The Godfather 5 страница

Abbandando, was his closest friend, and to the surprise of both of them, Vito

reproached his friend for his father's deed. Genco, flushed with shame, vowed to Vito

that he would not have to worry about food. That he, Genco, would steal food from the

grocery to supply his friend's needs. This offer though was sternly refused by Vito as too

shameful, a son stealing from his father.

The young Vito, however, felt a cold anger for the dreaded Fanucci. He never showed

this anger in any way but bided his time (выжидал благоприятного случая). He

worked in the railroad for a few months and then, when the war ended, work became

slow and he could earn only a few days' pay a month. Also, most of the foremen were

Irish and American and abused the workmen in the foulest language, which Vito always

bore stone-faced as if he did not comprehend, though he understood English very well

despite his accent.

One evening as Vito was having supper with his family there was a knock on the

window that led to the open air shaft (шахта; проход) that separated them from the next

building. When Vito pulled aside the curtain he saw to his astonishment one of the

young men in the neighborhood, Peter Clemenza, leaning out from a window on the

other side of the air shaft. He was extending a white-sheeted bundle.

"Hey, paisan," Clemenza said. "Hold these for me until I ask for them. Hurry up."

Automatically Vito reached over the empty space of the air shaft and took the bundle.

Clemenza's face was strained and urgent. He was in some sort of trouble and Vito's

helping action was instinctive. But when he untied the bundle in his kitchen, there were

five oily guns staining the white cloth. He put them in his bedroom closet and waited. He

learned that Clemenza had been taken away by the police. They must have been

knocking on his door when he handed the guns over the air shaft.

Vito never said a word to anyone and of course his terrified wife dared not open her

lips even in gossip for fear her own husband would be sent to prison. Two days later

Peter Clemenza reappeared in the neighborhood and asked Vito casually, "Do you

have my goods still?"

Vito nodded. He was in the habit of talking little.

Clemenza came up to his tenement flat and was given a glass of wine while Vito dug

the bundle out of his bedroom closet.

Clemenza drank his wine, his heavy good-natured face alertly watching Vito. "Did you

look inside?"

Vito, his face impassive, shook his head. "I'm not interested in things that don't

concern me," he said.

They drank wine together the rest of the evening. They found each other congenial.

Clemenza was a storyteller; Vito Corleone was a listener to storytellers. They became

casual friends.

A few days later Clemenza asked the wife of Vito Corleone if she would like a fine rug

for her living room floor. He took Vito with him to help carry the rug. Clemenza led Vito

to an apartment house with two marble pillars and a white marble stoop (крыльцо со

ступенями; открытая веранда). He used a key to open the door and they were inside

a plush apartment. Clemenza grunted, "Go on the other side of the room and help me

roll it up."

The rug was a rich red wool. Vito Corleone was astonished by Clemenza's generosity.

Together they rolled the rug into a pile and Clemenza took one end while Vito took the

other. They lifted it and started carrying it toward the door.

At that moment the apartment bell rang. Clemenza immediately dropped the rug and

strode to the window. He pulled the drape aside slightly and what he saw made him

draw a gun from inside his jacket. It was only at that moment the astonished Vito

Corleone realized that they were stealing the rug from some stranger's apartment.

The apartment bell rang again. Vito went up alongside Clemenza so that he too could

see what was happening. At the door was a uniformed policeman. As they watched, the

policeman gave the doorbell a final push, then shrugged and walked away down the

marble steps and down the street.

Clemenza grunted in a satisfied way and said, "Come on, let's go." He picked up his

end of the rug and Vito picked up the other end. The policeman had barely turned the

comer before they were edging out the heavy oaken door and into the street with the

rug between them. Thirty minutes later they were cutting the rug to fit the living room of

38

Vito Corleone's apartment. They had enough left over for the bedroom. Clemenza was

an expert workman and from the pockets of his wide, ill-fitting jacket (even then he liked

to wear loose clothes though he was not so fat), he had the necessary carpet-cutting

tools.

Time went on, things did not improve. The Corleone family could not eat the beautiful

rug. Very well, there was no work, his wife and children must starve. Vito took some

parcels of food from his friend Genco while he thought things out. Finally he was

approached by Clemenza and Tessio, another young tough of the neighborhood. They

were men who thought well of him, the way he carried himself, and they knew he was

desperate. They proposed to him that he become one of their gang which specialized in

hijacking (to hijack – грабить) trucks of silk dresses after those trucks were loaded up at

the factory on 31st Street. There was no risk. The truck drivers were sensible

workingmen who at the sight of a gun flopped (быстренько спрыгнули; to flop –

шлепнуться, плюхнуться) on the sidewalk like angels while the hijackers drove the

truck away to be unloaded at a friend's warehouse. Some of the merchandise would be

sold to an Italian wholesaler (оптовый торговец), part of the loot (добыча,

награбленное) would be sold door-to-door in the Italian neighborhoods – Arthur

Avenue in the Bronx, Mulberry Street, and the Chelsea district in Manhattan – all to poor

Italian families looking for a bargain, whose daughters could never be able to afford

such fine apparel (наряд, одеяние [∂‘pжr∂l]). Clemenza and Tessio needed Vito to

drive since they knew he chauffeured the Abbandando grocery store delivery truck. In

1919, skilled automobile drivers were at a premium (в большом почете, в большом

спросе).

Against his better judgment, Vito Corleone accepted their offer. The clinching

(решающий; clinch – зажим, скоба; заклепка; to clinch – прибивать гвоздем, загибая

его шляпку, заклепывать; окончательно решать, договариваться) argument was

that he would clear (получить чистую прибыль) at least a thousand dollars for his

share of the job. But his young companions struck him as rash, the planning of the job

haphazard (наудачу; случайно), the distribution of the loot foolhardy (рискованный,

безрассудный). Their whole approach was too careless for his taste. But he thought

them of good, sound character. Peter Clemenza, already burly, inspired a certain trust,

and the lean saturnine (мрачный, угрюмый ['sжt∂:naın]) Tessio inspired confidence.

The job itself went off without a hitch (зацепка, заминка). Vito Corleone felt no fear,

much to his astonishment, when his two comrades flashed guns and made the driver

get out of the silk truck. He was also impressed with the coolness of Clemenza and

Tessio. They didn't get excited but joked with the driver, told him if he was a good lad

they'd send his wife a few dresses. Because Vito thought it stupid to peddle (торговать

вразнос) dresses himself and so gave his whole share of stock to the fence (забор,

ограда; укрыватель или скупщик краденого /сленг/), he made only seven hundred

dollars. But this was a considerable sum of money in 1919.

The next day on the street, Vito Corleone was stopped by the cream-suited, white-

fedoraed Fanucci. Fanucci was a brutal-looking man and he had done nothing to

disguise the circular scar that stretched in a white semicircle from ear to ear, looping

(loop – петля; to loop – делать петлю) under his chin. He had heavy black brows and

coarse features which, when he smiled, were in some odd way amiable.

He spoke with a very thick Sicilian accent. "Ah, young fellow," he said to Vito. "People

tell me you're rich. You and your two friends. But don't you think you've treated me a

little shabbily (shabby – протертый, потрепанный; низкий, подлый)? After all, this is

my neighborhood and you should let me wet my beak (клюв)." He used the Sicilian

phrase of the Mafia, " Fari vagnari a pizzu. " Pizzu means the beak of any small bird such

as a canary. The phrase itself was a demand for part of the loot.

As was his habit, Vito Corleone did not answer. He understood the implication (намек,

подтекст; to implicate – вовлекать, впутывать; заключать в себе, подразумевать)

immediately and was waiting for a definite demand.

Fanucci smiled at him, showing gold teeth and stretching his noose-like scar tight

around his face. He mopped his face with a handkerchief and unbuttoned his jacket for

a moment as if to cool himself but really to show the gun he carried stuck in the

waistband of his comfortably wide trousers. Then he sighed and said, "Give me five

hundred dollars and I'll forget the insult. After all, young people don't know the

courtesies due a man like myself."

Vito Corleone smiled at him and even as a young man still unblooded (еще не

запятнанный кровью), there was something so chilling in his smile that Fanucci

hesitated a moment before going on. "Otherwise the police will come to see you, your

wife and children will be shamed and destitute (останется без средств; destitute –

лишенный средств /к существованию/). Of course if my information as to your gains is

incorrect I'll dip (погружать /в жидкость/, окунать) my beak just a little. But no less than

three hundred dollars. And don't try to deceive me."

For the first time Vito Corleone spoke. His voice was reasonable, showed no anger. It

was courteous, as befitted a young man speaking to an older man of Fanucci's

eminence (высота; высокое положение). He said softly, "My two friends have my

share of the money, I'll have to speak to them."

Fanucci was reassured. "You can tell your two friends that I expect them to let me wet

my beak in the same manner. Don't be afraid to tell them," he added reassuringly.

"Clemenza and I know each other well, he understands these things. Let yourself be

guided by him. He has more experience in these matters."

Vito Corleone shrugged. He tried to look a little embarrassed. "Of course," he said.

"You understand this is all new to me. Thank you for speaking to me as a godfather."

Fanucci was impressed. "You're a good fellow," he said. He took Vito's hand and

clasped it in both of his hairy ones. "You have respect," he said. "A fine thing in the

young. Next time speak to me first, eh? Perhaps I can help you in your plans."

In later years Vito Corleone understood that what had made him act in such a perfect,

tactical way with Fanucci was the death of his own hot-tempered father who had been

killed by the Mafia in Sicily. But at that time all he felt was an icy rage that this man

planned to rob him of the money he had risked his life and freedom to earn. He had not

been afraid. Indeed he thought, at that moment, that Fanucci was a crazy fool. From

what he had seen of Clemenza, that burly Sicilian would sooner give up his life than a

penny of his loot. After all, Clemenza had been ready to kill a policeman merely to steal

a rug. And the slender Tessio had the deadly air of a viper (гадюка ['vaıp∂]).

But later that night, in Clemenza's tenement apartment across the air shaft, Vito

Corleone received another lesson in the education he had just begun. Clemenza cursed,

Tessio scowled (to scowl [skaul] – хмуриться, смотреть сердито), but then both men

started talking about whether Fanucci would be satisfied with two hundred dollars.

Tessio thought he might.

Clemenza was positive. "No, that scarface bastard must have found out what we

made from the wholesaler who bought the dresses. Fanucci won't take a dime less than

three hundred dollars. We'll have to pay."

Vito was astonished but was careful not to show his astonishment. "Why do we have

to pay him? What can he do to the three of us? We're stronger than him. We have guns.

Why do we have to hand over the money we earned?"

Clemenza explained patiently. "Fanucci has friends, real brutes. He has connections

with the police. He'd like us to tell him our plans because he could set us up for the cops

and earn their gratitude. Then they would owe him a favor. That’s how he operates. And

he has a license from Maranzalla himself to work this neighborhood." Maranzalla was a

gangster often in the newspapers, reputed to be the leader of a criminal ring

specializing in extortion, gambling and armed robbery.

Clemenza served wine that he had made himself. His wife, after putting a plate of

salami, olives and a loaf of Italian bread on the table, went down to sit with her women

cronies in front of the building, carrying her chair with her. She was a young Italian girl

only a few years in the country and did not yet understand English.

Vito Corleone sat with his two friends and drank wine. He had never used his

intelligence before as he was using it now. He was surprised at how clearly he could

think. He recalled everything he knew about Fanucci. He remembered the day the man

had had his throat cut and had run down the street holding his fedora under his chin to

catch the dripping blood. He remembered the murder of the man who had wielded the

knife and the other two having their sentences removed by paying an indemnity. And

suddenly he was sure that Fanucci had no great connections, could not possibly have.

Not a man who informed to the police. Not a man who allowed his vengeance to be

bought off. A real Mafioso chief would have had the other two men killed also. No.

Fanucci had got lucky and killed one man but had known he could not kill the other two

after they were alerted. And so he had allowed himself to be paid. It was the personal

brutal force of the man that allowed him to levy tribute (взимать налог: levy [‘levı]) on

the shopkeepers, the gambling games that ran in the tenement apartments. But Vito

Corleone knew of at least one gambling game that had never paid Fanucci tributes and

nothing had ever happened to the man running it.

And so it was Fanucci alone. Or Fanucci with some gunmen hired for special jobs on

a strictly cash basis. Which left Vito Corleone with another decision. The course his own

life must take.

It was from this experience came his oft-repeated belief that every man has but one

destiny. On that night he could have paid Fanucci the tribute and have become again a

grocery clerk with perhaps his own grocery store in the years to come. But destiny had

decided that he was to become a Don and had brought Fanucci to him to set him on his

destined path.

When they finished the bottle of wine, Vito said cautiously to Clemenza and Tessio, "If

you like, why not give me two hundred dollars each to pay to Fanucci? I guarantee he

will accept that amount from me. Then leave everything in my hands. I'll settle this

problem to your satisfaction."

At once Clemenza's eyes gleamed with suspicion. Vito said to him coldly, "I never lie

to people I have accepted as my friends. Speak to Fanucci yourself tomorrow. Let him

ask you for the money. But don't pay him. And don't in any way quarrel with him. Tell

him you have to get the money and will give it to me to give him. Let him understand

that you are willing to pay what he asks. Don't bargain. I'll quarrel over the price with

him. There's no point making him angry with us if he's as dangerous a man as you say

he is."

They left it at that. The next day Clemenza spoke with Fanucci to make sure that Vito

was not making up the story. Then Clemenza came to Vito's apartment and gave him

the two hundred dollars. He peered (to peer – вглядываться, всматриваться) at Vito

Corleone and said, "Fanucci told me nothing below three hundred dollars, how will you

make him take less?"

Vito Corleone said reasonably, "Surely that's no concern of yours (не твоя забота).

Just remember that I've done you a service."

Tessio came later. Tessio was more reserved than Clemenza, sharper, more clever

but with less force. He sensed something amiss, something not quite right. He was a

little worried. He said to Vito Corleone, "Watch yourself with that bastard of a Black

Hand, he's tricky as a priest. Do you want me to be here when you hand him the money,

as a witness?"

Vito Corleone shook his head. He didn't even bother to answer. He merely said to

Tessio, "Tell Fanucci I'll pay him the money here in my house at nine o'clock tonight. I'll

have to give him a glass of wine and talk, reason with him to take the lesser sum. "

Tessio shook his head. "You won't have much luck. Fanucci never retreats."

"I'll reason with him," Vito Corleone said. It was to become a famous phrase in the

years to come. It was to become the warning rattle (предупреждающий треск) before a

deadly strike. When he became a Don and asked opponents to sit down and reason

with him, they understood it was the last chance to resolve an affair without bloodshed

and murder.

Vito Corleone told his wife to take the two children, Sonny and Fredo, down into the

street after supper and on no account to let them come up to the house until he gave

her permission. She was to sit on guard at the tenement door. He had some private

business with Fanucci that could not be interrupted. He saw the look of fear on her face

and was angry. He said to her quietly, "Do you think you've married a fool?" She didn't

answer. She did not answer because she was frightened, not of Fanucci now, but of her

husband. He was changing visibly before her eyes, hour by hour, into a man who

radiated some dangerous force. He had always been quiet, speaking little, but always

gentle, always reasonable, which was extraordinary in a young Sicilian male. What she

43

was seeing was the shedding (to shed – ронять, терять, сбрасывать /одежду, кожу/)

of his protective coloration of a harmless nobody now that he was ready to start on his

destiny (судьба). He had started late, he was twenty-five years old, but he was to start

with a flourish.

Vito Corleone had decided to murder Fanucci. By doing so he would have an extra

seven hundred dollars in his bankroll (roll – свиток, сверток; /сленг/ пачка денег). The

three hundred dollars he himself would have to pay the Black Hand terrorist and the two

hundred dollars from Tessio and the two hundred dollars from Clemenza. If he did not

kill Fanucci, he would have to pay the man seven hundred dollars cold cash. Fanucci

alive was not worth seven hundred dollars to him. He would not pay seven hundred

dollars to keep Fanucci alive. If Fanucci needed seven hundred dollars for an operation

to save his life, he would not give Fanucci seven hundred dollars for the surgeon. He

owed Fanucci no personal debt of gratitude, they were not blood relatives, he did not

love Fanucci. Whyfore, then, should he give Fanucci seven hundred dollars?

And it followed inevitably, that since Fanucci wished to take seven hundred dollars

from him by force, why should he not kill Fanucci? Surely the world could do without

such a person.

There were of course some practical reasons. Fanucci might indeed have powerful

friends who would seek vengeance. Fanucci himself was a dangerous man, not so

easily killed. There were the police and the electric chair. But Vito Corleone had lived

under a sentence of death since the murder of his father. As a boy of twelve he had fled

his executioners and crossed the ocean into a strange land, taking a strange name. And

years of quiet observation had convinced him that he had more intelligence and more

courage than other men, though he had never had the opportunity to use that

intelligence and courage.

And yet he hesitated before taking the first step toward his destiny. He even packed

the seven hundred dollars in a single fold of bills and put the money in a convenient side

pocket of his trousers. But he put the money in the left side of his trousers. In the right-

hand pocket he put the gun Clemenza had given him to use in the hijacking of the silk

truck.

Fanucci came promptly at nine in the evening. Vito Corleone set out a jug of

homemade wine that Clemenza had given him.

Fanucci put his white fedora on the table beside the jug of wine. He unloosened his

broad multiflowered tie, its tomato stains camouflaged by the bright patterns. The

summer night was hot, the gaslight feeble (слабый, хилый). It was very quiet in the

44

apartment. But Vito Corleone was icy. To show his good faith he handed over the roll of

bills and watched carefully as Fanucci, after counting it, took out a wide leather wallet

and stuffed the money inside. Fanucci sipped his glass of wine and said, "You still owe

me two hundred dollars." His heavy-browed face was expressionless.

Vito Corleone said in his cool reasonable voice, "I'm a little short, I've been out of work.

Let me owe you the money for a few weeks."

This was a permissible (позволительный) gambit. Fanucci had the bulk (объем;

большие размеры; основная масса) of the money and would wait. He might even be

persuaded to take nothing more or to wait a little longer. He chuckled over his wine and

said, "Ah, you're a sharp young fellow. How is it I've never noticed you before? You're

too quiet a chap for your own interest. I could find some work for you to do that would

be very profitable."

Vito Corleone showed his interest with a polite nod and filled up the man's glass from

the purple jug. But Fanucci thought better of what he was going to say and rose from his

chair and shook Vito's hand. "Good night, young fellow," he said. "No hard feelings (без

обиды), eh? If I can ever do you a service let me know. You've done a good job for

yourself tonight."

Vito let Fanucci go down the stairs and out the building. The street was thronged with

witnesses to show that he had left the Corleone home safely. Vito watched from the

window. He saw Fanucci turn the comer toward 11th Avenue and knew he was headed

toward his apartment, probably to put away his loot before coming out on the streets

again. Perhaps to put away his gun. Vito Corleone left his apartment and ran up the

stairs to the roof. He traveled over the square block of roofs and descended down the

steps of an empty loft (чердак; верхний этаж /торгового помещения, склада/)

building fire escape that left him in the back yard. He kicked the back door open and

went through the front door. Across the street was Fanucci's tenement apartment house.

The village of tenements extended only as far west as Tenth Avenue. Eleventh

Avenue was mostly warehouses and lofts rented by firms who shipped by New York

Central Railroad and wanted access to the freight (фрахт, груз) yards (that

honeycombed (honeycomb – медовые соты; to honeycomb – изрешетить,

продырявить) the area from Eleventh Avenue to the Hudson River. Fanucci's

apartment house was one of the few left standing in this wilderness and was occupied

mostly by bachelor trainmen, yard workers, and the cheapest prostitutes. These people

did not sit in the street and gossip like honest Italians, they sat in beer taverns guzzling

(to guzzle – жадно глотать; пропивать) their pay. So Vito Corleone found it an easy