The Dark Arena - Mario Puzo [0]
Omerta
“[A] deft and passionate last novel by the Balzac of the Mafia.”
—Time
“A splendid piece of crime fiction … A fitting cap to a tremendous career … Through it all, Puzo keeps the heat on and keeps the reader enthralled with his characters and his story.”
—The Denver Po'tt
“In Omerta (the Sicilian code for silence), Puzo cements his reputation as a page-turning stoiyteller.”
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“A seriously guilty pleasure … as with The Godfather, the reader gets sucked into the plot immediately.”
—The New York Post
“Puzo suffuses the novel with many of the ingredients his readers crave, tantalizingly documenting the lavish lifestyles and sexual exploits of his hot-blooded characters.”
—The Miami Herald
By Mario Puzo
Fiction;
THE DARK ARENA*
THE FORTUNATE PILGRIM*
THE GODFATHER
FOOLS DIE
THE SICILIAN*
THE FOURTH K*
THE LAST DON*
OMERTA*
THE FAMILY
THE GODFATHER RETURNS*
Nonfiction:
THE GODFATHER PAPERS
INSIDE LAS VEGAS
Children's Book:
THE RUNAWAY SUMMER OF DAVIE SHAW
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* Published by The Random House Publishing Group
for erika
“Fathers and teachers, I ponder “What is hell?” I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love.”
“Oh, there are some who remain proud and fierce even in hell, in spite of their certain knowledge and contemplation of the absolute truth; there are some fearful ones who have given themselves over to Satan and his proud spirit entirely. For such, hell is voluntary and ever consuming; they are tortured by their own choice. For they have cursed themselves, cursing God and life. They live upon their vindictive pride like a starving man in the desert sucking blood out of his own body. But they are never satisfied, and they refuse forgiveness, they curse God Who calls them. They cannot behold the living God without hatred, and they cry out that the God of life should be annihilated, that God should destroy Himself and IDs own creation. And they will burn in the fire of their own wrath forever and yearn for death and annihilation. But they will not attain to death … “
—The Brothers Karamazov,
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKI
one
Walter Mosca felt a sense of excitement and the last overwhelming loneliness before a home-coming. The few ruins outside of Paris were remembered and familiar landmarks, and now on the last leg of his journey he could hardly wait to come to his final destination, the heart of the ruined continent, the destroyed city that he had never thought he would see again. The landmarks leading into Germany were more familiar to him than the approaches to his own land, his own city.
The train rocked with speed. It was a troop train with replacements for the Frankfort garrison, but half the car was taken by civilian employees recruited from the States. Mosca touched his silk tie and smiled. It felt strange to him. He would feel more at home with the GIs at the other end, and, he thought, so would most of the twenty or so civilians with him.
There were two dim lights, one at each end of the car. The windows were boarded up, as if the car had been built so that its occupants would not be able to see the vast ruins through which they would travel. The seats were long wooden benches, leaving only one very narrow aisle along one side.
Mosca stretched out on his bench and put the blue gym bag under his head for a pillow. In the bad light he could hardly recognize the other civilians.
They had all traveled on the same Army ship together, and like himself, they all seemed excited and eager to reach Frankfort. They talked loudly to be heard over the roar of the train, and Mosca could hear Mr. Gerald's voice dominating the rest. Mr. Gerald was the highest ranking civilian in the shipment. He had with him a set of golf clubs, and on board the ship had