Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

doctor.

With a great effort the Don opened his eyes to see his son once more. The massive

heart attack had turned his ruddy face almost blue. He was in extremis. He smelled the

garden, the yellow shield of light smote his eyes, and he whispered, "Life is so

beautiful."

He was spared the sight of his women's tears, dying before they came back from

church, dying before the ambulance arrived, or the doctor. He died surrounded by men,

holding the hand of the son he had most loved.

The funeral was royal. The Five Families sent their Dons and caporegimes , as did the

Tessio and Clemenza Families. Johnny Fontane made the tabloid headlines by

attending the funeral despite the advice of Michael not to appear. Fontane gave a

statement to the newspapers that Vito Corleone was his Godfather and the finest man

he had ever known and that he was honored to be permitted to pay his last respects to

such a man and didn't give a damn who knew it.

The wake was held in the house of the mall, in the old-fashioned style. Amerigo

Bonasera had never done finer work, had discharged all obligations, by preparing his

old friend and Godfather as lovingly as a mother prepares a bride for her wedding.

Everyone commented on how not even death itself had been able to erase the nobility

and the dignity of the great Don's countenance and such remarks made Amerigo

Bonasera fill with knowing pride, a curious sense of power. Only he knew what a terrible

massacre death had perpetrated on the Don's appearance.

All the old friends and servitors came. Nazorine, his wife, his daughter and her

husband and their children, Lucy Mancini came with Freddie from Las Vegas. Tom

Hagen and his wife and children, the Dons from San Francisco and Los Angeles,

Boston and Cleveland. Rocco Lampone and Albert Neri were pallbearers with

Clemenza and Tessio and, of course, the sons of the Don. The mall and all its houses

were filled with floral wreaths.

Outside the gates of the mall were the newspapermen and photographers and a small

truck that was known to contain FBI men with their movie cameras recording this epic.

Some newspapersmen who tried to crash the funeral inside found that the gate and

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fence were manned with security guard who demanded identification and an invitation

card. And though they were treated with the utmost courtesy, refreshment sent out to

them, they were not permitted inside. They tried to speak with some of the people

coming out but were met with stony stares and not a syllable.

Michael Corleone spent most of the day in the corner library room with Kay, Tom

Hagen and Freddie. People were ushered in to see him, to offer their condolences.

Michael received them with all courtesy even when some of them addressed him as

Godfather or Don Michael, only Kay noticing his lips tighten with displeasure.

Clemenza and Tessio came to join this inner circle and Michael personally served

them with a drink. There was some gossip of business. Michael informed them that the

mall and all its houses were to be sold to a development and construction company. At

an enormous profit, still another proof of the great Don's genius.

They all understood that now the whole empire would be in the West. That the

Corleone Family would liquidate its power in New York. Such action had been awaiting

the retirement or death of the Don.

It was nearly ten years since there had been such a celebration of people in this

house, nearly ten years since the wedding of Constanzia Corleone and Carlo Rizzi, so

somebody said. Michael walked to the window that looked out on the garden. That long

time ago he had sat in the garden with Kay never dreaming that so curious a destiny

was to be his. And his father dying had said, "Life is so beautiful." Michael could never

remember his father ever having uttered a word about death, as if the Don respected

death too much to philosophize about it.

It was time for the cemetery. It was time to bury the great Don. Michael linked his arm

with Kay's and went out into the garden to join the host of mourners. Behind him came

the caporegimes followed by their soldiers and then all the humble people the Godfather

had blessed during his lifetime. The baker Nazorine, the widow Colombo and her sons

and all the countless others of his world he had ruled so firmly but justly. There were

even some who had been his enemies, come to do him honor.

Michael observed all this with a tight, polite smile. He was not impressed. Yet, he

thought, if I can die saying, "Life is so beautiful," then nothing else is important. If I can

believe in myself that much, nothing else matters. He would follow his father. He would

care for his children, his family, his world. But his children would grow in a different

world. They would be doctors, artists, scientists. Governors. Presidents. Anything at all.

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He would see to it that they joined the general family of humanity, but he, as a powerful

and prudent parent would most certainly keep a wary eye on that general family.

On the morning after the funeral, all the most important officials of the Corleone

Family assembled on the mall. Shortly before noon they were admitted into the empty

house of the Don. Michael Corleone received them.

They almost filled the corner library room. There were the two caporegimes ,

Clemenza and Tessio; Rocco Lampone, with his reasonable, competent air; Carlo Rizzi,

very quiet, very much knowing his place; Tom Hagen forsaking his strictly legal role to

rally around in this crisis; Albert Neri trying to stay physically close to Michael, lighting

his new Don's cigarette, mixing his drink, all to show an unswerving loyalty despite the

recent disaster to the Corleone Family.

The death of the Don was a great misfortune for the Family. Without him it seemed

that half their strength was gone and almost all their bargaining power against the

Barzini-Tattaglia alliance. Everyone in the room knew this and they waited for what

Michael would say. In their eyes he was not yet the new Don; he had not earned the

position or the title. If the Godfather had lived, he might have assured his son's

succession; now it was by no means certain.

Michael waited until Neri had served drinks. Then he said quietly, "I just want to tell

everybody here that I understand how they feel. I know you all respected my father, but

now you have to worry about yourselves and your families. Some of you wonder how

what happened is going to affect the planning we've done and the promises I made.

Well, the answer to that is: nothing. Everything goes on as before."

Clemenza shook his great shaggy buffalo head. His hair was so iron gray and his

features, more deeply embedded in added layers of fat, were unpleasant. "The Barzinis

and Tattaglias are going to move in on us real hard, Mike. You gotta fight or have a 'sit-

down' with them." Everyone in the room noticed that Clemenza had not used a formal

form of address to Michael, much less the title of Don.

"Let's wait and see what happens," Michael said. "Let them break the peace first."

Tessio spoke up in his soft voice. "They already have, Mike. They opened up two

'books' in Brooklyn this morning. I got the word from the police captain who runs the

protection list at the station house. In a month I won't have a place to hang my hat in all

Brooklyn."

Michael stared at him thoughtfully. "Have you done anything about it?"

Tessio shook his small, ferretlike head. "No," he said. "I didn't want to give you any