The Last Don - Mario Puzo [87]
“Of course, Don Domenico,” Pippi said. “But you and I are of the old school. Our sons don’t understand.” He paused for a moment. “I wanted to thank you also for making Cross your Bruglione in the West while I’m gone. He will not disappoint you.”
“I know that,” the Don said. “I have as much trust in him as I have in you. He is intelligent and his squeamishness is that of youth. Time will harden his heart.”
They were having a dinner cooked and served by a woman whose husband worked in the Enclave. She had forgotten the Don’s bowl of grated Parmesan cheese, and Pippi went into the kitchen for the grater and brought the bowl to the Don. He carefully grated the cheese into the bowl and watched the Don dip his huge silver spoon into the yellowish mound, put it in his mouth, and then sip from his glass of powerful homemade wine. This was a man with a belly, Pippi thought. Over eighty years old and he could still order the death of a sinner, and also eat this strong cheese and harsh wine. He said casually, “Is Rose Marie in the house? I’d like to say good-bye to her.”
“She’s having one of her fucking spells,” Giorgio said. “She’s locked herself in her room, thank God, or else we wouldn’t be able to enjoy our dinner.”
“Ah,” Pippi said. “I always thought she’d get better with time.”
“She thinks too much,” the Don said. “She loves her son Dante too much. She refuses to understand. The world is what it is, and you are what you are.”
Giorgio said smoothly, “Pippi, how do you rate Dante after this Ballazzo operation? Did he show any nerves?”
Pippi shrugged and remained silent. The Don gave a little grunt and looked at him sharply. “You can be frank,” the Don said. “Giorgio is his uncle and I am his grandfather. We are all of one blood and are permitted to judge each other.”
Pippi stopped eating and looked directly at the Don and Giorgio. He said almost regretfully, “Dante has a bloody mouth.”
In their world this was an idiom for a man who went beyond savageness, an intimation of bestiality while doing a necessary piece of work. It was strictly forbidden in the Cleri-cuzio Family.
Giorgio leaned back in his chair and said, “Jesus Christ.” The Don gave Giorgio a disapproving look for his blasphemy and then waved a hand at Pippi to continue. He did not seem surprised.
“He was a good pupil,” Pippi said. “He has the temperament and the physical strength. He’s very quick and he is intelligent. But he takes too much pleasure in his work. He took too much time with the Ballazzos. He talked to them for ten minutes before he shot the woman. Then he waited another five minutes before shooting Ballazzo. That’s not to my taste but more important you never can tell when it might lead to danger, every minute might count. On other jobs he was unnecessarily cruel, a throwback to the old days when they thought it clever to hang a man on a meathook. I don’t want to go into details.”
Giorgio said angrily, “It’s because that prick of a nephew is short. He’s a fucking midget. And then he wears those fucking hats. Where the hell does he get them?”
The Don said good-humoredly, “The same place the blacks get their hats. In Sicily when I was growing up everybody wore a funny hat. Who knows why? Who cares? Now, stop talking nonsense. I wore funny hats, too. Maybe it runs in the family. It’s his mother who put all kinds of nonsense in his head ever since he was little. She should have married again. Widows are like spiders. They spin too much.”
Giorgio said with intensity, “But he’s good at his job.”
“Better than Cross could ever be,” Pippi said diplomatically. “But sometimes I think he’s crazy like his mother.” He paused. “He even scares me sometimes.”
The Don took a mouthful of cheese and wine. “Giorgio,” he said, “instruct your nephew, repair his fault. It could be dangerous to all of us in the Family someday. But don’t let him know it comes from me. He is too young and I am too old, I would not influence him.”
Pippi and Giorgio knew this was a lie but also knew that if the old man wanted to