Илья Франк - Английский язык с Крестным Отцом Страница 10

(to slump – резко падать, тяжело опускаться) into death, jamming (to jam – зажимать;

впихивать) the door open with his body.

Very carefully Vito took the wide wallet out of the dead man's jacket pocket and put it

inside his shirt. Then he walked across the street into the loft building, through that into

the yard and climbed the fire escape to the roof. From there he surveyed the street.

Fanucci's body was still lying in the doorway but there was no sign of any other person.

Two windows had gone up in the tenement and he could see dark heads poked out but

since he could not see their features they had certainly not seen his. And such men

would not give information to the police. Fanucci might lie there until dawn or until a

patrolman making the rounds stumbled on his body. No person in that house would

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deliberately (сознательно, осознанно; нарочно = по собственной воле) expose

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himself to police suspicion or questioning. They would lock their doors and pretend they

had heard nothing.

He could take his time. He traveled over the rooftops to his own roof door and down to

his own flat. He unlocked the door, went inside and then locked the door behind him. He

rifled (to rifle – обыскивать в целях грабежа) the dead man's wallet. Besides the seven

hundred dollars he had given Fanucci there were only some singles and a five-dollar

note.

Tucked (to tuck – делать складки /на платье/; подгибать; засовывать, прятать;

tuck – складка) inside the flap (клапан, заслонка, /боковое/ отделение) was an old

five-dollar gold piece, probably a luck token (знак, примета; здесь: талисман). If

Fanucci was a rich gangster, he certainly did not carry his wealth with him. This

confirmed some of Vito's suspicions.

He knew he had to get rid of the wallet and the gun (knowing enough even then that

he must leave the gold piece in the wallet). He went up on the roof again and traveled

over a few ledges (ledge – планка, рейка). He threw the wallet down one air shaft and

then he emptied the gun of bullets and smashed its barrel against the roof ledge. The

barrel wouldn't break. He reversed it in his hand and smashed the butt against the side

of a chimney. The butt split into two halves. He smashed it again and the pistol broke

into barrel and handle, two separate pieces. He used a separate air shaft for each. They

made no sound when they struck the earth five stories below, but sank into the soft hill

of garbage that had accumulated there. In the morning more garbage would be thrown

out of the windows and, with luck, would cover everything. Vito returned to his

apartment.

He was trembling a little but was absolutely under control. He changed his clothes and

fearful that some blood might have splattered on them, he threw them into a metal tub

his wife used for washing. He took lye (щёлок) and heavy brown laundry soap to soak

the clothes and scrubbed them with the metal wash board beneath the sink. Then he

scoured (to scour – отчищать, оттирать) tub and sink with lye and soap. He found a

bundle of newly washed clothes in the corner of the bedroom and mingled his own

clothes with these. Then he put on a fresh shirt and trousers and went down to join his

wife and children and neighbors in front of the tenement.

All these precautions proved to be unnecessary. The police, after discovering the

dead body at dawn, never questioned Vito Corleone. Indeed he was astonished that

they never learned about Fanucci's visit to his home on the night he was shot to death.

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47

He had counted on that for an alibi, Fanucci leaving the tenement alive. He only learned

later that the police had been delighted with the murder of Fanucci and not too anxious

to pursue his killers. They had assumed it was another gang execution, and had

questioned hoodlums with records in the rackets and a history of strong-arm. Since Vito

had never been in trouble he never came into the picture.

But if he had outwitted the police, his partners were another matter. Pete Clemenza

and Tessio avoided him for the next week, for the next two weeks, then they came to

call on him one evening. They came with obvious respect. Vito Corleone greeted them

with impassive courtesy and served them wine.

Clemenza spoke first. He said softly, "Nobody is collecting from the store owners on

Ninth Avenue. Nobody is collecting from the card games and gambling in the

neighborhood."

Vito Corleone gazed at both men steadily but did not reply. Tessio spoke. "We could

take over Fanucci's customers. They would pay us."

Vito Corleone shrugged. "Why come to me? I have no interest in such things."

Clemenza laughed. Even in his youth, before growing his enormous belly, he had a fat

man's laugh. He said now to Vito Corleone, "How about that gun I gave you for the truck

job? Since you won't need it any more you can give it back to me."

Very slowly and deliberately Vito Corleone took a wad of bills out of his side pocket

and peeled off five tens. "Here, I'll pay you. I threw the gun away after the truck job." He

smiled at the two men.

At that time Vito Corleone did not know the effect of this smile. It was chilling because

it attempted no menace. He smiled as if it was some private joke only he himself could

appreciate. But since he smiled in that fashion only in affairs that were lethal, and since

the joke was not really private and since his eyes did not smile, and since his outward

character was usually so reasonable and quiet, the sudden unmasking of his true self

was frightening.

Clemenza shook his head. "I don't want the money," he said. Vito pocketed the bills.

He waited. They all understood each other. They knew he had killed Fanucci and

though they never spoke about it to anyone the whole neighborhood, within a few

weeks, also knew. Vito Corleone was treated as a "man of respect" by everyone. But he

made no attempt to take over the Fanucci rackets and tributes.

What followed then was inevitable. One night Vito's wife brought a neighbor, a widow,

to the flat. The woman was Italian and of unimpeachable (безупречный,

безукоризненный; to impeach – брать под сомнение, бросать тень; порицать)

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character. She worked hard to keep a home for her fatherless children. Her sixteen-

year-old son brought home his pay envelope sealed, to hand over to her in the old-

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country style; her seventeen-year-old daughter, a dressmaker, did the same. The whole

family sewed buttons on cards at night at slave labor piece rates. The woman's name

was Signora Colombo.

Vito Corleone's wife said, "The Signora has a favor to ask of you. She is having some

trouble."

Vito Corleone expected to be asked for money, which he was ready to give. But it

seemed that Mrs. Colombo owned a dog which her youngest son adored. The landlord

had received complaints on the dog barking at night and had told Mrs. Colombo to get

rid of it. She had pretended to do so. The landlord had found out that she had deceived

him and had ordered her to vacate her apartment. She had promised this time to truly

get rid of the dog and she had done so. But the landlord was so angry that he would not

revoke (отменить, взять назад) his order. She had to get out or the police would be

summoned (to summon [‘sΛm∂n] – требовать исполнения) to put her out. And her

poor little boy had cried so when they had given the dog away to relatives who lived in

Long Island. All for nothing (ни за что ни про что), they would lose their home.

Vito Corleone asked her gently, "Why do you ask me to help you?"

Mrs. Colombo nodded toward his wife. "She told me to ask you."

He was surprised. His wife had never questioned him about the clothes he had

washed the night he had murdered Fanucci. Had never asked him where all the money

came from when he was not working. Even now her face was impassive. Vito said to

Mrs Colombo, "I can give you some money to help you move, is that what you want?"

The woman shook her head, she was in tears. "All my friends are here, all the girls I

grew up with in Italy. How can I move to another neighborhood with strangers? I want

you to speak to the landlord to let me stay."

Vito nodded. "It's done then. You won't have to move. I'll speak to him tomorrow

morning."

His wife gave him a smile which he did not acknowledge, but he felt pleased. Mrs.

Colombo looked a little uncertain. "You're sure he'll say yes, the landlord?" she asked.

"Signor Roberto?" Vito said in a surprised voice. "Of course he will. He's a good-

hearted fellow. Once I explain how things are with you he'll take pity on your

misfortunes. Now don't let it trouble you any more. Don't get so upset. Guard your

health, for the sake of your children."

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49

The landlord, Mr. Roberto, came to the neighborhood every day to check on the row

of five tenements that he owned. He was a padrone, a man who sold Italian laborers

just off the boat to the big corporations. With his profits he had bought the tenements

one by one. An educated man from the North of Italy, he felt only contempt for these

illiterate (неграмотные, бескультурные) Southerners from Sicily and Naples, who

swarmed (to swarm – кишеть, роиться; swarm – рой, стая) like vermin (паразиты

['v∂:mın]) through his buildings, who threw garbage down the air shafts, who let

cockroaches (тараканы) and rats eat away his walls without lifting a hand to preserve

his property. He was not a bad man, he was a good husband and father, but constant

worry about his investments, about the money he earned, about the inevitable expenses

that came with being a man of property had worn his nerves to a frazzle (потертые или

обтрепанные края платья) so that he was in a constant state of irritation. When Vito

Corleone stopped him on the street to ask for a word, Mr. Roberto was brusque

(отрывистый, резкий, бесцеремонный [brusk]). Not rude, since anyone of these

Southerners might stick a knife into you if rubbed the wrong way, though this young

man looked like a quiet fellow.

"Signor Roberto," said Vito Corleone, "the friend of my wife, a poor widow with no man

to protect her, tells me that for some reason she has been ordered to move from her

apartment in your building. She is in despair. She has no money, she has no friends

except those that live here. I told her that I would speak to you, that you are a

reasonable man who acted out of some misunderstanding. She has gotten rid of the

animal that caused all the trouble and so why shouldn't she stay? As one Italian to

another, I ask you the favor."

Signor Roberto studied the young man in front of him. He saw a man of medium

stature but strongly built, a peasant but not a bandit, though he so laughably dared to

call himself an Italian. Roberto shrugged. "I have already rented the apartment to

another family for higher rent," he said. "I cannot disappoint them for the sake of your

friend."

Vito Corleone nodded in agreeable understanding. "How much more a month?" he

asked.

"Five dollars," Mr. Roberto said. This was a lie. The railway flat, four dark rooms,

rented for twelve dollars a month to the widow and he had not been able to get more

than that from the new tenant.

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Vito Corleone took a roll of bills out of his pocket and peeled off three tens. "Here is

the six months' increase in advance. You needn't speak to her about it, she's a proud

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woman. See me again in another six months. But of course you'll let her keep her dog."

"Like hell," Mr. Roberto said. "And who the hell are you to give me orders. Watch your

manners or you'll be out on your Sicilian ass in the street there."

Vito Corleone raised his hands in surprise. "I'm asking you a favor, only that. One

never knows when one might need a friend, isn't that true? Here, take this money as a

sign of my goodwill and make your own decision. I wouldn't dare to quarrel with it." He

thrust the money into Mr. Roberto's hand. "Do me this little favor, just take the money

and think things over. Tomorrow morning if you want to give me the money back by all

means (любым способом, во что бы то ни стало; /здесь/ конечно же, пожалуйста,

ради Бога) do so. If you want the woman out of your house, how can I stop you? It's

your property, after all. If you don't want the dog in there, I can understand. I dislike

animals myself." He patted Mr. Roberto on the shoulder. "Do me this service, eh? I

won't forget it. Ask your friends in the neighborhood about me, they'll tell you I'm a man

who believes in showing his gratitude."

But of course Mr. Roberto had already begun to understand. That evening he made

inquiries about Vito Corleone. He did not wait until the next morning. He knocked on the

Corleone door that very night, apologizing for the lateness of the hour and accepted a

glass of wine from Signora Corleone. He assured Vito Corleone that it had all been a

dreadful misunderstanding, that of course Signora Colombo could remain in the flat, of

course she could keep her dog. Who were those miserable tenants to complain about

noise from a poor animal when they paid such a low rent? At the finish he threw the

thirty dollars Vito Corleone had given him on the table and said in the most sincere

fashion, "Your good heart in helping this poor widow has shamed me and I wish to show

that I, too, have some Christian charity (милосердие). Her rent will remain what it was."