In the rear of the building, cut off from the funeral parlor and reception rooms by a

massive soundproof (звуконепроницаемый) door, was the business office, the

embalming (to embalm [ım'bα:m] – бальзамировать; balm – бальзам) room, a

storeroom for coffins, and a carefully locked closet holding chemicals and the awful

tools of his trade. Bonasera went to the office, sat at his desk and lit up a Camel, one of

the few times he had ever smoked in this building. Then he waited for Don Corleone.

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He waited with a feeling of the utmost despair. For he had no doubt as to what

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services he would be called upon to perform. For the last year the Corleone Family had

waged war against the five great Mafia Families of New York and the carnage had filled

the newspapers. Many men on both sides had been killed. Now the Corleone Family

had killed somebody so important that they wished to hide his body, make it disappear,

and what better way than to have it officially buried by a registered undertaker? And

Amerigo Bonasera had no illusions about the act he was to commit. He would be an

accessory to murder. If it came out, he would spend years in jail. His daughter and wife

would be disgraced, his good name, the respected name of Amerigo Bonasera,

dragged through the bloody mud of the Mafia war.

He indulged himself (позволил себе) by smoking another Camel. And then he

thought of something even more terrifying. When the other Mafia Families found out that

he had aided the Corleones they would treat him as an enemy. They would murder him.

And now he cursed the day he had gone to the Godfather and begged for his

Vengeance. He cursed the day his wife and the wife of Don Corleone had become

friends. He cursed his daughter and America and his own success. And then his

optimism returned. It could all go well. Don Corleone was a clever man. Certainly

everything had been arranged to keep the secret. He had only to keep his nerve. For of

course the one thing more fatal than any other was to earn the Don's displeasure.

He heard tires on gravel. His practiced ear told him a car was coming through the

narrow driveway and parking in the back yard. He opened the rear door to let them in.

The huge fat man, Clemenza, entered, followed by two very rough-looking young

fellows. They searched the rooms without saying a word to Bonasera, then Clemenza

went out. The two young men remained with the undertaker.

A few moments later Bonasera recognized the sound of a heavy ambulance coming

through the narrow driveway. Then Clemenza appeared in the doorway followed by two

men carrying a stretcher (носилки; to stretch – растягивать/ся/, вытягивать/ся/). And

Amerigo Bonasera's worst fears were realized. On the stretcher was a corpse swaddled

(to swaddle – пеленать, свивать /младенца/) in a gray blanket but with bare yellow

feet sticking out the end.

Clemenza motioned the stretcher-bearers into the embalming room. And then from

the blackness of the yard another man stepped into the lighted office room. It was Don

Corleone.

The Don had lost weight during his illness and moved with a curious stiffness. He was

holding his hat in his hands and his hair seemed thin over his massive skull. He looked

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older, more shrunken than when Bonasera had seen him at the wedding, but he still

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radiated power. Holding his hat against his chest, he said to Bonasera, "Well, old friend,

are you ready to do me this service?"

Bonasera nodded. The Don followed the stretcher into the embalming room and

Bonasera trailed after him. The corpse was on one of the guttered (gutter –

водосточный желоб, сточная канавка) tables. Don Corleone made a tiny gesture with

his hat and the other men left the room.

Bonasera whispered, "What do you wish me to do?"

Don Corleone was staring at the table. "I want you to use all your powers, all your skill,

as you love me," he said. "I do not wish his mother to see him as he is." He went to the

table and drew down the gray blanket. Amerigo Bonasera against all his will, against all

his years of training and experience, let out a gasp of horror. On the embalming table

was the bullet-smashed face of Sonny Corleone. The left eye drowned in blood had a

star fracture (трещина, излом, разрыв) in its lens (линза; хрусталик глаза). The

bridge of his nose and left cheekbone were hammered into pulp.

For one fraction of a second the Don put out his hand to support himself against

Bonasera's body. "See how they have massacred my son," he said.

Chapter 19

Perhaps it was the stalemate that made Sonny Corleone embark on the bloody

course of attrition (трение, изнашивание от трения; истощение, изнурение) that

ended in his own death. Perhaps it was his dark violent nature given full rein. In any

case, that spring and summer he mounted senseless raids on enemy auxiliaries

(auxiliary [o:g’zılj∂rı] – вспомогательный; помощник). Tattaglia Family pimps (pimp –

сводник, сутенер) were shot to death in Harlem, dock goons (goon – головорез,

наемный бандит) were massacred. Union officials who owed allegiance to the Five

Families were warned to stay neutral, and when the Corleone bookmakers and shylocks

were still barred from the docks, Sonny sent Clemenza and his regime to wreak (давать

выход, волю чувству [ri:k], to wreak vengeance upon one’s enemy – отомстить врагу)

havoc (опустошение, разрушение ['hжv∂k]) upon the long shore.

This slaughter was senseless because it could not affect the outcome of the war.

Sonny was a brilliant tactician and won his brilliant victories. But what was needed was

the strategical genius of Don Corleone. The whole thing degenerated into such a deadly

guerrilla war that both sides found themselves losing a great deal of revenue and lives

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to no purpose. The Corleone Family was finally forced to close down some of its most

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profitable bookmaking stations, including the book given to son-in-law Carlo Rizzi for his

living. Carlo took to drink and running with chorus girls and giving his wife Connie a hard

time. Since his beating at the hands of Sonny he had not dared to hit his wife again but

he had not slept with her. Connie had thrown herself at his feet and he had spurned her,

as he thought, like a Roman, with exquisite patrician pleasure. He had sneered at her,

"Go call your brother and tell him I won't screw you, maybe he'll beat me up until I get a

hard on (эрекция)."

But he was in deadly fear of Sonny though they treated each other with cold

politeness. Carlo had the sense to realize that Sonny would kill him, that Sonny was a

man who could, with the naturalness of an animal, kill another man, while he himself

would have to call up all his courage, aIl his will, to commit murder. It never occurred to

Carlo that because of this he was a better man than Sonny Corleone, if such terms

could be used; he envied Sonny his awesome savagery, a savagery which was now

becoming a legend.

Tom Hagen, as the Consigliori, disapproved of Sonny's tactics and yet decided not to

protest to the Don simply because the tactics, to some extent, worked. The Five

Families seemed to be cowed (to cow – запугивать, усмирять), finally, as the attrition

went on, and their counterblows weakened and finally ceased altogether. Hagen at first

distrusted this seeming pacification of the enemy but Sonny was jubilant (ликующий,

торжествующий ['dGu:bıl∂nt]). "I'll pour it on," he told Hagen, "and then those bastards

will come begging for a deal."

Sonny was worried about other things. His wife was giving him a hard time because

the rumors had gotten to her that Lucy Mancini had bewitched her husband. And though

she joked publicly about her Sonny's equipment and technique, he had stayed away

from her too long and she missed him in her bed, and she was making life miserable for

him with her nagging.