Mario Puzo - Крестный отец, часть 1. Английский язык с Марио Пьюзо.
Bonasera murmured (пробормотал), "I didn't want to get into trouble (не хотел неприятностей /с законом/: «попасть в беду, в неприятное положение»)."
The Don held up his hand. "No. Don't speak. You found America a paradise (думали, что это рай [‘pær∂daıs]). You had a good trade, you made a good living (хорошо зарабатывали), you thought the world a harmless place (безобидное = безопасное место) where you could take your pleasure as you willed (как вам будет угодно). You never armed yourself with true friends. After all, the police guarded you (охраняла; to guard [gα:d]), there were courts of law, you and yours could come to no harm (вы и ваши /близкие/ не могут пострадать; harm – вред, убыток, ущерб). You did not need Don Corleone. Very well. My feelings were wounded (чувства были ранены = оскорблены) but I am not that sort of person who thrusts his friendship on those who do not value it (кто навязывает: «набрасывает» свою дружбу на тех, что не ценит ее [‘vælju:]) – on those who think me of little account (кто считает, что я мало что значу; account [∂’kaunt] – счет; важность, значение)." The Don paused and gave the undertaker a polite, ironic smile. "Now you come to me and say, 'Don Corleone give me justice.' And you do not ask with respect. You do not offer me your friendship. You come into my home on the bridal day of my daughter and you ask me to do murder (убийство) and you say" – here the Don's voice became a scornful mimicry (презрительное, насмешливое передразнивание; scorn – презрение, пренебрежение) – " 'I will pay you anything'. No, no, I am not offended (не оскорблен), but what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully (но что я такого /когда-либо/ сделал, чтобы вы со мной обращались столь непочтительно)?"
Bonasera cried out in his anguish (выкрикнул в муке, тоске, с болью [‘æŋwı∫]) and his fear, "America has been good to me. I wanted to be a good citizen. I wanted my child to be American."
The Don clapped his hands together with decisive approval (хлопнул в ладони с решительным, уверенным одобрением; decisive [dı'saısıv] – решающий, решенный, окончательный; approval [∂p'ru:v∂l]; to decide – решать, принимать решение; to approve – одобрять). "Well spoken (хорошо сказано). Very fine. Then you have nothing to complain about (тогда вам не на что жаловаться). The judge has ruled (вынес решение; to rule – управлять; устанавливать порядок). America has ruled. Bring your daughter flowers and a box of candy (коробку леденцов) when you go visit her in the hospital. That will comfort her (утешит, успокоит ['kLmf∂t]). Be content. After all, this is not a serious affair, the boys were young, high-spirited (горячие, пылкие, резвые), and one of them is the son of a powerful politician. No, my dear Amerigo, you have always been honest. I must admit, though you spurned my friendship, that I would trust the given word of Amerigo Bonasera more than I would any other man's. So give me your word that you will put aside this madness (что вы оставите: «отложите в сторону» это безумие = эту безумную затею). It is not American. Forgive (простите). Forget (забудьте). Life is full of misfortunes (жизнь полна бед, неприятностей)."
The cruel and contemptuous irony (жестокая и презрительная ирония [k∂n’temptju∂s] [‘a∂r∂nı]) with which all this was said, the controlled anger of the Don, reduced the poor undertaker to a quivering jelly (превратили в: «сократили» до дрожащего желе) but he spoke up bravely again. "I ask you for justice."
Don Corleone said curtly, "The court gave you justice."
Bonasera shook his head stubbornly. "No. They gave the youths justice. They did not give me justice."
The Don acknowledged this fine distinction (признал это тонкое разграничение) with an approving nod (одобрительным кивком), then asked, "What is your justice?"
"An eye for an eye," Bonasera said.
"You asked for more," the Don said. "Your daughter is alive."
Bonasera said reluctantly (неохотно, с неохотой), "Let them suffer (пусть они будут страдать, пострадают) as she suffers." The Don waited for him to speak further. Bonasera screwed up the last of his courage (собрал: «подвинтил» всю свою оставшуюся смелость) and said, "How much shall I pay you?" It was a despairing wail (отчаянный вопль; wail – продолжительный скорбный крик, плач; to dispair [dıs’pe∂r] – отчаиваться).
Don Corleone turned his back. It was a dismissal (это был отказ: «знак, что аудиенция окончена»; to dismiss – отпускать, позволять уйти; увольнять). Bonasera did not budge (не шевельнулся, не двинулся /с места/). Finally, sighing, a good-hearted man who cannot remain angry with an erring friend (не может долго сердиться на заблуждающегося друга; to err – заблуждаться, ошибаться), Don Corleone turned back to the undertaker, who was now as pale as one of his corpses (такой же бледный, как любой из его трупов [ko:ps]). Don Corleone was gentle (мягкий, добрый: «благородный, ведущий себя, как подобает джентельмену»), patient (терпеливый ['peı∫∂nt]). "Why do you fear to give your first allegiance to me (лояльность, преданность; вассальная зависимость [∂'li:dG∂ns])?" he said. "You go to the law courts and wait for months. You spend money on lawyers who know full well (прекрасно понимают) you are to be made a fool of (что вас можно дурачить). You accept judgment from a judge who sells himself like the worst whore in the streets (как худшая шлюха). Years gone by (в минувшие годы), when you needed money, you went to the banks and paid ruinous interest (разорительные проценты), waited hat in hand like a beggar (как нищий) while they sniffed around (разнюхивали; to sniff – вдыхать через нос; обнюхивать), poked their noses up your very asshole (в самую задницу) to make sure (чтобы убедиться) you could pay them back." The Don paused, his voice became sterner (строже, суровее).
"But if you had come to me, my purse would have been yours. If you had come to me for justice those scum (подонки: «пена, накипь; отбросы») who ruined your daughter would be weeping bitter tears this day. If by some misfortune an honest man like yourself made enemies they would become my enemies" – the Don raised his arm, finger pointing at Bonasera – "and then, believe me, they would fear you."
Bonasera bowed his head and murmured in a strangled voice (сдавленным голосом; to strangle – задушить, удавить), "Be my friend. I accept (cогласен: «принимаю» [∂k’sept])."
Don Corleone put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Good," he said, "you shall have your justice. Some day, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do me a service in return. Until that day, consider this justice a gift from my wife (рассматривайте как подарок), your daughter's godmother."
When the door closed behind the grateful undertaker, Don Corleone turned to Hagen and said, "Give this affair to Clemenza and tell him to be sure to use reliable people (надежных; to rely [rı’laı] – полагаться, быть уверенным /в ком-либо/), people who will not be carried away by the smell of blood (которых не увлечет, не заставит преступить границы запах крови). After all, we're not murderers, no matter what that corpse valet dreams up in his foolish head (неважно, что там грезится = что бы там ни грезилось этому служителю трупов в его дурной голове; valet ['vælıt] – камердинер, лакей, слуга)." He noted that his first-born, masculine son was gazing through the window at the garden party. It was hopeless, Don Corleone thought. If he refused to be instructed, Santino could never run the family business, could never become a Don. He would have to find somebody else. And soon. After all, he was not immortal (не бессмертен).
From the garden, startling all three men (заставив вздрогнуть /от неожиданности/; to startle – испугать, поразить; вздрагивать, бросаться в сторону /о лошади/), there came a happy roaring shout (радостные крики: «радостно ревущий крик»; to roar [ro:] – реветь, орать, рычать). Sonny Corleone pressed close to the window. What he saw made him move quickly toward the door, a delighted smile on his face (довольная улыбка; delight [dı’laıt] – удовольствие). "It's Johnny, he came to the wedding, what did I tell you?" Hagen moved to the window. "It's really your godson (крестник)," he said to Don Corleone. "Shall I bring him here?"
"No," the Don said. "Let the people enjoy him (пускай люди ему порадуются, получат удовольствие от общения с ним). Let him come to me when he is ready." He smiled at Hagen. "You see? He is a good godson."
Hagen felt a twinge of jealousy (укол ревности; twinge – приступ боли; jealousy [‘dGel∂sı]). He said dryly (сухо), "It's been two years. He's probably in trouble again and wants you to help."
"And who should he come to if not his godfather?" asked Don Corleone.
Don Corleone rose from behind the desk. His face was still impassive but his voice rang like cold death. "We have known each other many years, you and I," he said to the undertaker, "but until this day you never came to me for counsel or help. I can't remember the last time you invited me to your house for coffee though my wife is godmother to your only child. Let us be frank. You spurned my friendship. You feared to be in my debt."
Bonasera murmured, "I didn't want to get into trouble."
The Don held up his hand. "No. Don't speak. You found America a paradise. You had a good trade, you made a good living, you thought the world a harmless place where you could take your pleasure as you willed. You never armed yourself with true friends. After all, the police guarded you, there were courts of law, you and yours could come to no harm. You did not need Don Corleone. Very well. My feelings were wounded but I am not that sort of person who thrusts his friendship on those who do not value it – on those who think me of little account." The Don paused and gave the undertaker a polite, ironic smile. "Now you come to me and say, 'Don Corleone give me justice.' And you do not ask with respect. You do not offer me your friendship. You come into my home on the bridal day of my daughter and you ask me to do murder and you say" – here the Don's voice became a scornful mimicry – " 'I will pay you anything'. No, no, I am not offended, but what have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?"
Bonasera cried out in his anguish and his fear, "America has been good to me. I wanted to be a good citizen. I wanted my child to be American."
The Don clapped his hands together with decisive approval. "Well spoken. Very fine. Then you have nothing to complain about. The judge has ruled. America has ruled. Bring your daughter flowers and a box of candy when you go visit her in the hospital. That will comfort her. Be content. After all, this is not a serious affair, the boys were young, high-spirited, and one of them is the son of a powerful politician. No, my dear Amerigo, you have always been honest. I must admit, though you spurned my friendship, that I would trust the given word of Amerigo Bonasera more than I would any other man's. So give me your word that you will put aside this madness. It is not American. Forgive. Forget. Life is full of misfortunes."
The cruel and contemptuous irony with which all this was said, the controlled anger of the Don, reduced the poor undertaker to a quivering jelly but he spoke up bravely again. "I ask you for justice."
Don Corleone said curtly, "The court gave you justice."
Bonasera shook his head stubbornly. "No. They gave the youths justice. They did not give me justice."
The Don acknowledged this fine distinction with an approving nod, then asked, "What is your justice?"
"An eye for an eye," Bonasera said.
"You asked for more," the Don said. "Your daughter is alive."
Bonasera said reluctantly, "Let them suffer as she suffers." The Don waited for him to speak further. Bonasera screwed up the last of his courage and said, "How much shall I pay you?" It was a despairing wail.
Don Corleone turned his back. It was a dismissal. Bonasera did not budge. Finally, sighing, a good-hearted man who cannot remain angry with an erring friend, Don Corleone turned back to the undertaker, who was now as pale as one of his corpses. Don Corleone was gentle, patient. "Why do you fear to give your first allegiance to me?" he said. "You go to the law courts and wait for months. You spend money on lawyers who know full well you are to be made a fool of. You accept judgment from a judge who sells himself like the worst whore in the streets. Years gone by, when you needed money, you went to the banks and paid ruinous interest, waited hat in hand like a beggar while they sniffed around, poked their noses up your very asshole to make sure you could pay them back." The Don paused, his voice became sterner.
"But if you had come to me, my purse would have been yours. If you had come to me for justice those scum who ruined your daughter would be weeping bitter tears this day. If by some misfortune an honest man like yourself made enemies they would become my enemies" – the Don raised his arm, finger pointing at Bonasera – "and then, believe me, they would fear you."
Bonasera bowed his head and murmured in a strangled voice, "Be my friend. I accept."
Don Corleone put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Good," he said, "you shall have your justice. Some day, and that day may never come, I will call upon you to do me a service in return. Until that day, consider this justice a gift from my wife, your daughter's godmother."
