Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

never saying anything else.

She saw him first through the kitchen window. A car pulled up in front of the house

and the two other men got out. Then Michael. He straightened up to talk with one of the

other men. His profile, the left one, was exposed to her view. It was cracked, indented,

like the plastic face of a doll that a child has wantonly kicked. In a curious way it did not

mar his handsomeness in her eyes but moved her to tears. She saw him put a snow-

white handkerchief to his mouth and nose and hold it there for a moment while he

turned away to come into the house.

She heard the door open and his footsteps in the hall turning into the kitchen and then

he was in the open space, seeing her and his mother. He seemed impassive, and then

he smiled ever so slightly, the broken half of his face halting the widening of his mouth.

And Kay, who had meant just to say "Hello, how are you," in the coolest possible way,

slipped out of her seat to run into his arms, bury her face against his shoulder. He

kissed her wet cheek and held her until she finished weeping and then he walked her

out to his car, waved his bodyguard away and drove off with her beside him, she

repairing her makeup by simply wiping what was left of it away with her handkerchief.

"I never meant to do that," Kay said. "It's just that nobody told me how badly they hurt

you."

Michael laughed and touched the broken side of his face. "You mean this? That's

nothing. Just gives me sinus trouble. Now that I'm home I'll probably get it fixed, I

couldn't write you or anything," Michael said. "You have to understand that before

anything else."

"OK," she said.

"I've got a place in the city," Michael said. "Is it all right if we go there or should it be

dinner and drinks at a restaurant?"

"I'm not hungry," Kay said.

They drove toward New York in silence for a while. "Did you get your degree?" Michael

asked.

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"Yes," Kay said. "I'm teaching grade school in my hometown now. Did they find the

man who really killed the policeman, is that why you were able to come home?"

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For a moment Michael didn't answer. "Yes, they did," he said. "It was in all the New

York papers. Didn't you read about it?"

Kay laughed with the relief of him denying he was a murderer. "We only get The New

York Times up in our town," she said. "I guess it was buried back in page eighty-nine. If

I'd read about it I'd have called your mother sooner." She paused and then said, "It's

funny, the way your mother used to talk, I almost believed you had done it. And just

before you came, while we were drinking coffee, she told me about that crazy man who

confessed."

Michael said, "Maybe my mother did believe it at first."

"Your own mother?" Kay asked.

Michael grinned. "Mothers are like cops. They always believe the worst."

Michael parked the car in a garage on Mulberry Street where the owner seemed to

know him. He took Kay around the corner to what looked like a fairly decrepit

brownstone house which fitted into the rundown neighborhood. Michael had a key to the

front door and when they went inside Kay saw that it was as expensively and

comfortably furnished as a millionaire's town house. Michael led her to the upstairs

apartment which consisted of an enormous living room, a huge kitchen and door that

led to the bedroom. In one corner of the living room was a bar and Michael mixed them

both a drink. They sat on a sofa together and Michael said quietly, "We might as well go

into the bedroom." Kay took a long pull from her drink and smiled at him. "Yes," she said.

For Kay the lovemaking was almost like it had been before except that Michael was

rougher, more direct, not as tender as he had been. As if he were on guard against her.

But she didn't want to complain. It would wear off. In a funny way, men were more

sensitive in a situation like this, she thought. She had found making love to Michael after

a two-year absence the most natural thing in the world. It was as if he had never been

away.

"You could have written me, you could have trusted me," she said, nestling against his

body. "I would have practiced the New England omerta. Yankees are pretty

closemouthed too, you know."

Michael laughed softly in the darkness. "I never figured you to be waiting," he said. "I

never figured you to wait after what happened."

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Kay said quickly, "I never believed you killed those two men. Except maybe when

your mother seemed to think so. But I never believed it in my heart. I know you too

well,"

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She could hear Michael give a sigh. "It doesn't matter whether I did or not," he said.

"You have to understand that."

Kay was a little stunned by the coldness in his voice. She said, "So just tell me now,

did you or didn't you?"

Michael sat up on his pillow and in the darkness a light flared as he got a cigarette

going. "If I asked you to marry me, would I have to answer that question first before

you'd give me an answer to mine?"

Kay said, "I don't care, I love you, I don't care. If you loved me you wouldn't be afraid

to tell me the truth. You wouldn't be afraid I might tell the police. That's it, isn't it? You're

really a gangster then, isn't that so? But I really don't care. What I care about is that you

obviously don't love me. You didn't even call me up when you got back home."

Michael was puffing on his cigarette and some burning

ashes fell on Kay's bare back. She flinched a little and said jokingly, "Stop torturing me,

I won't talk."

Michael didn't laugh. His voice sounded absentminded. "You know, when I came

home I wasn't that glad when I saw my family, my father, my mother, my sister Connie,

and Tom. It was nice but I didn't really give a damn. Then I came home tonight and saw

you in the kitchen and I was glad. Is that what you mean by love?"

"That's close enough for me," Kay said.

They made love again for a while. Michael was more tender this time. And then he

went out to get them both a drink. When he came back he sat on an armchair facing the

bed. "Let's get serious," he said. "How do you feel about marrying me?" Kay smiled at

him and motioned him into the bed. Michael smiled back at her. "Be serious," he said. "I

can't tell you about anything that happened. I'm working for my father now. I'm being

trained to take over the family olive oil business. But you know my family has enemies,

my father has enemies. You might be a very young widow, there's a chance, not much

of one, but it could happen. And I won't be telling you what happened at the office every

day. I won't be telling you anything about my business. You'll be my wife but you won't

be my partner in life, as I think they say. Not an equal partner. That can't be."

Kay sat up in bed. She switched on a huge lamp standing on the night table and then

she lit a cigarette. She leaned back on the pillows and said quietly, "You're telling me

you're a gangster, isn't that it? You're telling me that you're responsible for people being

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181

killed and other sundry crimes related to murder. And that I'm not ever to ask about that

part of your life, not even to think about it. Just like in the horror movies when the

monster asks the beautiful girl to marry him." Michael grinned, the cracked part of his

face turned toward her, and Kay said in contrition, "Oh, Mike, I don't even notice that

stupid thing, I swear I don't."

"I know," Michael said laughing. "I like having it now except that it makes the snot drip

out of my nose."

"You said be serious," Kay went on. "If we get married what kind of a life am I

supposed to lead? Like your mother, like an Italian housewife with just the kids and

home to take care of? And what about if something happens? I suppose you could wind

up in jail someday."

"No, that's not possible," Michael said. "Killed, yes; jail, no."

Kay laughed at this confidence, it was a laugh that had a funny mixture of pride with

its amusement. "But how can you say that?" she said. "Really."

Michael sighed. "These are all the things I can't talk to you about, I don't want to talk

to you about."

Kay was silent for a long time. "Why do you want me to marry you after never calling

me all these months? Am I so good in bed?"

Michael nodded gravely. "Sure," he said. "But I'm getting it for nothing so why should I

marry you for that? Look, I don't want an answer now. We're going to keep seeing each

other. You can talk it over with your parents. I hear your father is a real tough guy in his

own way. Listen to his advice."

"You haven't answered why, why you want to marry me," Kay said.

Michael took a white handkerchief from the drawer of the night table and held it to his

nose. He blew into it and then wiped. "There's the best reason for not marrying me," he

said. "How would that be having a guy around who always has to blow his nose."

Kay said impatiently, "Come on, be serious, I asked you a question."

Michael held the handkerchief in his hand. "OK," he said, "this one time. You are the

only person I felt any affection for, that I care about. I didn't call you because it never

occurred to me that you'd still be interested in me after everything that's happened. Sure,

I could have chased you, I could have conned you, but I didn't want to do that. Now

here's something I'll trust you with and I don't want you to repeat it even to your father. If

everything goes right, the Corleone Family will be completely legitimate in about five

years. Some very tricky things have to be done to make that possible. That's when you

may become a wealthy widow. Now what do I want you for? Well, because I want you

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182

and I want a family. I want kids; it's time. And I don't want those kids to be influenced by

me the way I was influenced by my father. I don't mean my father deliberately

influenced me. He never did. He never even wanted me in the family business. He

wanted me to become a professor or a doctor, something like that. But things went bad

and I had to fight for my Family. I had to fight because I love and admire my father. I

never knew a man more worthy of respect. He was a good husband and a good father

and a good friend to people who were not so fortunate in life. There's another side to

him, but that's not relevant to me as his son. Anyway I don't want that to happen to our

kids. I want them to be influenced by you. I want them to grow up to be All-American

kids, real All-American, the whole works. Maybe they or their grandchildren will go into

politics." Michael grinned. "Maybe one of them will be President of the United States.

Why the hell not? In my history course at Dartmouth we did some background on all the

Presidents and they had fathers and grandfathers who were lucky they didn't get

hanged. But I'll settle for my kids being doctors or musicians or teachers. They'll never

be in the Family business. By the time they are that old I'll be retired anyway. And you

and I will be part of some country club crowd, the good simple life of well-to-do

Americans. How does that strike you for a proposition?"

"Marvelous," Kay said. "But you sort of skipped over the widow part."

"There's not much chance of that. I just mentioned it to give a fair presentation."

Michael patted his nose with the handkerchief.

"I can't believe it, I can't believe you're a man like that, you're just not," Kay said. Her

face had a bewildered look. "I just don't understand the whole thing, how it could

possibly be."

"Well, I'm not giving any more explanations," Michael said gently. "You know, you

don't have to think about any of this stuff, it has nothing to do with you really, or with our

life together if we get married."

Kay shook her head. "How can you want to marry me, how can you hint that you love

me, you never say the word but you just now said you loved your father, you never said

you loved me, how could you if you distrust me so much you can't tell me about the

most important things in your life? How can you want to have a wife you can't trust?

Your father trusts your mother. I know that."

"Sure," Michael said. "But that doesn't mean he tells her everything. And, you know,

he has reason to trust her. Not because they got married and she's his wife. But she

bore him four children in times when it was not that safe to bear children. She nursed

and guarded him when people shot him. She believed in him. He was always her first

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183

loyalty for forty years. After you do that maybe I'll tell you a few things you really don't

want to hear."

"Will we have to live in the mall?" Kay asked.

Michael nodded. "We'll have our own house, it won't be so bad. My parents don't

meddle. Our lives will be our own. But until everything gets straightened out, I have to

live in the mall."

"Because it's dangerous for you to live outside it," Kay said.

For the first time since she had come to know him, she saw Michael angry. It was cold

chilling anger that was not externalized in any gesture or change in voice. It was a

coldness that came off him like death and Kay knew that it was this coldness that would

make her decide not to marry him if she so decided.

"The trouble is all that damn trash in the movies and in the newspapers," Michael said.

"You've got the wrong idea of my father and the Corleone Family. I'll make a final

explanation and this one will be really final. My father is a businessman trying to provide

for his wife and children and those friends he might need someday in a time of trouble.

He doesn't accept the rules of the society we live in because those rules would have

condemned him to a life not suitable to a man like himself, a man of extraordinary force

and character. What you have to understand is that he considers himself the equal of all