Английский язык с Крестным Отцом
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called hard guys that worked for the family. Guys like Clemenza, Tessio, Rocco
Lampone, and that guy Paulie that somebody had knocked off. He wondered what the
story was about that. Then for some reason he thought about Sonny. Man to man he
could take Sonny, he thought, even though Sonny was a little bigger and a little heavier.
But what scared him was Sonny's rep, though he himself had never seen Sonny
anything but good-natured and kidding around. Yeah, Sonny was his buddy. Maybe with
the old Don gone, things would open up.
74
He dawdled (to dawdle –
hated this apartment. He was used to the bigger living quarters of the West and in a
little while he would have to go crosstown to his "book" to run the noontime action. It
was a Sunday, the heaviest action of the week what with baseball going already and the
tail end of basketball and the night trotters (trotter – рысак) starting up. Gradually he
became aware of Connie bustling around behind him and he turned his head to watch
her.
She was getting dressed up in the real New York City guinzo style that he hated. A
silk flowered-pattern dress with belt, showy bracelet and earrings, flouncy (flounce –
оборка) sleeves. She looked twenty years older. "Where the hell are you going?" he
asked.
She answered him coldly, "To see my father out in Long Beach. He still can't get out
of bed and he needs company."
Carlo was curious. "Is Sonny still running the show?"
Connie gave him a bland look. "What show?"
He was furious. "You lousy little guinea bitch, don't talk to me like that or I'll beat that
kid right out of your belly." She looked frightened and this enraged him even more. He
sprang from his chair and slapped her across the face, the blow leaving a red welt
(след, рубец /от удара/). With quick precision he slapped her three more times. He
saw her upper lip split bloody and puff up. That stopped him. He didn't want to leave a
mark. She ran into the bedroom and slammed the door and he heard the key turning in
the lock. He laughed and returned to his coffee.
He smoked until it was time for him to dress. He knocked on the door and said, "Open
it up before I kick it in." There was no answer. "Come on, I gotta get dressed," he said in
a loud voice. He could hear her getting up off the bed and coming toward the door, then
the key turned in the lock. When he entered she had her back to him, walking back
toward the bed, lying down on it with her face turned away to the wall.
He dressed quickly and then saw she was in her slip. He wanted her to go visit her
father, he hoped she would bring back information. "What's the matter, a few slaps take
all the energy out of you?" She was a lazy slut.
"I don't wanna go." Her voice was tearful, the words mumbled. He reached out
impatiently and pulled her around to face him. And then he saw why she didn't want to
go and thought maybe it was just at well.
He must have slapped her harder than he figured. Her left cheek was blown up, the
cut upper lip ballooned grotesquely puffy and white beneath her nose. "OK," he said,
"but I won't be home until late. Sunday is my busy day."
He left the apartment and found a parking ticket on his car, a fifteen-dollar green one.
He put it in the glove compartment with the stack of others. He was in a good humor.
75
Slapping the spoiled little bitch around always made him feel good. It dissolved some of
the frustration (досада,
treated so badly by the Corleones.
The first time he had marked her up, he'd been a little worried. She had gone right out
to Long Beach to complain to her mother and father and to show her black eye. He had
really sweated it out. But when she came back she had been surprisingly meek, the
dutiful little Italian wife. He had made it a point to be the perfect husband over the next
few weeks, treating her well in every way, being lovey and nice with her, banging her
every day, morning and night. Finally she had told him what had happened since she
thought he would never act that way again.
She had found her parents coolly unsympathetic and curiously amused. Her mother
had had a little sympathy and had even asked her father to speak to Carlo Rizzi. Her
father had refused. "She is my daughter," he had said, "but now she belongs to her
husband. He knows his duties. Even the King of Italy didn't dare to meddle with the
relationship of husband and wife. Go home and learn how to behave so that he will not
beat you."
Connie had said angrily to her father, "Did you ever hit your wife?" She was his
favorite and could speak to him so impudently. He had answered, "She never gave me
reason to beat her." And her mother had nodded and smiled.
She told them how her husband had taken the wedding present money and never told