Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

This frightened Amerigo Bonasera even more. He stuttered, "The Don himself is

coming to me tonight?"

"Yes," Hagen said.

"Then he's completely recovered from his injuries, thank God," Bonasera said. His

voice made it a question.

There was a pause at the other end of the phone, then Hagen's voice said very quietly,

"Yes." There was a click and the phone went dead.

Bonasera was sweating. He went into the bedroom and changed his shirt and rinsed

his mouth. But he didn't shave or use a fresh tie. He put on the same one he had used

during the day. He called the funeral parlor and told his assistant to stay with the

bereaved family using the front parlor that night. He himself would be busy in the

laboratory working area of the building. When the assistant started asking questions

Bonasera cut him off very curtly and told him to follow orders exactly.

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He put on his suit jacket and his wife, still eating, looked up at him in surprise. "I have

work to do," he said and she did not dare question him because of the look on his face.

Bonasera went out of the house and walked the few blocks to his funeral parlor.

This building stood by itself on a large lot with a white picket fence running all around

it. There was a narrow roadway leading from the street to the rear, just wide enough for

ambulances and hearses (hearse [h∂:s] – катафалк, похоронные дроги). Bonasera

unlocked the gate and left it open. Then he walked to the rear of the building and

entered it through the wide door there. As he did so he could see mourners already

entering the front door of the funeral parlor to pay their respects to the current corpse.

Many years ago when Bonasera had bought this building from an undertaker planning

to retire, there had been a stoop of about ten steps that mourners had to mount before

entering the funeral parlor. This had posed a problem. Old and crippled mourners

determined to pay their respects had found the steps almost impossible to mount, so

the former undertaker had used the freight elevator for these people, a small metal

platform, that rose out of the ground beside the building. The elevator was for coffins

and bodies. It would descend underground, then rise into the funeral parlor itself, so that

a crippled mourner would find himself rising through the floor beside the coffin as other

mourners moved their black chairs aside to let the elevator rise through the trapdoor

(люк, опускная дверь; trap – ловушка, капкан; /вентиляционная/ дверь /в шахте/).

Then when the crippled or aged mourner (скорбящий; to mourn – скорбеть,

оплакивать /кого-либо/) had finished paying his respects, the elevator would again

come up through the polished floor to take him down and out again.

Amerigo Bonasera had found this solution to the problem unseemly (неподобающий,

непристойный) and penny-pinching (мелочный, скаредный, экономящий на копейке;

to pinch – щипать; сжимать; скупиться). So he had had the front of the building

remodeled, the stoop done away with and a slightly inclining walk put in its place. But of

course the elevator was still used for coffins and corpses.

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.

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