chapter 1.4

Amerigo Bonasera followed Hagen into the corner room of the house and found Don

Corleone sitting behind a huge desk. Sonny Corleone was standing by the window,

looking out into the garden. For the first time that afternoon the Don behaved coolly. He

did not embrace the visitor or shake hands. The sallow-faced undertaker owed his

invitation to the fact that his wife and the wife of the Don were the closest of friends.

Amerigo Bonasera himself was in severe disfavor with Don Corleone.

Bonasera began his request obliquely and cleverly. "You must excuse my daughter,

your wife's goddaughter, for not doing your family the respect of coming today. She is in

the hospital still." He glanced at Sonny Corleone and Tom Hagen to indicate that he did

not wish to speak before them. But the Don was merciless.

"We all know of your daughter's misfortune," Don Corleone said. "If I can help her in any

way, you have only to speak. My wife is her godmother after all. I have never forgotten

that honor." This was a rebuke. The undertaker never called Don Corleone, "Godfather"

as custom dictated.

Bonasera, ashen-faced, asked, directly now, "May I speak to you alone?"

Don Corleone shook his head. "I trust these two men with my life. They are my two right

arms. I cannot insult them by sending them away."

The undertaker closed his eyes for a moment and then began to speak. His voice was

quiet, the voice he used to console the bereaved. "I raised my daughter in the American

fashion. I believe in America. America has made my fortune. I gave my daughter her

freedom and yet taught her never to dishonor her family. She found a 'boy friend,' not an

Italian. She went to the movies with him. She stayed out late. But he never came to

meet her parents. I accepted all this without a protest, the fault is mine. Two months ago

he took her for a drive. He had a masculine friend with him. They made her drink

whiskey and then they tried to take advantage of her. She resisted. She kept her honor.

They beat her. Like an animal. When I went to the hospital she had two black eyes. Her

nose was broken. Her jaw was shattered. They had to wire it together. She wept through

her pain. 'Father, Father, why did they do it? Why did they do this to me?' And I wept."

Bonasera could not speak further, he was weeping now though his voice had not

betrayed his emotion.

Don Corleone, as if against his will, made a gesture of sympathy and Bonasera went on,

his voice human with suffering. "Why did I weep? She was the light of my life, an

affectionate daughter. A beautiful girl. She trusted people and now she will never trust

them again. She will never be beautiful again." He was trembling, his sallow face flushed

an ugly dark red.

"I went to the police like a good American. The two boys were arrested. They were

brought to trial. The evidence was overwhelming and they pleaded guilty. The judge

sentenced them to three years in prison and suspended the sentence. They went free

that very day. I stood in the courtroom like a fool and those bastards smiled at me. And

then I said to my wife: 'We must go to Don Corleone for justice.' "

The Don had bowed his head to show respect for the man's grief. But when he spoke,

the words were cold with offended dignity. "Why did you go to the police? Why didn't

you come to me at the beginning of this affair?"

Bonasera muttered almost inaudibly, "What do you want of me? Tell me what you wish.

But do what I beg you to do." There was something almost insolent in his words.

Don Corleone said gravely, "And what is that?"

Bonasera glanced at Hagen and Sonny Corleone and shook his head. The Don, still

sitting at Hagen's desk, inclined his body toward the undertaker. Bonasera hesitated,

then bent down and put his lips so close to the Don's hairy ear that they touched. Don

Corleone listened like a priest in the confessional, gazing away into the distance,

impassive, remote. They stood so for a long moment until Bonasera finished whispering

and straightened to his full height. The Don looked up gravely at Bonasera. Bonasera,

his face flushed, returned the stare unflinchingly.

Finally the Don spoke. "That I cannot do. You are being carried away."

Bonasera said loudly, clearly, "I will pay you anything you ask." On hearing this, Hagen

flinched, a nervous flick of his head. Sonny Corleone folded his arms, smiled

sardonically as he turned from the window to watch the scene in the room for the first

time.

Don Corleone rose from behind the desk. His face was still impassive but his voice rang

like cold death. "We have known each other many years, you and I," he said to the

undertaker, "but until this day you never came to me for counsel or help. I can't

remember the last time you invited me to your house for coffee though my wife is

godmother to your only child. Let us be frank. You spurned my friendship. You feared to

be in my debt."

Bonasera murmured, "I didn't want to get into trouble."

The Don held up his hand. "No. Don't speak. You found America a paradise. You had a

good trade, you made a good living, you thought the world a harmless place where you

could take your pleasure as you willed. You never armed yourself with true friends. After

all, the police guarded you, there were courts of law, you and yours could come to no

harm. You did not need Don Corleone. Very well. My feelings were wounded but I am

not that sort of person why thrusts his friendship on those who do not value it– on those

who think me of little account." The Don paused and gave the undertaker a polite, ironic

smile. "Now you come to me and say, 'Don Corleone give me justice.' And you do not

ask with respect. You do not offer me your friendship. You come into my home on the

bridal day of my daughter and you ask me to do murder and you say"–here the Don's

voice became a scornful mimicry–" 'I will pay you anything.' No, no, I am not offended,

but what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?"

Bonasera cried out in his anguish and his fear, "America has been good to me. I wanted

to be a good citizen. I wanted my child to be American."

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 cannot remain angry with an erring friend,

Don Corleone turned back to the undertaker, who was now as pale as one of his

corpses. Don Corleone was gentle, patient. "Why do you fear to give your first

allegiance to me?" he said. "You go to the law courts and wait for months. You spend

money on lawyers who know full well you are to be made a fool of. You accept judgment

from a judge who sells himself like the worst whore in the streets. Years gone by, when

you needed money, you went to the banks and paid ruinous interest, waited hat in hand

like a beggar while they sniffed around, poked their noses up your very asshole to make

sure you could pay them back." The Don paused, his voice became sterner.

"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. Sonny

Corleone pressed close to the window. What he saw made him move quickly toward the

door, a delighted smile on his face. "It's Johnny, he came to the wedding, what did I tell

you?" Hagen moved to the window. "It's really your godson," he said to Don Corleone.

"Shall I bring him here?"

"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.