Английский язык с Крестным Отцом
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"Out fucking," she said.
She had misjudged his drunkenness. He sprang over the cocktail table and grabbed her by the throat. But close up to that magical face, the lovely violet eyes, he lost his anger and became helpless again. She made the mistake of smiling mockingly, saw his fist draw back. She screamed, "Johnny, not in the face, I'm making a picture."
She was laughing. He punched her in the stomach and she fell to the floor. He fell on top of her. He could smell her fragrant breath as she gasped for air. He punched her on the arms and on the thigh muscles of her silky tanned legs. He beat her as he had beaten snotty smaller kids long ago when he had been a tough teenager in New York's Hell's Kitchen. A painful punishment that would leave no lasting disfigurement of loosened teeth or broken nose.
But he was not hitting her hard enough. He couldn't. And she was giggling at him. Spread-eagled on the floor, her brocaded gown hitched up above her thighs, she taunted him between giggles. "Come on, stick it in. Stick it in, Johnny, that's what you really want."
Johnny Fontane got up. He hated the woman on the floor but her beauty was a magic shield. Margot rolled away, and in a dancer's spring was on her feet facing him. She went into a childish mocking dance and chanted, "Johnny never hurt me, Johnny never hurt me." Then almost sadly with grave beauty she said, "You poor silly bastard, giving me cramps like a kid. Ah, Johnny, you always will be a dumb romantic guinea, you even make love like a kid. You still think screwing is really like those dopey songs you used to sing." She shook her head and said, "Poor Johnny. Good-bye, Johnny." She walked into the bedroom and he heard her turn the key in the lock.
Johnny sat on the floor with his face in his hands. The sick, humiliating despair overwhelmed him. And then the gutter toughness that had helped him survive the jungle of Hollywood made him pick up the phone and call for a car to take him to the airport. There was one person who could save him. He would go back to New York. He would go back to the one man with the power, the wisdom, he needed and a love he still trusted. His Godfather Corleone.
The baker, Nazorine, pudgy (коротенький
Nazorine asked fiercely (гневно), "Have you dishonored (обесчестил) my family? Have you given my daughter a little package (сверточек) to remember you by now that the war is over (теперь, когда война закончилась) and you know America will kick your ass (пнет твой зад = выбросит тебя пинком под зад) back to your village full of shit (в твою деревню, полную дерьма [‘vilidG]) in Sicily?"
Enzo, a very short (низкорослый), strongly built boy («сильно сложенный» парень), put his hand over his heart and said almost in tears, yet cleverly (почти в слезах, но разумно), "Padrone, I swear by the Holy Virgin (клянусь Святой Девой) I have never taken advantage of your kindness (я никогда не злоупотреблял вашим великодушием; advantage [d’v:ntidG] – преимущество; выгода, польза; to take advantage of – обмануть, перехитрить кого-либо; воспользоваться чем-либо). I love your daughter with all respect. I ask for her hand with all respect. I know I have no right, but if they send me back to Italy I can never come back to America. I will never be able to marry Katherine."
Nazorine's wife, Filomena, spoke to the point (высказалась
Nazorine glanced at her shrewdly (взглянул на нее пронзительно, видящим насквозь взглядом; shrewd – пронизывающий; проницательный). She was a "hot number" (горячая штучка) this daughter of his. He had seen her brush her swelling buttocks (как она терлась своими пухлыми, набухающими ягодицами) against Enzo's front (о «перёд» Энцо) when the baker's helper squeezed (протиснулся) behind her to fill the counter baskets (чтобы наполнить корзины для расфасовки) with hot loaves from the oven (из печи [Lvn]). The young rascal's hot loaf would be in her oven (горячий хлебец этого негодяя окажется в ее печке), Nazorine thought lewdly (развязно, цинично; lewd – похотливый, непристойный; распутный), if proper steps were not taken (если не будут предприняты надлежащие шаги). Enzo must be kept in America and be made an American citizen (и сделан американским гражданином [‘sitizn]). And there was only one man who could arrange such an affair (уладить такое дело ['reindG]). The Godfather. Don Corleone.
The baker, Nazorine, pudgy and crusty as his great Italian loaves, still dusty with flour, scowled at his wife, his nubile daughter, Katherine, and his baker's helper, Enzo. Enzo had changed into his prisoner-of-war uniform with its green-lettered armband and was terrified that this scene would make him late reporting back to Governor's Island. One of the many thousands of Italian Army prisoners paroled daily to work in the American economy, he lived in constant fear of that parole being revoked. And so the little comedy being played now was, for him, a serious business.
Nazorine asked fiercely, "Have you dishonored my family? Have you given my daughter a little package to remember you by now that the war is over and you know America will kick your ass back to your village full of shit in Sicily?"
Enzo, a very short, strongly built boy, put his hand over his heart and said almost in tears, yet cleverly, "Padrone, I swear by the Holy Virgin I have never taken advantage of your kindness. I love your daughter with all respect. I ask for her hand with all respect. I know I have no right, but if they send me back to Italy I can never come back to America. I will never be able to marry Katherine."
Nazorine's wife, Filomena, spoke to the point. "Stop all this foolishness," she said to her pudgy husband. "You know what you must do. Keep Enzo here, send him to hide with our cousins in Long Island." Katherine was weeping. She was already plump, homely and sprouting a faint moustache. She would never get a husband as handsome as Enzo, never find another man who touched her body in secret places with such respectful love. "I'll go and live in Italy," she screamed at her father. "I'll run away if you don't keep Enzo here."
Nazorine glanced at her shrewdly. She was a "hot number" this daughter of his. He had seen her brush her swelling buttocks against Enzo's front when the baker's helper squeezed behind her to fill the counter baskets with hot loaves from the oven. The young rascal's hot loaf would be in her oven, Nazorine thought lewdly, if proper steps were not taken. Enzo must be kept in America and be made an American citizen. And there was only one man who could arrange such an affair. The Godfather. Don Corleone.