mp.godfather-第2部分

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　established　the　identity　of　the　giver　and　the　measure　of　his　respect　for　the　Godfather。　A　respect　truly　earned。
　
　Don　Vito　Corleone　was　a　man　to　whom　everybody　came　for　help；　and　never　were　they　disappointed。　He　made　no　empty　promises；　nor　the　craven　excuse　that　his　hands　were　tied　by　more　powerful　forces　in　the　world　than　himself。　It　was　not　necessary　that　he　be　your　friend；　it　was　not　even　important　that　you　had　no　means　with　which　to　repay　him。　Only　one　thing　was　required。　That　you；　you　yourself；　proclaim　your　friendship。　And　then；　no　matter　how　poor　or　powerless　the　supplicant；　Don　Corleone　would　take　that　man's　troubles　to　his　heart。　And　he　would　let　nothing　stand　in　the　way　to　a　solution　of　that　man's　woe。　His　reward？　Friendship；　the　respectful　title　of　〃Don；〃　and　sometimes　the　more　affectionate　salutation　of　〃Godfather。〃　And　perhaps；　to　show　respect　only；　never　for　profit；　some　humble　gift…　a　gallon　of　homemade　wine　or　a　basket　of　peppered　taralles…　specially　baked　to　grace　his　Christmas　table。　It　was　understood；　it　was　mere　good　manners；　to　proclaim　that　you　were　in　his　debt　and　that　he　had　the　right　to　call　upon　you　at　any　time　to　redeem　your　debt　by　some　small　service。
　
　Now　on　this　great　day；　his　daughter's　wedding　day；　Don　Vito　Corleone　stood　in　the　doorway　of　his　Long　Beach　home　to　greet　his　guests；　all　of　them　known；　all　of　them　trusted。　Many　of　them　owed　their　good　fortune　in　life　to　the　Don　and　on　this　intimate　occasion　felt　free　to　call　him　〃Godfather〃　to　his　face。　Even　the　people　performing　festal　services　were　his　friends。　The　bartender　was　an　old　rade　whose　gift　was　all　the　wedding　liquors　and　his　own　expert　skills。　The　waiters　were　the　friends　of　Don　Corleone's　sons。　The　food　on　the　garden　picnic　tables　had　been　cooked　by　the　Don's　wife　and　her　friends　and　the　gaily　festooned　one…acre　garden　itself　had　been　decorated　by　the　young　girl…chums　of　the　bride。
　
　Don　Corleone　received　everyone…　rich　and　poor；　powerful　and　humble…　with　an　equal　show　of　love。　He　slighted　no　one。　That　was　his　character。　And　the　guests　so　exclaimed　at　how　well　he　looked　in　his　tux　that　an　inexperienced　observer　might　easily　have　thought　the　Don　himself　was　the　lucky　groom。
　
　Standing　at　the　door　with　him　were　two　of　his　three　sons。　The　eldest；　baptized　Santino　but　called　Sonny　by　everyone　except　his　father；　was　looked　at　askance　by　the　older　Italian　men；　with　admiration　by　the　younger。　Sonny　Corleone　was　tall　for　a　first…generation　American　of　Italian　parentage；　almost　six　feet；　and　his　crop　of　bushy；　curly　hair　made　him　look　even　taller。　His　face　was　that　of　a　gross　Cupid；　the　features　even　but　the　bow…shaped　lips　thickly　sensual；　the　dimpled　cleft　chin　in　some　curious　way　obscene。　He　was　built　as　powerfully　as　a　bull　and　it　was　mon　knowledge　that　he　was　so　generously　endowed　by　nature　that　his　martyred　wife　feared　the　marriage　bed　as　unbelievers　once　feared　the　rack。　It　was　whispered　that　when　as　a　youth　he　had　visited　houses　of　ill　fame；　even　the　most　hardened　and　fearless　putain；　after　an　awed　inspection　of　his　massive　organ；　demanded　double　price。
　
　Here　at　the　wedding　feast；　some　young　matrons；　wide…hipped；　wide…mouthed；　measured　Sonny　Corleone　with　coolly　confident　eyes。　But　on　this　particular　day　they　were　wasting　their　time。　Sonny　Corleone；　despite　the　presence　of　his　wife　and　three　small　children；　had　plans　for　his　sister's　maid　of　honor；　Lucy　Mancini。　This　young　girl；　fully　aware；　sat　at　a　garden　table　in　her　pink　formal　gown；　a　tiara　of　flowers　in　her　glossy　black　hair。　She　had　flirted　with　Sonny　in　the　past　week　of　rehearsals　and　squeezed　his　hand　that　morning　at　the　altar。　A　maiden　could　do　no　more。
　
　She　did　not　care　that　he　would　never　be　the　great　man　his　father　had　proved　to　be。　Sonny　Corleone　had　strength；　he　had　courage。　He　was　generous　and　his　heart　was　admitted　to　be　as　big　as　his　organ。　Yet　he　did　not　have　his　father's　humility　but　instead　a　quick；　hot　temper　that　led　him　into　errors　of　judgment。　Though　he　was　a　great　help　in　his　father's　business；　there　were　many　who　doubted　that　he　would　bee　the　heir　to　it。
　
　The　second　son；　Frederico；　called　Fred　or　Fredo；was　a　child　every　Italian　prayed　to　the　saints　for。　Dutiful；　loyal；　always　at　the　service　of　his　father；　living　with　his　parents　at　age　thirty。　He　was　short　and　burly；　not　handsome　but　with　the　same　Cupid　head　of　the　family；　the　curly　helmet　of　hair　over　the　round　face　and　sensual　bow…shaped　lips。　Only；　in　Fred；　these　lips　were　not　sensual　but　granitelike。　Inclined　to　dourness；　he　was　still　a　crutch　to　his　father；　never　disputed　him；　never　embarrassed　him　by　scandalous　behavior　with　women。　Despite　all　these　virtues　he　did　not　have　that　personal　magnetism；　that　animal　force；　so　necessary　for　a　leader　of　men；　and　he　too　was　not　expected　to　inherit　the　family　business。
　
　The　third　son；　Michael　Corleone；　did　not　stand　with　his　father　and　his　two　brothers　but　sat　at　a　table　in　the　most　secluded　corner　of　the　garden。　But　even　there　he　could　not　escape　the　attentions　of　the　family　friends。
　
　Michael　Corleone　was　the　youngest　son　of　the　Don　and　the　only　child　who　had　refused　the　great　man's　direction。　He　did　not　have　the　heavy；　Cupid…shaped　face　of　the　other　children；　and　his　jet　black　hair　was　straight　rather　than　curly。　His　skin　was　a　clear　olive…brown　that　would　have　been　called　beautiful　in　a　girl。　He　was　handsome　in　a　delicate　way。　Indeed　there　had　been　a　time　whey　the　Don　had　worried　about　his　youngest　son's　masculinity。　A　worry　that　was　put　to　rest　when　Michael　Corleone　became　seventeen　years　old。
　
　Now　this　youngest　son　sat　at　a　table　in　the　extreme　corner　of　the　garden　to　proclaim　his　chosen　alienation　from　father　and　family。　Beside　him　sat　the　American　girl　everyone　had　heard　about　but　whom　no　one　had　seen　until　this　day。　He　had；　of　course；　shown　the　proper　respect　and　introduced　her　to　everyone　at　the　wedding；　including　his　family。　They　were　not　impressed　with　her。　She　was　too　thin；　she　was　too　fair；　her　face　was　too　sharply　intelligent　for　a　woman；　her　manner　too　free　for　a　maiden。　Her　name；　too；　was　outlandish　to　their　ears；　she　called　herself　Kay　Adams。　If　she　had　told　them　that　her　family　had　settled　in　America　two　hundred　years　ago　and　her　name　was　a　mon　one；　they　would　have　shrugged。
　
　Every　guest　noticed　that　the　Don　paid　no　particular　attention　to　this　third　son。　Michael　had　been　his　favorite　before　the　war　and　obviously　the　chosen　heir　to　run　the　family　business　when　the　proper　moment　came。　He　had　all　the　quiet　force　and　intelligence　of　his　great　father；　the　born　instinct　to　act　in　such　a　way　that　men　had　no　recourse　but　to　respect　him。　But　when　World　War　II　broke　out；　Michael　Corleone　volunteered　for　the　Marine　Corps。　He　defied　his　father's　express　mand　when　he　did　so。
　
　Don　Corleone　had　no　desire；　no　intention；　of　letting　his　youngest　son　be　killed　in　the　service　of　a　power　foreign　to　himself。　Doctors　had　been　bribed；　secret　arrangements　had　been　made。　A　great　deal　of　money　had　been　spent　to　take　the　proper　precautions。　But　Michael　was　twenty…one　years　of　age　and　nothing　could　be　done　against　his　own　willfulness。　He　enlisted　and　fought　over　the　Pacific　Ocean。　He　became　a　Captain　and　won　medals。　In　1944　his　picture　was　printed　in　Life　magazine　with　a　photo　layout　of　his　deeds。　A　friend　had　shown　Don　Corleone　the　magazine　（his　family　did　not　dare）；　and　the　Don　had　grunted　disdainfully　and　said；　〃He　performs　those　miracles　for　strangers。〃
　
　When　Michael　Corleone　was　discharged　early　in　1945　to　recover　from　a　disabling　wound；　he　had　no　idea　that　his　father　had　arranged　his　release。　He　stayed　home　for　a　few　weeks；　then；　without　consulting　anyone；　entered　Dartmouth　College　in　Hanover；　New　Hampshire；　and　so　he　left　his　father's　house。　To　return　for　the　wedding　of　his　sister　and　to　show　his　own　future　wife　to　them；　the　washed…out　rag　of　an　American　girl。
　
　Michael　Corleone　was　amusing　Kay　Adams　by　telling　her　little　stories　about　some　of　the　more　colorful　wedding　guests。　He　was；　in　turn；　amused　by　her　finding　these　people　exotic；　and；　as　always；　charmed　by　her　intense　interest　in　anything　new　and　foreign　to　her　experience。　Finally　her　attention　was　caught　by　a　small　group　of　men　gathered　around　a　wooden　barrel　of　homemade　wine。　The　men　were　Amerigo　Bonasera；　Nazorine　the　Baker；　Anthony　Coppola　and　Luca　Brasi。　With　her　usual　alert　intelligence　she　remarked　on　the　fact　that　these　four　men　did　not　seem　particularly　happy。　Michael　smiled。　〃No；　they're　not；〃　he　said。　〃They're　waiting　to　see　my　father　in　private。　They　have　favors　to　ask。〃　And　indeed　it　was　easy　to　see　that　all　four　men　constantly　followed　the　Don　with　their　eyes。
　
　As　Don　Corleone　stood　greeting　guests；　a　black　Chevrolet　sedan　came　to　a　stop　on　the　far　side　of　the　paved　mall。　Two　men　in　the　front　seat　pulled　notebooks　from　their　jackets　and；　with　no　attempt　at　concealment；　jotted　down　license　numbers　of　the　other　cars　parked　around　the　mall。　Sonny　turned　to　his　father　and　said；　〃Those　guys　over　there　must　be　cops。〃
　
　Don　Corleone　shrugged。　〃I　don't　own　the　street。　They　can　do　what　they　please。〃
　
　Sonny's　heavy　Cupid　face　grew　red　with　anger。　〃Those　lousy　bastards；　they　don't　respect　anything。〃　He　left　the　steps　of　the　house　and　walked　across　the　mall　to　where　the　black　sedan　was　parked。　He　thrust　his　face　angrily　close　to　the　face　of　the　driver；　who　did　not　flinch　but　flapped　open　his　wallet　to　show　a　green　identification　card。　Sonny　stepped　back　without　saying　a　word。　He　spat　so　that　the　spittle　hit　the　back　door　of　the　sedan　and　walked　away。　He　was　hoping　the　driver　would　get　out　of　the　sedan　and　e　after　him；　on　the　mall；　but　nothing　happened。　When　he　reached　the　steps　he　said　to　his　father；　〃Those　guys　are　FBI　men。　They're　taking　down　all　the　license　numbers。　Snotty　bastards。〃
　
　Don　Corleone　knew　who　they　were。　His　closest　and　most　intimate　friends　had　been　advised　to　attend　the　wedding　in　automobiles　not　their　own。　And　though　he　disapproved　of　his　son's　foolish　display　of　anger；　the　tantrum　served　a　purpose。　It　would　convince　the　interlopers　that　their　presence　was　unexpected　and　unprepared　for。　So　Don　Corleone　himself　was　not　angry。　He　had　long　ago　learned　that　society　imposes　insults　that　must　be　borne；　forted