Английский язык с Крестным Отцом
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leaned toward Johnny Fontane, his voice still calm, unemotional. "Your friend is almost
terminal. Do you understand that? He hasn't got a chance without therapy and strict
medical care. His blood pressure and diabetes and bad habits can cause a cerebral
hemorrhage in this very next instant. His brain will blow itself apart. Is that vivid enough
for you? Sure, I said crazy house. I want you to understand what's needed. Or you won't
make a move. I'll put it to you straight. You can save your buddy's life by having him
committed. Otherwise kiss him good-bye."
Lucy murmured, "Jules, darling, Jules, don't be so tough. Just tell him."
Jules stood up. His usual cool was gone, Johnny Fontane noticed with satisfaction.
His voice too had lost its quiet unaccented monotone.
"Do you think this is the first time I've had to talk to people like you in a situation like
this?" Jules said. "I did it every day. Lucy says don't be so tough, but she doesn't know
what she's talking about. You know, I used to tell people, 'Don't eat so much or you'll die,
don't smoke so much or you'll die, don't work so much or you'll die, don't drink so much
or you'll die.' Nobody listens. You know why? Because I don't say, 'You will die
tomorrow.' Well, I can tell you that Nino may very well die tomorrow."
Jules went over to the bar and mixed himself another drink. "How about it, Johnny,
are you going to get Nino committed?"
Johnny said, "I don't know."
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Jules took a quick drink at the bar and filled his glass again. "You know, it's a funny
thing, you can smoke yourself to death, drink yourself to death, work yourself to death
and even eat yourself to death. But that's all acceptable. The only thing you can't do
medically is screw yourself to death and yet that's where they put all the obstacles." He
paused to finish his drink. "But even that's trouble, for women anyway. I used to have
women who weren't supposed to have any more babies. 'It's dangerous,' I'd tell them.
'You could die,' I'd tell them. And a month later they pop in, their faces all rosy, and say,
'Doctor, I think I'm pregnant,' and sure enough they'd kill the rabbit. 'But it's dangerous,'
I'd tell them. My voice used to have expression in those days. And they'd smile at me
and say, 'But my husband and I are very strict Catholics,' they'd say."
There was a knock on the door and two waiters wheeled in a cart covered with food
and silver service coffeepots. They took a portable table from the bottom of the cart and
set it up. Then Johnny dismissed them.
They sat at the table and ate the hot sandwiches Lucy had ordered and drank the
coffee. Johnny leaned back and lit up a cigarette. "So you save lives. How come you
became an abortionist?"
Lucy spoke up for the first time. "He wanted to help girls in trouble, girls who might
commit suicide or do something dangerous to get rid of the baby."
Jules smiled at her and sighed. "It's not that simple. I became a surgeon finally. I've
got the good hands, as ballplayers say. But I was so good I scared myself silly. I'd open
up some poor bastard's belly and know he was going to die. I'd operate and know that
the cancer or tumor would come back but I'd send them off home with a smile and a lot
of bullshit. Some poor broad comes in and I slice off one tit. A year later she's back and
I slice off the other tit. A year after that, I scoop out her insides like you scoop the seeds
out of a cantaloupe. After all that she dies anyway. Meanwhile husbands keep calling up
and asking, 'What do the tests show? What do the tests show?'
"So I hired an extra secretary to take all those calls. I saw the patient only when she
was fully prepared for examination, tests or operation. I spent the minimum possible
time with the victim because I was, after all, a busy man. And then finally I'd let the
husband talk to me for two minutes. 'It's terminal,' I'd say. And they could never hear
that last word. They understood what it meant but they never heard it. I thought at first
that unconsciously I was dropping my voice on the last word, so I consciously said it
louder. But still they never heard it. One guy even said, 'What the hell do you mean, it's
germinal?'" Jules started to laugh. "Germinal, terminal, what the hell. I started to do
abortions. Nice and easy, everybody happy, like washing the dishes and leaving a clean
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sink. That was my class. I loved it, I loved being an abortionist. I don't believe that a
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two-month fetus is a human being so no problems there. I was helping young girls and
married women who were in trouble, I was making good money. I was out of the front
lines. When I got caught I felt like a deserter that had been hauled in. But I was lucky, a
friend pulled some strings and got me off but now the big hospitals won't let me operate.