Genco Abbandando had run a long race with death, and now, vanquished, he

Lay exhausted on the raised bed. He was wasted away to no more than a skeleton,

And what had once been vigorous black hair had turned into obscene stringy

wisps. Don Corleone said cheerily, "Genco, dear friend, I have brought my sons

to pay their respects, and look, even Johnny, all the way from Hollywood."

The dying man raised his fevered eyes gratefully to the Don. He let the young

Men clasp his bony hand in their fleshy ones. His wife and daughters ranged

Themselves along his bed, kissing his cheek, taking his other hand in turn.

3 The Don pressed his old friend's hand. He said comfortingly, "Hurry up and

get better and we'll take a trip back to Italy together to our old village. We'll play

boccie in front of the wineshop like our fathers before us."

The dying man shook his head. He motioned the young men and his family

Away from his bedside; with the other bony claw he hung fast to the Don. He tried

To speak. The Don put his head down and then sat on the bedside chair. Genco

Abbandando was babbling about their childhood. Then his coal-black eyes

Became sly. He whispered. The Don bent closer. The others in the room were

astonished to see tears running down Don Corleone's face as he shook his head.

The quavering voice grew louder, filling the room. With a tortured, superhuman