Goff said, "Things have changed. Your friend is in trouble and his word don't go this
far west anymore."
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Johnny shrugged. "See me in a couple of days. OK?"
32
Goff smiled. "Sure, Johnny," he said. "But calling in New York ain't going to help you."
But calling New York did help. Johnny spoke to Hagen at his office. Hagen told him
bluntly not to pay. "Your Godfather will be sore as hell if you pay that bastard a dime
(монета в 10 центов)," he told Johnny. "It will make the Don lose respect and right now
he can't afford that."
"Can I talk to the Don?" Johnny asked. "Will you talk to him? I gotta get the picture
rolling."
"Nobody can talk to the Don right now," Hagen said. "He's too sick. I'll talk to Sonny
about fixing things up. But I'll make the decision on this. Don't pay that smart bastard a
dime. If anything changes, I'll let you know."
Annoyed, Johnny hung up. Union trouble could add a fortune to making the film and
screw up the works generally. For a moment he debated slipping Goff the fifty grand on
the quiet. After all, the Don telling him something and Hagen telling him something and
giving him orders were two different things. But he decided to wait for a few days.
By waiting he saved fifty thousand dollars. Two nights later, Goff was found shot to
death in his home in Glendale. There was no more talk of union trouble. Johnny was a
little shaken by the killing. It was the first time the long arm of the Don had struck such a
lethal blow so close to him.
As the weeks went by and he became busier and busier with getting the script
(сценарий) ready, casting the movie and working out production details, Johnny
Fontane forgot about his voice, his not being able to sing. Yet when the Academy
Award nominations came out and he found himself one of the candidates, he was
depressed because he was not asked to sing one of the songs nominated for the Oscar
at the ceremony that would be televised nationally. But he shrugged it off and kept
working. He had no hope of winning the Academy Award now that his Godfather was no
longer able to put pressure on, but getting the nomination had some value.
The record he and Nino had cut, the one of Italian songs, was selling much better
than anything he had cut lately, but he knew that it was Nino's success more than his.
He resigned himself to never being able to again sing professionally.
Once a week he had dinner with Ginny and the kids. No matter how hectic
(лихорадочный, возбужденный: «чахоточный»; здесь: суетливый, оживленный)
things got he never skipped that duty. But he didn't sleep with Ginny. Meanwhile his
second wife had finagled a Mexican divorce and so he was a bachelor (холостяк
['bжt∫∂l∂]) again. Oddly enough he was not that frantic to bang starlets who would have
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33
been easy meat. He was too snobbish really. He was hurt that none of the young stars,
the actresses who were still on top, ever gave him a tumble (не проявляли к нему
интереса; to tumble – валиться вниз; понять что-либо /сленг/). But it was good to
work hard. Most nights he would go home alone, put his old records on the player, have
a drink and hum along with them for a few bars (несколько тактов). He had been good,
damn good. He hadn't realized how good he was. Even aside from the special voice,
which could have happened to anybody, he was good. He had been a real artist and
never knew it, and never knew how much he loved it. He'd ruined his voice with booze
and tobacco and broads just when he really knew what it was all about.
Sometimes Nino came over for a drink and listened with him and Johnny would say to
him scornfully, "You guinea bastard, you never sang like that in your life." And Nino
would give him that curiously charming smile and shake his head and say, "No, and I
never will," in a sympathetic voice, as if he knew what Johnny was thinking.
Finally, a week before shooting the new picture, the Academy Award night rolled
around. Johnny invited Nino to come along but Nino refused. Johnny said, "Buddy, I
never asked you a favor, right? Do me a favor tonight and come with me. You're the
only guy who'll really feel sorry for me if I don't win."
For one moment Nino looked startled. Then he said, "Sure, old buddy, I can make it."
He paused for a moment and said, "If you don't win, forget it. Just get as drunk as you
can get and I'll take care of you. Hell, I won't even drink myself tonight. How about that
for being a buddy (ну как, разве я не настоящий друг)?"
"Man," Johnny Fontane said, "that's some buddy."
The Academy Award night came and Nino kept his promise. He came to Johnny's
house dead sober and they left for the presentation theater together. Nino wondered
why Johnny hadn't invited any of his girls or his ex-wives to the Award dinner.
Especially Ginny. Didn't he think Ginny would root for (поддерживать, ободрять) him?
Nino wished he could have just one drink, it looked like a long bad night.
Nino Valenti found the whole Academy Award affair a bore until the winner of the best
male actor was announced. When he heard the words "Johnny Fontane," he found
himself jumping into the air and applauding. Johnny reached out a hand for him to
shake and Nino shook it. He knew his buddy needed human contact with someone he
trusted and Nino felt an enormous sadness that Johnny didn't have anyone better than
himself to touch in his moment of glory.
What followed was an absolute nightmare. Jack Woltz's picture had swept all the
major awards and so the studio's party was swamped (to swamp [swomp] – заливать,
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затоплять; swamp – болото, топь) with newspaper people and all the on-the-make
(старающийся улучшить свое положение /обычно за счет других/; ищущий
34
любовного приключения) hustlers, male and female. Nino kept his promise to remain
sober, and he tried to watch over Johnny. But the women of the party kept pulling
Johnny Fontane into bedrooms for a little chat and Johnny kept getting drunker and
drunker.
Meanwhile the woman who had won the award for the best actress was suffering the
same fate but loving it more and handling it better. Nino turned her down (отверг), the
only man at the party to do so.
Finally somebody had a great idea. The public mating (совокупление; to mate –
сочетаться /браком/; спариваться /о птицах/) of the two winners, everybody else at
the party to be spectators in the stands. The actress was stripped down and the other
women started to undress Johnny Fontane. It was then that Nino, the only sober person
there, grabbed the half-clothed Johnny and slung (to sling – швырять; вешать через
плечо) him over his shoulder and fought his way out of the house and to their car. As
he drove Johnny home, Nino thought that if that was success, he didn't want it.
Book 3
Chapter 14
The Don was a real man at the age of twelve. Short, dark, slender, living in the
strange Moorish-looking (выглядящий по-мавритански, напоминающий что-то
мавританское) village of Corleone in Sicily, he had been born Vito Andolini, but when
strange men came to kill the son of the man they had murdered, his mother sent the
young boy to America to stay with friends. And in the new land he changed his name to
Corleone to preserve some tie with his native village. It was one of the few gestures of
sentiment he was ever to make.
In Sicily at the turn of the century the Mafia was the second government, far more
powerful than the official one in Rome. Vito Corleone's father became involved in a feud
(наследственная вражда, междоусобица; кровная месть [fju:d]) with another villager
who took his case to the Mafia. The father refused to knuckle under (покориться) and in
a public quarrel killed the local Mafia chief. A week later he himself was found dead, his
body torn apart by lupara blasts. A month after the funeral Mafia gunmen came inquiring
after the young boy, Vito. They had decided that he was too close to manhood, that he
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might try to avenge the death of his father in the years to come. The twelve-year-old
Vito was hidden by relatives and shipped to America. There he was boarded with the
Abbandandos, whose son Genco was later to become Consigliori to his Don.
Young Vito went to work in the Abbandando grocery store on Ninth Avenue in New
York's Hell's Kitchen. At the age of eighteen Vito married an Italian girl freshly arrived
from Sicily, a girl of only sixteen but a skilled cook, a good housewife. They settled
down in a tenement (многоквартирный дом, сдаваемый в аренду ['tenım∂nt]) on
Tenth Avenue, near 35th Street, only a few blocks from where Vito worked, and two
years later were blessed with their first child, Santino, called by all his friends Sonny
because of his devotion to his father.
In the neighborhood lived a man called Fanucci. He was a heavy-set, fierce-looking
Italian who wore expensive light-colored suits and a cream-colored fedora. This man
was reputed to be of the "Black Hand," an offshoot (ответвление, боковая ветвь) of