Читать интересную книгу Английский язык с Крестным Отцом - Илья Франк

But what distressed him most of all was learning that Michael had killed Sollozzo and

Captain McCluskey and had then been forced to flee to Sicily. When he heard this he

motioned them out and they continued the conference in the corner room that held the

law library.

Sonny Corleone relaxed in the huge armchair behind the desk. "I think we'd better let

the old man take it easy for a couple of weeks, until the doc says he can do business."

He paused. "I'd like to have it going again before he gets better. We have the go-ahead

from the cops to operate. The first thing is the policy banks in Harlem. The black boys

up there had their fun, now we have to take it back. They screwed up the works but

good, just like they usually do when they run things. A lot of their runners (runner –

/здесь/ руководящий бизнесом) didn't payoff winners. They drive up in Cadillacs and

tell their players they gotta wait for their dough or maybe just pay them half what they

win. I don't want any runner looking rich to his players. I don't want them dressing too

good. I don't want them driving new cars. I don't want them welching (to welch, to welsh

– скрыться, не уплатив проигрыша) on paying a winner. And I don't want any free-

lancers staying in business, they give us a bad name. Tom, let's get that project moving

right away. Everything else will fall in line as soon as you send out the word that the lid

is off («крышка открыта» = секретность снята, можно работать спокойно)."

Hagen said, "There are some very tough boys up in Harlem. They got a taste of the

big money. They won't go back to being runners or sub-bankers again."

Sonny shrugged. "Just give their names to Clemenza. That's his job, straightening

them out."

Clemenza said to Hagen, "No problem."

It was Tessio who brought up the most important question. "Once we start operating,

the five Families start their raids. They'll hit our bankers in Harlem and our bookmakers

on the East Side. They may even try to make things tough for the garment center outfits

we service. This war is going to cost a lot of money."

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"Maybe they won't," Sonny said. "They know we'll hit them right back. I've got peace

feelers (feeler – щупальце; разведчик) out and maybe we can settle everything by

paying an indemnity for the Tattaglia kid."

Hagen said, "We're getting the cold shoulder (нам оказывают холодный прием) on

those negotiations. They lost a lot of dough the last few months and they blame us for it.

With justice. I think what they want is for us to agree to come in on the narcotics trade,

to use the Family influence politically. In other words, Sollozzo's deal minus Sollozzo.

But they won't broach (broach – вертел; to broach – делать прокол, отверстие;

почать /бочку вина/; /здесь/ огласить; начать обсуждать) that until they've hurt us

with some sort of combat action. Then after we've been softened up they figure we'll

listen to a proposition on narcotics."

Sonny said curtly, "No deal on drugs. The Don said no and it's no until he changes it."

Hagen said briskly, "Then we're faced with a tactical problem. Our money is out in the

open. Bookmaking and policy. We can be hit. But the Tattaglia Family has prostitution

and call girls and the dock unions. How the hell are we going to hit them? The other

Families are in some gambling. But most of them are in the construction trades,

shylocking, controlling the unions, getting the government contracts. They get a lot from

strong-arm and other stuff that involves innocent people. Their money isn't out in the

street. The Tattaglia nightclub is too famous to touch it, it would cause too much of a

stink. And with the Don still out of action their political influence matches ours. So we've

got a real problem here."

"It's my problem, Tom," Sonny said. "I'll find the answer. Keep the negotiation alive

and follow through on the other stuff. Let's go back into business and see what happens.

Then we'll take it from there. Clemenza and Tessio have plenty of soldiers, we can

match the whole Five Families gun for gun if that's the way they want it. We'll just go to

the mattresses."

There was no problem getting the free-lance Negro bankers out of business. The

police were informed and cracked down. With a special effort. At that time it was not

possible for a Negro to make a payoff to a high police or political official to keep such an

operation going. This was due to racial prejudice and racial distrust more than anything

else. But Harlem had always been considered a minor problem, and its settlement was

expected.

The Five Families struck in an unexpected direction. Two powerful officials in the

garment unions were killed, officials who were members of the Corleone Family. Then

the Corleone Family shylocks were barred from the waterfront piers (pier – волнолом,

дамба; пирс) as were the Corleone Family bookmakers. The longshoremen's union

(longshoreman – портовый грузчик) locals had gone over to the Five Families.

Corleone bookmakers all over the city were threatened to persuade them to change

their allegiance (верность, лояльность; вассальная зависимость [∂'li:dG∂ns]). The

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biggest numbers (затраты; смета) banker in Harlem, an old friend and ally (союзник) of

the Corleone Family, was brutally murdered. There was no longer any option. Sonny

told his caporegimes to go to the mattresses.

Two apartments were set up in the city and furnished with mattresses for the button

men to sleep on, a refrigerator for food, and guns and ammunition. Clemenza staffed

one apartment and Tessio the other. All Family bookmakers were given bodyguard

teams. The policy bankers in Harlem, however, had gone over to the enemy and at the

moment nothing could be done about that. All this cost the Corleone Family a great deal

of money and very little was coming in. As the next few months went by, other things

became obvious. The most important was that the Corleone Family had overmatched

itself (to overmatch = to be more than a match for – превосходить /силой, умением/;

/здесь/ переоценить свои силы; match – ровня, пара; равносильный противник).

There were reasons for this. With the Don still too weak to take a part, a great deal of

the Family's political strength was neutralized. Also, the last ten years of peace had

seriously eroded the fighting qualities of the two caporegimes, Clemenza and Tessio.

Clemenza was still a competent executioner and administrator but he no longer had the

energy or the youthful strength to lead troops. Tessio had mellowed (смягчился; mellow

– спелый, сочный; to mellow – делаться спелым, созревать; смягчаться)with age

and was not ruthless enough. Tom Hagen, despite his abilities, was simply not suited to

be a Consigliori in a time of war. His main fault was that he was not a Sicilian.

Sonny Corleone recognized these weaknesses in the Family's wartime posture but

could not take any steps to remedy them. He was not the Don and only the Don could

replace the caporegimes and the Consigliori. And the very act of replacement would

make the situation more dangerous, might precipitate some treachery (спровоцировать,

вызвать какое-нибудь предательство, измену; to precipitate [prı’sıpıteıt] –

низвергать, повергать; ввергать; ускорять, торопить). At first, Sonny had thought of

fighting a holding action until the Don could become well enough to take charge, but

with the defection of the policy bankers, the terrorization of the bookmakers, the Family

position was becoming precarious (случайный; ненадежный, сомнительный,

опасный [prı’kε∂rı∂s]). He decided to strike back.

But he decided to strike right at the heart of the enemy. He planned the execution of

the heads of the five Families in one grand tactical maneuver. To that purpose he put

into effect an elaborate system of surveillance (надзор, наблюдение /напр. за

подозреваемым/ [s∂:’veıl∂ns]) of these leaders. But after a week the enemy chiefs

promptly dived underground and were seen no more in public.

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The Five Families and the Corleone Empire were in stalemate (пат /шахм./; мертвая

точка, тупик; stale – несвежий /хлеб/; спертый /воздух/; выдохшийся /спортсмен/).

Chapter 18

Amerigo Bonasera lived only a few blocks from his undertaking establishment on

Mulberry Street and so always went home for supper. Evenings he returned to his place

of business, dutifully joining those mourners paying their respects to the dead who lay in

state in his somber parlors.

He always resented the jokes made about his profession, the macabre (мрачный,

ужасный /франц./ [m∂'kα:br]; dance macabre – танец смерти /жанр средневекового

искусства/) technical details which were so unimportant. Of course none of his friends

or family or neighbors would make such jokes. Any profession was worthy of respect to

men who for centuries earned bread by the sweat of their brows.

Now at supper with his wife in their solidly furnished apartment, gilt statues of the

Virgin Mary with their red-glassed candles flickering on the sideboard, Bonasera lit a

Camel cigarette and took a relaxing glass of American whiskey. His wife brought

steaming plates of soup to the table. The two of them were alone now; he had sent his

daughter to live in Boston with her mother's sister, where she could forget her terrible

experience and her injuries at the hands of the two ruffians (хулиган, негодяй ['rΛfj∂n])

Don Corleone had punished.

As they ate their soup his wife asked, "Are you going back to work tonight?"

Amerigo Bonasera nodded. His wife respected his work but did not understand it. She

did not understand that the technical part of his profession was the least important. She

thought, like most other people, that he was paid for his skill in making the dead look so

lifelike in their coffins. And indeed his skill in this was legendary. But even more

important, even more necessary was his physical presence at the wake

(бодрствование; поминки /перед погребением/). When the bereaved family

(скорбящая, понесшая потерю семья; to bereave – лишать, отнимать) came at night

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to receive their blood relatives and their friends beside the coffin of their loved one, they

needed Amerigo Bonasera with them.

For he was a strict chaperone (опекун, сопровождающий; chaperone – пожилая

дама, сопровождающия молодую девушку на балы и пр.; компаньонка [‘∫жp∂r∂un])

to death. His face always grave, yet strong and comforting, his voice unwavering, yet

muted to a low register, he commanded the mourning ritual. He could quiet grief that

was too unseemly, he could rebuke (упрекать, делать выговор [rı’bju:k]) unruly

children whose parents had not the heart to chastise (подвергать наказанию

/особенно телесному/ [t∫жs’taız]). Never cloying (слащав; to cloy – пресыщать) in the

tender of his condolences, yet never was he offhand (импровизированный; /здесь/

бесцеремонный). Once a family used Amerigo Bonasera to speed a loved one on

(проводить, отправить в последний путь близкого человека), they came back to him

again and again. And he never, never, deserted one of his clients on that terrible last

night above ground.

Usually he allowed himself a little nap after supper. Then he washed and shaved

afresh, talcum powder generously used to shroud (посыпать, укрыть; shroud – саван;

пелена, покров) the heavy black beard. A mouthwash always. He respectfully changed

into fresh linen, white gleaming shirt, the black tie, a freshly pressed dark suit, dull black

shoes and black socks. And yet the effect was comforting instead of somber. He also

kept his hair dyed black, an unheard-of frivolity in an Italian male of his generation; but

not out of vanity. Simply because his hair had turned a lively pepper and salt, a color

which struck him as unseemly for his profession.

After he finished his soup, his wife placed a small steak before him with a few forkfuls

of green spinach oozing yellow oil. He was a light eater. When he finished this he drank

a cup of coffee and smoked another Camel cigarette. Over his coffee he thought about

his poor daughter. She would never be the same. Her outward beauty had been

restored but there was the look of a frightened animal in her eyes that had made him

unable to bear the sight of her. And so they had sent her to live in Boston for a time.

Time would heal her wounds. Pain and terror was not so final as death, as he well knew.

His work made him an optimist.

He had just finished the coffee when his phone in the living room rang. His wife never

answered it when he was home, so he got up and drained his cup and stubbed out his

cigarette. As he walked to the phone he pulled off his tie and started to unbutton his

shirt, getting ready for his little nap. Then he picked up the phone and said with quiet

courtesy, "Hello."

The voice on the other end was harsh, strained. "This is Tom Hagen," it said. "I'm

calling for Don Corleone, at his request."

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Amerigo Bonasera felt the coffee churning (churn – маслобойка, мешалка; to churn

– взбивать /масло/; взбалтывать, вспенивать) sourly in his stomach, felt himself

going a little sick. It was more than a year since he had put himself in the debt of the

Don to avenge his daughter's honor and in that time the knowledge that he must pay

that debt had receded. He had been so grateful seeing the bloody faces of those two