Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

everything else. Tell me how to say no to people in a way they'll like."

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The Don moved to sit behind the hig desk. "You cannot say 'no' to the people you love,

not often. That's the secret. And then when you do, it has to sound like a 'yes.' Or you

have to make them say 'no.' You have to take time and trouble. But I'm old-fashioned,

you're the new modern generation, don't listen to me."

Michael laughed. "Right. You agree about Tom being out, though, don't you?"

The Don nodded. "He can't be involved in this."

Michael said quietly, "I think it's time for me to tell you that what I'm going to do is not

purely out of vengeance for Apollonia and Sonny. It's the right thing to do. Tessio and

Tom are right about the Barzinis."

Don Corleone nodded. "Revenge is a dish that tastes best when it is cold," he said. "I

would not have made that peace but that I knew you would never come home alive

otherwise. I'm surprised, though, that Barzini still made a last try at you. Maybe it was

arranged before the peace talk and he couldn't stop it. Are you sure they were not after

Don Tommasino?"

Michael said, "That's the way it was supposed to look. And it would have been perfect,

even you would never have suspected. Except that I came out alive. I saw Fabrizzio

going through the gate, running away. And of course I've checked it all out since I've

been back."

"Have they found that shepherd?" the Don asked.

"I found him," Michael said. "I found him a year ago. He's got his own little pizza place

up in Buffalo. New name, phony passport and identification. He's doing very well this

Fabrizzio the shepherd."

The Don nodded. "So it's to no purpose to wait any longer. When will you start?"

Michael said, "I want to wait until after Kay has the baby. Just in case anything goes

wrong. And I want Tom settled in Vegas so he won't be concerned in the affair. I think a

year from now."

"You've prepared for everything?" the Don asked. He did not look at Michael when he

said this. Michael said gently, "You have no part. You're not responsible. I take all

responsibility. I would refuse to let you even veto. If you tried to do that now, I would

leave the Family and go my own way. You're not responsible."

The Don was silent for a long time and then he sighed. He said, "So be it. Maybe

that's why I retired, maybe that's why I've turned everything over to you. I've done my

share in life, I haven't got the heart anymore. And there are some duties the best of men

can't assume. That's it then."

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During that year Kay Adams Corleone was delivered of a second child, another boy.

She delivered easily, without any trouble whatsoever, and was welcomed back to the

mall like a royal princess. Connie Corleone presented the baby with a silk layette

handmade in Italy, enormously expensive and beautiful. She told Kay, "Carlo found it.

He shopped all over New York to get something extra special after I couldn't find

anything I really liked." Kay smiled her thanks, understood immediately that she was to

tell Michael this fine tale. She was on her way to becoming a Sicilian.

Also during that year, Nino Valenti died of a cerebral hemorrhage. His death made the

front pages of the tabloids because the movie Johnny Fontane had featured him in had

opened a few weeks before and was a smash hit, establishing Nino as a major star. The

papers mentioned that Johnny Fontane was handling the funeral arrangements, that the

funeral would be private, only family and close friends to attend. One sensational story

even claimed that in an interview Johnny Fontane had blamed himself for his friend's

death, that he should have forced his friend to place himself under medical care, but the

reporter made it sound like the usual self-reproach of the sensitive but innocent

bystander to a tragedy. Johnny Fontane had made his childhood friend, Nino Valenti, a

movie star and what more could a friend do?

No member of the Corleone Family attended the California funeral except Freddie.

Lucy and Jules Segal attended. The Don himself had wanted to go to California but had

suffered a slight heart attack, which kept him in his bed for a month. He sent a huge

floral wreath instead. Albert Neri was also sent West as the official representative of the

Family.

Two days after Nino's funeral, Mae Greene was shot to death in the Hollywood home

of his movie-star mistress; Albert Neri did not reappear in New York until almost a

month later. He had taken his vacation in the Caribbean and returned to duty tanned

almost black. Michael Corleone welcomed him with a smile and a few words of praise,

which included the information that Neri would from then on receive an extra "living," the

Family income from an East Side "book" cousidered especially rich. Neri was content,

satisfied that he lived in a world that properly rewarded a man who did his duty.

Book 8

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Michael Corleone had taken precautions against every eventuality. His planning was

faultless, his security impeccable. He was patient, hoping to use the full year to prepare.

But he was not to get his necessary year because fate itself took a stand against him,

and in the most surprising fashion. For it was the Godfather, the great Don himself, who

failed Michael Corleone.

On one sunny Sunday morning, while the women were at church, Don Vito Corleone

dressed in his gardening uniform: baggy gray trousers, a faded blue shirt, battered dirty-

brown fedora decorated by a stained gray silk hatband. The Don had gained

considerable weight in his few years and worked on his tomato vines, he said, for the

sake of his health. But he deceived no one.

The truth was, he loved tending his garden; he loved the sight of it early on a morning.

It brought back his childhood in Sicily sixty years ago, brought it back without the terror,

the sorrow of his own father's death. Now the beans in their rows grew little white

flowers on top; strong green stalks of scallion fenced everything in. At the foot of the

garden a spouted barrel stood guard. It was filled with liquidy cow manure, the linest

garden fertilizer. Also in that lower part of the garden were the square wooden frames

he had built with his own hands, the sticks cross-tied with thick white string. Over these

frames crawled the tomato vines.

The Don hastened to water his garden. It must be done before the sun waxed too hot

and turned the water into a prism of fire that could burn his lettuce leaves like paper.

Sun was more important than water, water also was important; but the two, imprudently

mixed, could cause great misfortune.

The Don moved through his garden hunting for ants. If ants were present, it meant

that lice were in his vegetables and the ants were going after the lice and he would have

to spray.

He had watered just in time. The sun was becoming hot and the Don thought,

"Prudence. Prudence." But there were just a few more plants to be supported by sticks

and he bent down again. He would go back into the house when he finished this last

row.

Quite suddenly it felt as if the sun had come down very close to his head. The air filled

with dancing golden specks. Michael's oldest boy came running through the garden

toward where the Don knelt and the boy was enveloped by a yellow shield of blinding

light. But the Don was not to be tricked, he was too old a hand. Death hid behind that

flaming yellow shield ready to pounce out on him and the Don with a wave of his hand

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warned the boy away from his presence. Just in time. The sledgehammer blow inside

his chest made him choke for air. The Don pitched forward into the earth.

The boy raced away to call his father. Michael Corleone and some men at the mall

gate ran to the garden and found the Don lying prone, clutching handfuls of earth. They

lifted the Don up and carried him to the shade of his stone-flagged patio. Michael knelt

beside his father, holding his hand, while the other men called for an ambulance and

doctor.

With a great effort the Don opened his eyes to see his son once more. The massive

heart attack had turned his ruddy face almost blue. He was in extremis. He smelled the

garden, the yellow shield of light smote his eyes, and he whispered, "Life is so

beautiful."

He was spared the sight of his women's tears, dying before they came back from

church, dying before the ambulance arrived, or the doctor. He died surrounded by men,

holding the hand of the son he had most loved.

The funeral was royal. The Five Families sent their Dons and caporegimes, as did the

Tessio and Clemenza Families. Johnny Fontane made the tabloid headlines by

attending the funeral despite the advice of Michael not to appear. Fontane gave a

statement to the newspapers that Vito Corleone was his Godfather and the finest man

he had ever known and that he was honored to be permitted to pay his last respects to

such a man and didn't give a damn who knew it.

The wake was held in the house of the mall, in the old-fashioned style. Amerigo

Bonasera had never done finer work, had discharged all obligations, by preparing his

old friend and Godfather as lovingly as a mother prepares a bride for her wedding.

Everyone commented on how not even death itself had been able to erase the nobility

and the dignity of the great Don's countenance and such remarks made Amerigo

Bonasera fill with knowing pride, a curious sense of power. Only he knew what a terrible

massacre death had perpetrated on the Don's appearance.

All the old friends and servitors came. Nazorine, his wife, his daughter and her

husband and their children, Lucy Mancini came with Freddie from Las Vegas. Tom

Hagen and his wife and children, the Dons from San Francisco and Los Angeles,

Boston and Cleveland. Rocco Lampone and Albert Neri were pallbearers with

Clemenza and Tessio and, of course, the sons of the Don. The mall and all its houses

were filled with floral wreaths.

Outside the gates of the mall were the newspapermen and photographers and a small

truck that was known to contain FBI men with their movie cameras recording this epic.

Some newspapersmen who tried to crash the funeral inside found that the gate and

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fence were manned with security guard who demanded identification and an invitation

card. And though they were treated with the utmost courtesy, refreshment sent out to

them, they were not permitted inside. They tried to speak with some of the people

coming out but were met with stony stares and not a syllable.

Michael Corleone spent most of the day in the corner library room with Kay, Tom

Hagen and Freddie. People were ushered in to see him, to offer their condolences.

Michael received them with all courtesy even when some of them addressed him as

Godfather or Don Michael, only Kay noticing his lips tighten with displeasure.

Clemenza and Tessio came to join this inner circle and Michael personally served

them with a drink. There was some gossip of business. Michael informed them that the

mall and all its houses were to be sold to a development and construction company. At

an enormous profit, still another proof of the great Don's genius.

They all understood that now the whole empire would be in the West. That the

Corleone Family would liquidate its power in New York. Such action had been awaiting

the retirement or death of the Don.

It was nearly ten years since there had been such a celebration of people in this

house, nearly ten years since the wedding of Constanzia Corleone and Carlo Rizzi, so

somebody said. Michael walked to the window that looked out on the garden. That long

time ago he had sat in the garden with Kay never dreaming that so curious a destiny

was to be his. And his father dying had said, "Life is so beautiful." Michael could never

remember his father ever having uttered a word about death, as if the Don respected

death too much to philosophize about it.

It was time for the cemetery. It was time to bury the great Don. Michael linked his arm

with Kay's and went out into the garden to join the host of mourners. Behind him came

the caporegimes followed by their soldiers and then all the humble people the Godfather

had blessed during his lifetime. The baker Nazorine, the widow Colombo and her sons

and all the countless others of his world he had ruled so firmly but justly. There were

even some who had been his enemies, come to do him honor.

Michael observed all this with a tight, polite smile. He was not impressed. Yet, he

thought, if I can die saying, "Life is so beautiful," then nothing else is important. If I can

believe in myself that much, nothing else matters. He would follow his father. He would

care for his children, his family, his world. But his children would grow in a different

world. They would be doctors, artists, scientists. Governors. Presidents. Anything at all.

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He would see to it that they joined the general family of humanity, but he, as a powerful

and prudent parent would most certainly keep a wary eye on that general family.

On the morning after the funeral, all the most important officials of the Corleone

Family assembled on the mall. Shortly before noon they were admitted into the empty

house of the Don. Michael Corleone received them.

They almost filled the corner library room. There were the two caporegimes,

Clemenza and Tessio; Rocco Lampone, with his reasonable, competent air; Carlo Rizzi,

very quiet, very much knowing his place; Tom Hagen forsaking his strictly legal role to

rally around in this crisis; Albert Neri trying to stay physically close to Michael, lighting

his new Don's cigarette, mixing his drink, all to show an unswerving loyalty despite the

recent disaster to the Corleone Family.

The death of the Don was a great misfortune for the Family. Without him it seemed

that half their strength was gone and almost all their bargaining power against the

Barzini-Tattaglia alliance. Everyone in the room knew this and they waited for what

Michael would say. In their eyes he was not yet the new Don; he had not earned the

position or the title. If the Godfather had lived, he might have assured his son's

succession; now it was by no means certain.

Michael waited until Neri had served drinks. Then he said quietly, "I just want to tell

everybody here that I understand how they feel. I know you all respected my father, but