Hagen went directly out into the garden and pointed to the baker, Nazorine.

Don Corleone greeted the baker with an embrace. They had played together as children in Italy and had grown up in friendship. Every Easter freshly baked pies arrived at Don Corleone’s home. On Christmas, on family birthdays, rich creamy pastries showed the Nazorines’ respect. Now the time had come for the baker to ask for his rights as a loyal friend, and Don Corleone looked forward with great pleasure to meeting his request.

He gave the baker a Di Nobili cigar and a glass of yellow Strega^[28] and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. He knew from bitter experience what courage it took to ask a favor from a fellow man.

The baker told the story of his daughter and Enzo. Only Godfather Corleone could help this loving couple. He was their last hope.

The Don walked Nazorine up and down the room, his hand on the baker’s shoulder, his head nodding with understanding to keep up the man’s courage. When the baker had finished, Don Corleone smiled at him and said, “My dear friend, put all your worries aside.” He went on to explain very carefully what must be done. The Congressman of the district must be petitioned. The Congressman would propose a special bill that would allow Enzo to become a citizen. The bill would surely pass Congress. Don Corleone explained that this would cost money. He, Don Corleone, would guarantee performance and accept payment. Did his friend agree?

The baker nodded his head. He did not expect such a great favor for nothing. That was understood. A special Act of Congress does not come cheap. Nazorine was almost tearful in his thanks.

The next man was a very simple case. His name was Anthony Coppola and he was the son of a man Don Corleone had worked with in his youth. Coppola needed five hundred dollars to open a pizzeria. For some reason, he couldn’t get credit. The Don reached into his pocket and took out a roll of bills. It was not quite enough. He grimaced and said to Tom Hagen, “Loan me a hundred dollars, I’ll pay you back Monday when I go to the bank.” The man protested that four hundred dollars would be enough, but Don Corleone patted his shoulder^[29], saying, apologetically, “This wedding left me a little short of cash.” Hagen watched with admiration. How flattering to Anthony Coppola that a man like the Don would borrow to loan him money.

When Coppola had gone, the Don raised his head inquiringly. Hagen said, “He’s not on the list but Luca Brasi wants to see you. He understands it can’t be public but he wants to congratulate you in person.”

For the first time the Don seemed displeased. “Is it necessary?” he asked.

Hagen shrugged. “You understand him better than I do. But he was very grateful that you invited him to the wedding. He never expected that. I think he wants to show his gratitude.”

Don Corleone nodded and gestured that Luca Brasi should be brought to him.

Luca Brasi was one of the most feared men in the Eastern underworld. His great talent, it was said, was that he could do a job of murder all by himself and never be found by the police.

When Michael told Kay that story, for the first time Kay began to understand. She asked, “You’re not saying that a man like that works for your father?”

The hell with it^[30], he thought. He said, straight out.^[31]“Nearly fifteen years ago some people wanted to take over my father’s oil importing business. They tried to kill him and nearly did. Luca Brasi went after them. The story is that he killed six men in two weeks and that ended the famous olive oil war.” He smiled as if it were a joke.

“You mean your father was shot by gangsters?”

“Fifteen years ago,” Michael said. “Everything’s been peaceful since then.” He was afraid he had gone too far.

“You’re trying to scare me,” Kay said. “You just don’t want me to marry you.” She smiled at him. “Very clever.”

Luca Brasi was indeed a man to frighten the devil in hell himself. Short, squat, massive-skulled, his presence sent out danger. Brasi’s reputation for violence was awesome and his devotion to Don Corleone legendary. Luca Brasi did not fear the police, he did not fear society, he did not fear God, he did not fear hell, he did not fear or love his fellow man. But he had chosen, to fear and love Don Corleone. When Hagen brought him in, the terrible Brasi felt stiff with respect. He stuttered over the flowery congratulations and then handed the Don an envelope with cash as a gift for the bridal couple.

So that was what he wanted to do. Hagen noticed the change in Don Corleone. The Don received Brasi as a man who has done him an enormous service. The money in the envelope was sure to be more than anyone else had given. Brasi had spent many hours deciding on the sum. He wanted to be the most generous to show that he had the most respect, and that was why he had given his envelope to the Don personally. Brasi kissed the Don’s hand before he went out the door.

When the door closed Don Corleone gave a small sigh of relief. Brasi was the only man in the world who could make him nervous. The man was like a natural force, he had to be handled as carefully as dynamite. He looked at Hagen. “Is Bonasera the only one left?”

Hagen nodded. Don Corleone frowned in thought, then said, “Before you bring him in, tell Santino to come here. He should learn some things.”

Out in the garden, Hagen looked for Sonny Corleone. He told the waiting Bonasera to be patient and went over to Michael Corleone and his girl friend. “Did you see Sonny?” he asked. Michael shook his head. Damn, Hagen thought, if Sonny was with the maid of honor all this time there was going to be a mess of trouble.

Seeing Hagen go into the house, Kay Adams asked Michael Corleone, “Who is he? You introduced him as your brother but his name is different and he certainly doesn’t look Italian.”

“Tom lived with us since he was twelve years old,” Michael said. “His parents died and he was in the streets with this bad eye infection. Sonny brought him home one night and he just stayed. He didn’t have any place to go. He lived with us until he got married.”

Kay Adams was excited. “That’s really romantic,” she said. “Your father must be a warmhearted person. To adopt somebody just like that^[32] when he had so many children of his own.”

They saw Hagen follow Sonny into the Don’s ofcif e and then point a finger at Amerigo Bonasera. “Why do they bother your father with business on a day like this?” Kay asked.

Michael laughed again. “Because they know that by tradition no Sicilian can refuse a request on his daughter’s wedding day. And no Sicilian ever lets a chance like that go by.^[33]”

During the summer, preparing for the wedding of her best friend, Connie Corleone, Lucy Mancini heard the whispered stories about Sonny.

Now as she ran up the steps toward Sonny a tremendous flash of desire went through her body. On the landing Sonny grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall into an empty bedroom. Her legs went weak as the door closed behind them. She felt Sonny’s mouth on hers, his lips tasting of burnt tobacco, bitter. At that moment she felt his hand come up beneath her bridesmaid’s gown. And for the first time in her life she reached a shattering climax. They leaned against each other, out of breath.

It might have been going on for some time but now they could hear the soft knocking on the door. Then they heard Tom Hagen’s voice, very low, “Sonny, you in there?”

Sonny winked at Lucy. “Yeah, Tom, what is it?”

Hagen’s voice, still low, said, “The Don wants you in his ofcif e. Now.” They could hear his footsteps as he walked away. Sonny waited for a few moments and then slipped out the door after Hagen.

Lucy combed her hair and checked her dress. She went out the door and ran into the garden. She took her seat at the bridal table next to Connie, who exclaimed, “Lucy, where were you? You look drunk. Stay beside me now.”

The blond groom poured Lucy a glass of wine and smiled knowingly. Lucy didn’t care. She lifted the dark red juice to her mouth and drank. Slyly she whispered in Connie’s ear, “Only a few hours more and you’ll know what it’s all about.” Connie giggled.

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 did not embrace the visitor or shake hands. The undertaker got the invitation because his wife and the wife of the Don were the closest of friends. Amerigo Bonasera himself was in disfavor with Don Corleone.

Bonasera began his request. “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.” “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 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. “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 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 shown his emotion.

“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.^[34] 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. “Why did you go to the police? Why didn’t you come to me at the beginning of this afaf ir?”

Bonasera muttered, “What do you want of me? Tell me what you wish. But do what I beg you to do.”

Don Corleone said gravely, “And what is that?”

Bonasera hesitated, then bent down and put his lips so close to the Don’s ear that they touched. Don Corleone listened like a priest in the confessional. They stood so for a long moment until Bonasera finished whispering and straightened to his full height. The Don looked up gravely at Bonasera.

Finally the Don spoke. “That I cannot do. You are being carried away.^[35]”

Bonasera said loudly, clearly, “I will pay you anything you ask.”

Don Corleone rose from behind the desk. His face was still impassive. “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 rejected 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. You did not need Don Corleone. Very well. But 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 ‘I will pay you anything.’ No, no, I am not offended, but what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?”

The irony with which all this was said, the controlled anger of the Don depressed the undertaker, but he spoke up bravely again. “I ask you for justice.”

Don Corleone said shortly, “The court gave you justice.”

Bonasera shook his head stubbornly. “No. They gave the youths justice. Now I want an eye for an eye. Let them suffer as she suffers.” The Don waited for him to speak further. Bonasera said, “How much shall I pay you?”

Finally, a good-hearted man who cannot remain angry with an erring friend, Don Corleone turned to the undertaker. “If you had come to me for justice those scum who ruined your daughter would be weeping bitter tears this day.”

Bonasera bowed his head and murmured, “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 afaf ir 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.”

From the garden, there came a happy shout. Sonny Corleone pressed close to the window. “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.”