Английский язык с Крестным Отцом
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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?"
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Tessio shook his small, ferretlike head. "No," he said. "I didn't want to give you any
problems."
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"Good," Michael said. "Just sit tight. And I guess that's what I want to say to all of you,
Just sit tight. Don't react to any provocation. Give me a few weeks to straighten things