The Godfather / Крестный отец

“I went to the police like a good American. The two boys were arrested. They were brought to trial. The evidence was overwhelming and they pleaded guilty.[34] The judge sentenced them to three years in prison and suspended the sentence. They went free that very day. I stood in the courtroom like a fool and those bastards smiled at me. And then I said to my wife: ‘We must go to Don Corleone for justice.’”

The Don had bowed his head to show respect for the man’s grief. But when he spoke, the words were cold. “Why did you go to the police? Why didn’t you come to me at the beginning of this afaf ir?”

Bonasera muttered, “What do you want of me? Tell me what you wish. But do what I beg you to do.”

Don Corleone said gravely, “And what is that?”

Bonasera hesitated, then bent down and put his lips so close to the Don’s ear that they touched. Don Corleone listened like a priest in the confessional. They stood so for a long moment until Bonasera finished whispering and straightened to his full height. The Don looked up gravely at Bonasera.

Finally the Don spoke. “That I cannot do. You are being carried away.[35]”

Bonasera said loudly, clearly, “I will pay you anything you ask.”

Don Corleone rose from behind the desk. His face was still impassive. “We have known each other many years, you and I,” he said to the undertaker, “but until this day you never came to me for counsel or help. I can’t remember the last time you invited me to your house for coffee though my wife is godmother to your only child. Let us be frank. You rejected my friendship. You feared to be in my debt.”

Bonasera murmured, “I didn’t want to get into trouble.”

The Don held up his hand. “No. Don’t speak. You found America a paradise. You had a good trade, you made a good living, you thought the world a harmless place where you could take your pleasure as you willed. You never armed yourself with true friends. After all, the police guarded you. You did not need Don Corleone. Very well. But now you come to me and say, ‘Don Corleone give me justice.’ And you do not ask with respect. You do not offer me your friendship. You come into my home on the bridal day of my daughter and you ask me to do murder and you say ‘I will pay you anything.’ No, no, I am not offended, but what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?”

The irony with which all this was said, the controlled anger of the Don depressed the undertaker, but he spoke up bravely again. “I ask you for justice.”

Don Corleone said shortly, “The court gave you justice.”

Bonasera shook his head stubbornly. “No. They gave the youths justice. Now I want an eye for an eye. Let them suffer as she suffers.” The Don waited for him to speak further. Bonasera said, “How much shall I pay you?”

Finally, a good-hearted man who cannot remain angry with an erring friend, Don Corleone turned to the undertaker. “If you had come to me for justice those scum who ruined your daughter would be weeping bitter tears this day.”

Bonasera bowed his head and murmured, “Be my friend. I accept.”

Don Corleone put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Good,” he said, “you shall have your justice. Some day, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do me a service in return. Until that day, consider this justice a gift from my wife, your daughter’s godmother.”

When the door closed behind the grateful undertaker, Don Corleone turned to Hagen and said, “Give this afaf ir to Clemenza and tell him to be sure to use reliable people, people who will not be carried away by the smell of blood. After all, we’re not murderers.”

From the garden, there came a happy shout. Sonny Corleone pressed close to the window. “It’s Johnny, he came to the wedding, what did I tell you?” Hagen moved to the window. “It’s really your godson,” he said to Don Corleone. “Shall I bring him here?”

“No,” the Don said. “Let the people enjoy him. Let him come to me when he is ready.” He smiled at Hagen. “You see? He is a good godson.”

Hagen felt jealous. He said dryly, “It’s been two years. He’s probably in trouble again and wants you to help.”

“And who should he come to if not his godfather?” asked Don Corleone.

The first one to see Johnny Fontane enter the garden was Connie Corleone. He hugged and kissed her keeping his arm around her as others came up to greet him. They were all his old friends, people he had grown up with. Then Connie was dragging him to her new husband. Johnny saw that the blond young man looked a little sour at no longer being the star of the day.

A familiar voice called from the bandstand, “How about giving us a song, Johnny?” He looked up and saw Nino Valenti smiling down at him. Johnny Fontane jumped up on the bandstand and threw his arms around Nino. They had been inseparable, singing together, going out with girls together, until Johnny had started to become famous and sing on the radio. When he had gone to Hollywood to make movies Johnny had phoned Nino a couple of times just to talk and had promised to get him a club singing date. But he had never done so. Seeing Nino now, his cheerful, drunken grin, all the affection returned.

Nino began playing on the mandolin. Johnny Fontane put his hand on Nino’s shoulder. “This is for the bride,” he said and sang the words to an obscene Sicilian love song. At the end the guests would not stop applauding until Johnny cleared his throat to sing another song.

They were all proud of him. He was of them and he had become a famous singer, a movie star who slept with the most desired women in the world. And yet he had shown proper respect for his Godfather by traveling three thousand miles to attend this wedding.

Only Don Corleone, standing in the corner entrance of the house, sensed something amiss. Cheerily, he called out, “My godson has come three thousand miles to do us honor and no one thinks to wet his throat?” At once a dozen full wineglasses were thrust at Johnny Fontane. He took a sip from all and rushed to embrace his Godfather. As he did so he whispered something into the older man’s ear. Don Corleone led him into the house.

Tom Hagen held out his hand when Johnny came into the room. Johnny shook it and said, “How are you, Tom?” But without his usual charm and Hagen was a little hurt by this coolness. Johnny Fontane said to the Don, “When I got the wedding invitation I said to myself, ‘My Godfather isn’t mad at me anymore.’ I called you five times after my divorce and Tom always told me you were out or busy so I knew you were sore.”

Don Corleone was filling glasses from the yellow bottle of Strega. “That’s all forgotten. Now. Can I do something for you still? You’re not too famous, too rich, that I can’t help you?”

Johnny drank the yellow liquid and held out his glass to be refilled. He tried to sound jaunty. “I’m not rich,

Godfather. I’m going down. You were right. I should never have left my wife and kids for that tramp[36] I married. I don’t blame you for getting sore at me.”

Don Corleone broke in. “How is your family?”

Johnny sighed. “I took care of them. After the divorce I gave Ginny and the kids more than the courts said I should. I go see them once a week. I miss them. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy.” He took another drink. “Now my second wife laughs at me. She calls me an old-fashioned guinea, she makes fun of my singing.” He lit a cigarette. “So, Godfather, right now, life doesn’t seem worth living.”

Don Corleone said simply. “These are troubles I can’t help you with.” He paused, then asked, “What’s the matter with your voice?”

All the charm disappeared from Johnny Fontane’s face. He said, “Godfather, I can’t sing anymore, something happened to my throat, the doctors don’t know what.” Hagen and the Don looked at him with surprise. Fontane went on. “My two pictures made a lot of money. I was a big star. Now they throw me out. The head of the studio always hated my guts and now he’s paying me off.[37]”

Don Corleone stood before his godson and asked grimly, “Why doesn’t this man like you?”

“I used to sing those songs for the liberal organizations, you know, all that stuff you never liked me to do. Well, Jack Woltz didn’t like it either. He called me a Communist. Then I snatched a girl he had saved for himself. Then my whore second wife throws me out. And Ginny and the kids won’t take me back unless I come crawling on my hands and knees[38], and I can’t sing anymore. Godfather, what the hell can I do?”

Don Corleone’s face had become cold without any sympathy. He said contemptuously, “You can start by acting like a man.” Suddenly anger changed his face. He shouted, “LIKE A MAN!” He reached over the desk and grabbed Johnny Fontane by the hair of his head. “By Christ in heaven, is it possible that you spent so much time in my presence and turned out no better than this? A Hollywood finocchio[39] who weeps and begs for pity? Who cries out like a woman – ‘What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?’”

Don Corleone went on. “You took the woman of your boss, a man more powerful than yourself, then you complain he won’t help you. What nonsense. You left your family, your children without a father, to marry a whore and you weep because they don’t welcome you back with open arms. You lived like a fool and you have come to a fool’s end.”

“Now tell me the trouble you’re having with this Hollywood pezzonovante[40] who won’t let you work.” The Don was getting down to business.

“He’s bigger than one of your pezzonovantes,” Johnny said. “He owns the studio. Just a month ago he bought the movie rights to the biggest novel of the year. A best seller. And the main character is a guy just like me. I wouldn’t even have to act, just be myself. I wouldn’t even have to sing. I might even win the Academy Award. Everybody knows it’s perfect for me and I’d be big again. As an actor. But that bastard Jack Woltz is paying me of,f he won’t give it to me. I offered to do it for nothing, for a minimum price and he still says no. He sent the word that if I come and kiss his ass in the studio, maybe he’ll think about it.”

Don Corleone dismissed this emotional nonsense with a wave of his hand. He patted his godson on the shoulder. “You’re discouraged. Nobody cares about you, so you think. And you’ve lost a lot of weight. You drink a lot, eh? You don’t sleep and you take pills?” He shook his head disapprovingly.

“Now I want you to follow my orders,” the Don said. “I want you to stay in my house for one month. I want you to eat well, to rest and sleep. I want you to be my companion, I enjoy your company, and maybe you can learn something about the world from your Godfather that might even help you in the great Hollywood. But no singing, no drinking and no women. At the end of the month you can go back to Hollywood and this pezzonovante will give you that job you want. Done?”

Johnny Fontane could not altogether believe that the Don had such power. “This guy is a personal friend of J. Edgar Hoover[41],” Johnny said.

“He’s a businessman,” the Don said. “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“It’s too late,” Johnny said. “All the contracts have been signed and they start shooting in a week. It’s absolutely impossible.”

Don Corleone said, “Go, go back to the party. Your friends are waiting for you. Leave everything to me.” He pushed Johnny Fontane out of the room.

Hagen sat behind the desk and made notes. The Don sighed and asked, “Is there anything else?”

“Sollozzo can’t be put off any more. You’ll have to see him this week.” The Don shrugged. “Now that the wedding is over, whenever you like.”

Hagen said cautiously, “Shall I tell Clemenza to have his men come live in the house?”

The Don said impatiently, “For what? I didn’t answer before the wedding because on an important day like that there should be no cloud, not even in the distance. Also I wanted to know beforehand what he wanted to talk about. We know now. What he will propose is an infamita[42].”

Hagen asked, “Then you will refuse?” When the Don nodded, Hagen said, “I think we should all discuss it – the whole Family – before you give your answer.”

The Don smiled. “You think so? Good, we will discuss it. When you come back from California. I want you to fly there tomorrow and settle this business[43] for Johnny. See that movie pezzonovante. Tell Sollozzo I will see him when you get back from California. Is there anything else?”

Hagen said, “The hospital called. Consigliere Abbandando is dying, he won’t last out the night. His family was told to come and wait.”

Hagen had filled the Consigliere’s post for the past year, ever since the cancer had put Genco Abbandando in his hospital bed. Now he waited to hear Don Corleone say the post was his permanently. But so high a position was traditionally given only to a man with two Italian parents. Also, he was only thirty-five, not old enough to have the necessary experience and cunning for a successful Consigliere.

But the Don gave him no encouragement. Then Hagen remarked, “Your new son-in-law. Do we give him something important, inside the Family?”

He was surprised at the anger of the Don’s answer. “Never.” The Don hit the desk with the flat of his hand.

“Never. Give him something to earn his living, a good living. But never let him know the Family’s business.”

The Don paused. “Instruct my sons, all three of them, that they will accompany me to the hospital to see poor Genco. I want them to pay their last respects. Tell Freddie to drive the big car and ask Johnny if he will come with us, as a special favor to me.” He saw Hagen look at him questioningly. “I want you to go to California tonight. You won’t have time to go see Genco. But don’t leave until I come back from the hospital and speak with you. Understood?”

When Johnny Fontane appeared in the garden, Kay Adams recognized him immediately. She was truly surprised. “You never told me your family knew Johnny Fontane,” she said. “Now I’m sure I’ll marry you.”

“Do you want to meet him?” Michael asked.

“Not now,” Kay said. She sighed. “I was in love with him for three years. I used to come down to New York whenever he sang at the Capitol. He was so wonderful.”

“We’ll meet him later,” Michael said. When Johnny finished singing and went into the house with Don Corleone, Kay said to Michael, “Don’t tell me a big movie star like Johnny Fontane has to ask your father for a favor?”

“He’s my father’s godson,” Michael said. “And if it wasn’t for my father he might not be a big movie star today.”

Kay Adams laughed with delight. “That sounds like another great story.”

Michael shook his head. “I can’t tell that one,” he said.

“Trust me,” she said.

The story was quickly told. Eight years ago Johnny Fontane had made an extraordinary success singing with a popular dance band. He had become a top radio attraction. Unfortunately the band leader, a well-known show business personality named Les Halley, had signed Johnny to a five-year personal contract. It was a common show business practice. Les Halley could now pocket most of the money.

The next day Don Corleone went to see the band leader personally. He brought with him his two best friends, Genco Abbandando, who was his Consigliere, and Luca Brasi. With no other witnesses Don Corleone persuaded Les Halley to sign a document giving up all rights to all services from Johnny Fontane upon payment of a certified check to the amount of ten thousand dollars. Don Corleone did this by putting a pistol to the forehead of the band leader and telling him with the utmost seriousness that either his signature or his brains would rest on that document in exactly one minute. Les Halley signed. Don Corleone pocketed his pistol and handed over the certified check.

The rest was history. Johnny Fontane went on to become the greatest singing sensation in the country. He made Hollywood musicals that earned a fortune for his studio. His records made millions of dollars. Then he divorced his childhood-sweetheart wife and left his two children, to marry the most glamorous blond star in motion pictures. He soon learned that she was a “whore”. He drank, he gambled, he loved other women. He lost his singing voice. His records stopped selling. The studio did not renew his contract. And so now he had come back to his Godfather.

Notes