The Godfather

The Don clapped his hands together with decisive approval. “Well spoken. Very fine. Then you have nothing to complain about. The judge has ruled. America has ruled. Bring your daughter flowers and a box of candy when you go visit her in the hospital. That will comfort her. Be content. After all, this is not a serious affair, the boys were young, high-spirited, and one of them is the son of a powerful politician. No, my dear Amerigo, you have always been honest. I must admit, though you spurned my friendship, that I would trust the given word of Amerigo Bonasera more than I would any other man’s. So give me your word that you will put aside this madness. It is not American. Forgive. Forget. Life is full of misfortunes.”

The cruel and contemptuous irony with which all this was said, the controlled anger of the Don, reduced the poor undertaker to a quivering jelly but he spoke up bravely again. “I ask you for justice.”

Don Corleone said curtly, “The court gave you justice.”

Bonasera shook his head stubbornly. “No. They gave the youths justice. They did not give me justice.”

The Don acknowledged this fine distinction with an approving nod, then asked, “What is your justice?”

“An eye for an eye,” Bonasera said.

“You asked for more,” the Don said. “Your daughter is alive.”

Bonasera said reluctantly, “Let them suffer as she suffers.” The Don waited for him to speak further. Bonasera screwed up the last of his courage and said, “How much shall I pay you?” It was a despairing wail.

Don Corleone turned his back. It was a dismissal. Bonasera did not budge.

Finally, sighing, a good-hearted man who ca

“But if you had come to me, my purse would have been yours. If you had come to me for justice those scum who ruined your daughter would be weeping bitter tears this day. If by some misfortune an honest man like yourself made enemies they would become my enemies”— the Don raised his arm, finger pointing at Bonasera— “and then, believe me, they would fear you.”

Bonasera bowed his head and murmured in a strangled voice, “Be my friend. I accept.”

Don Corleone put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Good,” he said, “you shall have your justice. Some day, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do me a service in return. Until that day, consider this justice a gift from my wife, your daughter’s godmother.”

When the door closed behind the grateful undertaker, Don Corleone turned to Hagen and said, “Give this affair to Clemenza and tell him to be sure to use reliable people, people who will not be carried away by the smell of blood. After all, we’re not murderers, no matter what that corpse valet dreams up in his foolish head.” He noted that his firstborn, masculine son was gazing through the window at the garden party. It was hopeless, Don Corleone thought. If he refused to be instructed, Santino could never run the family business, could never become a Don. He would have to find somebody else. And soon. After all, he was not immortal.

From the garden, startling all three men, there came a happy roaring shout. So

“No,” the Don said. “Let the people enjoy him. Let him come to me when he is ready.” He smiled at Hagen. “You see? He is a good godson.”

Hagen felt a twinge of jealousy. He said dryly, “It’s been two years. He’s probably in trouble again and wants you to help.”

“And who should he come to if not his godfather?” asked Don Corleone.

The first one to see Joh

A familiar voice called from the bandstand, “How about giving us a song, Joh

Nino began strumming on the mandolin. Joh

They were all proud of him. He was of them and he had become a famous singer, a movie star who slept with the most desired women in the world. And yet he had shown proper respect for his Godfather by traveling three thousand miles to attend this wedding. He still loved old friends like Nino Valenti. Many of the people there had seen Joh

Joh

Only Don Corleone, standing in the corner entrance of the house, sensed something amiss. Cheerily, with bluff good humor, careful not to give offense to his guests, he called out, “My godson has come three thousand miles to do us honor and no one thinks to wet his throat?” At once a dozen full wineglasses were thrust at Joh