Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

the communal table with bright girlish charm. Don Tommasino dined with them every

night and Dr. Taza told all his old stories as they drank wine in the garden full of statues

garlanded with blood-red flowers, and so the evenings passed pleasantly enough. At

night in their bedroom the newly married couple spent hours of feverish lovemaking.

Michael could not get enough of Apollonia's beautifully sculpted body, her honey-

colored skin, her huge brown eyes glowing with passion. She had a wonderfully fresh

smell, a fleshly smell perfumed by her sex yet almost sweet and unbearably

aphrodisiacal. Her virginal passion matched his nuptial lust and often it was dawn when

they fell into an exhausted slumber. Sometimes, spent but not yet ready for sleep,

Michael sat on the window ledge (на подоконнике; ledge – планка, рейка; выступ)

and stared at Apollonia's naked body while she slept. Her face too was lovely in repose,

a perfect face he had seen before only in art books of painted Italian Madonnas who by

no stretch (напряжение) of the artist's skill could be thought virginal.

In the first week of their marriage they went on picnics and small trips in the Alfa

Romeo. But then Don Tommasino took Michael aside and explained that the marriage

had made his presence and identity common knowledge in that part of Sicily and

precautions had to be taken against the enemies of the Corleone Family, whose long

arms also stretched to this island refuge. Don Tommasino put armed guards around his

villa and the two shepherds, Calo and Fabrizzio, were fixtures (прикрепление; лицо,

прочно обосновавшееся в каком-либо месте) inside the walls. So Michael and his

wife had to remain on the villa grounds. Michael passed the time by teaching Apollonia

to read and write English and to drive the car along the inner walls of the villa. About

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this time Don Tommasino seemed to be preoccupied and poor company. He was still

having trouble with the new Mafia in the town of Palermo, Dr. Taza said.

One night in the garden an old village woman who worked in the house as a servant

brought a dish of fresh olives and then turned to Michael and said, "Is it true what

everybody is saying that you are the son of Don Corleone in New York City, the

Godfather?"

Michael saw Don Tommasino shaking his head in disgust at the general knowledge of

their secret. But the old crone (старуха, старая карга) was looking at him in so

concerned a fashion, as if it was important for her to know the truth, that Michael

nodded. "Do you know my father?" he asked.

The woman's name was Filomena and her face was as wrinkled and brown as a

walnut, her brown-stained teeth showing through the shell of her flesh. For the first time

since he had been in the villa she smiled at him. "The Godfather saved my life once,"

she said, "and my brains too." She made a gesture toward her head.

She obviously wanted to say something else so Michael smiled to encourage her. She

asked almost fearfully, "Is it true that Luca Brasi is dead?"

Michael nodded again and was surprised at the look of release on the old woman's

face. Filomena crossed herself and said, "God forgive me, but may his soul roast in hell

for eternity."

Michael remembered his old curiosity about Brasi, and had the sudden intuition that

this woman knew the story Hagen and Sonny had refused to tell him. He poured the

woman a glass of wine and made her sit down. "Tell me about my father and Luca

Brasi," he said gently. "I know some of it, but how did they become friends and why was

Brasi so devoted to my father? Don't be afraid, come tell me."

Filomena's wrinkled face, her raisin-black (raisin [reızn] – изюм) eyes, turned to Don

Tommasino, who in some way signaled his permission. And so Filomena passed the

evening for them by telling her story.

Thirty years before, Filnmena had been a midwife in New York City, on Tenth Avenue,

servicing the Italian colony. The women were always pregnant and she prospered. She

taught doctors a few things when they tried to interfere in a difficult birth. Her husband

was then a prosperous grocery store owner, dead now poor soul, she blessed him,

though he had been a card player and wencher (бабник; wench – девушка, молодая

женщина /шутл./) who never thought to put aside for hard times. In any event one

cursed night thirty years ago when all honest people were long in their beds, there came

a knocking on Filomena's door. She was by no means frightened, it was the quiet hour

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babes prudently chose to enter safely into this sinful world, and so she dressed and

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opened the door. Outside it was Luca Brasi whose reputation even then was fearsome.

It was known also that he was a bachelor. And so Filomena was immediately frightened.

She thought he had come to do her husband harm, that perhaps her husband had

foolishly refused Brasi some small favor.

But Brasi had come on the usual errand. He told Filomena that there was a woman

about to give birth, that the house was out of the neighborhood some distance away

and that she was to come with him. Filomena immediately sensed something amiss.

Brasi's brutal face looked almost like that of a madman that night, he was obviously in

the grip of some demon. She tried to protest that she attended only women whose

history she knew but he shoved a bandful of green dollars in her hand and ordered her

roughly to come along with him. She was too frightened to refuse.

In the street was a Ford, its driver of the same feather as Luca Brasi. The drive was

no more than thirty minutes to a small frame house in Long Island City right over the

bridge. A two-family house but obviously now tenanted only by Brasi and his gang. For

there were some other ruffians in the kitchen playing cards and drinking. Brasi took

Filomena up the stairs to a bedroom. In the bed was a young pretty girl who looked Irish,

her face painted, her hair red; and with a belly swollen like a sow. The poor girl was so

frightened. When she saw Brasi she turned her head away in terror, yes terror, and

indeed the look of hatred on Brasi's evil face was the most frightening thing she had

ever seen in her life. (Here Filomena crossed herself again.)

To make a long story short, Brasi left the room. Two of his men assisted the midwife

and the baby was born, the mother was exhausted and went into a deep sleep. Brasi

was summoned and Filomena, who had wrapped the newborn child in an extra blanket,

extended the bundle to him and said, "If you're the father, take her. My work is finished."

Brasi glared at her, malevolent, insanity stamped on his face. "Yes, I'm the father," he

said. "But I don't want any of that race to live. Take it down to the basement and throw it

into the furnace."

For a moment Filomena thought she had not understood him properly. She was

puzzled by bis use of the word "race." Did he mean because the girl was not Italian? Or

did he mean because the girl was obviously of the lowest type; a whore in short? Or did

he mean that anything springing from his loins he forbade to live. And then she was

sure he was making a brutal joke. She said shortly, "It's your child, do what you want."

And she tried to hand him the bundle.

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At this time the exhausted mother awoke and turned on her side to face them. She

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was just in time to see Brasi thrust violently at the bundle, crushing the newborn infant

against Filomena's chest. She called out weakly, "Luc, Luc, I'm sorry," and Brasi turned

to face her.

It was terrible, Filomena said now. So terrible. They were like two mad animals. They

were not human. The hatred they bore each other blazed through the room. Nothing

else, not even the newborn infant, existed for them at that moment. And yet there was a

strange passion. A bloody, demonical lust so unnatural you knew they were damned

forever. Then Luca Brasi turned back to Filomena and said harshly, "Do what I tell you,

I'll make you rich."

Filomena could not speak in her terror. She shook her head. Finally she managed to

whisper, "You do it, you're the father, do it if you like." But Brasi didn't answer. Instead

he drew a knife from inside his shirt. "I'll cut your throat," he said.

She must have gone into shock then because the next thing she remembered they

were all standing in the basement of the house in front of a square iron furnace.

Filomena was still holding the blanketed baby, which had not made a sound. (Maybe if it

had cried, maybe if I had been shrewd enough to pinch it, Filomena said, that monster

would have shown mercy.)

One of the men must have opened the furnace door, the fire now was visible. And

then she was alone with Brasi in that basement with its sweating pipes, its mousy odor.

Brasi had his knife out again. And there could be no doubting that he would kill her.

There were the flames, there were Brasi's eyes. His face was the gargoyle (горгулья –

выступающая водосточная труба в виде фантастической фигуры /в готической

архитектуре/ ['gα:goıl]) of the devil, it was not human, it was not sane. He pushed her

toward the open furnace door.

At this point Filomena fell silent. She folded her bony hands in her lap and looked

directly at Michael. He knew what she wanted, how she wanted to tell him, without using

her voice. He asked gently, "Did you do it?" She nodded.

It was only after another glass of wine and crossing herself and muttering a prayer

that she continued her story. She was given a bundle of money and driven home. She

understood that if she uttered a word about what had happened she would be killed. But

two days later Brasi murdered the young Irish girl, the mother of the infant, and was

arrested by the police. Filomena, frightened out of her wits, went to the Godfather and

told her story. He ordered her to keep silent, that he would attend to everything. At that

time Brasi did not work for Don Corleone.

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Before Don Corleone could set matters aright, Luca Brasi tried to commit suicide in

his cell, hacking at his throat with a piece of glass. He was transferred to the prison

hospital and by the time he recovered Don Corleone had arranged everything. The

police did not have a case they could prove in court and Luca Brasi was released.

Though Don Corleone assured Filomena that she had nothing to fear from either Luca

Brasi or the police, she had no peace. Her nerves were shattered and she could no

longer work at her profession. Finally she persuaded her husband to sell the grocery

store and they returned to Italy. Her husband was a good man, had been told everything

and understood. But he was a weak man and in Italy squandered (to squander –