The Godfather 8 страница

By 1937 peace and harmony reigned in New York City except for minor incidents,

minor misunderstandings which were, of course, sometimes fatal.

As the rulers of ancient cities always kept an anxious eye on the barbarian tribes

roving around their walls, so Don Corleone kept an eye on the affairs of the world

outside his world. He noted the coming of Hitler, the fall of Spain, Germany's strong-

arming of Britain at Munich. Unblinkered (незашоренный, неослепленный; blinkers –

наглазники, шоры) by that outside world, he saw clearly the coming global war and he

understood the implications. His own world would be more impregnable

(непрницаемый, неприступный) than before. Not only that, fortunes could be made in

time of war by alert, foresighted folk. But to do so peace must reign in his domain while

war raged in the world outside.

Don Corleone carried his message through the United States. He conferred with

compatriots in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Cleveland, Chicago, Philadelphia, Miami,

and Boston. He was the underworld apostle of peace and, by 1939, more successful

than any Pope, he had achieved a working agreement amongst the most powerful

underworld organizations in the country. Like the Constitution of the United States this

agreement respected fully the internal authority of each member in his state or city. The

agreement covered only spheres of influence and an agreement to enforce peace in the

underworld.

And so when World War II broke out in 1939, when the United States joined the

conflict in 1941, the world of Don Vito Corleone was at peace, in order, fully prepared to

reap the golden harvest on equal terms with all the other industries of a booming

America. The Corleone Family had a hand in supplying black-market OPA food stamps,

gasoline stamps, even travel priorities. It could help get war contracts and then help get

black-market materials for those garment center clothing firms who were not given

enough raw material because they did not have government contracts. He could even

get all the young men in his organization, those eligible (могущий быть избранным

['elıdG∂bl]) for Army draft (набор, призыв), excused from fighting in the foreign war. He

did this with the aid of doctors who advised what drugs had to be taken before physical

examination, or by placing the men in draft-exempt (exempt [ıg’zempt] –

освобожденный /от чего-либо/) positions in the war industries.

And so the Don could take pride in his rule. His world was safe for those who had

sworn loyalty to him; other men who believed in law and order were dying by the

millions. The only fly in the ointment (мазь, /здесь/ мирро /для помазания/) was that

his own son, Michael Corleone, refused to be helped, insisted on volunteering to serve

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his own country. And to the Don's astonishment, so did a few of his other young men in

the organization. One of the men, trying to explain this to his caporegime, said, "This

country has been good to me." Upon this story being relayed to the Don he said angrily

to the caporegime, "I have been good to him." It might have gone badly for these people

but, as he had excused his son Michael, so must he excuse other young men who so

misunderstood their duty to their Don and to themselves.

At the end of World War II Don Corleone knew that again his world would have to

change its ways, that it would have to fit itself more snugly (snug – плотно лежащий,

прилегающий) into the ways of the other, larger world. He believed he could do this

with no loss of profit.

There was reason for this belief in his own experience. What had put him on the right

track were two personal affairs. Early in his career the then-young Nazorine, only a

baker's helper planning to get married, had come to him for assistance. He and his

future bride, a good Italian girl, had saved their money and had paid the enormous sum

of three hundred dollars to a wholesaler of furniture recommended to them. This

wholesaler had let them pick out everything they wanted to furnish their tenement

apartment. A fine sturdy (сильный, крепкий, здоровый) bedroom set with two bureaus

and lamps. Also the living room set of heavy stuffed sofa and stuffed armchairs, all

covered with rich gold-threaded fabric. Nazorine and his fiancйe (невеста /франц./

[fı'α:nseı]) had spent a happy day picking out what they wanted from the huge

warehouse crowded with furniture. The wholesaler took their money, their three hundred

dollars wrung from the sweat of their blood, and pocketed it and promised the furniture

to be delivered within the week to the already rented flat.

The very next week however, the firm had gone into bankruptcy. The great warehouse

stocked with furniture had been sealed shut and attached for payment of creditors. The

wholesaler had disappeared to give other creditors time to unleash their anger on the

empty air. Nazorine, one of these, went to his lawyer, who told him nothing could be

done until the case was settled in court and all creditors satisfied. This might take three

years and Nazorine would be lucky to get back ten cents on the dollar.

Vito Corleone listened to this story with amused disbelief. It was not possible that the

law could allow such thievery. The wholesaler owned his own palatial home, an estate

in Long Island, a luxurious automobile, and was sending his children to college. How

could he keep the three hundred dollars of the poor baker Nazorine and not give him

the furniture he had paid for? But, to make sure, Vito Corleone had Genco Abbandando

check it out with the lawyers who represented the Genco Pura company.

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They verified the story of Nazorine. The wholesaler had all his personal wealth in his

wife's name. His furniture business was incorporated and he was not personally liable

(ответственный). True, he had shown bad faith (вероломство) by taking the money of

Nazorine when he knew he was going to file (подать как-либо документ) bankruptcy

but this was a common practice. Under law there was nothing to be done.

Of course the matter was easily adjusted. Don Corleone sent his Consigliori, Genco

Abbandando, to speak to the wholesaler, and as was to be expected, that wide-awake

businessman caught the drift immediately and arranged for Nazorine to get his furniture.

But it was an interesting lesson for the young Vito Corleone.

The second incident had more far-reaching repercussions (repercussion – отдача

/после удара/; отзвук, эхо). In 1939, Don Corleone had decided to move his family out

of the city. Like any other parent he wanted his children to go to better schools and mix

with better companions. For his own personal reasons he wanted the anonymity of

surburban life where his reputation was not known. He bought the mall property in Long

Beach, which at that time had only four newly built houses but with plenty of room for

more. Sonny was formally engaged to Sandra and would soon marry, one of the houses

would be for him. One of the houses was for the Don. Another was for Genco

Abbandando and his family. The other was kept vacant at the time.

A week after the mall was occupied, a group of three workmen came in all innocence

with their truck. They claimed to be furnace (печь, топка ['f∂:nıs]) inspectors for the

town of Long Beach. One of the Don's young bodyguards let the men in and led them to

the furnace in the basement. The Don, his wife and Sonny were in the garden taking

their ease and enjoying the salty sea air.

Much to the Don's annoyance he was summoned into the house by his bodyguard.

The three workmen, all big burly fellows, were grouped around the furnace. They had

taken it apart, it was strewn around the cement basement floor. Their leader, an

authoritative man, said to the Don in a gruff (грубый, сердитый) voice, "Your furnace is

in lousy shape. If you want us to fix it and put it together again, it'll cost you one hundred

fifty dollars for labor and parts and then we'll pass you for county inspection." He took

out a red paper label. "We stamp this seal on it, see, then nobody from the county

bothers you again."

The Don was amused. It had been a boring, quiet week in which he had had to

neglect his business to take care of such family details moving to a new house entailed

(to entail – влечь за собой). In more broken English than his usual slight accent he

asked, "If I don't pay you, what happens to my furnace?"

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The leader of the three men shrugged. "We just leave the furnace the way it is now."

He gestured at the metal parts strewn over the floor.

The Don said meekly, "Wait, I'll get you your money." Then he went out into the

garden and said to Sonny, "Listen, there's some men working on the furnace, I don't

understand what they want. Go in and take care of the matter." It was not simply a joke;

he was considering making his son his underboss. This was one of the tests a business

executive had to pass.

Sonny's solution did not altogether please his father. It was too direct, too lacking in

Sicilian subtleness. He was the Club (дубинка), not the Rapier. For as soon as Sonny

heard the leader's demand he held the three men at gunpoint and had them thoroughly

bastinadoed (приказал как следует отколотить; bastinado [bжstı’neıd∂u]– палочные

удары) by the bodyguards. Then he made them put the furnace together again and tidy

up the basement. He searched them and found that they actually were employed by a

house-improvement firm with headquarters in Suffolk County. He learned the name of

the man who owned the firm. Then he kicked the three men to their truck. "Don't let me

see you in Long Beach again," he told them. "I'll have your balls hanging from your

ears."

It was typical of the young Santino, before he became older and crueler, that he

extended his protection to the community he lived in. Sonny paid a personal call to the

home-improvement firm owner and told him not to send any of his men into the Long

Beach area ever again. As soon as the Corleone Family set up their usual business

liaison with the local police force they were informed of all such complaints and all

crimes by professional criminals. In less than a year Long Beach became the most

crime-free town of its size in the United States. Professional stickup artists and strong-

arms received one warning not to ply (усердно работать, заниматься чем-либо; ply –

сгиб, складка; уклон, склонность) their trade in the town. They were allowed one

offense (обида, оскорбление; проступок, нарушение; преступление). When they

committed a second they simply disappeared. The flimflam (трюк, мошенническая

проделка) home-improvement gyp (мошенничество; плут) artists, the door-to-door

con men (жулики /сленг/) were politely warned that they were not welcome in Long

Beach. Those confident con men who disregarded the warning were beaten within an

inch of their lives (чуть не до смерти; within an inch of = closely, near to). Resident

young punks who had no respect for law and proper authority were advised in the most

fatherly fashion to run away from home. Long Beach became a model city.

What impressed the Don was the legal validity (действительность, законность

[v∂'lıdıtı]; valid [‘vжlıd] – действительный, имеющий силу) of these sales swindles

(swindle – надувательство). Clearly there was a place for a man of his talents in that

other world which had been closed to him as an honest youth. He took appropriate

steps to enter that world.

And so he lived happily on the mall in Long Beach, consolidating and enlarging his

empire, until after the war was over, the Turk Sollozzo broke the peace and plunged the

Don's world into its own war, and brought him to his hospital bed.

Book 4

Chapter 15

In the New Hampshire village, every foreign phenomenon was properly noticed by

housewives peering from windows, storekeepers lounging (to lounge – сидеть

развалясь, праздно проводить время) behind their doors. And so when the black

automobile bearing New York license plates stopped in front of the Adams' home, every

citizen knew about it in a matter of minutes.

Kay Adams, really a small-town girl despite her college education, was also peering

from her bedroom window. She had been studying for her exams and preparing to go

downstairs for lunch when she spotted the car coming up the street, and for some

reason she was not surprised when it rolled to a halt (/автомобиль/ остановился) in

front of her lawn. Two men got out, big burly men who looked like gangsters in the

movies to her eyes, and she flew down the stairs to be the first at the door. She was

sure they came from Michael or his family and she didn't want them talking to her father

and mother without any introduction. It wasn't that she was ashamed of any of Mike's

friends, she thought; it was just that her mother and father were old-fashioned New

England Yankees and wouldn't understand her even knowing such people.

She got to the door just as the bell rang and she called to her mother, "I'll get it." She

opened the door and the two big men stood there. One reached inside his breast pocket

like a gangster reaching for a gun and the move so surprised Kay that she let out a little

gasp but the man had taken out a small leather case which he flapped open to show an

identification card. "I'm Detective John Phillips from the New York Police Department,"

he said. He motioned to the other man, a dark-complexioned man with very thick, very

black eyebrows. "This is my partner, Detective Siriani. Are you Miss Kay Adams?"

Kay nodded. Phillips said, "May we come in and talk to you for a few minutes. It's

about Michael Corleone."

She stood aside to let them in. At that moment her father appeared in the small side

hall that led to his study. "Kay, what is it?" he asked.

Her father was a gray-haired, slender, distinguished-looking man who not only was

the pastor of the town Baptist church but had a reputation in religious circles as a

scholar. Kay really didn't know her father well, he puzzled her, but she knew he loved

her even if he gave the impression he found her uninteresting as a person. Though they

had never been close, she trusted him. So she said simply, "These men are detectives

frorn New York. They want to ask me questions about a boy I know."

Mr. Adams didn't seem surprised. "Why don't we go into my study?" he said.

Detective Phillips said gently, "We'd rather talk to your daughter alone, Mr. Adams."

Mr. Adams said courteously, "That depends on Kay, I think. My dear, would you rather

speak to these gentlemen alone or would you prefer to have me present? Or perhaps

your mother?"

Kay shook her head. "I'll talk to them alone."

Mr. Adams said to Phillips, "You can use my study. Will you stay for lunch?" The two

men shook their heads. Kay led them into the study.

They rested uncomfortably on the edge of the couch as she sat in her father's big

leather chair. Detective Phillips opened the conversation by saying, "Miss Adams, have

you seen or heard from Michael Corleone at any time in the last three weeks?" The one

question was enough to warn her. Three weeks ago she had read the Boston

newspapers with their headlines about the killing of a New York police captain and a

narcotics smuggler named Virgil Sollozzo. The newspaper had said it was part of the

gang war involving the Corleone Farnily.

Kay shook her head. "No, the last time I saw him he was going to see his father in the

hospital. That was perhaps a month ago."

The other detective said in a harsh voice, "We know all about that meeting. Have you

seen or heard from him since then?"

"No," Kay said.

Detective Phillips said in a polite voice, "If you do have contact with him we'd like you

to let us know. It's very important we get to talk to Michael Corleone. I must warn you

that if you do have contact with him you may be getting involved in a very dangerous

situation. If you help him in any way, you may get yourself in very serious trouble."

Kay sat up very straight in the chair. "Why shouldn't I help him?" she asked. "We're

going to be married, married people help each other."

It was Detective Siriani who answered her. "If you help, you may be an accessory

(добавочный, вспомогательный; /здесь/ соучастник [∂k'ses∂ri]) to murder. We're

looking for your boy friend because he killed a police captain in New York plus an

informer the police officer was contacting. We know Michael Corleone is the person who

did the shooting."

Kay laughed. Her laughter was so unaffected, so incredulous, that the officers were

impressed. "Mike wouldn't do anything like that," she said. "He never had anything to do

with his family. When we went to his sister's wedding it was obvious that he was treated

as an outsider, almost as much as I was. If he's hiding now it's just so that he won't get

any publicity, so his name won't be dragged through all this. Mike is not a gangster. I

know him better than you or anybody else can know him. He is too nice a man to do

anything as despicable (презренный [‘despık∂bl]) as murder. He is the most law-

abiding (законопослушный) person I know, and I've never known him to lie."

Detective Phillips asked gently, "How long have you known him?"

"Over a year," Kay said and was surprised when the two men smiled.

"I think there are a few things you should know," Detective Phillips said. "On the night

he left you, he went to the hospital. When he came out he got into an argument with a

police captain who had come to the hospital on official business. He assaulted that

police officer but got the worst of it. In fact he got a broken jaw and lost some teeth. His

friends took him out to the Corleone Family houses at Long Beach. The following night

the police captain he had the fight with was gunned down and Michael Corleone

disappeared. Vanished. We have our contacts, our informers. They all point the finger at

Michael Corleone but we have no evidence for a court of law. The waiter who witnessed

the shooting doesn't recognize a picture of Mike but he may recognize him in person.

And we have Sollozzo's driver, who refuses to talk, but we might make him talk if we

have Michael Corleone in our hands. So we have all our people looking for him, the FBI

is looking for him, everybody is looking for him. So far, no luck, so we thought you might

be able to give us a lead (подсказать что-то, направить нас по верному следу)."

Kay said coldly, "I don't believe a word of it." But she felt a bit sick knowing the part

about Mike getting his jaw broken must be true. Not that that would make Mike commit

murder.

"Will you let us know if Mike contacts you?" Phillips asked.

Kay shook her head. The other detective, Siriani, said roughly, "We know you two

have been shacking up together. We have the hotel records and witnesses. If we let

that information slip to the newspapers your father and mother would feel pretty lousy.

Real respectable people like them wouldn't think much of a daughter shacking up with a

gangster. If you don't come clean right now I'll call your old man in here and give it to

him straight."

Kay looked at him with astonishment. Then she got up and went to the door of the

study and opened it. She could see her father standing at the living-room window,

sucking at his pipe. She called out, "Dad, can you join us?" He turned, smiled at her,

and walked to the study. When he came through the door he put his arm around his

daughter's waist and faced the detectives and said, "Yes, gentlemen?"

When they didn't answer, Kay said coolly to Detective Siriani, "Give it to him straight,

officer."

Siriani flushed. "Mr. Adams, I'm telling you this for your daughter's good. She is mixed

up with a hoodlum we have reason to believe committed a murder on a police officer.

I'm just telling her she can get into serious trouble unless she cooperates with us. But

she doesn't seem to realize how serious this whole matter is. Maybe you can talk to

her."

"That is quite incredible," Mr. Adams said politely.

Siriani jutted his jaw. "Your daughter and Michael Corleone have been going out

together for over a year. They have stayed overnight in hotels together registered as

man and wife. Michael Corleone is wanted for questioning in the murder of a police

officer. Your daughter refuses to give us any information that may help us. Those are

the facts. You can call them incredible but I can back everything up."

"I don't doubt your word, sir," Mr. Adams said gently. "What I find incredible is that my

daughter could be in serious trouble. Unless you're suggesting that she is a" – here his

face became one of scholarly doubt – "a 'moll (любовница гангстера [mol]),' I believe

it's called."

Kay looked at her father in astonishment. She knew he was being playful in his

donnish (педантичный, высокомерный, чванный) way and she was surprised that he

could take the whole affair so lightly.

Mr. Adams said firmly, "However, rest assured that if the young man shows his face

here I shall immediately report his presence to the authorities. As will my daughter. Now,

if you will forgive us, our lunch is growing cold."

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He ushered the men out of the house with every courtesy and closed the door on their

backs gently but firmly. He took Kay by the arm and led her toward the kitchen far in the

rear of the house, "Come, my dear, your mother is waiting lunch for us."

By the time they reached the kitchen, Kay was weeping silently, out of relief from

strain, at her father's unquestioning affection. In the kitchen her mother took no notice of

her weeping, and Kay realized that her father must have told her about the two

detectives. She sat down at her place and her mother served her silently. When all

three were at the table her father said grace (молитва /перед едой/) with bowed head.

Mrs. Adams was a short stout woman always neatly dressed, hair always set. Kay

had never seen her in disarray (беспорядок /в одежде/; смятение [dıs∂'reı]). Her

mother too had always been a little disinterested in her, holding her at arm's length. And

she did so now. "Kay, stop being so dramatic. I'm sure it's all a great deal of fuss about

nothing at all. After all, the boy was a Dartmouth boy, he couldn't possibly be mixed up

in anything so sordid (грязный, низкий, подлый)."

Kay looked up in surprise. "How did you know Mike went to Dartmouth?"

Her mother said complacently (complacent [k∂m'pleısnt] – благодушный), "You

young people are so mysterious, you think you're so clever. We've known about him all

along, but of course we couldn't bring it up until you did."

"But how did you know?" Kay asked. She still couldn't face her father now that he

knew about her and Mike sleeping together. So she didn't see the smile on his face

when he said, "We opened your mail, of course."

Kay was horrified and angry. Now she could face him. What he had done was more

shameful than her own sin. She could never believe it of him. "Father, you didn't, you

couldn't have."

Mr. Adams smiled at her. "I debated which was the greater sin, opening your mail, or

going in ignorance of some hazard my only child might be incurring (to incur [ın'k∂:] –

подвергаться /чему-либо/; навлечь на себя). The choice was simple, and virtuous."

Mrs. Adams said between mouthfuls of boiled chicken, "After all, my dear, you are

terribly innocent for your age. We had to be aware. And you never spoke about him."

For the first time Kay was grateful that Michael was never affectionate in his letters.

She was grateful that her parents hadn't seen some of her letters. "I never told you

about him because I thought you'd be horrified about his family."