Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

196

it Tina was in the living room making him a drink and sitting beside him at the piano. He

played a few tunes and she hummed with him. He left her at the piano and went up to

take his shower. In the shower he sang short phrases, more like speaking. He got

dressed and went back down. Tina was still alone; Nino was really working his girl over

or getting drunk.

Johnny sat down at the piano again while Tina wandered off outside to watch the pool.

He started singing one of his old songs. There was no burning in his throat. The tones

were coming out muted but with proper body. He looked at the patio. Tina was still out

there, the glass door was closed, she wouldn't hear him. For some reason he didn't

want anybody to hear him. He started off fresh on an old ballad that was his favorite. He

sang full out as if he were singing in public, letting himself go, waiting for the familiar

burning rasp in his throat but there was none. He listened to his voice, it was different

somehow, but he liked it. It was darker, it was a man's voice, not a kid's, rich he thought,

dark rich. He finished the song easing up and sat there at the piano thinking about it.

Behind him Nino said, "Not bad, old buddy, not bad at all."

Johnny swiveled his body around. Nino was standing in the doorway, alone. His girl

wasn't with him. Johnny was relieved. He didn't mind Nino hearing him.

"Yeah," Johnny said. "Let's get rid of those two broads. Send them home."

Nino said, "You send them home. They're nice kids, I'm not gonna hurt their feelings.

Besides I just banged mine twice. How would it look if I sent her away without even

giving her dinner?"

The hell with it, Johnny thought. Let the girls listen even if he sounded lousy. He

called up a band leader he knew in Palm Springs and asked him to send over a

mandolin for Nino. The band leader protested, "Hell, nobody plays a mandolin in

California." Johnny yelled, "Just get one."

The house was loaded with recording equipment and Johnny had the two girls work

the turn-off and volumes. After they had dinner, Johnny went to work. He had Nino

playing the mandolin as accompaniment and sang all his old songs. He sang them all

the way out, not nursing his voice at all. His throat was fine, he felt that he could sing

forever. In the months he had not been able to sing he had often thought about singing,

planned out how he would phrase lyrics differently now than as a kid. He had sung the

songs in his head with more sophisticated variations of emphasis. Now he was doing it

for real. Sometimes it would go wrong in the actual singing, stuff that had sounded good

when he heard it just in his head didn't work out when he tried it really singing out loud.

OUT LOUD, he thought. He wasn't listening to himself now, he was concentrating on

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

performing. He fumbled a little on timing but that was OK, just rusty. He had a

197

metronome in his head that would never fail him. Just a little practice was all he needed.

Finally he stopped singing. Tina came over to him with eyes shining and gave him a

long kiss. "Now I know why Mother goes to all your movies," she said. It was the wrong

thing to say at any time except this. Johnny and Nino laughed.

They played the feedback and now Johnny could really listen to himself. His voice had

changed, changed a hell of a lot but was still unquestionably the voice of Johnny

Fontane. It had become much richer and darker as he had noticed before but there was

also the quality of a man singing rather than a boy. The voice had more true emotion,

more character. And the technical part of his singing was far superior to anything he had

ever done. It was nothing less than masterful. And if he was that good now, rusty as hell,

how good would he be when he got in shape again? Johnny grinned at Nino. "Is that as

good as I think it is?"

Nino looked at his happy face thoughtfully. "It's very damn good," he said. "But let's

see how you sing tomorrow."

Johnny was hurt that Nino should be so downbeat. "You son of a bitch, you know you

can't sing like that. Don't worry about tomorrow. I feel great." But he didn't sing any

more that night. He and Nino took the girls to a party and Tina spent the night in his bed

but he wasn't much good there. The girl was a little disappointed. But what the hell, you

couldn't do everything all in one day, Johnny thought.

He woke up in the morning with a sense of apprehension, with a vague terror that he

had dreamed his voice had come back. Then when he was sure it was not a dream he

got scared that his voice would be shot again. He went to the window and hummed a bit,

then he went down to the living room still in his pajamas. He picked out a tune on the

piano and after a while tried singing with it. He sang mutedly but there was no pain, no

hoarseness in his throat, so he turned it on. The chords were true and rich, he didn't

have to force it at all. Easy, easy, just pouring out. Johnny realized that the bad time

was over, he had it all now. And it didn't matter a damn if he fell on his face with movies,

it didn't matter if he couldn't get it up with Tina the night before, it didn't matter that

Virginia would hate him being able to sing again. For a moment he had just one regret.

If only his voice had come back to him while trying to sing for his daughters, how lovely

that would have been. That would have been so lovely.

The hotel nurse had come into the room wheeling a cart loaded with medication.

Johnny got up and stared down at Nino, who was sleeping or maybe dying. He knew

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

Nino wasn't jealous of his getting his voice back. He understood that Nino was only

jealous because he was so

198

happy about getting his voice back. That he cared so much about singing. For what was

very obvious now was that Nino Valenti didn't care enough about anything to make him

want to stay alive.

Chapter 27

Michael Corleone arrived late in the evening and, by his own order, was not met at the

airport. Only two men accompanied him: Tom Hagen and a new bodyguard, named

Albert Neri.

The most lavish suite of rooms in the hotel had been set aside for Michael and his

party. Already waiting in that suite were the people it would be necessary for Michael to

see.

Freddie greeted his brother with a warm embrace. Freddie was much stouter, more

benevolent-looking, cheerful , and far more dandified. He wore an exquisitely tailored

gray silk and accessories to match. His hair was razor cut and arranged as carefully as

a movie star's, his face glowed with perfect barbering and his hands were manicured.

He was an altogether different man than the one who had been shipped out of New

York four years before.

He leaned back and surveyed Michael fondly. "You look a hell of a lot better now that

you got your face fixed. Your wife finally talked you into it, huh? How is Kay? When she

gonna come out and visit us out here?"

Michael smiled at his brother. "You're looking pretty good too. Kay would have come

out this time, but she's carrying another kid and she has the baby to look after. Besides

this is business, Freddie, I have to fly back tomorrow night or the morning after."

"You have to eat something first," Freddie said. "We've got a great chef in the hotel,

you'll get the best food you ever ate. Go take your shower and change and everything

will be set up right here. I have all the people you want to see lined up, they'll be waiting

around for when you're ready, I just have to call them."

Michael said pleasantly, "Let's save Moe Greene to the end, OK? Ask Johnny

Fontane and Nino up to eat with us. And Lucy and her doctor friend. We can talk while

we eat." He turned to Hagen. "Anybody you want to add to that, Tom?"

Hagen shook his head. Freddie had greeted him much less affectionately than

Michael, but Hagen understood. Freddie was on his father's shit list and Freddie

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

naturally blamed the Consigliori for not straightening things out. Hagen would gladly

199

have done so, but he didn't know why Freddie was in his father's bad graces. The Don

did not give voice to specific grievances. He just made his displeasure felt.

It was after midnight before they gathered around the special dinner table set up in

Michael's suite. Lucy kissed Michael and didn't comment on his face looking so much

better after the operation. Jules Segal boldly studied the repaired cheekbone and said

to Michael, "A good job. It's knitted nicely. Is the sinus OK?"

"Fine," Michael said. "Thanks for helping out."

Dinner focused on Michael as they ate. They all noted his resemblance in speech and

manner to the Don. In some curious way he inspired the same respect, the same awe,

and yet he was perfectly natural, at pains to put everyone at their ease. Hagen as usual

remained in the background. The new man they did not know; Albert Neri was also very

quiet and unobtrusive. He had claimed he was not hungry and sat in an armchair close

to the door reading a local newspaper.

After they had had a few drinks and food, the waiters were dismissed. Michael spoke

to Johnny Fontane. "Hear your voice is back as good as ever, you got all your old fans

back. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Johnny said. He was curious about exactly why Michael wanted to see him.

What favor would he be asked?

Michael addressed them all in general. "The Corleone Family is thinking of moving out

here to Vegas. Selling out all our interests in the olive oil business and settling here.

The Don and Hagen and myself have talked it over and we think here is where the

future is for the Family. That doesn't mean right now or next year. It may take two, three,

even four years to get things squared away. But that's the general plan. Some friends of

ours own a good percentage of this hotel and casino so that will be our foundation. Moe

Greene will sell us his interest so it can be wholly owned by friends of the Family."

Freddie's moon face was anxious. "Mike, you sure about Moe Greene selling? He

never mentioned it to me and he loves the business. I really don't think he'll sell."

Michael said quietly, "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse."

The words were said in an ordinary voice, yet the effect was chilling, perhaps because

it was a favorite phrase of the Don's. Michael turned to Johnny Fontane. "The Don is

counting on you to help us get started. It's been explained to us that entertainment will

be the big factor in drawing gamblers. We hope you'll sign a contract to appear five

times a year for maybe a week-long engagement. We hope your friends in movies do

the same. You've done them a lot of favors, now you can call them in."

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

200

"Sure," Johnny said. "I'll do anything for my Godfather, you know that, Mike." But there