Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

или жира) veal and peppers, preparing a mixed salad while the pan simmered (to

simmer – закипать; кипеть на медленном огне). Meanwhile Carlo stretched out on his

bed to read the next day's racing form. He had a water glass full of whiskey beside him

which he kept sipping at.

Connie came into the bedroom. She stood in the doorway as if she could not come

close to the bed without being invited. "The food is on the table," she said.

"I'm not hungry yet," he said, still reading the racing form.

"It's on the table," Connie said stubbornly.

"Stick it up your ass," Carlo said. He drank off the rest of the whiskey in the water

glass, tilted the bottle to fill it again. He paid no more attention to her.

Connie went into the kitchen, picked up the plates filled with food and smashed them

against the sink. The loud crashes brought Carlo in from the bedroom. He looked at the

greasy veal and peppers splattered all over the kitchen walls and his finicky

(разборчивый, мелочно требовательный) neatness was outraged. "You filthy guinea

spoiled brat," he said venomously. "Clean that up right now or I'll kick the shit out of

you."

"Like hell I will," Connie said. She held her hands like claws ready to scratch his bare

chest to ribbons.

Carlo went back into the bedroom and when he came out he was holding his belt

doubled in his hand. "Clean it up," he said and there was no mistaking the menace in

his voice. She stood there not moving and he swung the belt against her heavily padded

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hips, the leather stinging but not really hurting. Connie retreated to the kitchen cabinets

and her hand went into one of the drawers to haul out the long bread knife. She held it

ready.

Carlo laughed. "Even the female Corleones are murderers," he said. He put the belt

down on the kitchen table and advanced toward her. She tried a sudden lunge but her

pregnant heavy body made her slow and he eluded the thrust she aimed at his groin in

such deadly earnest. He disarmed her easily and then he started to slap her face with a

slow medium-heavy stroke so as not to break the skin. He hit her again and again as

she retreated around the kitchen table trying to escape him and he pursued her into the

bedroom. She tried to bite his hand and he grabbed her by the hair to lift her head up.

He slapped her face until she began to weep like a little girl, with pain and humiliation.

Then he threw her contemptuously onto the bed. He drank from the bottle of whiskey

still on the night table. He seemed very drunk now, his light blue eyes had a crazy glint

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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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