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 –
проматывать) the fortune they had both slaved in America to earn. And so after he died
she had become a servant. So Filomena ended her story. She had another glass of
wine and said to Michael, "I bless the name of your father. He always sent me money
when I asked, he saved me from Brasi. Tell him I say a prayer for his soul every night
and that he shouldn't fear dying."
After she had left, Michael asked Don Tommasino, "Is her story true?" The capo-
mafioso nodded. And Michael thought, no wonder nobody wanted to tell him the story.
Some story (ну и история, ничего себе история). Some Luca.
The next morning Michael wanted to discuss the whole thing with Don Tommasino but
learned that the old man had been called to Palermo by an urgent message delivered
by a courier. That evening Don Tommasino returned and took Michael aside. News had
come from America, he said. News that it grieved him to tell. Santino Corleone had
been killed.
Chapter 24
The Sicilian sun, early-morning lemon-colored, filled Michael's bedroom. He awoke
and, feeling Apollonia's satiny body against his own sleep-warm skin, made her come
awake with love. When they were done, even all the months of complete possession
could not stop him from marveling at her heauty and her passion.
She left the bedroom to wash and dress in the bathroom down the hall. Michael, still
naked, the morning sun refreshing his body, lit a cigarette and relaxed on the bed. This
was the last morning they would spend in this house and the villa Don Tommasino had
arranged for him to be transferred to another town on the southern coast of Sicily.
Apollonia, in the first month of pregnancy, wanted to visit with her family for a few weeks
and would join him at the new hiding place after the visit.
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The night before, Don Tommasino had sat with Michael in the garden after Apollonia
had gone to bed. The Don had been worried and tired, and admitted that he was
concerned about Michael's safety. "Your marriage brought you into sight," he told
Michael. "I'm surprised your father hasn't made arrangements for you to go someplace
else. In any case I'm having my own troubles with the young Turks in Palermo. I've
offered some fair arrangements so that they can wet their beaks more than they
deserve, but those scum (пена, накипь; подонки; мерзавец) want everything. I can't
understand their attitude. They've tried a few little tricks but I'm not so easy to kill. They
must know I'm too strong for them to hold me so cheaply. But that's the trouble with
young people, no matter how talented. They don't reason things out and they want all
the water in the well (родник; колодец; водоем)."
And then Don Tommasino had told Michael that the two shepherds, Fabrizzio and
Calo, would go with him as bodyguards in the Alfa Romeo. Don Tommasino would say
his good-byes tonight since he would he off early in the morning, at dawn, to see to his
affairs in Palermo. Also, Michael was not to tell Dr. Taza about the move, since the
doctor planned to spend the evening in Palermo and might blab (проболтаться).
Michael had known Don Tommasino was in trouble. Armed guards patrolled the walls
of the villa at night and a few faithful shepherds with their luparas were always in the
house. Don Tommasino himself went heavily armed and a personal bodyguard
attended him at all times.
The morning sun was now too strong. Michael stubbed out his cigarette and put on
work pants, work shirt and the peaked cap most Sicilian men wore. Still barefooted, he
leaned out his bedroom window and saw Fabrizzio sitting in one of the garden chairs.
Fabrizzio was lazily combing his thick dark hair, his lupara was carelessly thrown across
the garden table. Michael whistled and Fabrizzio looked up to his window.
"Get the car," Michael called down to him. "I'll be leaving in five minutes. Where's