教父英文版第一章

Amerigo Bonasera sat in New York Criminal Court Number 3 and waite

d for justice; vengeance on the men who had so cruelly hurt his daugh

ter, who had tried to dishonor her.

The judge, a formidably heavy-featured man, rolled up the sleeves of

his black robe as if to physically chastise the two young men standi

ng before the bench. His face was cold with majestic contempt. But th

ere was something false in all this that Amerigo Bonasera sensed but

did not yet understand.

ly. Yes, yes, thought Amerigo Bonasera. Animals. Animals. The two you

ng men, glossy hair crew cut, scrubbed clean-cut faces composed into

humble contrition, bowed their heads in submission.

The judge went on.

re fortunate you did not sexually molest that poor girl or I'd put yo

u behind bars for twenty years.

mpressively thick brows flickered slyly toward the sallow-faced Ameri

go Bonasera, then lowered to a stack of probation reports before him.

He frowned and shrugged as if convinced against his own natural desi

re. He spoke again.

families, and because the law in its majesty does not seek vengeance,

I hereby sentence you to three years' confinement to the penitentiar

y. Sentence to be suspended.

Only forty years of professional mourning kept the overwhelming frus

tration and hatred from showing on Amerigo Bonasera's face. His beaut

iful young daughter was still in the hospital with her broken jaw wir

ed together; and now these two animales went free? It had all been a

farce. He watched the happy parents cluster around their darling sons.

Oh, they were all happy now, they were smiling now.

The black bile, sourly bitter, rose in Bonasera's throat, overflowed

through tightly clenched teeth. He used his white linen pocket handk

erchief and held it against his lips. He was standing so when the two

young men strode freely up the aisle, confident and cool-eyed, smili

ng, not giving him so much as a glance. He let them pass without sayi

ng a word, pressing the fresh linen against his mouth.

The parents of the animales were coming by now, two men and two wome

n his age but more American in their dress. They glanced at him, sham

efaced, yet in their eyes was an odd, triumphant defiance.

Out of control, Bonasera leaned forward toward the aisle and shouted

hoarsely,

our children make me weep

attorneys bringing up the rear swept their clients forward in a tight

little band, enveloping the two young men, who had started back down

the aisle as if to protect their parents. A huge bailiff moved quick

ly to block the row in which Bonasera stood. But it was not necessary.

All his years in America, Amerigo Bonasera had trusted in law and or

der. And he had prospered thereby. Now, though his brain smoked with

hatred, though wild visions of buying a gun and killing the two young

men jangled the very bones of his skull, Bonasera turned to his stil

l uncomprehending wife and explained to her,

us.

t.

In a garishly decorated Los Angeles hotel suite, Johnny Fontane was as

jealously

drunk

as

any

ordinary

husband.

Sprawled

on

a

red

couch,

he

drank

straight

from

the

bottle

of

scotch

in

his

hand,

then

washed

the

taste

away

by dunking his mouth in a crystal bucket of ice cubes and water. It was

four in the morning and he was spinning drunken fantasies of murdering

his trampy wife when she got home. If she ever did come home. It was too

late

to

call

his

first

wife

and

ask

about

the

kids

and

he

felt

funny

about

calling

any

of

his

friends

now

that

his

career

was

plunging

downhill.

There

had been a time when they would have been delighted, flattered by his

calling them at four in the morning but now he bored them. He could even

smile

a

little

to

himself

as

he

thought

that

on

the

way

up

Johnny

Fontane's

troubles had fascinated some of the greatest female stars in America.

Gulping at his bottle of scotch, he heard finally his wife's key in the

door,

but

he

kept

drinking

until

she

walked

into

the

room

and

stood

before

him. She was to him so very beautiful, the angelic face, soulful violet

eyes,

the

delicately

fragile

but

perfectly

formed

body.

On

the

screen

her

beauty was magnified, spiritualized. A hundred million men all over the

world were in love with the face of Margot Ashton. And paid to see it on

the screen.

She

had

misjudged

his

drunkenness.

He

sprang

over

the

cocktail

table

and