anything but good-natured and kidding around. Yeah, Sonny was his buddy. Maybe with
the old Don gone, things would open up.
74
He dawdled (to dawdle – тратить, тянуть время, бездельничать) over his coffee. He
hated this apartment. He was used to the bigger living quarters of the West and in a
little while he would have to go crosstown to his "book" to run the noontime action. It
was a Sunday, the heaviest action of the week what with baseball going already and the
tail end of basketball and the night trotters (trotter – рысак) starting up. Gradually he
became aware of Connie bustling around behind him and he turned his head to watch
her.
She was getting dressed up in the real New York City guinzo style that he hated. A
silk flowered-pattern dress with belt, showy bracelet and earrings, flouncy (flounce –
оборка) sleeves. She looked twenty years older. "Where the hell are you going?" he
asked.
She answered him coldly, "To see my father out in Long Beach. He still can't get out
of bed and he needs company."
Carlo was curious. "Is Sonny still running the show?"
Connie gave him a bland look. "What show?"
He was furious. "You lousy little guinea bitch, don't talk to me like that or I'll beat that
kid right out of your belly." She looked frightened and this enraged him even more. He
sprang from his chair and slapped her across the face, the blow leaving a red welt
(след, рубец /от удара/). With quick precision he slapped her three more times. He
saw her upper lip split bloody and puff up. That stopped him. He didn't want to leave a
mark. She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door and he heard the key turning in
the lock. He laughed and returned to his coffee.
He smoked until it was time for him to dress. He knocked on the door and said, "Open
it up before I kick it in." There was no answer. "Come on, I gotta get dressed," he said in
a loud voice. He could hear her getting up off the bed and coming toward the door, then
the key turned in the lock. When he entered she had her back to him, walking back
toward the bed, lying down on it with her face turned away to the wall.
He dressed quickly and then saw she was in her slip. He wanted her to go visit her
father, he hoped she would bring back information. "What's the matter, a few slaps take
all the energy out of you?" She was a lazy slut.
"I don't wanna go." Her voice was tearful, the words mumbled. He reached out
impatiently and pulled her around to face him. And then he saw why she didn't want to
go and thought maybe it was just at well.
He must have slapped her harder than he figured. Her left cheek was blown up, the
cut upper lip ballooned grotesquely puffy and white beneath her nose. "OK," he said,
"but I won't be home until late. Sunday is my busy day."
He left the apartment and found a parking ticket on his car, a fifteen-dollar green one.
He put it in the glove compartment with the stack of others. He was in a good humor.
75
Slapping the spoiled little bitch around always made him feel good. It dissolved some of
the frustration (досада, расстройство /планов/, разочарование) he felt at being
treated so badly by the Corleones.
The first time he had marked her up, he'd been a little worried. She had gone right out
to Long Beach to complain to her mother and father and to show her black eye. He had
really sweated it out. But when she came back she had been surprisingly meek, the
dutiful little Italian wife. He had made it a point to be the perfect husband over the next
few weeks, treating her well in every way, being lovey and nice with her, banging her
every day, morning and night. Finally she had told him what had happened since she
thought he would never act that way again.
She had found her parents coolly unsympathetic and curiously amused. Her mother
had had a little sympathy and had even asked her father to speak to Carlo Rizzi. Her
father had refused. "She is my daughter," he had said, "but now she belongs to her
husband. He knows his duties. Even the King of Italy didn't dare to meddle with the
relationship of husband and wife. Go home and learn how to behave so that he will not
beat you."
Connie had said angrily to her father, "Did you ever hit your wife?" She was his
favorite and could speak to him so impudently. He had answered, "She never gave me
reason to beat her." And her mother had nodded and smiled.
She told them how her husband had taken the wedding present money and never told
her what he did with it. Her father had shrugged and said, "I would have done the same
if my wife had been as presumptuous (самонадеянный, дерзкий, нахальный
[prı’zΛmptju∂s]) as you."
And so she had returned home, a little bewildered, a little frightened. She had always
been her father's favorite and she could not understand his coldness now.
But the Don had not been so unsympathetic as he pretended. He made inquiries and
found out what Carlo Rizzi had done with the wedding present money. He had men
assigned to Carlo Rizzi's bookmaking operation who would report to Hagen everything
Rizzi did on the job. But the Don could not interfere. How expect a man to discharge his
husbandly duties to a wife whose family he feared? It was an impossible situation and
he dared not meddle. Then when Connie became pregnant he was convinced of the
wisdom of his decision and felt he never could interfere though Connie complained to
her mother about a few more beatings and the mother finally became concerned
76
enough to mention it to the Don. Connie even hinted that she might want a divorce. For
the first time in her life the Don was angry with her. "He is the father of your child. What
can a child come to in this world if he has no father?" he said to Connie.
Learning all this, Carlo Rizzi grew confident. He was perfectly safe. In fact he bragged
(to brag – похваляться, хвастаться) to his two "writers" on the book, Sally Rags and
Coach, about how he bounced his wife around when she got snotty and saw their looks
of respect that he had the guts (имеет смелость, не боится; gut – кишка) to
manhandle (тащить, передвигать вручную; грубо обращаться, избивать) the
daughter of the great Don Corleone.
But Rizzi would not have felt so safe if he had known that when Sonny Corleone
learned of the beatings he had flown into a murderous rage and had been restrained
only by the sternest and most imperious command of the Don himself, a command that
even Sonny dared not disobey. Which was why Sonny avoided Rizzi, not trusting
himself to control his temper.
So feeling perfectly safe on this beautiful Sunday morning, Carlo Rizzi sped crosstown
on 96th Street to the East Side. He did not see Sonny's car coming the opposite way
toward his house.
Sonny Corleone had left the protection of the mall and spent the night with Lucy
Mancini in town. Now on the way home he was traveling with four bodyguards, two in
front and two behind. He didn't need guards right beside him, he could take care of a
single direct assault. The other men traveled in their own cars and had apartments on
either side of Lucy's apartment. It was safe to visit her as long as he didn't do it too often.
But now that he was in town he figured he would pick up his sister Connie and take her
out to Long Beach. He knew Carlo would be working at his book and the cheap bastard
wouldn't get her a car. So he'd give his sister a lift out.
He waited for the two men in front to go into the building and then followed them. He
saw the two men in back pull up behind his car and get out to watch the streets. He kept
his own eyes open. It was a million-to-one shot that the opposition even knew he was in
town but he was always careful. He had learned that in the 1930's war.
He never used elevators. They were death traps. He climbed the eight flights to
Connie's apartment, going fast. He knocked on her door. He had seen Carlo's car go by
and knew she would be alone. There was no answer. He knocked again and then he
heard his sister's voice, frightened, timid, asking, "Who is it?"
The fright in the voice stunned him. His kid sister had always been fresh and snotty,
tough as anybody in the family. What the hell had happened to her? He said, "It's
Sonny." The bolt inside slid back and the door opened and Connie was in his arms
sobbing. He was so surprised he just stood there. He pushed her away from him and
saw her swollen face and he understood what had happened.
77
He pulled away from her to run down the stairs and go after her husband. Rage flamed
up in him, contorting his own face. Connie saw the rage and clung to him, not letting him
go, making him come into the apartment. She was weeping out of terror now. She knew
her older brother's temper and feared it. She had never complained to him about Carlo
for that reason. Now she made him come into the apartment with her.
"It was my fault," she said. "I started a fight with him and I tried to hit him so he hit me.
He really didn't try to hit me that hard. I walked into it."
Sonny's heavy Cupid face was under control. "You going to see the old man today?"
She didn't answer, so he added, "I thought you were, so I dropped over to give you a
lift. I was in the city anyway."