Английский язык с Крестным Отцом
Шрифт:
After that he sat at the desk and puffed at his cigar. There was whiskey on a side
table but he had made some sort of promise to himself and Hagen that he wouldn't
drink. He shouldn't even be smoking. It was foolish; whatever was wrong with his voice
probably wouldn't be helped by knocking off drinking and smoking. Not too much, but
what the hell, it might help and he wanted all the percentages with him, now that he had
a fighting chance.
Now with the house quiet, his divorced wife sleeping, his beloved daughters sleeping,
he could think back to that terrible time in his life when he had deserted them. Deserted
them for a whore tramp of a bitch who was his second wife. But even now he smiled at
the thought of her, she was such a lovely broad in so many ways and, besides, the only
thing that saved his life was the day that he had made up his mind never to hate a
woman or, more specifically, the day he had decided he could not afford to hate his first
wife and his daughters, his girl friends, his second wife, and the girl friends after that,
right up to Sharon Moore brushing him off so that she could brag about refusing to
screw for the great Johnny Fontane.
He had traveled with the band singing and then he had become a radio star and a star
of the movie stage shows and then he had finally made it in the movies. And in all that
time he had lived the way he wanted to, screwed the women he wanted to, but he had
never let it affect his personal life. Then he had fallen for his soon to be second wife,
Margot Ashton; he had gone absolutely crazy for her. His career had gone to hell, his
voice had gone to hell, his family life had gone to hell. And there had come the day
when he was left without anything.
The thing was, he had always been generous and fair. He had given his first wife
everything he owned when he divorced her. He had made sure his two daughters would
get a piece of everything he made, every record, every movie, every club date. And
when he had been rich and famous he had refused his first wife nothing. He had helped
out all her brothers and sisters, her father and mother, the girl friends she had gone to
school with and their families. He had never been a stuck-up (высокомерный,
заносчивый,
younger sisters, something he hated to do. He had never refused her anything except
the complete surrender of his own personality.
And then when he had touched bottom, when he could no longer get movie work,
21
when he could no longer sing, when his second wife had betrayed him, he had gone to
spend a few days with Ginny and his daughters. He had more or less flung himself on
her mercy (сдался
heard one of his recordings and he had sounded so terrible that he accused the sound
technicians of sabotaging the record. Until finally he had become convinced that that
was what his voice really sounded like. He had smashed the master record and refused
to sing anymore. He was so ashamed that he had not sung a note except with Nino at
Connie Corleone's wedding.
He had never forgotten the look on Ginny's face when she found out about all his
misfortunes. It had passed over her face only for a second but that was enough for him
never to forget it. It was a look of savage and joyful satisfaction. It was a look that could
only make him believe that she had contemptuously hated him all these years. She
quickly recovered and offered him cool but polite sympathy. He had pretended to accept
it. During the next few days he had gone to see three of the girls he had liked the most
over the years, girls he had remained friends with and sometimes still slept with in a
comradely way, girls that he had done everything in his power to help, girls to whom he
had given the equivalent of hundreds of thousands of dollars in gifts or job opportunities.
On their faces he had caught that same fleeting (to fleet – быстро двигаться,
проходить; скользить по поверхности) look of savage satisfaction.
It was during that time that he knew he had to make a decision. He could become like
a great many other men in Hollywood, successful producers, writers, directors, actors,
who preyed (to prey – охотиться; prey – добыча) on beautiful women with lustful
hatred. He could use power and monetary favors grudgingly, always alert for treason,
always believing that women would betray and desert him, adversaries to be bested
(противники, над которыми нужно взять верх, которых надо перехитрить). Or he
could refuse to hate women and continue to believe in them.
He knew he could not afford not to love them, that something of his spirit would die if
he did not continue to love women no matter how treacherous and unfaithful they were.
It didn't matter that the women he loved most in the world were secretly glad to see him
crushed, humiliated, by a wayward (своенравный, капризный, несговорчивый) fortune;
it did not matter that in the most awful way, not sexually, they had been unfaithful to him.