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touch with you?"

Hagen shook his head. "If I accepted that letter and you told a court of law I accepted

that letter, it might be interpreted as my having knowledge of his whereabouts

(местонахождение). Why don't you just wait a bit? I'm sure Mike will get in touch."

She finished her drink and got up to leave. Hagen escorted her to the hall but as he

opened the door, a woman came in from outside. A short, stout woman dressed in black.

Kay recognized her as Michael's mother. She held out her hand and said, "How are you,

Mrs. Corleone?"

The woman's small black eyes darted at her for a moment, then the wrinkled, leathery,

olive-skinned face broke into a small curt smile of greeting that was yet in some curious

way truly friendly. "Ah, you Mikey's little girl," Mrs. Corleone said. She had a heavy

Italian accent, Kay could barely understand her. "You eat something?" Kay said no,

meaning she didn't want anything to eat, but Mrs. Corleone turned furiously on Tom

Hagen and berated (to berate – ругать, бранить) him in Italian ending with, "You don't

even give this poor girl coffee, you disgrazia." She took Kay by the hand, the old

woman's hand surprisingly warm and alive, and led her into the kitchen. "You have

coffee and eat something, then somebody drive you home. A nice girl like you, I don't

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want you to take the train." She made Kay sit down and bustled (to bustle – торопиться,

суетиться) around the kitchen, tearing off her coat and hat and draping them over a

chair. In a few seconds there was bread and cheese and salami on the table and coffee

perking (to perk – вскидывать голову; подаваться вперед; /здесь/ возвышаться,

быть установленым наверху) on the stove.

Kay said timidly, "I came to ask about Mike, I haven't heard from him. Mr. Hagen said

nobody knows where he is, that he'll turn up in a little while."

Hagen spoke quickly, "That's all we can tell her now, Ma."

Mrs. Corleone gave him a look of withering contempt (с «уничтожающим»

презрением; to wither [‘wiр] – вянуть; иссушать). "Now you gonna tell me what to do?

My husband don't tell me what to do, God have mercy on him." She crossed herself.

"Is Mr. Corleone all right?" Kay asked.

"Fine," Mrs. Corleone said. "Fine. He's getting old, he's getting foolish to let something

like that happen." She tapped her head disrespectfully. She poured the coffee and

forced Kay to eat some bread and cheese.

After they drank their coffee Mrs. Corleone took one of Kay's hands in her two brown

ones. She said quietly, "Mikey no gonna write you, you no gonna hear from Mikey. He

hide two – three years. Maybe more, maybe much more. You go home to your family

and find a nice young fellow and get married."

Kay took the letter out of her purse. "Will you send this to him?"

The old lady took the letter and patted Kay on the cheek. "Sure, sure," she said.

Hagen started to protest and she screamed at him in Italian. Then she led Kay to the

door. There she kissed her on the cheek very quickly and said, "You forget about Mikey,

he no the man for you anymore."

There was a car waiting for her with two men up front. They drove her all the way to

her hotel in New York never saying a word. Neither did Kay. She was trying to get used

to the fact that the young man she had loved was a cold-blooded murderer. And that

she had been told by the most unimpeachable source: his mother.

Chapter 16

Carlo Rizzi was punk sore at the world. Once married into the Corleone Family, he'd

been shunted aside (to shunt – переводить на запасный путь; /здесь/ откладывать в

сторону, оставить не у дел) with a small bookmaker's business on the Upper East

Side of Manhattan. He'd counted on one of the houses in the mall on Long Beach, he

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knew the Don could move retainer families out when he pleased and he had been sure

it would happen and he would be on the inside of everything. But the Don wasn't

treating him right. The "Great Don," he thought with scorn. An old Moustache Pete

who'd been caught out on the street by gunmen like any dumb small-time (мелкий,

незначительный, второсортный) hood. He hoped the old bastard croaked (to croak –

каркать; /разг./ умереть). Sonny had been his friend once and if Sonny became the

head of the Family maybe he'd get a break, get on the inside.

He watched his wife pour his coffee. Christ, what a mess she turned out to be. Five

months of marriage and she was already spreading, besides blowing up. Real guinea

broads all these Italians in the East.

He reached out and felt Connie's soft spreading buttocks. She smiled at him and he

said contemptuously, "You got more ham than a hog." It pleased him to see the hurt

look on her face, the tears springing into her eyes. She might be a daughter of the Great

Don but she was his wife, she was his property now and he could treat her as he

pleased. It made him feel powerful that one of the Corleones was his doormat (половик

для вытирания ног).

He had started her off just right. She had tried to keep that purse full of money

presents for herself and he had given her a nice black eye and taken the money from

her. Never told her what he'd done with it, either. That might have really caused some

trouble. Even now he felt just the slightest twinge of remorse (угрызения совести;