mp.godfather-第70部分

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ending　his　domain。　And　so　Michael　was　deprived　of　the　old　man's　pany　and　had　to　be　content　with　Dr。　Taza's　stories；　which　were　beginning　to　repeat　themselves。
　
　One　morning　Michael　decided　to　take　a　long　hike　to　the　mountains　beyond　Corleone。　He　was；　naturally；　acpanied　by　the　two　shepherd　bodyguards。　This　was　not　really　a　protection　against　enemies　of　the　Corleone　Family。　It　was　simply　too　dangerous　for　anyone　not　a　native　to　go　wandering　about　by　himself。　It　was　dangerous　enough　for　a　native。　The　region　was　loaded　with　bandits；　with　Mafia　partisans　fighting　against　each　other　and　endangering　everybody　else　in　the　process。　He　might　also　be　mistaken　for　a　pagliaio　thief。
　
　A　pagliaio　is　a　straw…thatched　but　erected　in　the　fields　to　house　farming　tools　and　to　provide　shelter　for　the　agricultural　laborers　so　that　they　will　not　have　to　carry　them　on　the　long　walk　from　their　homes　in　the　village。　In　Sicily　the　peasant　does　not　live　on　the　land　he　cultivates。　It　is　too　dangerous　and　any　arable　land；　if　he　owns　it；　is　too　precious。　Rather；　he　lives　in　his　village　and　at　sunrise　begins　his　voyage　out　to　work　in　distant　fields；　a　muter　on　foot。　A　worker　who　arrived　at　his　pagliaio　and　found　it　looted　was　an　injured　man　indeed。　The　bread　was　taken　out　of　his　mouth　for　that　day。　The　Mafia；　after　the　law　proved　helpless；　took　this　interest　of　the　peasant　under　its　protection　and　solved　the　problem　in　typical　fashion。　It　hunted　down　and　slaughtered　all　pagliaio　thieves。　It　was　inevitable　that　some　innocents　suffered。　It　was　possible　that　if　Michael　wandered　past　a　pagliaio　that　had　just　been　looted　he　might　be　adjudged　the　criminal　unless　he　had　somebody　to　vouch　for　him。
　
　So　on　one　sunny　morning　he　started　hiking　across　the　fields　followed　by　his　two　faithful　shepherds。　One　of　them　was　a　plain　simple　fellow；　almost　moronic；　silent　as　the　dead　and　with　a　face　as　impassive　as　an　Indian。　He　had　the　wiry　small　build　of　the　typical　Sicilian　before　they　ran　to　the　fat　of　middle　age。　His　name　was　Calo。
　
　The　other　shepherd　was　more　outgoing；　younger；　and　had　seen　something　of　the　world。　Mostly　oceans；　since　he　had　been　a　sailor　in　the　Italian　navy　during　the　war　and　had　just　had　time　enough　to　get　himself　tattooed　before　his　ship　was　sunk　and　he　was　captured　by　the　British。　But　the　tattoo　made　him　a　famous　man　in　his　village。　Sicilians　do　not　often　let　themselves　be　tattooed；　they　do　not　have　the　opportunity　nor　the　inclination。　（The　shepherd；　Fabrizzio；　had　done　so　primarily　to　cover　a　splotchy　red　birthmark　on　his　belly。）　And　yet　the　Mafia　market　carts　had　gaily　painted　scenes　on　their　sides；　beautifully　primitive　paintings　done　with　loving　care。　In　any　case；　Fabrizzio；　back　is　his　native　village；　was　not　too　proud　of　that　tattoo　on　his　chest；　though　it　showed　a　subject　dear　to　the　Sicilian　〃honor；〃　a　husband　stabbing　a　naked　man　and　woman　entwined　together　on　the　hairy　floor　of　his　belly。　Fabrizzio　would　joke　with　Michael　and　ask　questions　about　America；　for　of　course　it　was　impossible　to　keep　them　in　the　dark　about　his　true　nationality。　Still；　they　did　not　know　exactly　who　he　was　except　that　he　was　in　hiding　and　there　could　be　no　babbling　about　him。　Fabrizzio　sometimes　brought　Michael　a　fresh　cheese　still　sweating　the　milk　that　formed　it。
　
　They　walked　along　dusty　country　roads　passing　donkeys　pulling　gaily　painted　carts。　The　land　was　filled　with　pink　flowers；　orange　orchards；　groves　of　almond　and　olive　trees；　all　blooming。　That　had　been　one　of　the　surprises。　Michael　had　expected　a　barren　land　because　of　the　legendary　poverty　of　Sicilians。　And　yet　he　had　found　it　a　land　of　gushing　plenty；　carpeted　with　flowers　scented　by　lemon　blossoms。　It　was　so　beautiful　that　he　wondered　how　its　people　could　bear　to　leave　it。　How　terrible　man　had　been　to　his　fellow　man　could　be　measured　by　the　great　exodus　from　what　seemed　to　be　a　Garden　of　Eden。
　
　He　had　planned　to　walk　to　the　coastal　village　of　Mazara；　and　then　take　a　bus　back　to　Corleone　in　the　evening；　and　so　tire　himself　out　and　be　able　to　sleep。　The　two　shepherds　wore　rucksacks　filled　with　bread　and　cheese　they　could　eat　on　the　way。　They　carried　their　luparas　quite　openly　as　if　out　for　a　day's　hunting。
　
　It　was　a　most　beautiful　morning。　Michael　felt　as　he　had　felt　when　as　a　child　he　had　gone　out　early　on　a　summer　day　to　play　ball。　Then　each　day　had　been　freshly　washed；　freshly　painted。　And　so　it　was　now。　Sicily　was　carpeted　is　gaudy　flowers；　the　scent　of　orange　and　lemon　blossoms　so　heavy　that　even　with　his　facial　injury　which　pressed　on　the　sinuses；　he　could　smell　it。
　
　The　smashing　on　the　left　site　of　his　face　had　pletely　healed　but　the　bone　had　formed　improperly　and　the　pressure　on　his　sinuses　made　his　left　eye　hurt。　It　also　made　his　nose　run　continually；　he　filled　up　handkerchiefs　with　mucus　and　often　blew　his　nose　out　onto　the　ground　as　the　local　peasants　did；　a　habit　that　had　disgusted　him　when　he　was　a　boy　and　had　seen　old　Italians；　disdaining　handkerchiefs　as　English　foppery；　blow　out　their　noses　in　the　asphalt　gutters。
　
　His　face　too　felt　〃heavy。〃　Dr。　Taza　had　told　him　that　this　was　due　to　the　pressure　on　his　sinuses　caused　by　the　badly　healed　fracture。　Dr。　Taza　called　it　an　eggshell　fracture　of　the　zygoma；　that　if　it　had　been　treated　before　the　bones　knitted；　it　could　have　been　easily　remedied　by　a　minor　surgical　procedure　using　an　instrument　like　a　spoon　to　push　out　the　bone　to　its　proper　shape。　Now；　however；　said　the　dootor；　he　would　have　to　check　into　a　Palermo　hospital　and　undergo　a　major　procedure　called　maxillo…facial　surgery　where　the　bone　would　be　broken　again。　That　was　enough　for　Michael。　He　refused。　And　yet　more　than　the　pain；　more　than　the　nose　dripping；　he　was　bothered　by　the　feeling　of　heaviness　in　his　face。
　
　He　never　reached　the　coast　that　day。　After　going　about　fifteen　miles　he　and　his　shepherds　stopped　in　the　cool　green　watery　shade　of　an　orange　grove　to　eat　lunch　and　drink　their　wine。　Fabrizzio　was　chattering　about　how　he　would　someday　get　to　America。　After　drinking　and　eating　they　lolled　in　the　shade　and　Fabrizzio　unbuttoned　his　shirt　and　contracted　his　stomach　muscles　to　make　the　tattoo　e　alive。　The　naked　couple　on　his　chest　writhed　in　a　lover's　agony　and　the　dagger　thrust　by　the　husband　quivered　in　their　transfixed　flesh。　It　amused　them。　It　was　while　this　was　going　on　that　Michael　was　hit　with　what　the　Sicilians　call　〃the　thunderbolt。〃
　
　Beyond　the　orange　grove　lay　the　green　ribboned　fields　of　a　baronial　estate。　Down　the　road　from　the　grove　was　a　villa　so　Roman　it　looked　as　if　it　had　been　dug　up　from　the　ruins　of　Pompeii。　It　was　a　little　palace　with　a　huge　marble　portico　and　fluted　Grecian　columns　and　through　those　columns　came　a　bevy　of　village　girls　flanked　by　two　stout　matrons　clad　in　black。　They　were　from　the　village　and　had　obviously　fulfilled　their　ancient　duty　to　the　local　baron　by　cleaning　his　villa　and　otherwise　preparing　it　for　his　winter　sojourn。　Now　they　were　going　into　the　fields　to　pick　the　flowers　with　which　they　would　fill　the　rooms。　They　were　gathering　the　pink　sulla；　purple　wisteria；　mixing　them　with　orange　and　lemon　blossoms。　The　girls；　not　seeing　the　men　resting　in　the　orange　grove；　came　closer　and　closer。
　
　They　were　dressed　in　cheap　gaily　printed　frocks　that　clung　to　their　bodies。　They　were　still　in　their　teens　but　with　the　full　womanliness　sun…drenched　flesh　ripened　into　so　quickly。　Three　or　four　of　them　started　chasing　one　girl；　chasing　her　toward　the　grove。　The　girl　being　chased　held　a　bunch　of　huge　purple　grapes　in　her　left　hand　and　with　her　right　hand　was　picking　grapes　off　the　cluster　and　throwing　them　at　her　pursuers。　She　had　a　crown　of　ringleted　hair　as　purple…black　as　the　grapes　and　her　body　seemed　to　be　bursting　out　of　its　skin。
　
　Just　short　of　the　grove　she　poised；　startled；　her　eyes　having　caught　the　alien　color　of　the　men's　shirts。　She　stood　there　up　on　her　toes　poised　like　a　deer　to　run。　She　was　very　close　now；　close　enough　for　the　men　to　see　every　feature　of　her　face。
　
　She　was　all　ovals…　oval…shaped　eyes；　the　bones　of　her　face；　the　contour　of　her　brow。　Her　skin　was　an　exquisite　dark　creaminess　and　her　eyes；　enormous；　dark　violet　or　brown　but　dark　with　long　heavy　lashes　shadowed　her　lovely　face。　Her　mouth　was　rich　without　being　gross；　sweet　without　being　weak　and　dyed　dark　red　with　the　juice　of　the　grapes。　She　was　so　incredibly　lovely　that　Fabrizzio　murmured；　〃Jesus　Christ；　take　my　soul；　I'm　dying；〃　as　a　joke；　but　the　words　came　out　a　little　too　hoarsely。　As　if　she　had　heard　him；　the　girl　came　down　off　her　toes　and　whirled　away　from　them　and。　fled　back　to　her　pursuers。　Her　haunches　moved　like　an　animal's　beneath　the　tight　print　of　her　dress；　as　pagan　and　as　innocently　lustful。　When　she　reached　her　friends　she　whirled　around　again　and　her　face　was　like　a　dark　hollow　against　the　field　of　bright　flowers。　She　extended　an　arm；　the　hand　full　of　grapes　pointed　toward　the　grove。　The　girls　fled　laughing；　with　the　black…clad；　stout　matrons　scolding　them　on。
　
　As　for　Michael　Corleone；　he　found　himself　standing；　his　heart　pounding　in　his　chest；　he　felt　a　little　dizzy。　The　blood　was　surging　through　his　body；　through　all　its　extremities　and　pounding　against　the　tips　of　his　fingers；　the　tips　of　his　toes。　All　the　perfumes　of　the　island　came　rushing　in　on　the　wind；　orange；　lemon　blossoms；　grapes；　flowers。　It　seemed　as　if　his　body　had　sprung　away　from　him　out　of　himself。　And　then　he　heard　the　two　shepherds　laughing。
　
　〃You　got　hit　by　the　thunderbolt；　eh？〃　Fabrizzio　said；　clapping　him　on　the　shoulder。　Even　Calo　became　friendly；　patting　him　on　the　arm　and　saying；　〃Easy；　man；　easy；〃　but　with　affection。　As　if　Michael　had　been　hit　by　a　car。　Fabrizzio　handed　him　a　wine　bottle　and　Michael　took　a　long　slug。　It　cleared　his　head。
　
　〃What　the　hell　are　you　damn　sheep　lovers　talking　about？〃　he　said。
　
　Both　men　laughed。　Calo；　his　honest　face　filled　with　the　utmost　seriousness；　said；　〃You　can't　hide　the　thunderbolt。　When　it　hits　you；　everybody　can　see　it。　Christ；　man；　don't　be　ashamed　of　it；　some　men　pray　for　the　thunderbolt。　You're　a　lucky　fellow。〃
　
　Michael　wasn't　too　pleased　about　his　emotions　being　so　easily　read。　But　this　was　the　first　time　in　his　life　such　a　thing　had　happened　to