s hot loaf would soon be in her oven, Nazorine thought. Enzo must be kept in America and be made an American citizen. And there was only one man who could arrange such an afaf ir. The Godfather. Don Corleone.

All of these people and many others received invitations to the wedding of Miss Constanzia Corleone, to be celebrated in August 1945. The father of the bride, Don Vito Corleone, never forgot his old friends and neighbors though he himself now lived in a huge house on Long Island. The reception would be held in that house and the festivities would go on all day. There was no doubt it would be a great occasion. The war with the Japanese had just ended so there would not be any fear for their sons ﬁghting in the Army. A wedding was just what people needed to show their joy.

And so on that Saturday morning the friends of Don Corleone came from New York City to do him honor[14]. They bore cream-colored envelopes stuffed with cash as bridal gifts, no checks. Inside each envelope a card established the identity of the giver and the measure of his respect for the Godfather.

Don Vito Corleone was a man to whom everybody came for help, and never were they disappointed. He made no empty promises. Only one thing was required. That you, you yourself, state your friendship. And then, Don Corleone would take that man’s troubles to his heart and he would solve that man’s problem. His reward? Friendship, the respectful title of “Don”, and sometimes the more affectionate salutation of “Godfather”. And perhaps, to show respect only, never for proﬁt, some humble gift[15]. It was understood, it was mere good manners, to say that you were in his debt and that he had the right to call upon you at any time for some small service.

Now on this great day, his daughter’s wedding day, Don Vito Corleone stood in the doorway of his Long Beach home to greet his guests. Many of them owed their good fortune in life to the Don[16] and on this occasion felt free to call him “Godfather” to his face. Don Corleone received everyone – rich and poor, powerful and humble – with an equal show of love. That was his character.

Standing at the door with him were two of his three sons. The eldest, baptized Santino but called Sonny by everyone except his father, was looked at askance[17] by the older Italian men; with admiration by the younger. Sonny Corleone was tall for a ﬁrst-generation American of Italian parentage, almost six feet, and his bushy, curly hair made him look even taller. His face was that of a gross Cupid, the features even[18]. He was built as powerfully as a bull and it was common knowledge that he was so generously endowed by nature[19] that his wife feared the marriage bed as unbelievers once feared the rack[20].

Here at the wedding feast, some young matrons measured Sonny Corleone with conﬁdent eyes. But on this particular day they were wasting their time. Sonny Corleone, despite the presence of his wife and three small children, had plans for his sister’s maid of honor, Lucy Mancini. She had ﬂirted with Sonny in the past week and squeezed his hand that morning at the altar.

The second son, Frederico, called Fred or Fredo, was a child every Italian prayed to the saints for. Dutiful, loyal, always at the service of his father, living with his parents at age thirty. He was short and burly, not handsome but with the same Cupid head of the family. Despite all these virtues he did not have that personal magnetism, that animal force, so necessary for a leader of men, and he was not expected to inherit the family business.

The third son, Michael Corleone, did not stand with his father and his two brothers but sat at a table in the corner of the garden. But even there he could not escape the attentions of the family friends.

Michael Corleone was the youngest son of the Don and the only child who had refused the great man’s direction. He did not have the heavy, Cupid-shaped face of the other children, and his jet black hair was straight rather than curly. He was handsome in a delicate way.

Now this youngest son sat in the corner of the garden to demonstrate his separation from father and family. Beside him sat the American girl everyone had heard about but whom no one had seen until this day. He had, of course, shown the proper respect and introduced her to everyone at the wedding, including his family. They were not impressed with her. She was too thin, she was too fair, her face was too intelligent for a woman, her manner too free for a maiden. Her name, too, was outlandish to their ears; she called herself Kay Adams. Every guest noticed that the Don paid no particular attention to this third son. Michael had been his favorite before the war and obviously the chosen heir to run the family business when the proper moment came. He had all the quiet force and intelligence of his great father. But when World War II began, Michael Corleone volunteered for the Marine Corps[21].

Don Corleone had no desire of letting his youngest son be killed in the service. Doctors had been bribed, secret arrangements had been made, a great deal of money had been spent. But Michael was twenty-one years of age and nothing could be done against his own will. He became a Captain and won medals. In 1944, when his picture was printed in Life magazine, the Don had sighed and said, “He performs those miracles for strangers.”

When Michael Corleone was discharged early in 1945 because of his wound, he stayed home for a few weeks, then, without consulting anyone, entered Dartmouth College in New Hampshire, and so he left his father’s house.

Michael Corleone was amusing Kay Adams by telling her little stories about some of the more colorful wedding guests. Finally her attention was caught by a small group of men. The men were Amerigo Bonasera, Nazorine the Baker, Anthony Coppola and Luca Brasi. She noticed that these four men did not seem particularly happy. Michael smiled. “No, they’re not,” he said. “They’re waiting to see my father in private. They have favors to ask.[22]”

There were, now, hundreds of guests in the huge garden, some dancing on the wooden platform decorated with ﬂowers, others sitting at long tables with spicy food and jugs of homemade wine. The bride, Connie Corleone, sat at a special raised table with her groom. It was a rustic setting[23] in the old Italian style. Not to the bride’s taste, but Connie had agreed to a “guinea[24]” wedding to please her father because she had so displeased him in her choice of a husband.

The groom, Carlo Rizzi, was born of a Sicilian father and the North Italian mother from whom he had inherited his blond hair and blue eyes. His parents lived in Nevada and Carlo had left that state because of a little trouble with the law. In New York he met Sonny Corleone and so met the sister. Don Corleone, of course, sent trusted friends to Nevada and they reported that Carlo’s police trouble was not serious. They also came back with detailed information on legal gambling in Nevada which greatly interested the Don who proﬁted from everything.

Connie Corleone was a not quite pretty girl, thin and nervous and certain to become shrewish later in life. But today, transformed by her white bridal gown and eager virginity, she was so radiant as to be almost beautiful.

She thought Carlo incredibly handsome. He ﬁlled her glass with wine. He was courteous to her as if they were both actors in a play. But he kept looking toward the huge silk purse the bride wore on her right shoulder and which was now stuffed full of money envelopes. Carlo Rizzi smiled. It was only the beginning. He had, after all, married into a royal family. They would have to take care of him.[25]

Peter Clemenza was rotating young girls around the wooden dance ﬂoor in a rustic Tarantella. Immensely tall, immensely huge, he danced with such skill, his hard belly bumping the breasts of younger, tinier women, that all the guests were applauding him. When Clemenza ﬁnally collapsed in a chair, Paulie Gatto brought him a glass of icy wine and wiped the perspiring brow of his boss with his silk handkerchief[26]. But instead of thanking Paulie Clemenza said, “Do your job. Take a walk around the neighborhood and see everything is OK.”

The band took a refreshment break.[27] A young man named Nino Valenti picked up a mandolin, put his left foot up on a chair and began to sing a Sicilian love song. His face was handsome though bloated by continual drinking and he was already a little drunk. The women shrieked with joy and the men shouted the last word of each stanza with the singer.

Sonny Corleone made his way to the bride’s table and sat down beside young Lucy Mancini, the maid of honor.

They were safe. His wife was in the kitchen putting the last touches on the serving of the wedding cake. Sonny whispered a few words in the young girl’s ear and she rose. Sonny waited a few minutes and then casually followed her.

All eyes followed them. The maid of honor, Americanized by three years of college, was a ripe girl who already had a “reputation”. Now holding her pink gown up off the ground, Lucy Mancini went into the house, smiling with false innocence, ran lightly up the stairs to the bathroom. She stayed there for a few moments. When she came out Sonny Corleone was on the landing above, beckoning her upward.

From behind the closed window of Don Corleone’s “ofcif e”, Thomas Hagen watched the wedding party. The walls behind him were ﬁlled with law books. Hagen was the Don’s lawyer and acting Consigliere, or counselor, and as such held the most vital subordinate position in the family business. He and the Don had solved many problems in this room, and so when he saw the Godfather leave the festivities and enter the house, he knew there would be a little work this day. Then Hagen saw Sonny Corleone whisper in Lucy Mancini’s ear and their little comedy as he followed her into the house. He went to the desk and picked up a handwritten list of the people who had been granted permission to see Don Corleone privately. When the Don entered the room, Hagen handed him the list. Don Corleone nodded and said, “Leave Bonasera to the end.”

Hagen went directly out into the garden and pointed to the baker, Nazorine.

Don Corleone greeted the baker with an embrace. They had played together as children in Italy and had grown up in friendship. Every Easter freshly baked pies arrived at Don Corleone’s home. On Christmas, on family birthdays, rich creamy pastries showed the Nazorines’ respect. Now the time had come for the baker to ask for his rights as a loyal friend, and Don Corleone looked forward with great pleasure to meeting his request.

He gave the baker a Di Nobili cigar and a glass of yellow Strega[28] and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. He knew from bitter experience what courage it took to ask a favor from a fellow man.

The baker told the story of his daughter and Enzo. Only Godfather Corleone could help this loving couple. He was their last hope.

The Don walked Nazorine up and down the room, his hand on the baker’s shoulder, his head nodding with understanding to keep up the man’s courage. When the baker had ﬁnished, Don Corleone smiled at him and said, “My dear friend, put all your worries aside.” He went on to explain very carefully what must be done. The Congressman of the district must be petitioned. The Congressman would propose a special bill that would allow Enzo to become a citizen. The bill would surely pass Congress. Don Corleone explained that this would cost money. He, Don Corleone, would guarantee performance and accept payment. Did his friend agree?

The baker nodded his head. He did not expect such a great favor for nothing. That was understood. A special Act of Congress does not come cheap. Nazorine was almost tearful in his thanks.

The next man was a very simple case. His name was Anthony Coppola and he was the son of a man Don Corleone had worked with in his youth. Coppola needed ﬁve hundred dollars to open a pizzeria. For some reason, he couldn’t get credit. The Don reached into his pocket and took out a roll of bills. It was not quite enough. He grimaced and said to Tom Hagen, “Loan me a hundred dollars, I’ll pay you back Monday when I go to the bank.” The man protested that four hundred dollars would be enough, but Don Corleone patted his shoulder[29], saying, apologetically, “This wedding left me a little short of cash.” Hagen watched with admiration. How ﬂattering to Anthony Coppola that a man like the Don would borrow to loan him money.

When Coppola had gone, the Don raised his head inquiringly. Hagen said, “He’s not on the list but Luca Brasi wants to see you. He understands it can’t be public but he wants to congratulate you in person.”

For the ﬁrst time the Don seemed displeased. “Is it necessary?” he asked.

Hagen shrugged. “You understand him better than I do. But he was very grateful that you invited him to the wedding. He never expected that. I think he wants to show his gratitude.”

Don Corleone nodded and gestured that Luca Brasi should be brought to him.

Luca Brasi was one of the most feared men in the Eastern underworld. His great talent, it was said, was that he could do a job of murder all by himself and never be found by the police.

When Michael told Kay that story, for the ﬁrst time Kay began to understand. She asked, “You’re not saying that a man like that works for your father?”

The hell with it[30], he thought. He said, straight out.[31]“Nearly ﬁfteen years ago some people wanted to take over my father’s oil importing business. They tried to kill him and nearly did. Luca Brasi went after them. The story is that he killed six men in two weeks and that ended the famous olive oil war.” He smiled as if it were a joke.

“You mean your father was shot by gangsters?”

“Fifteen years ago,” Michael said. “Everything’s been peaceful since then.” He was afraid he had gone too far.

“You’re trying to scare me,” Kay said. “You just don’t want me to marry you.” She smiled at him. “Very clever.”

Luca Brasi was indeed a man to frighten the devil in hell himself. Short, squat, massive-skulled, his presence sent out danger. Brasi’s reputation for violence was awesome and his devotion to Don Corleone legendary. Luca Brasi did not fear the police, he did not fear society, he did not fear God, he did not fear hell, he did not fear or love his fellow man. But he had chosen, to fear and love Don Corleone. When Hagen brought him in, the terrible Brasi felt stiff with respect. He stuttered over the ﬂowery congratulations and then handed the Don an envelope with cash as a gift for the bridal couple.

So that was what he wanted to do. Hagen noticed the change in Don Corleone. The Don received Brasi as a man who has done him an enormous service. The money in the envelope was sure to be more than anyone else had given. Brasi had spent many hours deciding on the sum. He wanted to be the most generous to show that he had the most respect, and that was why he had given his envelope to the Don personally. Brasi kissed the Don’s hand before he went out the door.

When the door closed Don Corleone gave a small sigh of relief. Brasi was the only man in the world who could make him nervous. The man was like a natural force, he had to be handled as carefully as dynamite. He looked at Hagen. “Is Bonasera the only one left?”

Hagen nodded. Don Corleone frowned in thought, then said, “Before you bring him in, tell Santino to come here. He should learn some things.”

Out in the garden, Hagen looked for Sonny Corleone. He told the waiting Bonasera to be patient and went over to Michael Corleone and his girl friend. “Did you see Sonny?” he asked. Michael shook his head. Damn, Hagen thought, if Sonny was with the maid of honor all this time there was going to be a mess of trouble.

Seeing Hagen go into the house, Kay Adams asked Michael Corleone, “Who is he? You introduced him as your brother but his name is different and he certainly doesn’t look Italian.”

“Tom lived with us since he was twelve years old,” Michael said. “His parents died and he was in the streets with this bad eye infection. Sonny brought him home one night and he just stayed. He didn’t have any place to go. He lived with us until he got married.”

Kay Adams was excited. “That’s really romantic,” she said. “Your father must be a warmhearted person. To adopt somebody just like that[32] when he had so many children of his own.”

They saw Hagen follow Sonny into the Don’s ofcif e and then point a ﬁnger at Amerigo Bonasera. “Why do they bother your father with business on a day like this?” Kay asked.

Michael laughed again. “Because they know that by tradition no Sicilian can refuse a request on his daughter’s wedding day. And no Sicilian ever lets a chance like that go by.[33]”

During the summer, preparing for the wedding of her best friend, Connie Corleone, Lucy Mancini heard the whispered stories about Sonny.

Now as she ran up the steps toward Sonny a tremendous ﬂash of desire went through her body. On the landing Sonny grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall into an empty bedroom. Her legs went weak as the door closed behind them. She felt Sonny’s mouth on hers, his lips tasting of burnt tobacco, bitter. At that moment she felt his hand come up beneath her bridesmaid’s gown. And for the ﬁrst time in her life she reached a shattering climax. They leaned against each other, out of breath.

It might have been going on for some time but now they could hear the soft knocking on the door. Then they heard Tom Hagen’s voice, very low, “Sonny, you in there?”

Sonny winked at Lucy. “Yeah, Tom, what is it?”

Hagen’s voice, still low, said, “The Don wants you in his ofcif e. Now.” They could hear his footsteps as he walked away. Sonny waited for a few moments and then slipped out the door after Hagen.

Lucy combed her hair and checked her dress. She went out the door and ran into the garden. She took her seat at the bridal table next to Connie, who exclaimed, “Lucy, where were you? You look drunk. Stay beside me now.”

The blond groom poured Lucy a glass of wine and smiled knowingly. Lucy didn’t care. She lifted the dark red juice to her mouth and drank. Slyly she whispered in Connie’s ear, “Only a few hours more and you’ll know what it’s all about.” Connie giggled.

Amerigo Bonasera followed Hagen into the corner room of the house and found Don Corleone sitting behind a huge desk. Sonny Corleone was standing by the window, looking out into the garden. For the ﬁrst time that afternoon the

Don did not embrace the visitor or shake hands. The undertaker got the invitation because his wife and the wife of the Don were the closest of friends. Amerigo Bonasera himself was in disfavor with Don Corleone.

Bonasera began his request. “You must excuse my daughter, your wife’s goddaughter, for not doing your family the respect of coming today. She is in the hospital still.” “We all know of your daughter’s misfortune,” Don Corleone said. “If I can help her in any way, you have only to speak. My wife is her godmother after all. I have never forgotten that honor.” This was a rebuke. The undertaker never called Don Corleone “Godfather” as custom dictated.

Bonasera asked, directly now, “May I speak to you alone?”

Don Corleone shook his head. “I trust these two men with my life. They are my two right arms. I cannot insult them by sending them away.”

The undertaker closed his eyes for a moment and then began to speak. “I raised my daughter in the American fashion. I believe in America. America has made my fortune. I gave my daughter her freedom and yet taught her never to dishonor her family. She found a ‘boy friend’, not an Italian. She went to the movies with him. She stayed out late. But he never came to meet her parents. I accepted all this without a protest, the fault is mine. Two months ago he took her for a drive. He had a friend with him. They made her drink whiskey and then they tried to take advantage of her. She resisted. She kept her honor. They beat her. Like an animal. When I went to the hospital she had two black eyes. Her nose was broken. Her jaw was shattered. They had to wire it together. She wept through her pain. ‘Father, Father, why did they do it? Why did they do this to me?’ And I wept.” Bonasera could not speak further, he was weeping now though his voice had not shown his emotion.

“I went to the police like a good American. The two boys were arrested. They were brought to trial. The evidence was overwhelming and they pleaded guilty.[34] The judge sentenced them to three years in prison and suspended the sentence. They went free that very day. I stood in the courtroom like a fool and those bastards smiled at me. And then I said to my wife: ‘We must go to Don Corleone for justice.’”

The Don had bowed his head to show respect for the man’s grief. But when he spoke, the words were cold. “Why did you go to the police? Why didn’t you come to me at the beginning of this afaf ir?”

Bonasera muttered, “What do you want of me? Tell me what you wish. But do what I beg you to do.”

Don Corleone said gravely, “And what is that?”

Bonasera hesitated, then bent down and put his lips so close to the Don’s ear that they touched. Don Corleone listened like a priest in the confessional. They stood so for a long moment until Bonasera ﬁnished whispering and straightened to his full height. The Don looked up gravely at Bonasera.

Finally the Don spoke. “That I cannot do. You are being carried away.[35]”

Bonasera said loudly, clearly, “I will pay you anything you ask.”

Don Corleone rose from behind the desk. His face was still impassive. “We have known each other many years, you and I,” he said to the undertaker, “but until this day you never came to me for counsel or help. I can’t remember the last time you invited me to your house for coffee though my wife is godmother to your only child. Let us be frank. You rejected my friendship. You feared to be in my debt.”

Bonasera murmured, “I didn’t want to get into trouble.”

The Don held up his hand. “No. Don’t speak. You found America a paradise. You had a good trade, you made a good living, you thought the world a harmless place where you could take your pleasure as you willed. You never armed yourself with true friends. After all, the police guarded you. You did not need Don Corleone. Very well. But now you come to me and say, ‘Don Corleone give me justice.’ And you do not ask with respect. You do not offer me your friendship. You come into my home on the bridal day of my daughter and you ask me to do murder and you say ‘I will pay you anything.’ No, no, I am not offended, but what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?”

The irony with which all this was said, the controlled anger of the Don depressed the undertaker, but he spoke up bravely again. “I ask you for justice.”

Don Corleone said shortly, “The court gave you justice.”

Bonasera shook his head stubbornly. “No. They gave the youths justice. Now I want an eye for an eye. Let them suffer as she suffers.” The Don waited for him to speak further. Bonasera said, “How much shall I pay you?”

Finally, a good-hearted man who cannot remain angry with an erring friend, Don Corleone turned to the undertaker. “If you had come to me for justice those scum who ruined your daughter would be weeping bitter tears this day.”

Bonasera bowed his head and murmured, “Be my friend. I accept.”

Don Corleone put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Good,” he said, “you shall have your justice. Some day, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do me a service in return. Until that day, consider this justice a gift from my wife, your daughter’s godmother.”

When the door closed behind the grateful undertaker, Don Corleone turned to Hagen and said, “Give this afaf ir to Clemenza and tell him to be sure to use reliable people, people who will not be carried away by the smell of blood. After all, we’re not murderers.”

From the garden, there came a happy shout. Sonny Corleone pressed close to the window. “It’s Johnny, he came to the wedding, what did I tell you?” Hagen moved to the window. “It’s really your godson,” he said to Don Corleone. “Shall I bring him here?”

“No,” the Don said. “Let the people enjoy him. Let him come to me when he is ready.” He smiled at Hagen. “You see? He is a good godson.”

Hagen felt jealous. He said dryly, “It’s been two years. He’s probably in trouble again and wants you to help.”

“And who should he come to if not his godfather?” asked Don Corleone.

The ﬁrst one to see Johnny Fontane enter the garden was Connie Corleone. He hugged and kissed her keeping his arm around her as others came up to greet him. They were all his old friends, people he had grown up with. Then Connie was dragging him to her new husband. Johnny saw that the blond young man looked a little sour at no longer being the star of the day.

A familiar voice called from the bandstand, “How about giving us a song, Johnny?” He looked up and saw Nino Valenti smiling down at him. Johnny Fontane jumped up on the bandstand and threw his arms around Nino. They had been inseparable, singing together, going out with girls together, until Johnny had started to become famous and sing on the radio. When he had gone to Hollywood to make movies Johnny had phoned Nino a couple of times just to talk and had promised to get him a club singing date. But he had never done so. Seeing Nino now, his cheerful, drunken grin, all the affection returned.

Nino began playing on the mandolin. Johnny Fontane put his hand on Nino’s shoulder. “This is for the bride,” he said and sang the words to an obscene Sicilian love song. At the end the guests would not stop applauding until Johnny cleared his throat to sing another song.

They were all proud of him. He was of them and he had become a famous singer, a movie star who slept with the most desired women in the world. And yet he had shown proper respect for his Godfather by traveling three thousand miles to attend this wedding.

Only Don Corleone, standing in the corner entrance of the house, sensed something amiss. Cheerily, he called out, “My godson has come three thousand miles to do us honor and no one thinks to wet his throat?” At once a dozen full wineglasses were thrust at Johnny Fontane. He took a sip from all and rushed to embrace his Godfather. As he did so he whispered something into the older man’s ear. Don Corleone led him into the house.

Tom Hagen held out his hand when Johnny came into the room. Johnny shook it and said, “How are you, Tom?” But without his usual charm and Hagen was a little hurt by this coolness. Johnny Fontane said to the Don, “When I got the wedding invitation I said to myself, ‘My Godfather isn’t mad at me anymore.’ I called you ﬁve times after my divorce and Tom always told me you were out or busy so I knew you were sore.”

Don Corleone was ﬁlling glasses from the yellow bottle of Strega. “That’s all forgotten. Now. Can I do something for you still? You’re not too famous, too rich, that I can’t help you?”

Johnny drank the yellow liquid and held out his glass to be reﬁlled. He tried to sound jaunty. “I’m not rich,

Godfather. I’m going down. You were right. I should never have left my wife and kids for that tramp[36] I married. I don’t blame you for getting sore at me.”

Don Corleone broke in. “How is your family?”

Johnny sighed. “I took care of them. After the divorce I gave Ginny and the kids more than the courts said I should. I go see them once a week. I miss them. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy.” He took another drink. “Now my second wife laughs at me. She calls me an old-fashioned guinea, she makes fun of my singing.” He lit a cigarette. “So, Godfather, right now, life doesn’t seem worth living.”

Don Corleone said simply. “These are troubles I can’t help you with.” He paused, then asked, “What’s the matter with your voice?”

All the charm disappeared from Johnny Fontane’s face. He said, “Godfather, I can’t sing anymore, something happened to my throat, the doctors don’t know what.” Hagen and the Don looked at him with surprise. Fontane went on. “My two pictures made a lot of money. I was a big star. Now they throw me out. The head of the studio always hated my guts and now he’s paying me off.[37]”

Don Corleone stood before his godson and asked grimly, “Why doesn’t this man like you?”

“I used to sing those songs for the liberal organizations, you know, all that stuff you never liked me to do. Well, Jack Woltz didn’t like it either. He called me a Communist. Then I snatched a girl he had saved for himself. Then my whore second wife throws me out. And Ginny and the kids won’t take me back unless I come crawling on my hands and knees[38], and I can’t sing anymore. Godfather, what the hell can I do?”

Don Corleone’s face had become cold without any sympathy. He said contemptuously, “You can start by acting like a man.” Suddenly anger changed his face. He shouted, “LIKE A MAN!” He reached over the desk and grabbed Johnny Fontane by the hair of his head. “By Christ in heaven, is it possible that you spent so much time in my presence and turned out no better than this? A Hollywood ﬁnocchio[39] who weeps and begs for pity? Who cries out like a woman – ‘What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?’”

Don Corleone went on. “You took the woman of your boss, a man more powerful than yourself, then you complain he won’t help you. What nonsense. You left your family, your children without a father, to marry a whore and you weep because they don’t welcome you back with open arms. You lived like a fool and you have come to a fool’s end.”

“Now tell me the trouble you’re having with this Hollywood pezzonovante[40] who won’t let you work.” The Don was getting down to business.

“He’s bigger than one of your pezzonovantes,” Johnny said. “He owns the studio. Just a month ago he bought the movie rights to the biggest novel of the year. A best seller. And the main character is a guy just like me. I wouldn’t even have to act, just be myself. I wouldn’t even have to sing. I might even win the Academy Award. Everybody knows it’s perfect for me and I’d be big again. As an actor. But that bastard Jack Woltz is paying me of,f he won’t give it to me. I offered to do it for nothing, for a minimum price and he still says no. He sent the word that if I come and kiss his ass in the studio, maybe he’ll think about it.”

Don Corleone dismissed this emotional nonsense with a wave of his hand. He patted his godson on the shoulder. “You’re discouraged. Nobody cares about you, so you think. And you’ve lost a lot of weight. You drink a lot, eh? You don’t sleep and you take pills?” He shook his head disapprovingly.

“Now I want you to follow my orders,” the Don said. “I want you to stay in my house for one month. I want you to eat well, to rest and sleep. I want you to be my companion, I enjoy your company, and maybe you can learn something about the world from your Godfather that might even help you in the great Hollywood. But no singing, no drinking and no women. At the end of the month you can go back to Hollywood and this pezzonovante will give you that job you want. Done?”

Johnny Fontane could not altogether believe that the Don had such power. “This guy is a personal friend of J. Edgar Hoover[41],” Johnny said.

“He’s a businessman,” the Don said. “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“It’s too late,” Johnny said. “All the contracts have been signed and they start shooting in a week. It’s absolutely impossible.”

Don Corleone said, “Go, go back to the party. Your friends are waiting for you. Leave everything to me.” He pushed Johnny Fontane out of the room.

Hagen sat behind the desk and made notes. The Don sighed and asked, “Is there anything else?”

“Sollozzo can’t be put off any more. You’ll have to see him this week.” The Don shrugged. “Now that the wedding is over, whenever you like.”

Hagen said cautiously, “Shall I tell Clemenza to have his men come live in the house?”

The Don said impatiently, “For what? I didn’t answer before the wedding because on an important day like that there should be no cloud, not even in the distance. Also I wanted to know beforehand what he wanted to talk about. We know now. What he will propose is an infamita[42].”

Hagen asked, “Then you will refuse?” When the Don nodded, Hagen said, “I think we should all discuss it – the whole Family – before you give your answer.”

The Don smiled. “You think so? Good, we will discuss it. When you come back from California. I want you to ﬂy there tomorrow and settle this business[43] for Johnny. See that movie pezzonovante. Tell Sollozzo I will see him when you get back from California. Is there anything else?”

Hagen said, “The hospital called. Consigliere Abbandando is dying, he won’t last out the night. His family was told to come and wait.”

Hagen had ﬁlled the Consigliere’s post for the past year, ever since the cancer had put Genco Abbandando in his hospital bed. Now he waited to hear Don Corleone say the post was his permanently. But so high a position was traditionally given only to a man with two Italian parents. Also, he was only thirty-ﬁve, not old enough to have the necessary experience and cunning for a successful Consigliere.

But the Don gave him no encouragement. Then Hagen remarked, “Your new son-in-law. Do we give him something important, inside the Family?”

He was surprised at the anger of the Don’s answer. “Never.” The Don hit the desk with the ﬂat of his hand.

“Never. Give him something to earn his living, a good living. But never let him know the Family’s business.”

The Don paused. “Instruct my sons, all three of them, that they will accompany me to the hospital to see poor Genco. I want them to pay their last respects. Tell Freddie to drive the big car and ask Johnny if he will come with us, as a special favor to me.” He saw Hagen look at him questioningly. “I want you to go to California tonight. You won’t have time to go see Genco. But don’t leave until I come back from the hospital and speak with you. Understood?”

When Johnny Fontane appeared in the garden, Kay Adams recognized him immediately. She was truly surprised. “You never told me your family knew Johnny Fontane,” she said. “Now I’m sure I’ll marry you.”

“Do you want to meet him?” Michael asked.

“Not now,” Kay said. She sighed. “I was in love with him for three years. I used to come down to New York whenever he sang at the Capitol. He was so wonderful.”

“We’ll meet him later,” Michael said. When Johnny ﬁnished singing and went into the house with Don Corleone, Kay said to Michael, “Don’t tell me a big movie star like Johnny Fontane has to ask your father for a favor?”

“He’s my father’s godson,” Michael said. “And if it wasn’t for my father he might not be a big movie star today.”

Kay Adams laughed with delight. “That sounds like another great story.”

Michael shook his head. “I can’t tell that one,” he said.

“Trust me,” she said.

The story was quickly told. Eight years ago Johnny Fontane had made an extraordinary success singing with a popular dance band. He had become a top radio attraction. Unfortunately the band leader, a well-known show business personality named Les Halley, had signed Johnny to a ﬁve-year personal contract. It was a common show business practice. Les Halley could now pocket most of the money.

The next day Don Corleone went to see the band leader personally. He brought with him his two best friends, Genco Abbandando, who was his Consigliere, and Luca Brasi. With no other witnesses Don Corleone persuaded Les Halley to sign a document giving up all rights to all services from Johnny Fontane upon payment of a certiﬁed check to the amount of ten thousand dollars. Don Corleone did this by putting a pistol to the forehead of the band leader and telling him with the utmost seriousness that either his signature or his brains would rest on that document in exactly one minute. Les Halley signed. Don Corleone pocketed his pistol and handed over the certiﬁed check.

The rest was history. Johnny Fontane went on to become the greatest singing sensation in the country. He made Hollywood musicals that earned a fortune for his studio. His records made millions of dollars. Then he divorced his childhood-sweetheart wife and left his two children, to marry the most glamorous blond star in motion pictures. He soon learned that she was a “whore”. He drank, he gambled, he loved other women. He lost his singing voice. His records stopped selling. The studio did not renew his contract. And so now he had come back to his Godfather.

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Notes

1

Уголовный суд

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2

жестоко обошлись с его дочерью, пытаясь обесчестить её

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3

сексуально надругаться

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4

я бы посадил вас за решётку

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5

отсутствие судимости

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6

приговариваю вас к трёхлетнему тюремному заключению. Условно.

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7

(итал.) скотина, тварь (здесь и далее: итальянские существительные во множественном числе англизированы с помощью окончания -s)

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8

(груб.) Трахалась

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9

Унизительное отчаяние охватило его.

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10

Америка вышвырнет тебя в твою паршивую деревеньку на Сицилии

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11

(итал.) хозяин

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12

клянусь девой Марией, я не воспользовался вашей добротой

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13

горячая штучка

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14

выразить своё почтение

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15

скромный подарок

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16

Многие из них нажили состояние, благодаря Дону

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17

относились с недоверием, подозрительно

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18

правильные черты лица

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19

природа его так щедро одарила

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20

как еретики боялись дыбы

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21

морская пехота

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22

Они все с прошениями.

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23

простая, сельская обстановка

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24

прозвище итальянских эмигрантов

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25

Им придётся о нём позаботиться.

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26

промокнул потный лоб босса шёлковым платком

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27

Оркестр ушёл на перерыв.

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28

разновидность итальянского ликёра

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29

похлопал его по плечу

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30

Чёрт с ним

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31

напрямик

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32

Вот так просто усыновить кого-то

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33

И ни один сицилиец не упустит такой случай.

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34

Доказательства были очевидны, и они признали вину.

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35

Вы захóдите слишком далеко.

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36

(зд.) шлюха

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37

Директор студии всегда меня недолюбливал и теперь сводит счёты.

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38

приползу на коленях

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39

(итал., груб.) педераст

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40

(итал., сл.) шишка, выскочка, крупный бизнесмен

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41

Эдгар Гувер, американский президент

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42

(итал.) гнусность, подлость

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43

уладить дело

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