valuable real estate in midtown New York, whole office buildings. It owned, through
fronts, partnerships in two Wall Street brokerage houses, pieces of banks on Long
Island, partnerships in some garment center firms, all this in addition to its illegal
operations in gambling.
The most interesting thing Michael Corleone learned, in going back over past
transactions of the Corleone Family, was that the Family had received some protection
income shortly after the war from a group of music record counterfeiters. The
counterfeiters duplicated and sold phonograph records of famous artists, packaging
everything so skillfully they were never caught. Naturally on the records they sold to
stores the artists and original production company received not a penny. Michael
Corleone noticed that Johnny Fontane had lost a lot of money owing to this
counterfeiting because at that time, just before he lost his voice, his records were the
most popular in the country.
He asked Tom Hagen about it. Why did the Don allow the counterfeiters to cheat his
godson? Hagen shrugged. Business was business. Besides, Johnny was in the Don's
bad graces, Johnny having divorced his childhood sweetheart to marry Margot Ashton.
This had displeased the Don greatly.
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"How come these guys stopped their operation?" Michael asked. "The cops got on to
them?"
Hagen shook his head. "The Don withdrew his protection. That was right after
Connie's wedding."
It was a pattern he was to see often, the Don helping those in misfortune whose
misfortune he had partly created. Not perhaps out of cunning or planning but because of
his variety of interests or perhaps because of the nature of the universe, the interlinking
of good and evil, natural of itself.
Michael had married Kay up in New England, a quiet wedding, with only her family
and a few of her friends present. Then they had moved into one of the houses on the
mall in Long Beach. Michael was surprised at how well Kay got along with his parents
and the other people living on the mall. And of course she had gotten pregnant right
away, like a good, old-style Italian wife was supposed to, and that helped. The second
kid on the way in two years was just icing.
Kay would be waiting for him at the airport, she always came to meet him, she was
always so glad when he came back from a trip. And he was too. Except now. For the
end of this trip meant that he finally had to take the action he had been groomed for
over the last three years. The Don would be waiting for him. The caporegimes would be
waiting for him. And he, Michael Corleone, would have to give the orders, make the
decisions which would decide his and his Family's fate.
Every morning when Kay Adams Corleone got up to take care of the baby's early
feeding, she saw Mama Corleone, the Don's wife, being driven away from the mall by
one of the bodyguards, to return an hour later. Kay soon learned that her mother-in-law
went to church every single morning. Often on her return, the old woman stopped by for
morning coffee and to see her new grandchild.
Mama Corleone always started off by asking Kay why she didn't think of becoming a
Catholic, ignoring the fact that Kay's child had already been baptized a Protestant. So
Kay felt it was proper to ask the old woman why she went to church every morning,
whether that was a necessary part of being a Catholic.
As if she thought that this might have stopped Kay from converting the old woman
said, "Oh, no, no, some Catholics only go to church on Easter and Christmas. You go
when you feel like going."
Kay laughed. "Then why do you go every single morning?"
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In a completely natural way, Mama Corleone said, "I go for my husband," she pointed
down toward the floor, so he don't go down there." She paused. "I say prayers for his
soul every day so he go up there." She pointed heavenward. She said this with an
impish smile, as if she were subverting her husband's will in some way, or as if it were a
losing cause. It was said jokingly almost, in her grim, Italian, old crone fashion. And as
always when her husband was not present, there was an attitude of disrespect to the
great Don.
"How is your husband feeling?" Kay asked politely.
Mama Corleone shrugged. "He's not the same man since they shot him. He lets
Michael do all the work, he just plays the fool with his garden, his peppers, his tomatoes.
As if he were some peasant still. But men are always like that."
Later in the morning Connie Corleone would walk across the mall with her two
children to pay Kay a visit and chat. Kay liked Connie, her vivaciousness, her obvious
fondness for her brother Michael. Connie had taught Kay how to cook some Italian
dishes but sometimes brought her own more expert concoctions over for Michael to
taste.
Now this morning as she usually did, she asked Kay what Michael thought of her
husband, Carlo. Did Michael really like Carlo, as he seemed to? Carlo had always had a
little trouble with the Family but now over the last years he had straightened out. He was
really doing well in the labor union but he had to work so hard, such long hours. Carlo
really liked Michael, Connie always said. But then, everybody liked Michael, just as
everybody liked her father. Michael was the Don all over again. It was the best thing that
Michael was going to run the Family olive oil business.
Kay had observed before that when Connie spoke about her husband in relation to
the Family, she was always nervously eager for some word of approval for Carlo. Kay
would have been stupid if she had not noticed the almost terrified concern Connie had
for whether Michael liked Carlo or not. One night she spoke to Michael about it and
mentioned the fact that nobody ever spoke about Sonny Corleone, nobody even
referred to him, at least not in her presence. Kay had once tried to express her
condolences to the Don and his wife and had been listened to with almost rude silence
and then ignored. She had tried to get Connie talking about her older brother without
success.
Sonny's wife, Sandra, had taken her children and moved to Florida, where her own
parents now lived. Certain financial arrangements had been made so that she and her
children could live comfortably, but Sonny had left no estate.
Michael reluctantly explained what had happened the night Sonny was killed. That
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Carlo had beaten his wife and Connie had called the mall and Sonny had taken the call
and rushed out in a blind rage. So naturally Connie and Carlo were always nervous that
the rest of the Family blamed her for indirectly causing Sonny's death. Or blamed her
husband, Carlo. But this wasn't the case. The proof was that they had given Connie and
Carlo a house in the mall itself and promoted Carlo to an important job in the labor
union setup. And Carlo had straightened out, stopped drinking, stopped whoring,
stopped trying to be a wise guy. The Family was pleased with his work and attitude for
the last two years. Nobody blamed him for what had happened.
"Then why don't you invite them over some evening and you can reassure your
sister?" Kay said. "The poor thing is always so nervous about what you think of her
husband. Tell her. And tell her to put those silly worries out of her head."
"I can't do that," Michael said. "We don't talk about those things in our family."
"Do you want me to tell her what you've told me?" Kay said.
She was puzzled because he took such a long time thinking over a suggestion that
was obviously the proper thing to do. Finally he said, "I don't think you should, Kay. I
don't think it will do any good. She'll worry anyway. It's something nobody can do
anything about."
Kay was amazed. She realized that Michael was always a little colder to his sister
Connie than he was to anyone else, despite Connie's affection. "Surely you don't blame
Connie for Sonny being killed?" she said.
Michael sighed. "Of course not," he said. "She's my kid sister and I'm very fond of her.
I feel sorry for her. Carlo straightened out, but he's really the wrong kind of husband. It's
just one of those things. Let's forget about it."
It was not in Kay's nature to nag; she let it drop. Also she had learned that Michael
was not a man to push, that he could become coldly disagreeable. She knew she was
the only person in the world who could bend his will, but she also knew that to do it too
often would be to destroy that power. And living with him the last two years had made
her love him more.
She loved him because he was always fair. An odd thing. But he always was fair to
everybody around him, never arbitrary even in little things. She had observed that he
was now a very powerful man, people came to the house to confer with him and ask
favors, treating him with deference and respect but one thing had endeared him to her
above everything else.
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Ever since Michael had come back from Sicily with his broken face, everybody in the
Family had tried to get him to undergo corrective surgery. Michael's mother was after
him constantly; one Sunday dinner with all the Corleones gathered on the mall she
shouted at Michael, "You look like a gangster in the movies, get your face fixed for the