Omerta - Mario Puzo [19]
Nicole’s dark eyes flashed. “I have not condoned it,” she said. “I have not excused it. I think it’s barbaric. I have just refused to lay the ground for more of it!”
Now the Don spoke more quietly but more sincerely. “Above all this,” he said, “the victim, your loved one, lies beneath the earth. He is forever banished from this world. We will never see his face, we will never hear his voice, we will never touch his flesh. He is in darkness, lost to us and our world.”
They all listened silently as the Don took another sip of wine. “Now, my Nicole. Hear me. Your client, your murderer, is sentenced to life imprisonment. He will be behind bars or in an institution for the rest of his life. So you say. But each morning he will see the rising sun, he will taste hot food, he will hear music, the blood will run in his veins and interest him in the world. His loved ones can still embrace him. I understand he can even study books, learn carpentry to build a table and chairs. In short, he lives. And that is unjust.”
Nicole was resolute. She did not flinch. “Dad, to domesticate animals, you don’t let them eat raw meat. You don’t let them get a taste of it or they want more. The more we kill, the easier it gets to kill. Can’t you see that?” When he didn’t answer her, she asked, “And how can you decide what’s just or unjust? Where do you draw the line?” It had been meant as a defiance but was more of a plea to understand all her years of doubt in him.
They all expected an outburst of fury by the Don at her insolence, but suddenly he was in a good humor. “I have had my moments of weakness,” he said, “but I never let a child judge his or her parents. Children are useless and live by our sufferance. And I consider myself beyond reproach as a father. I have raised three children who are pillars in society, talented, accomplished, and successful. And not completely powerless against fate. Can any of you reproach me?”
At this point Nicole lost her anger. “No,” she said. “As a parent no one can reproach you. But you left something out. The oppressed are the ones who hang. The rich wind up escaping the final punishment.”
The Don looked at Nicole with great seriousness. “Why, then, do you not fight to change the laws so that the rich hang with the poor? That is more intelligent.”
Astorre murmured, smiling cheerfully. “There would be very few of us left.” And that remark cut the tension.
“The greatest virtue of humanity is mercy,” Nicole said. “An enlightened society does not execute a human being, and it refrains from punishment as much as common sense and justice allows.”
It was only then that the Don lost his customary good humor. “Where did you get such ideas?” he asked. “They are self-indulgent and cowardly—more, they are blasphemous. Who is more merciless than God? He does not forgive, He does not ban punishment. There is a Heaven and there is a Hell by His decree. He does not banish grief and sorrow in His world. It is His Almighty duty to show no more than the necessary mercy. So who are you to dispense such marvelous grace? It’s an arrogance. Do you think that if you are so saintly, you can create a better world? Remember, saints can only whisper prayers to God’s ear and only when they have earned the right to do so by their own martyrdom. No. It is our duty to pursue our fellowman. Or what great sins he could be capable of committing. We would deliver our world to the devil.”
This left Nicole speechless with anger and Valerius and Marcantonio smiling. Astorre bowed his head as if in prayer.
Finally Nicole said, “Daddy, you are just too outrageous as a moralist. And you certainly are no example to follow.”
There was a long silence at the table as each one sat with memories of their strange relationship with the Don. Nicole never quite believing the stories she’d heard about her father and yet fearing they were true. Marcantonio remembering one of his colleagues at the network asking slyly, “How does your