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

ruffians that he would have done anything for the Don. But time erodes gratitude more

quickly than it does beauty. Now Bonasera felt the sickness of a man faced with

disaster. His voice faltered as he answered, "Yes, I understand. I'm

listening."

He was surprised at the coldness in Hagen's voice. The Consigliori had always been

a courteous man, though not Italian, but now he was being rudely brusque. "You owe

the Don a service," Hagen said. "He has no doubt that you will repay him. That you will

be happy to have this opportunity. In one hour, not before, perhaps later, he will be at

your funeral parlor to ask for your help. Be there to greet him. Don't have any people

who work for you there. Send them home. If you have any objections to this, speak now

and I'll inform Don Corleone. He has other friends who can do him this service."

Amerigo Bonasera almost cried out in his fright, "How can you think I would refuse the

Godfather? Of course I'll do anything he wishes. I haven't forgotten my debt. I'll go to my

business immediately, at once."

Hagen's voice was gentler now, but there was something strange about it. "Thank

you," he said. "The Don never doubted you. The question was mine. Oblige him tonight

and you can always come to me in any trouble, you'll earn my personal friendship."

This frightened Amerigo Bonasera even more. He stuttered, "The Don himself is

coming to me tonight?"

"Yes," Hagen said.

"Then he's completely recovered from his injuries, thank God," Bonasera said. His

voice made it a question.

There was a pause at the other end of the phone, then Hagen's voice said very quietly,

"Yes." There was a click and the phone went dead.

Bonasera was sweating. He went into the bedroom and changed his shirt and rinsed

his mouth. But he didn't shave or use a fresh tie. He put on the same one he had used

during the day. He called the funeral parlor and told his assistant to stay with the

bereaved family using the front parlor that night. He himself would be busy in the

laboratory working area of the building. When the assistant started asking questions

Bonasera cut him off very curtly and told him to follow orders exactly.

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He put on his suit jacket and his wife, still eating, looked up at him in surprise. "I have

work to do," he said and she did not dare question him because of the look on his face.

Bonasera went out of the house and walked the few blocks to his funeral parlor.

This building stood by itself on a large lot with a white picket fence running all around

it. There was a narrow roadway leading from the street to the rear, just wide enough for

ambulances and hearses (hearse [h∂:s] – катафалк, похоронные дроги). Bonasera

unlocked the gate and left it open. Then he walked to the rear of the building and

entered it through the wide door there. As he did so he could see mourners already

entering the front door of the funeral parlor to pay their respects to the current corpse.

Many years ago when Bonasera had bought this building from an undertaker planning

to retire, there had been a stoop of about ten steps that mourners had to mount before

entering the funeral parlor. This had posed a problem. Old and crippled mourners

determined to pay their respects had found the steps almost impossible to mount, so

the former undertaker had used the freight elevator for these people, a small metal

platform, that rose out of the ground beside the building. The elevator was for coffins

and bodies. It would descend underground, then rise into the funeral parlor itself, so that

a crippled mourner would find himself rising through the floor beside the coffin as other

mourners moved their black chairs aside to let the elevator rise through the trapdoor

(люк, опускная дверь; trap – ловушка, капкан; /вентиляционная/ дверь /в шахте/).

Then when the crippled or aged mourner (скорбящий; to mourn – скорбеть,

оплакивать /кого-либо/) had finished paying his respects, the elevator would again

come up through the polished floor to take him down and out again.

Amerigo Bonasera had found this solution to the problem unseemly (неподобающий,

непристойный) and penny-pinching (мелочный, скаредный, экономящий на копейке;

to pinch – щипать; сжимать; скупиться). So he had had the front of the building

remodeled, the stoop done away with and a slightly inclining walk put in its place. But of

course the elevator was still used for coffins and corpses.

In the rear of the building, cut off from the funeral parlor and reception rooms by a

massive soundproof (звуконепроницаемый) door, was the business office, the

embalming (to embalm [ım'bα:m] – бальзамировать; balm – бальзам) room, a

storeroom for coffins, and a carefully locked closet holding chemicals and the awful

tools of his trade. Bonasera went to the office, sat at his desk and lit up a Camel, one of

the few times he had ever smoked in this building. Then he waited for Don Corleone.

He waited with a feeling of the utmost despair. For he had no doubt as to what

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services he would be called upon to perform. For the last year the Corleone Family had

waged war against the five great Mafia Families of New York and the carnage had filled

the newspapers. Many men on both sides had been killed. Now the Corleone Family

had killed somebody so important that they wished to hide his body, make it disappear,

and what better way than to have it officially buried by a registered undertaker? And

Amerigo Bonasera had no illusions about the act he was to commit. He would be an

accessory to murder. If it came out, he would spend years in jail. His daughter and wife

would be disgraced, his good name, the respected name of Amerigo Bonasera,

dragged through the bloody mud of the Mafia war.

He indulged himself (позволил себе) by smoking another Camel. And then he

thought of something even more terrifying. When the other Mafia Families found out that

he had aided the Corleones they would treat him as an enemy. They would murder him.

And now he cursed the day he had gone to the Godfather and begged for his

vengeance. He cursed the day his wife and the wife of Don Corleone had become

friends. He cursed his daughter and America and his own success. And then his

optimism returned. It could all go well. Don Corleone was a clever man. Certainly

everything had been arranged to keep the secret. He had only to keep his nerve. For of

course the one thing more fatal than any other was to earn the Don's displeasure.

He heard tires on gravel. His practiced ear told him a car was coming through the

narrow driveway and parking in the back yard. He opened the rear door to let them in.

The huge fat man, Clemenza, entered, followed by two very rough-looking young

fellows. They searched the rooms without saying a word to Bonasera, then Clemenza

went out. The two young men remained with the undertaker.

A few moments later Bonasera recognized the sound of a heavy ambulance coming

through the narrow driveway. Then Clemenza appeared in the doorway followed by two

men carrying a stretcher (носилки; to stretch – растягивать/ся/, вытягивать/ся/). And

Amerigo Bonasera's worst fears were realized. On the stretcher was a corpse swaddled

(to swaddle – пеленать, свивать /младенца/) in a gray blanket but with bare yellow

feet sticking out the end.

Clemenza motioned the stretcher-bearers into the embalming room. And then from

the blackness of the yard another man stepped into the lighted office room. It was Don

Corleone.

The Don had lost weight during his illness and moved with a curious stiffness. He was

holding his hat in his hands and his hair seemed thin over his massive skull. He looked

older, more shrunken than when Bonasera had seen him at the wedding, but he still

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radiated power. Holding his hat against his chest, he said to Bonasera, "Well, old friend,

are you ready to do me this service?"

Bonasera nodded. The Don followed the stretcher into the embalming room and

Bonasera trailed after him. The corpse was on one of the guttered (gutter –

водосточный желоб, сточная канавка) tables. Don Corleone made a tiny gesture with

his hat and the other men left the room.

Bonasera whispered, "What do you wish me to do?"

Don Corleone was staring at the table. "I want you to use all your powers, all your skill,

as you love me," he said. "I do not wish his mother to see him as he is." He went to the

table and drew down the gray blanket. Amerigo Bonasera against all his will, against all

his years of training and experience, let out a gasp of horror. On the embalming table

was the bullet-smashed face of Sonny Corleone. The left eye drowned in blood had a

star fracture (трещина, излом, разрыв) in its lens (линза; хрусталик глаза). The

bridge of his nose and left cheekbone were hammered into pulp.

For one fraction of a second the Don put out his hand to support himself against

Bonasera's body. "See how they have massacred my son," he said.

Chapter 19

Perhaps it was the stalemate that made Sonny Corleone embark on the bloody

course of attrition (трение, изнашивание от трения; истощение, изнурение) that

ended in his own death. Perhaps it was his dark violent nature given full rein. In any

case, that spring and summer he mounted senseless raids on enemy auxiliaries

(auxiliary [o:g’zılj∂rı] – вспомогательный; помощник). Tattaglia Family pimps (pimp –

сводник, сутенер) were shot to death in Harlem, dock goons (goon – головорез,

наемный бандит) were massacred. Union officials who owed allegiance to the Five

Families were warned to stay neutral, and when the Corleone bookmakers and shylocks

were still barred from the docks, Sonny sent Clemenza and his regime to wreak (давать

выход, волю чувству [ri:k], to wreak vengeance upon one’s enemy – отомстить врагу)

havoc (опустошение, разрушение ['hжv∂k]) upon the long shore.

This slaughter was senseless because it could not affect the outcome of the war.

Sonny was a brilliant tactician and won his brilliant victories. But what was needed was

the strategical genius of Don Corleone. The whole thing degenerated into such a deadly

guerrilla war that both sides found themselves losing a great deal of revenue and lives

to no purpose. The Corleone Family was finally forced to close down some of its most

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profitable bookmaking stations, including the book given to son-in-law Carlo Rizzi for his

living. Carlo took to drink and running with chorus girls and giving his wife Connie a hard

time. Since his beating at the hands of Sonny he had not dared to hit his wife again but

he had not slept with her. Connie had thrown herself at his feet and he had spurned her,

as he thought, like a Roman, with exquisite patrician pleasure. He had sneered at her,

"Go call your brother and tell him I won't screw you, maybe he'll beat me up until I get a

hard on (эрекция)."

But he was in deadly fear of Sonny though they treated each other with cold

politeness. Carlo had the sense to realize that Sonny would kill him, that Sonny was a

man who could, with the naturalness of an animal, kill another man, while he himself

would have to call up all his courage, aIl his will, to commit murder. It never occurred to

Carlo that because of this he was a better man than Sonny Corleone, if such terms

could be used; he envied Sonny his awesome savagery, a savagery which was now

becoming a legend.

Tom Hagen, as the Consigliori, disapproved of Sonny's tactics and yet decided not to

protest to the Don simply because the tactics, to some extent, worked. The Five

Families seemed to be cowed (to cow – запугивать, усмирять), finally, as the attrition

went on, and their counterblows weakened and finally ceased altogether. Hagen at first

distrusted this seeming pacification of the enemy but Sonny was jubilant (ликующий,

торжествующий ['dGu:bıl∂nt]). "I'll pour it on," he told Hagen, "and then those bastards

will come begging for a deal."

Sonny was worried about other things. His wife was giving him a hard time because

the rumors had gotten to her that Lucy Mancini had bewitched her husband. And though

she joked publicly about her Sonny's equipment and technique, he had stayed away

from her too long and she missed him in her bed, and she was making life miserable for

him with her nagging.

In addition to this Sonny was under the enormous strain of being a marked man. He

had to be extraordinarily careful in all his movements and he knew that his visits to Lucy

Mancini had been charted by the enemy. But here he took elaborate precautions since

this was the traditional vulnerable spot. He was safe there. Though Lucy had not the

slightest suspicion, she was watched twenty-four hours a day by men of the Santino

regime and when an apartment became vacant on her floor it was immediately rented

by one of the most reliable men of that regime.

The Don was recovering and would soon be able to resume command. At that time

the tide of battle must swing to the Corleone Family. This Sonny was sure of.

Meanwhile he would guard his Family's empire, earn the respect of his father, and,

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since the position was not hereditary to an absolute degree, cement his claim as heir to

the Corleone Empire.

But the enemy was making its plans. They too had analyzed the situation and had

come to the conclusion that the only way to stave off (предотвратить, отсрочить

/бедствие/; stave – палка, шест) complete defeat was to kill Sonny Corleone. They

understood the situation better now and felt it was possible to negotiate with the Don,

known for his logical reasonableness. They had come to hate Sonny for his

bloodthirstiness, which they considered barbaric. Also not good business sense.