Английский язык с Крестным Отцом
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of my children. It is inconceivable (немыслимо, непредставимо) to me that you would
ever trick me or otherwise betray me. My whole world, all my faith in my judgment of
human character would collapse. Of course I have my own written records so that if
something should happen to me my heirs would know that you hold something in trust
for them. But I know that even if I were not here in this world to guard the interests of my
children, you would be faithful to their needs."
The president of the bank, though not Sicilian, was a man of tender sensibilities. He
understood the Don perfectly. Now the Godfather's request was the president's
command and so on a Saturday afternoon, the executive suite of the bank, the
conference room with its deep leather chairs, its absolute privacy, was made available
to the Families.
Security at the bank was taken over by a small army of handpicked (выбранный,
подобранный;
Saturday morning the conference room began to fill up. Besides the Five Families of
New York, there were representatives from ten other Families across the country, with
the exception of Chicago, that black sheep of their world. They had given up trying to
civilize Chicago, and they saw no point in including those mad dogs in this important
conference.
A bar had been set up and a small buffet. Each representative to the conference had
been allowed one aide (помощник, адъютант [eid]). Most of the Dons had brought their
Consiglioris as aides so there were comparatively few young men in the room. Tom
Hagen was one of those young men and the only one who was not Sicilian. He was an
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object of curiosity, a freak (каприз, причуда; уродец; человек или явление,
выходящее за рамки обычного).
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Hagen knew his manners. He did not speak, he did not smile. He waited on his boss,
Don Corleone, with all the respect of a favorite earl (граф /английский/ [:l]) waiting on
his king; bringing him a cold drink, lighting his cigar, positioning his ashtray; with respect
but no obsequiousness (подобострастие; obsequious [b’si:kwis] –
подобострастный).
Hagen was the only one in that room who knew the identity of the portraits hanging on
the dark paneled walls. They were mostly portraits of fabulous financial figures done in
rich oils. One was of Secretary of the Treasury Hamilton. Hagen could not help thinking
that Hamilton might have approved of this peace meeting being held in a banking
institution. Nothing was more calming, more conducive to pure reason, than the
atmosphere of money.
The arrival time had been staggered (to stagger –
регулировать часы работы) for between nine-thirty to ten A.M. Don Corleone, in a
sense the host since he had initiated the peace talks, had been the first to arrive; one of
his many virtues was punctuality. The next to arrive was Carlo Tramonti, who had made
the southern part of the United States his territory. He was an impressively handsome
middle-aged man, tall for a Sicilian, with a very deep sunburn, exquisitely tailored and
barbered. He did not look Italian, he looked more like one of those pictures in the
magazines of millionaire fishermen lolling (to loll – сидеть развалясь; стоять
/облокотясь/ в ленивой позе) on their yachts. The Tramonti Family earned its
livelihood from gambling, and no one meeting their Don would ever guess with what
ferocity he had won his empire.
Emigrating from Sicily as a small boy, he had settled in Florida and grown to manhood
there, employed by the American syndicate of Southern small-town politicians who
controlled gambling. These were very tough men backed up by very tough police
officials and they never suspected that they could be overthrown by such a greenhorn
(новичок, неопытный человек) immigrant. They were unprepared for his ferocity and
could not match it simply because the rewards being fought over were not, to their
minds, worth so much bloodshed. Tramonti won over the police with bigger shares of
the gross (общая масса [grus]); he exterminated those redneck (неотесанный
человек, деревенщина) hooligans who ran their operation with such a complete lack of
imagination. It was Tramonti who opened ties with Cuba and the Batista regime and
eventually poured money into the pleasure resorts of Havana gambling houses,
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whorehouses, to lure (завлекать, заманивать [lu]) gamblers from the American
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mainland. Tramonti was now a millionaire many times over and owned one of the most
luxurious hotels in Miami Beach.
When he came into the conference room followed by his aide, an equally sunburned
Consigliori, Tramonti embraced Don Corleone, made a face of sympathy to show he
sorrowed for the dead son.
Other Dons were arriving. They all knew each other, they had met over the years,