The Sicilian - Mario Puzo [102]
They sat at the table together. Don Domenic had a natural dignity and air of command that reminded Michael of his own father. He also had the same old-fashioned courtliness. Peter Clemenza obviously was in awe of his older brother who treated him with the indulgent affection an older brother shows a flighty sibling. This astonished Michael and amused him too. Peter Clemenza was his father’s most trusted and deadly caporegime back in America.
Don Domenic said gravely but with a twinkle in his eye, “Michael, it is such a great pleasure and honor to me that your father, Don Corleone, has put you in my care. Now you can solve my curiosity. My good-for-nothing brother here, is his success in America as great as he claims? Has he climbed so high, this younger brother of mine I could never trust to slaughter a pig properly? Does Don Corleone really set him on his right hand? And he says he commands over a hundred men. How can I believe all this?” But as he said this he patted his younger brother’s shoulder fondly.
“It’s all true,” Michael said. “My father always says he would be selling olive oil if not for your brother.”
They all laughed. Peter Clemenza said, “I would have spent most of my life in jails. He taught me how to think instead of just using a gun.”
Don Domenic sighed. “I’m only a poor country farmer. It’s true my neighbors come to me for counsel and here in Trapani they say I’m an important man. They call me ‘The Unfaithful’ because I won’t do Don Croce’s bidding. Perhaps that’s not very clever, perhaps the Godfather would find ways to get along better with Don Croce. But I find it impossible. ‘Unfaithful’ I may be, but only to those who have no honor. Don Croce sells information to the government and to me that is an infamita. No matter how subtle the reasons. The old ways are still the best, Michael, as you will see after you have been here the next few days.”
“I’m sure I will,” Michael said politely. “And I must thank you for the help you are giving me now.”
“I have work to do,” Don Domenic said. “If you need anything, send for me.” He picked up his whip and went out the door.
Peter Clemenza said, “Michael, your father agreed to help Turi Guiliano get out of this country out of his friendship and respect for Guiliano’s father. But your safety comes first. Your father still has enemies here. Guiliano has a week to make a rendezvous with you. But if he doesn’t appear you must go back to the United States alone. Those are my orders. We have a special plane waiting in Africa and we can leave anytime. You just give the word.”
Michael said, “Pisciotta said he’d bring Guiliano to me very soon.”
Clemenza whistled. “You saw Pisciotta? Hell, they’re looking for him as hard as they are for Guiliano. How did he get out of the mountains?”
Michael shrugged. “He had one of the special red-bordered passes signed by the Minister of Justice. And that worries me too.”
Peter Clemenza shook his head.
Michael continued. “That guy who brought me here, Andolini, do you know him, Pete?”
“Yeah,” Peter Clemenza said. “He worked for us in New York, a couple of button jobs, but Guiliano’s father was straight and a great artist with brick. They were both stupid to come back. But a lot of Sicilians are like that. They can’t forget their shitty little houses in Sicily. I brought two men over with me this time, to help out. They haven’t been back in twenty years. So we take a walk in the country up near Erice, a beautiful town, Mikey, and we were out in the fields with all those sheep they have and drinking wine and we all had to take a leak. So there we were pissing and when we finished, these two guys jump about