It looked like nothing could stop the dam from being built and supplies and equipment

had actually been unloaded in Palermo. That was as far as they got. The Bocchicchios

had contacted fellow Mafia chiefs and extracted agreements for their aid. The heavy

equipment was sabotaged, the lighter equipment stolen. Mafia deputies in the Italian

Parliament launched a bureaucratic counterattack against the planners. This went on for

several years and in that time Mussolini came to power. The dictator decreed that the

dam must be built. It was not. The dictator had known that the Mafia would be a threat

to his regime, forming what amounted to a separate authority from his own. He gave full

powers to a high police official, who promptly solved the problem by throwing everybody

into jail or deporting them to penal work islands. In a few short years he had broken the

power of the Mafia, simply by arbitrarily arresting anyone even suspected of being a

mafioso. And so also brought ruin to a great many innocent families.

The Bocchicchios had been rash enough to resort to force against this unlimited

power. Half of the men were killed in armed combat, the other half deported to penal

island colonies. There were only a handful left when arrangements were made for them

to emigrate to America via the clandestine underground route of jumping ship through

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Canada. There were almost twenty immigrants and they settled in a small town not far

from New York City, in the Hudson Valley, where by starting at the very bottom they

worked their way up to owning a garbage hauling firm (фирма по вывозу мусора; to

haul – тянуть, тащить, волочить; перевозить) and their own trucks. They became

prosperous because they had no competition. They had no competition because

competitors found their trucks burned and sabotaged. One persistent fellow who

undercut prices was found buried in the garbage he had picked up during the day,

smothered (to smother [‘smΛр∂] – душить; задохнуться) to death.

But as the men married, to Sicilian girls, needless to say, children came, and the

garbage business though providing a living, was not really enough to pay for the finer

things America had to offer. And so, as a diversification (ответвление; боковая линия;

/здесь/ дополнительное занятие), the Bocchicchio Family became negotiators and

hostages in the peace efforts of warring Mafia families.

A strain of stupidity ran through the Bocchicchio clan, or perhaps they were just

primitive. In any case they recognized their limitations and knew they could not compete

with other Mafia families in the struggle to organize and control more sophisticated

business structures like prostitution, gambling, dope and public fraud (обман,

мошенничество /здесь – государства/ [fro:d]). They were straight-from-the-shoulder

(сплеча, прямо, без обиняков) people who could offer a gift to an ordinary patrolman

but did not know how to approach a political bagman. They had only two assets. Their

honor and their ferocity.

A Bocchicchio never lied, never committed an act of treachery. Such behavior was too

complicated. Also, a Bocchicchio never forgot an injury and never left it unavenged no

matter what the cost. And so by accident they stumbled into what would prove to be

their most lucrative profession.

When warring families wanted to make peace and arrange a parley, the Bocchicchio

clan was contacted. The head of the clan would handle the initial negotiations and

arrange for the necessary hostages. For instance, when Michael had gone to meet

Sollozzo, a Bocchicchio had been left with the Corleone Family as surety for Michael's

safety, the service paid for by Sollozzo. If Michael were killed by Sollozzo, then the

Bocchicchio male hostage held by the Corleone Family would be killed by the

Corleones. In this case the Bocchicchios would take their vengeance on Sollozzo as the

cause of their clansman's death. Since the Bocchicchios were so primitive, they never

let anything, any kind of punishment, stand in their way of vengeance. They would give

up their own lives and there was no protection against them if they were betrayed. A

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109

Bocchicchio hostage (заложник; залог ['hostıdG]) was gilt-edged (с золотым обрезом;

первоклассный; gilt – позолота) insurance (гарантия, страхование).

And so now when Don Corleone employed the Bocchicchios as negotiators and

arranged for them to supply hostages for all the Families to come to the peace meeting,

there could be no question as to his sincerity. There could be no question of treachery.

The meeting would be safe as a wedding.

Hostages given, the meeting took place in the director's conference room of a small

commercial bank whose president was indebted to Don Corleone and indeed some of

whose stock belonged to Don Corleone though it was in the president's name. The

president always treasured that moment when he had offered to give Don Corleone a

written document proving his ownership of the shares, to preclude (предотвратить) any

treachery. Don Corleone had been horrified. "I would trust you with my whole fortune,"

he told the president. "I would trust you with my life and the welfare (благосостояние)

of my children. It is inconceivable (немыслимо, непредставимо) to me that you would

ever trick me or otherwise betray me. My whole world, all my faith in my judgment of

human character would collapse. Of course I have my own written records so that if

something should happen to me my heirs would know that you hold something in trust

for them. But I know that even if I were not here in this world to guard the interests of my

children, you would be faithful to their needs."

The president of the bank, though not Sicilian, was a man of tender sensibilities. He

understood the Don perfectly. Now the Godfather's request was the president's

command and so on a Saturday afternoon, the executive suite of the bank, the

conference room with its deep leather chairs, its absolute privacy, was made available

to the Families.

Security at the bank was taken over by a small army of handpicked (выбранный,

подобранный; отборный) men wearing bank guard uniforms. At ten o'clock on a

Saturday morning the conference room began to fill up. Besides the Five Families of

New York, there were representatives from ten other Families across the country, with

the exception of Chicago, that black sheep of their world. They had given up trying to

civilize Chicago, and they saw no point in including those mad dogs in this important

conference.

A bar had been set up and a small buffet. Each representative to the conference had

been allowed one aide (помощник, адъютант [eıd]). Most of the Dons had brought their

Consiglioris as aides so there were comparatively few young men in the room. Tom

Hagen was one of those young men and the only one who was not Sicilian. He was an

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object of curiosity, a freak (каприз, причуда; уродец; человек или явление,

выходящее за рамки обычного).

110

Hagen knew his manners. He did not speak, he did not smile. He waited on his boss,

Don Corleone, with all the respect of a favorite earl (граф /английский/ [∂:l]) waiting on

his king; bringing him a cold drink, lighting his cigar, positioning his ashtray; with respect

but no obsequiousness (подобострастие; obsequious [∂b’si:kwı∂s] –

подобострастный).

Hagen was the only one in that room who knew the identity of the portraits hanging on

the dark paneled walls. They were mostly portraits of fabulous financial figures done in

rich oils. One was of Secretary of the Treasury Hamilton. Hagen could not help thinking

that Hamilton might have approved of this peace meeting being held in a banking