Английский язык с Крестным Отцом

That night and the weeks that followed, Michael Corleone came to understand the

premium (большой почет, спрос [‘pri:mj∂m]) put on virginity by socially primitive people.

It was a period of sensuality that he had never before experienced, a sensuality mixed

with a feeling of masculine power. Apollonia in those first days became almost his slave.

Given trust, given affection, a young full-blooded girl aroused from virginity to erotic

awareness was as delicious as an exactly ripe fruit.

She on her part brightened up the rather gloomy masculine atmosphere of the villa.

She had packed her mother off the very next day after her bridal night and presided at

the communal table with bright girlish charm. Don Tommasino dined with them every

night and Dr. Taza told all his old stories as they drank wine in the garden full of statues

garlanded with blood-red flowers, and so the evenings passed pleasantly enough. At

night in their bedroom the newly married couple spent hours of feverish lovemaking.

Michael could not get enough of Apollonia's beautifully sculpted body, her honey-

colored skin, her huge brown eyes glowing with passion. She had a wonderfully fresh

smell, a fleshly smell perfumed by her sex yet almost sweet and unbearably

aphrodisiacal. Her virginal passion matched his nuptial lust and often it was dawn when

they fell into an exhausted slumber. Sometimes, spent but not yet ready for sleep,

Michael sat on the window ledge (на подоконнике; ledge – планка, рейка; выступ)

and stared at Apollonia's naked body while she slept. Her face too was lovely in repose,

a perfect face he had seen before only in art books of painted Italian Madonnas who by

no stretch (напряжение) of the artist's skill could be thought virginal.

In the first week of their marriage they went on picnics and small trips in the Alfa

Romeo. But then Don Tommasino took Michael aside and explained that the marriage

had made his presence and identity common knowledge in that part of Sicily and

precautions had to be taken against the enemies of the Corleone Family, whose long

arms also stretched to this island refuge. Don Tommasino put armed guards around his

villa and the two shepherds, Calo and Fabrizzio, were fixtures (прикрепление; лицо,

прочно обосновавшееся в каком-либо месте) inside the walls. So Michael and his

wife had to remain on the villa grounds. Michael passed the time by teaching Apollonia

to read and write English and to drive the car along the inner walls of the villa. About

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this time Don Tommasino seemed to be preoccupied and poor company. He was still

having trouble with the new Mafia in the town of Palermo, Dr. Taza said.

One night in the garden an old village woman who worked in the house as a servant

brought a dish of fresh olives and then turned to Michael and said, "Is it true what

everybody is saying that you are the son of Don Corleone in New York City, the

Godfather?"

Michael saw Don Tommasino shaking his head in disgust at the general knowledge of

their secret. But the old crone (старуха, старая карга) was looking at him in so

concerned a fashion, as if it was important for her to know the truth, that Michael

nodded. "Do you know my father?" he asked.

The woman's name was Filomena and her face was as wrinkled and brown as a

walnut, her brown-stained teeth showing through the shell of her flesh. For the first time

since he had been in the villa she smiled at him. "The Godfather saved my life once,"

she said, "and my brains too." She made a gesture toward her head.

She obviously wanted to say something else so Michael smiled to encourage her. She

asked almost fearfully, "Is it true that Luca Brasi is dead?"

Michael nodded again and was surprised at the look of release on the old woman's

face. Filomena crossed herself and said, "God forgive me, but may his soul roast in hell

for eternity."

Michael remembered his old curiosity about Brasi, and had the sudden intuition that

this woman knew the story Hagen and Sonny had refused to tell him. He poured the

woman a glass of wine and made her sit down. "Tell me about my father and Luca

Brasi," he said gently. "I know some of it, but how did they become friends and why was

Brasi so devoted to my father? Don't be afraid, come tell me."

Filomena's wrinkled face, her raisin-black (raisin [reızn] – изюм) eyes, turned to Don

Tommasino, who in some way signaled his permission. And so Filomena passed the

evening for them by telling her story.

Thirty years before, Filnmena had been a midwife in New York City, on Tenth Avenue,

servicing the Italian colony. The women were always pregnant and she prospered. She

taught doctors a few things when they tried to interfere in a difficult birth. Her husband

was then a prosperous grocery store owner, dead now poor soul, she blessed him,

though he had been a card player and wencher (бабник; wench – девушка, молодая

женщина /шутл./) who never thought to put aside for hard times. In any event one

cursed night thirty years ago when all honest people were long in their beds, there came