In them and finally Connie was truly afraid.

Carlo straddled his legs apart and drank from the bottle. He reached down and

grabbed a chunk (толстый кусок, ломоть) of her pregnant heavy thigh in his hand. He

squeezed very hard, hurting her and making her beg for mercy. "You're fat as a pig," he

said with disgust and walked out of the bedroom.

Thoroughly frightened and cowed, she lay in the bed, not daring to see what her

husband was doing in the other room. Finally she rose and went to the door to peer into

the living room. Carlo had opened a fresh bottle of whiskey and was sprawled on the

sofa. In a little while he would drink himself into sodden (промокший, пропитанный;

отупевший /напр. от усталости, пьянства/) sleep and she could sneak into the kitchen

and call her family in Long Beach. She would tell her mother to send someone out here

to get her. She just hoped Sonny didn't answer the phone, she knew it would be best to

talk to Tom Hagen or her mother.

It was nearly ten o'clock at night when the kitchen phone in Don Corleone's house

rang. It was answered by one of the Don's bodyguards who dutifully turned the phone

over to Connie's mother. But Mrs. Corleone could hardly understand what her daughter

was saying, the girl was hysterical yet trying to whisper so that her husband in the next

room would not hear her. Also her face had become swollen because of the slaps, and

her puffy lips thickened her speech. Mrs. Corleone made a sign to the bodyguard that

he should call Sonny, who was in the living room with Tom Hagen.

Sonny came into the kitchen and took the phone from his mother. "Yeah, Connie," he

said.

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98

Connie was so frightened both of her husband and of what her brother would do that

her speech became worse. She babbled, "Sonny, just send a car to bring me home, I'll

tell you then, it's nothing, Sonny. Don't you come. Send Tom, please, Sonny. It's

nothing, I just want to come home."

By this time Hagen had come into the room. The Don was already under a sedated

sleep in the bedroom above and Hagen wanted to keep an eye on Sonny in all crises.

The two interior bodyguards were also in the kitchen. Everybody was watching Sonny

as he listened on the phone.

There was no question that the violence in Sonny Corleone's nature rose from some

deep mysterious physical well. As they watched they could actually see the blood

rushing to his heavily corded neck, could see the eyes film with hatred, the separate

features of his face tightening, growing pinched, then his face took on the grayish hue of

a sick man fighting off some sort of death, except that the adrenalin pumping through

his body made his hands tremble. But his voice was controlled, pitched low, as he told

his sister, "You wait there. You just wait there." He hung up the phone.

He stood there for a moment quite stunned with his own rage, then he said, "The

fucking sonofabitch, the fucking sonofabitch." He ran out of the house.

Hagen knew the look on Sonny's face, all reasoning power had left him. At this

moment Sonny was capable of anything. Hagen also knew that the ride into the city

would cool Sonny off, make him more rational. But that rationality might make him even

more dangerous, though the rationality would enable him to protect himself against the

consequences of his rage. Hagen heard the car motor roaring into life and he said to the

two bodyguards, "Go after him."

Then he went to the phone and made some calls. He arranged for some men of

Sonny's regime living in the city to go up to Carlo Rizzi's apartment and get Carlo out of

there. Other men would stay with Connie until Sonny arrived. He was taking a chance

(рисковал), thwarting (thwart – банка на гребной шлюпке; поперечный; to thwart –

перечить; /по/мешать исполнению, /здесь/ раздражая, действуя ему «против

шерсти») Sonny, but he knew the Don would back him up. He was afraid that Sonny

might kill Carlo in front of witnesses. He did not expect trouble from the enemy. The

Five Families had been quiet too long and obviously were looking for peace of some

kind.

By the time Sonny roared out of the mall in his Buick, he had already regained, partly,

his senses. He noted the two bodyguards getting into a car to follow him and approved.

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He expected no danger, the Five Families had quit counterattacking, were not really

fighting anymore.

He had grabbed his jacket in the foyer and there was a gun in a secret dashboard

(щиток, приборная доска) compartment (отделение) of the car, the car registered in

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the name of a member of his regime, so that he personally could not get into any legal

trouble. But he did not anticipate needing any weapon. He did not even know what he

was going to do with Carlo Rizzi.

Now that he had a chance to think, Sonny knew he could not kill the father of an

unborn child, and that father his sister's husband. Not over a domestic spat (небольшая

ссора; легкий удар, шлепок; to spat – похлопать, пошлепать; побраниться; слегка

поссориться). Except that it was not just a domestic spat. Carlo was a bad guy and

Sonny felt responsible that his sister had met the bastard through him.

The paradox in Sonny's violent nature was that he could not hit a woman and had

never done so. That he could not harm a child or anything helpless. When Carlo had

refused to fight back against him that day, it had kept Sonny from killing him; complete

submission disarmed his violence. As a boy, he had been truly tenderhearted. That he

had become a murderer as a man was simply his destiny.

But he would settle this thing once and for all, Sonny thought, as he headed the Buick

toward the causeway (мостовая, мощеная дорожка, тротуар; дамба, гать) that would

take him over the water from Long Beach to the parkways on the other side of Jones

Beach. He always used this route when he went to New York. There was less traffic.

He decided he would send Connie home with the bodyguards and then he would have

a session with his brother-in-law. What would happen after that he didn't know. If the

bastard had really hurt Connie, he'd make a cripple out of the bastard. But the wind

coming over the causeway, the salty freshness of the air, cooled his anger. He put the

window down all the way.

He had taken the Jones Beach Causeway, as always, because it was usually

deserted this time of night, at this time of year, and he could speed recklessly until he hit

the parkways on the other side. And even there traffic would be light. The release of

driving very fast would help dissipate what he knew was a dangerous tension. He had

already left his bodyguards' car far behind.

The causeway was badly lit, there was not a single car. Far ahead he saw the white

cone of the manned tollbooth (будка для сбора дорожной пошлины: toll).

There were other tollbooths beside it but they were staffed only during the day, for

heavier traffic. Sonny started braking the Buick and at the same time searched his

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pockets for change. He had none. He reached for his wallet, flipped it open with one

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hand and fingered out a bill. He came within the arcade of light and he saw to his mild

surprise a car in the tollbooth slot (щелка, щель, прорезь; /здесь/ узкий проезд возле

будки) blocking it, the driver obviously asking some sort of directions from the toll taker.

Sonny honked (to honk – кричать /о диких гусях/; сигналить /авто/) his horn and the

other car obediently rolled through to let his car slide into the slot.

Sonny handed the toll taker the dollar bill and waited for his change. He was in a hurry

now to close the window. The Atlantic Ocean air had chilled the whole car. But the toll

taker was fumbling with his change; the dumb son of a bitch actually dropped it. Head

and body disappeared as the toll man stooped down in his booth to pick up the money.

At that moment Sonny noticed that the other car had not kept going but had parked a

few feet ahead, still blocking his way. At that same moment his lateral vision caught

sight of another man in the darkened tollbooth to his right. But he did not have time to

think about that because two men came out of the car parked in front and walked

toward him. The toll collector still had not appeared. And then in the fraction of a second

before anything actually happened, Santino Corleone knew he was a dead man. And in

that moment his mind was lucid, drained of all violence, as if the hidden fear finally real

and present had purified him.

Even so, his huge body in a reflex for life crashed against the Buick door, bursting its

lock. The man in the darkened tollbooth opened fire and the shots caught Sonny

Corleone in the head and neck as his massive frame spilled out of the car. The two men