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The Sicilian :: Puzo Mario
Страница: 270 из 278"I have treated you with every courtesy this past year though you are a foreigner in my Sicily. And yet here in front of friends and in front of your fellow officers you have shown disrespect to my person. But I'm not the man to hold a grudge. I hope in the near future we can have dinner together and renew our friendship with a clearer understanding."
Five days later in broad daylight Inspector Federico Velardi was shot to death on the main boulevard of Palermo.
Two days later Michael was home. There was a family feast – his brother Fredo flew in from Vegas, there was Connie and her husband Carlo, there was Clemenza and his wife, Tom Hagen and his wife. They hugged and toasted Michael and commented on how well he looked. Nobody talked about his years of exile, nobody seemed to notice that the side of his face was caved in, nobody mentioned Sonny's death. It was a family homecoming party as if he had been away to college or on a long vacation. He was seated on his father's right. Finally he was safe.
The next morning he slept late, his first truly restful sleep since before he had fled the country. His mother had breakfast waiting and kissed him when he sat down at the table, an unusual sign of affection from her. She had done it only once before, when he had returned from the war.
When he finished eating he went to the library and found his father waiting for him. He was surprised that Tom Hagen was not there also and then realized that the Don wished to speak to him without any witnesses.
Don Corleone ceremoniously poured out two glasses of anisette and handed one to Michael. "To our partnership," the Don said.
Michael raised his glass. "Thank you," he said. "I have a lot to learn."
"Yes," Don Corleone said. "But we have plenty of time, and I'm here to teach you."
Michael said, "Don't you think we should clear up the Guiliano business first?"
The Don sat down heavily and wiped his mouth of the liqueur. "Yes," he said. "A sad business. I was hoping he would escape. His father and mother were my good friends."
Michael said, "I never really understood what the hell was happening, I never could get the sides right. You told me to trust Don Croce, but Guiliano hated him. I thought the Testament being held by you would keep them from killing Guiliano, but they killed him anyway. And now when we release the Testament to all the newspapers, they will have cut their own throats."
He saw his father looking at him coolly. "That is Sicily," the Don said. "There is always treachery within treachery.
Five days later in broad daylight Inspector Federico Velardi was shot to death on the main boulevard of Palermo.
Two days later Michael was home. There was a family feast – his brother Fredo flew in from Vegas, there was Connie and her husband Carlo, there was Clemenza and his wife, Tom Hagen and his wife. They hugged and toasted Michael and commented on how well he looked. Nobody talked about his years of exile, nobody seemed to notice that the side of his face was caved in, nobody mentioned Sonny's death. It was a family homecoming party as if he had been away to college or on a long vacation. He was seated on his father's right. Finally he was safe.
The next morning he slept late, his first truly restful sleep since before he had fled the country. His mother had breakfast waiting and kissed him when he sat down at the table, an unusual sign of affection from her. She had done it only once before, when he had returned from the war.
When he finished eating he went to the library and found his father waiting for him. He was surprised that Tom Hagen was not there also and then realized that the Don wished to speak to him without any witnesses.
Don Corleone ceremoniously poured out two glasses of anisette and handed one to Michael. "To our partnership," the Don said.
Michael raised his glass. "Thank you," he said. "I have a lot to learn."
"Yes," Don Corleone said. "But we have plenty of time, and I'm here to teach you."
Michael said, "Don't you think we should clear up the Guiliano business first?"
The Don sat down heavily and wiped his mouth of the liqueur. "Yes," he said. "A sad business. I was hoping he would escape. His father and mother were my good friends."
Michael said, "I never really understood what the hell was happening, I never could get the sides right. You told me to trust Don Croce, but Guiliano hated him. I thought the Testament being held by you would keep them from killing Guiliano, but they killed him anyway. And now when we release the Testament to all the newspapers, they will have cut their own throats."
He saw his father looking at him coolly. "That is Sicily," the Don said. "There is always treachery within treachery.