The Godfather 15 страница

meeting that afternoon.

At ten the Don was waiting for the three men in his office, the corner room of the

house with its law library and special phone. There was a tray with whiskey bottles, ice

and soda water. The Don gave his instructions.

"We made the peace this afternoon." he said. "I gave my word and my honor and that

should be enough for all of you. But our friends are not so trustworthy so let's all be on

our guard still. We don't want any more nasty little surprises." Then Don turned to

Hagen. "You've let the Bocchicchio hostages go?"

Hagen nodded. "I called Clemenza as soon as I got home."

Corleone turned to the massive Clemenza. The caporegime nodded. "I released them.

Tell me, Godfather, is it possible for a Sicilian to be as dumb as the Bocchicchios

pretend to be?"

Don Corleone smiled a little. "They are clever enough to make a good living. Why is it

so necessary to be more clever than that? It's not the Bocchicchios who cause the

troubles of this world. But it's true, they haven't got the Sicilian head."

They were all in a relaxed mood, now that the war was over. Don Corleone himself

mixed drinks and brought one to each man. The Don sipped his carefully and lit up a

cigar.

"I want nothing set forth to discover what happened to Sonny, that's done with and to

be forgotten. I want all cooperation with the other Families even if they become a little

greedy and we don't get our proper share in things. I want nothing to break this peace

no matter what the provocation until we've found a way to bring Michael home. And I

want that to be first thing on your minds. Remember this, when he comes back he must

come back in absolute safety. I don't mean from the Tattaglias or the Barzinis. What I'm

concerned about are the police. Sure, we can get rid of the real evidence against him;

that waiter won't testify, nor that spectator or gunman or whatever he was. The real

evidence is the least of our worries since we know about it. What we have to worry

about is the police framing false evidence because their informers have assured them

that Michael Corleone is the man who killed their captain. Very well. We have to

demand that the Five Families do everything in their power to correct this belief of the

police. All their informers who work with the police must come up with new stories. I

think after my speech this afternoon they will understand it is to their interest to do so.

But that's not enough. We have to come up with something special so Michael won't

ever have to worry about that again. Otherwise there's no point in him coming back to

this country. So let's all think about that. That's the most important matter.

"Now, any man should be allowed one foolishness in his life. I have had mine. I want

all the land around the mall bought, the houses bought. I don't want any man able to

look out his window into my garden even if it's a mile away. I want a fence around the

mall and I want the mall to be on full protection all the time. I want a gate in that fence.

In short, I wish now to live in a fortress. Let me say to you now that I will never go into

the city to work again. I will be semiretired. I feel an urge to work in the garden, to make

a little wine when the grapes are in season. I want to live in my house. The only time I'll

leave is to go on a little vacation or to see someone on important business and then I

want all precautions taken. Now don't take this amiss. I'm not preparing anything. I'm

being prudent, I've always been a prudent man, there is nothing I find so little to my

taste as carelessness in life. Women and children can afford to be careless, men cannot.

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Be leisurely in all these things, no frantic (неистовый, безумный) preparations to alarm

our friends. It can be done in such a way as to seem natural.

"Now I'm going to leave things more and more up to each of you three. I want the

Santino regime disbanded and the men placed in your regimes. That should reassure

our friends and show that I mean peace. Tom, I want you to put together a group of men

who will go to Las Vegas and give me a full report on what is going on out there. Tell me

about Fredo, what is really happening out there, I hear I wouldn't recognize my own son.

It seems he's a cook now, that he amuses himself with young girls more than a grown

man should. Well, he was always too serious when he was young and he was never the

man for Family business. But let's find out what really can be done out there."

Hagen said quietly, "Should we send your son-in-law? After all, Carlo is a native of

Nevada, he knows his way around."

Don Corleone shook his head. "No, my wife is lonely here without any of her children.

I want Constanzia and her husband moved into one of the houses on the mall. I want

Carlo given a responsible job, maybe I've been too harsh on him, and" – Don Corleone

made a grimace – "I'm short of sons. Take him out of the gambling and put him in with

the unions where he can do some paper work and a lot of talking. He's a good talker."

There was the tiniest note of contempt in the Don's voice.

Hagen nodded. "OK, Clemenza and I will go over all the people and put together a

group to do the Vegas job. Do you want me to call Freddie home for a few days?"

The Don shook his head. He said cruelly, "What for? My wife can still cook our meals.

Let him stay out there." The three men shifted uneasily in their seats. They had not

realized Freddie was in such severe disfavor with his father and they suspected it must

be because of something they did not know.

Don Corleone sighed. "I hope to grow some good green peppers and tomatoes in the

garden this year, more than we can eat. I'll make you presents of them. I want a little

peace, a little quiet and tranquillity for my old age. Well, that's all. Have another drink if

you like."

It was a dismissal. The men rose. Hagen accompanied Clemenza and Tessio to their

cars and arranged meetings with them to thrash out (тщательно обсудить, выяснить,

проработать; to thrash – бить, пороть; /молотить = to thresh/) the operational details

that would accomplish the stated desires of their Don. Then he went back into the

house where he knew Don Corleone would be waiting for him.

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The Don had taken off his jacket and tie and was lying down on the couch. His stern

face was relaxed into lines of fatigue. He waved Hagen into a chair and said, "Well,

Consigliori, do you disapprove of any of my deeds today?"

Hagen took his time answering. "No," he said. "But I don't find it consistent

(последовательный, стойкий; совместимый, согласующийся), nor true to your nature.

You say you don't want to find out how Santino was killed or want vengeance for it. I

don't believe that. You gave your word for peace and so you'll keep the peace but I can't

believe you will give your enemies the victory they seem to have won today. You've

constructed a magnificent riddle that I can't solve, so how can I approve or disapprove?"

A look of content came over the Don's face. "Well, you know me better than anyone

else. Even though you're not a Sicilian, I made you one. Everything you say is true, but

there's a solution and you'll comprehend it before it spins out to the end. You agree

everyone has to take my word and I'll keep my word. And I want my orders obeyed

exactly. But, Tom, the most important thing is we have to get Michael home as soon as

possible. Make that first in your mind and in your work. Explore all the legal alleys, I

don't care how much money you have to spend. It has to be foolproof when he comes

home. Consult the best lawyers on criminal law. I'll give you the names of some judges

who will give you a private audience. Until that time we have to guard against all

treacheries."

Hagen said, "Like you, I'm not worried so much about the real evidence as the

evidence they will manufacture. Also some police friend may kill Michael after he's

arrested. They may kill him in his cell or have one of the prisoners do it. As I see it, we

can't even afford to have him arrested or accused."

Don Corleone sighed. "I know, I know. That's the difficulty. But we can't take too long.

There are troubles in Sicily. The young fellows over there don't listen to their elders

anymore and a lot of the men deported from America are just too much for the old-

fashioned Dons to handle. Michael could get caught in between. I've taken some

precautions against that and he's still got a good cover but that cover won't last forever.

That's one of the reasons I had to make the peace. Barzini has friends in Sicily and they

were beginning to sniff Michael's trail. That gives you one of the answers to your riddle.

I had to make the peace to insure my son's safety. There was nothing else to do."

Hagen didn't bother asking the Don how he had gotten this information. He was not

even surprised, and it was true that this solved part of the riddle. "When I meet with

Tattaglia's people to firm up the details, should I insist that all his drug middlemen

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(посредники) be clean? The judges will be a little skittish (норовистый или пугливый

/о лошади/; капризный) about giving light sentences to a man with a record."

Don Corleone shrugged. "They should be smart enough to figure that out themselves.

Mention it, don't insist. We'll do our best but if they use a real snowbird (дрозд-

рябинник; кокаинист) and he gets caught, we won't lift a finger. We'll just tell them

nothing can be done. But Barzini is a man who will know that without being told. You

notice how he never committed himself in this affair. One might never have known he

was in any way concerned. That is a man who doesn't get caught on the losing side."

Hagen was startled. "You mean he was behind Sollozzo and Tattaglia all the time?"

Don Corleone sighed. "Tattaglia is a pimp. He could never have outfought Santino.

That's why I don't have to know about what happened. It's enough to know that Barzini

had a hand in it."

Hagen let this sink in. The Don was giving him clues but there was something very

important left out. Hagen knew what it was but he knew it was not his place to ask. He

said good night and turned to go. The Don had a last word for him.

"Remember, use all your wits for a plan to bring Michael home," the Don said. "And

one other thing. Arrange with the telephone man so that every month I get a list of all

the telephone calls, made and received, by Clemenza and Tessio. I suspect them of

nothing. I would swear they would never betray me. But there's no harm in knowing any

little thing that may help us before the event."

Hagen nodded and went out. He wondered if the Don was keeping a check on him

also in some way and then was ashamed of his suspicion. But now he was sure that in

the subtle and complex mind of the Godfather a far-ranging plan of action was being

initiated that made the day's happenings no more than a tactical retreat. And there was

that one dark fact that no one mentioned, that he himself had not dared to ask, that Don

Corleone ignored. All pointed to a day of reckoning (to reckon – считать, подсчитывать;

сводить счеты, рассчитываться) in the future.

Chapter 21

But it was to be nearly another year before Don Corleone could arrange for his son

Michael to be smuggled back into the United States. During that time the whole Family

racked their brains (ломали голову; to rack – пытать, мучить; заставлять работать

изо всех сил, изнурять) for suitable schemes. Even Carlo Rizzi was listened to now

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that he was living in the mall with Connie. (During that time they had a second child, a

boy.) But none of the schemes met with the Don's approval.

Finally it was the Bocchicchio Family who through a misfortune of its own solved the

problem. There was one Bocchicchio, a young cousin of no more than twenty-five years

of age, named Felix, who was born in America and with more brains than anyone in the

clan had ever had before. He had refused to be drawn into the Family garbage hauling

business and married a nice American girl of English stock to further his split from the

clan. He went to school at night, to become a lawyer, and worked during the day as a

civil service post office clerk. During that time he had three children but his wife was a

prudent manager and they lived on his salary until he got his law degree.

Now Felix Bocchicchio, like many young men, thought that having struggled to

complete his education and master the tools of his profession, his virtue would

automatically be rewarded and he would earn a decent living. This proved not to be the

case. Still proud, he refused all help from his clan. But a lawyer friend of his, a young

man well connected and with a budding (подающий надежды, многообещающий)

career in a big law firm, talked Felix into doing him a little favor. It was very complicated,

seemingly legal, and had to do with a bankruptcy fraud. It was a million-to-one shot

against its being found out. Felix Bocchicchio took the chance. Since the fraud involved

using the legal skills he had learned in a university, it seemed not so reprehensible

(предосудительный; to reprehend – делать выговор, порицать), and, in an odd way,

not even criminal.

To make a foolish story short, the fraud was discovered. The lawyer friend refused to

help Felix in any manner, refused to even answer his telephone calls. The two principals

(главные виновники) in the fraud, shrewd middle-aged businessmen who furiously

blamed Felix Bocchicchio's legal clumsiness (неуклюжесть, неловкость; clumsy –

неуклюжий, неловкий) for the plan going awry (окончился неудачей; awry [∂ ‘raı] –

кривой; косо, набок), pleaded guilty (признали себя виновными) and cooperated with

the state, naming Felix Bocchicchio as the ringleader (зачинщик) of the fraud and

claiming he had used threats of violence to control their business and force them to

cooperate with him in his fraudulent schemes. Testimony was given that linked Felix

with uncles and cousins in the Bocchicchio clan who had criminal records for strong-arm,

and this evidence was damning. The two businessmen got off with suspended

sentences. Felix Bocchicchio was given a sentence of one to five years and served

three of them. The clan did not ask help from any of the Families or Don Corleone

because Felix had refused to ask their help and had to be taught a lesson: that mercy

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comes only from the Family, that the Family is more loyal and more to be trusted than

society.

In any case, Felix Bocchicchio was released from prison after serving three years,

went home and kissed his wife and three children and lived peacefully for a year, and

then showed that he was of the Bocchicchio clan after all. Without any attempt to

conceal his guilt, he procured a weapon, a pistol, and shot his lawyer friend to death. He

then searched out the two businessmen and calmly shot them both through the head as

they came out of a luncheonette (закусочная, буфет ['lΛnt∫∂’net]). He left the bodies

lying in the street and went into the luncheonette and ordered a cup of coffee which he

drank while he waited for the police to come and arrest him.

His trial was swift and his judgment merciless. A member of the criminal underworld

had cold-bloodedly murdered state witnesses who had sent him to the prison he richly

deserved. It was a flagrant flouting (вопиющее глумление, выказывание презрения;

flagrant [‘fleıgr∂nt] – ужасающий, вопиющий; to flout – презирать, попирать,

глумиться) of society and for once the public, the press, the structure of society and

even soft-headed and soft-hearted humanitarians (гуманисты) were united in their

desire to see Felix Bocchicchio in the electric chair. The governor of the state would no

more grant him clemency (милость, помилование) than the officials of the pound

(загон /для скота/) spare a mad dog, which was the phrase of one of the governor's

closest political aides. The Bocchicchio clan of course would spend whatever money

was needed for appeals to higher courts, they were proud of him now, but the

conclusion was certain. After the legal folderol (= folderal – бессмысленная болтовня),

which might take a little time, Felix Bocchicchio would die in the electric chair.

It was Hagen who brought this case to the attention of the Don at the request of one

of the Bocchicchios who hoped that something could be done for the young man. Don

Corleone curtly refused. He was not a magician. People asked him the impossible. But

the next day the Don called Hagen into his office and had him go over the case in the

most intimate detail. When Hagen was finished, Don Corleone told him to summon the

head of the Bocchicchio clan to the mall for a meeting.

What happened next had the simplicity of genius. Don Corleone guaranteed to the

head of the Bocchicchio clan that the wife and children of Felix Bocchicchio would be

rewarded with a handsome pension. The money for this would be handed over to the

Bocchicchio clan immediately. In turn, Felix must confess to the murder of Sollozzo and

the police captain McCluskey.

There were many details to be arranged. Felix Bocchicchio would have to confess

convincingly, that is, he would have to know some of the true details to confess to. Also

he must implicate (вовлекать, впутывать) the police captain in narcotics. Then the

waiter at the Luna Restaurant must be persuaded to identify Felix Bocchicchio as the

murderer. This would take some courage, as the description would change radically,

Felix Bocchicchio being much shorter and heavier. But Don Corleone would attend to

that. Also since the condemned man had been a great believer in higher education and

a college graduate, he would want his children to go to college. And so a sum of money

would have to be paid by Don Corleone that would take care of the children's college.

Then the Bocchicchio clan had to be reassured that there was no hope for clemency on

the original murders. The new confession of course would seal the man's already

almost certain doom (рок, судьба; осуждение, приговор).

Everything was arranged, the money paid and suitable contact made with the

condemned man so that he could be instructed and advised. Finally the plan was

sprung and the confession made headlines in all the newspapers. The whole thing was

a huge success. But Don Corleone, cautious as always, waited until Felix Bocchicchio

was actually executed four months later before finally giving the command that Michael

Corleone could return home.

Сhapter 22

Lucy Mancini, a year after Sonny's death, still missed him terribly, grieved for him

more fiercely than any lover in any romance. And her dreams were not the insipid

(безвкусный, пресный; вялый, неинтересный [ın'sıpıd]) dreams of a schoolgirl, her

longings (сильные, страстные желания, стремления; to long – страстно желать,

стремиться) not the longing of a devoted wife. She was not rendered desolate by the

loss of her "life's companion," or miss him because of his stalwart (стойкий, верный,

решительный ['sto:lw∂t]) character. She held no fond remembrances of sentimental

gifts, of girlish hero worship, his smile, the amused glint of his eyes when she said

something endearing (to endear [ın’dı∂] – заставить полюбить, внушить любовь) or

witty.

No. She missed him for the more important reason that he had been the only man in

the world who could make her body achieve the act of love. And, in her youth and

innocence, she still believed that he was the only man who could possibly do so.

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Now a year later she sunned herself in the balmy Nevada air. At her feet the slender,

blond young man was playing with her toes. They were at the side of the hotel pool for

the Sunday afternoon and despite the people all around them his hand was sliding up

her bare thigh.

"Oh, Jules, stop," Lucy said. "I thought doctors at least weren't as silly as other men."

Jules grinned at her. "I'm a Las Vegas doctor." He tickled the inside of her thigh and

was amazed how just a little thing like that could excite her so powerfully. It showed on

her face though she tried to hide it. She was really a very primitive, innocent girl. Then

why couldn't he make her come across (признаться, все выложить)? He had to figure

that one out and never mind the crap about a lost love that could never be replaced.

This was living tissue here under his hand and living tissue required other living tissue.

Dr. Jules Segal decided he would make the big push tonight at his apartment. He'd

wanted to make her come across without any trickery but if trickery there had to be, he

was the man for it. All in the interests of science of course. And, besides, this poor kid

was dying for it.

"Jules, stop, please stop," Lucy said. Her voice was trembling.

Jules was immediately contrite (сокрушающийся, кающийся ['kontraıt]). "OK, honey,"

he said. He put his head in her lap and using her soft thighs as a pillow, he took a little

nap. He was amused at her squirming (to squirm – извиваться, корчиться;

чувствовать неловкость, смущение), the heat that registered from her loins and when

she put her hand on his head to smooth his hair, he grasped her wrist playfully and held

it loverlike but really to feel her pulse. It was galloping. He'd get her tonight and he'd

solve the mystery, what the hell ever it was. Fully confident, Dr. Jules Segal fell asleep.

Lucy watched the people around the pool. She could never have imagined her life

would change so in less than two years. She never regretted her "foolishness" at

Connie Corleone's wedding. It was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to

her and she lived it over and over again in her dreams. As she lived over and over again

the months that followed.

Sonny had visited her once a week, sometimes more, never less. The days before

she saw him again her body was in torment (мука ['to:m∂nt]). Their passion for each

other was of the most elementary kind, undiluted (to dilute [‘daılju:t] – разжижать,

разбавлять) by poetry or any form of intellectualism. It was love of the coarsest nature,

a fleshly love, a love of tissue for opposing tissue.

When Sonny called to her he was coming she made certain there was enough liquor

in the apartment and enough food for supper and breakfast because usually he would

not leave until late the next morning. He wanted his fill (хотел насытиться) of her as

she wanted her fill of him. He had his own key and when he came in the door she would

fly into his massive arms. They would both be brutally direct, brutally primitive. During

their first kiss they would be fumbling at each other's clothing and he would be lifting her

in the air, and she would be wrapping her legs around his huge thighs. They would be

making love standing up in the foyer of her apartment as if they had to repeat their first

act of love together, and then he would carry her so to the bedroom.

They would lie in bed making love. They would live together in the apartment for

sixteen hours, completely naked. She would cook for him, enormous meals. Somtimes

he would get phone calls obviously about business but she never even listened to the

words. She would be too busy toying with his body, fondling it, kissing it, burying her

mouth in it. Sometimes when he got up to get a drink and he walked by her, she

couldn't help reaching out to touch his naked body, hold him, make love to him as if

those special parts of his body were a plaything, a specially constructed, intricate

(запутанный, замысловатый, сложный ['ıntrıkıt]) but innocent toy revealing its known,

but still surprising ecstasies. At first she had been ashamed of these excesses on her

part but soon saw that they pleased her lover, that her complete sensual enslavement