calendar.
The Don shrugged. “Now that the wedding is over, whenever you like.”
This answer told Hagen two things. Most important, that the answer to Virgil Sollozzo would be no. The second, that Don Corleone, since he would not give the answer before his daughter’s wedding, expected his no to cause trouble.
Hagen said cautiously, “Shall I tell Clemenza to have some men come live in the house?”
The Don said impatiently, “For what? I didn’t answer before the wedding because on an important day like that there should be no cloud, not even in the distance. Also I wanted to know beforehand what he wanted to talk about. We know now. What he will propose is an infamita. ”
Hagen asked, “Then you will refuse?” When the Don nodded, Hagen said, “I think we should all discuss it—the whole Family—before you give your answer.”
The Don smiled. “You think so? Good, we will discuss it. When you come back from California. I want you to fly there tomorrow and settle this business for Johnny. See that movie pezzonovante. Tell Sollozzo I will see him when you get back from California. Is there anything else?”
Hagen said formally, “The hospital called. Consigliere Abbandando is dying, he won’t last out the night. His family was told to come and wait.”
Hagen had filled the Consigliere ’s post for the past year, ever since the cancer had imprisoned Genco Abbandando in his hospital bed. Now he waited to hear Don Corleone say the post was his permanently. The odds were against it. So high a position was traditionally given only to a man descended from two Italian parents. There had already been trouble about his temporary performance of the duties. Also, he was only thirty-five, not old enough, supposedly, to have acquired the necessary experience and cunning for a successful Consigliere.
But the Don gave him no encouragement. He asked, “When does my daughter leave with her bridegroom?”
Hagen looked at his wristwatch. “In a few minutes they’ll cut the cake and then a half hour after that.” That reminded him of something else. “Your new son-in-law. Do we give him something important, inside the Family?”
He was surprised at the vehemence of the Don’s answer. “Never.” The Don hit the desk with the flat of his hand. “Never. Give him something to earn his living, a good living. But never let him know the Family’s business. Tell the others, Sonny, Fredo, Clemenza.”
The Don paused. “Instruct my sons, all three of them, that they will accompany me to the hospital to see poor Genco. I want them to pay their last respects. Tell Freddie to drive the big car and ask Johnny if he will come with us, as a special favor to me.” He saw Hagen look at him questioningly. “I want you to go to California tonight. You won’t have time to go see Genco. But don’t leave until I come back from the hospital and speak with you. Understood?”
“Understood,” Hagen said. “What time should Fred have the car waiting?”
“When the guests have left,” Don Corleone said. “Genco will wait for me.”
“The Senator called,” Hagen said. “Apologizing for not coming personally but that you would understand. He probably means those two FBI men across the street taking down license numbers. But he sent his gift over by special messenger.”
The Don nodded. He did not think it necessary to mention that he himself had warned the Senator not to come. “Did he send a nice present?”
Hagen made a face of impressed approval that was very strangely Italian on his German-Irish features. “Antique silver, very valuable. The kids can sell it for a grand at least. The Senator spent a lot of time getting exactly the right thing. For those kind of people that’s more important than how much it costs.”
Don Corleone did not hide his pleasure that so great a man as the Senator had shown him such respect. The Senator, like Luca Brasi, was one of the great stones in the Don’s power
The Don shrugged. “Now that the wedding is over, whenever you like.”
This answer told Hagen two things. Most important, that the answer to Virgil Sollozzo would be no. The second, that Don Corleone, since he would not give the answer before his daughter’s wedding, expected his no to cause trouble.
Hagen said cautiously, “Shall I tell Clemenza to have some men come live in the house?”
The Don said impatiently, “For what? I didn’t answer before the wedding because on an important day like that there should be no cloud, not even in the distance. Also I wanted to know beforehand what he wanted to talk about. We know now. What he will propose is an infamita. ”
Hagen asked, “Then you will refuse?” When the Don nodded, Hagen said, “I think we should all discuss it—the whole Family—before you give your answer.”
The Don smiled. “You think so? Good, we will discuss it. When you come back from California. I want you to fly there tomorrow and settle this business for Johnny. See that movie pezzonovante. Tell Sollozzo I will see him when you get back from California. Is there anything else?”
Hagen said formally, “The hospital called. Consigliere Abbandando is dying, he won’t last out the night. His family was told to come and wait.”
Hagen had filled the Consigliere ’s post for the past year, ever since the cancer had imprisoned Genco Abbandando in his hospital bed. Now he waited to hear Don Corleone say the post was his permanently. The odds were against it. So high a position was traditionally given only to a man descended from two Italian parents. There had already been trouble about his temporary performance of the duties. Also, he was only thirty-five, not old enough, supposedly, to have acquired the necessary experience and cunning for a successful Consigliere.
But the Don gave him no encouragement. He asked, “When does my daughter leave with her bridegroom?”
Hagen looked at his wristwatch. “In a few minutes they’ll cut the cake and then a half hour after that.” That reminded him of something else. “Your new son-in-law. Do we give him something important, inside the Family?”
He was surprised at the vehemence of the Don’s answer. “Never.” The Don hit the desk with the flat of his hand. “Never. Give him something to earn his living, a good living. But never let him know the Family’s business. Tell the others, Sonny, Fredo, Clemenza.”
The Don paused. “Instruct my sons, all three of them, that they will accompany me to the hospital to see poor Genco. I want them to pay their last respects. Tell Freddie to drive the big car and ask Johnny if he will come with us, as a special favor to me.” He saw Hagen look at him questioningly. “I want you to go to California tonight. You won’t have time to go see Genco. But don’t leave until I come back from the hospital and speak with you. Understood?”
“Understood,” Hagen said. “What time should Fred have the car waiting?”
“When the guests have left,” Don Corleone said. “Genco will wait for me.”
“The Senator called,” Hagen said. “Apologizing for not coming personally but that you would understand. He probably means those two FBI men across the street taking down license numbers. But he sent his gift over by special messenger.”
The Don nodded. He did not think it necessary to mention that he himself had warned the Senator not to come. “Did he send a nice present?”
Hagen made a face of impressed approval that was very strangely Italian on his German-Irish features. “Antique silver, very valuable. The kids can sell it for a grand at least. The Senator spent a lot of time getting exactly the right thing. For those kind of people that’s more important than how much it costs.”
Don Corleone did not hide his pleasure that so great a man as the Senator had shown him such respect. The Senator, like Luca Brasi, was one of the great stones in the Don’s power
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