In front held up their guns now, the man in the darkened tollbooth cut his fire, and

Sonny's body sprawled on the asphalt with the legs still partly inside. The two men each

fired shots into Sonny's body, then kicked him in the face to disfigure his features even

more, to show a mark made by a more personal human power.

Seconds afterward, all four men, the three actual assassins (assassin [∂'sжsın] –

/наемный, нападающий из-за угла/ убийца) and the bogus (поддельный, фиктивный)

toll collector, were in their car and speeding toward the Meadowbrook Parkway on the

other side of Jones Beach. Their pursuit was blocked by Sonny's car and body in the

tollgate slot but when Sonny's bodyguards pulled up a few minutes later and saw his

body lying there, they had no intention to pursue. They swung their car around in a huge

arc and returned to Long Beach. At the first public phone off the causeway one of them

hopped out and called Tom Hagen. He was very curt and very brisk. "Sonny's dead,

they got him at the Jones Beach toll."

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Hagen's voice was perfectly calm. "OK," he said. "Go to Clemenza's house and tell

him to come here right away. He'll tell you what to do."

Hagen had taken the call in the kitchen, with Mama Corleone bustling around

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preparing a snack for the arrival of her daughter. He had kept his composure and the

old woman had not noticed anything amiss. Not that she could not have, if she wanted

to, but in her life with the Don she had learned it was far wiser not to perceive. That if it

was necessary to know something painful, it would be told to her soon enough. And if it

was a pain that could be spared her, she could do without. She was quite content not to

share the pain of her men, after all did they share the pain of women? Impassively she

boiled her coffee and set the table with food. In her experience pain and fear did not dull

physical hunger; in her experience the taking of food dulled pain. She would have been

outraged if a doctor had tried to sedate her with a drug, but coffee and a crust of bread

were another matter; she came, of course, from a more primitive culture.

And so she let Tom Hagen escape to his corner conference room and once in that

room, Hagen began to tremble so violently he had to sit down with his legs squeezed

together, his head hunched into his contracted shoulders, hands clasped together

between his knees as if he were praying to the devil.

He was, he knew now, no fit Consigliori for a Family at war. He had been fooled,

faked out, by the Five Families and their seeming timidity. They had remained quiet,

laying their terrible ambush (засада ['жmbu∫]). They had planned and waited, holding

their bloody hands no matter what provocation they had been given. They had waited to

land one terrible blow. And they had. Old Genco Abbandando would never have fallen

for it, he would have smelled a rat, he would have smoked them out, tripled his

precautions. And through all this Hagen felt his grief. Sonny had been his true brother,

his savior; his hero when they had been boys together. Sonny had never been mean or

bullying (to bully – задирать; запугивать) with him, had always treated him with

affection, had taken him in his arms when Sollozzo had turned him loose. Sonny's joy at

that reunion had been real. That he had grown up to be a cruel and violent and bloody

man was, for Hagen, not relevant (уместный, относящийся к делу ['relıv∂nt]).

He had walked out of the kitchen because he knew he could never tell Mama

Corleone about her son's death. He had never thought of her as his mother as he

thought of the Don as his father and Sonny as his brother. His affection for her was like

his affection for Freddie and Michael and Connie. The affection for someone who has

been kind but not loving. But he could not tell her. In a few short months she had lost all

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102

her sons; Freddie exiled to Nevada, Michael hiding for his life in Sicily, and now Santino

dead. Which of the three had she loved most of all? She had never shown.

It was no more than a few minutes, Hagen got control of himself again and picked up

the phone. He called Connie's number. It rang for a long time before Connie answered

in a whisper.

Hagen spoke to her gently. "Connie, this is Tom. Wake your husband up, I have to

talk to him."

Connie said in a low frightened voice, "Tom, is Sonny coming here?"

"No," Hagen said. "Sonny's not coming there. Don't worry about that. Just wake Carlo

up and tell him it's very important I speak to him."

Connie's voice was weepy. "Tom, he beat me up, I'm afraid he'll hurt me again if he

knows I called home."

Hagen said gently, "He won't. He'll talk to me and I'll straighten him out. Everything

will be OK. Tell him it's very important, very, very important he come to the phone. OK?"