Amerigo Bonasera sits in New York Criminal Court No. 3 awaiting justice for the criminal who badly injured and attempted to humiliate his daughter. The judge, with a ghastly countenance, rolled up the sleeves of his black cassock, as if to punish the two young men standing before the bench.His expression was grim in the majestic leer, but beneath all this appearance, Amerigo Bonasera felt that the court was playing tricks, but he did not understand how it happened. thing. "Your actions resemble those of the most depraved," the judge snapped at him. "True! True!" thought Amerigo Bonasera. "It's a beast! It's a beast!" The two greasy-haired and powder-faced young men expressed pious remorse, lowered their heads, and confessed their sins.

The judge continued to pronounce the sentence: "Your behavior is very similar to wild animals in the mountains and forests, but fortunately your animal desires did not hurt that poor girl, otherwise, I will sentence you to 20 years in prison." Those particularly striking eyes blinked furtively at the sallow-faced Amerigo Bonasera a few times, and then looked down at the pile of appraisal reports in front of him.He frowned and shrugged, as if having a conviction against his original wishes.He went on to say: "However, because you are still young, because your history is clean, because your family is decent, and because the law is serious and does not seek revenge, so I sentence you to confinement in a reformatory for three years, and this sentence will be suspended."

Amerigo Bonasera's forty years of mourning had prevented him from seeing this shock from the blue, this intolerable hatred.His young and beautiful daughter is still lying in the hospital with her cracked jawbone bound by steel wires, and now these two stinking beasts are free!The trial was a total farce.He watched the criminal's parents gather around their favorite.Oh, at this moment, they are all happy and smiling. A pang of grief, sour and bitter, rose from Bonasera's heart to her throat, and escaped through clenched teeth.He took out a white handkerchief from his pocket and tightly covered his mouth.He just stood there watching the two young men walking leisurely and leisurely from the aisle between the spectator seats.He was arrogant, his eyes were cold, and Mimi smiled at the corner of his mouth, and he was almost dismissive of him.He watched them go by without saying a word, pressing the new handkerchief tightly to his mouth.

The parents of the two little brutes, both about his age but more American in their clothes, had come along now.They all glanced at him one by one, their faces a little embarrassed, but there was an inexplicable, self-satisfied, domineering look in their eyes. Bonasera could bear it no longer, leaned over the aisle, and roared in a rough voice: "I have shed tears, and you will cry like me—your sons made me cry, and I will make you cry like them!" As he spoke, he wiped his tears with a handkerchief.The two young men turned back and walked back down the aisle.As if to protect their parents.

The defense attorneys gathered in a group and came last, urging their client to move quickly and stopping the two young men. A tall and bulky bailiff hurried over and blocked the exit to the row of seats where Bonasera was standing.However, this is unnecessary. Amerigo Bonasera had been law-abiding in the years since he came to America.He also had some sweetness because of it.Now his mind was smoking with rage, and his skull was rattling with fantasies of buying a gun and killing the two young men.Still, he held his breath, and said to his wife, who was still in the dark, "We've been fooled."

After he finished speaking, he made up his mind, and no matter what the cost, "If we want to vent our anger, we have to kneel down and beg old man Corleone." In a splendidly furnished room in a Los Angeles hotel, Johnny Fontane, like any husband, was too drunk to care for himself.He leaned weakly on the red couch, holding a scotch whiskey bottle in his hand, and drank it directly to his mouth.It was four o'clock in the middle of the night, and he was drunk thinking about killing his wife as soon as she came back.If she came back now, her life would definitely be in danger.Now he wants to visit his ex-wife and ask how his own flesh and blood are doing, but he feels it is not the time; he wants to visit his friends, but he feels embarrassed because his career is taking a sharp turn for the worse.I thought that if he visited people at four o'clock in the middle of the night, they would be happy and flattered, but now they feel disgusted when he goes.In the past, at the height of his career, he had delighted some of the most sought-after female stars in America with a surprise visit from Johnny Fontane.Thinking of this, he couldn't help but smile to himself.

While he was drinking heavily from the bottle, he heard his wife unlock the door with a key, but he kept on drinking until she came into the room and stood in front of his eyes before putting down the bottle.In his eyes, she was still the same, very beautiful: an angelic face, soulful violet-blue eyes, a body that was too delicate but beautiful to the extreme, and on the screen, her beauty was enhanced Yes, apotheosis.Hundreds of millions of men all over the world have fallen in love with the face of Margot Yahitong.And, it pays to see that face on screen. "Where the hell were you just now?" Johnny Fontane asked.

"Just hanging out," she replied. She thought he was unconscious, but she was wrong.He jumped over from the low table and grabbed her throat.But as soon as he was near that magical face, those lovely violet-blue eyes, his anger dissipated and he softened again.She saw his fist retracted, and she faced him with a playful smile again.She said in a strange voice to him: "Johnny, don't hit the face, I'm in a movie." She laughed.He clenched his fist, aimed at her chest, and pounded hard: she fell to the floor, and he threw himself on top of her.She was panting, and he could smell the aroma of her breath.He used his fists again on her two arms and the tender flesh of her two thighs, beating everywhere.He had the same vigor as when he was a teenager beating up the smaller snotty snotty kids in the roughhouses of New York. It hurt, but it didn't knock out teeth or break the bridge of the nose, In short, no such disfigured scars are left.

However, he is still merciful, he can't do it.She kept giggling at him, lying on the floor with her hands and feet stretched out, pulling up her damask cheongsam to expose her thighs.She smirked for a while and teased him a few words: "Come on, Johnny, that's all you really want." Johnny Fontane stood up, hating the woman lying on the floor, but whose beauty was a magical shield.Margot rolled on one side, and with a dancer's spring, jumped up and stood facing him.She was jumping up and down like a naughty boy, and hummed and sang: "Johnny didn't hurt me at all, Johnny didn't hurt me at all." Then, with a pretty face, she began to read with a slightly sad expression:

"You poor, stupid little bastard, you beat me up like a little rascal. Well, Johnny, you'll always be a dreaming guinea fowl who can't talk but clucks. You don't even talk Love and love are still like a little doll, you still think that you can fool women with the songs you sang in the past." She shook her head disapprovingly, and said: "Poor Johnny. Good-bye, Johnny." She went into the bedroom, and the next thing he heard was her key in the lock. Johnny sat dazed, on the floor, covering his face with his hands.A morbid sense of bruised self-esteem and helpless hopelessness overwhelmed him.Wandering on the streets in his early years, he developed a stubbornness that never turned back. With this strength, he stood out in the life-and-death struggle in Hollywood.At this moment, still with this strength, he pulled himself together, grabbed the phone, and called a car to take him to the airport.There is only one person who can save him.He is going back to New York.He was going back to the only person with the strength and wisdom he needed, the friendship he could still count on-his godfather, Corleone.

Nazorin, the baker, is as puffy as the Italian loaves he makes, but covered with crusts, and is still covered with flour, looking sadly at his wife, daughter Ka Sirin, with Enzo, his baker's assistant.Enzo had already changed into his prisoner-of-war uniform with green armbands on the sleeves, and now he was worried that this scene would delay him in time to report to Governor's Island.He was one of thousands of Italian captives who took daily oaths to be released on parole and worked in the U.S. economy.He was constantly in constant fear of his parole being revoked.Therefore, the little comedy that was going on at the moment meant a lot to him. Nazorin asked aggressively, "Have you disgraced my family? Now that the war is over, you know America is going to kick you stupid ass back to your shitty village in Sicily. I asked Ask if you have given my daughter a small bag, let her miss you with that?" Enzo was very short, but very strong, with one hand on his chest, as if he was about to cry, but he spoke clearly: "O old man, I swear to the Virgin that I have never betrayed your kindness. I love your daughter with all respect and I propose to her with all respect. I understand that I have no such right, but if someone Send me back to Italy, and I'll never be able to come back to America, and I'll never be able to marry Kathleen." Nazorin's wife, Filomina, cut to the chase. "Stop being so stupid," she told her chubby husband. "You know what you have to do yourself. Leave Enzo here and let him hide with our relatives on Long Island." Kathryn was whimpering.She was getting fatter, not very beautiful, and had a mustache growing vaguely on her upper lip.She would never find a husband as handsome as Enzo, never find another man who touched her body with respectful love in hidden places. "I'm going to Italy to settle down," she yelled at her father. "If you don't keep Enzo here, I'm going to run." Nazorin glanced at her shrewdly, but his daughter was a "passionate person."He'd seen her bump and rub her big ass in front of Enzo when Enzo squeezed past her, taking warm bread from the oven and loading it into a basket on the counter. ah.Nazorin was thinking of obscenity again; if proper measures were not taken, the little rascal's hot bread would find its way into her oven.A way must be found to keep Enzo in the US and make him a US citizen.There was only one man who could arrange such things—the godfather, Don Corleone. These persons, and many others, had received engraved invitations to Miss Constantia Corleone's meeting, which was to be held on the last Saturday in August, wedding.Don Vito Corleone, the bride's father, has not forgotten his old friends and neighbors, although he now lives in a mansion on Long Island.The reception will be held in that mansion and the celebration will last all day, no doubt it will be a grand event. The war against Japan is over, so there is no longer the worry that my son will go to the army to fight.People also need a chance to celebrate the wedding to show their happy mood. So, that morning, Don Corleone's friends flocked from all over New York City to congratulate him.They all carried cream-colored paper bags stuffed with gift money for the bride, all in cash, not checks.Each paper bag contained a card stating the identity of the giver and his thoughts on the godfather.Every heart Godfather deserved. Vito.Don Corleone was a man who could do anything to anyone.He doesn't make empty promises, and he doesn't give excuses to show weakness that there is a force in the world stronger than himself that binds his hands and feet.It doesn't matter whether he's your friend or not; it doesn't even matter that there's nothing you can do to repay him.But one thing is essential.That is you, yourself, declaring your friendship to him.Once that was done, it didn't matter how poor or weak the person was, Don Corleone would take that person's plight to heart.In order to relieve this man's sorrow, he will have no scruples. What did he get in return?Friendship, the respectful title of "Old Man," and the more sentimental title of "Godfather," or, simply as a token of respect, and definitely not a petty gain, some ordinary gift—homebrew a gallon of wine.Or, a basket of pimento scones that he baked just to spice up his Christmas table.Both parties have a tacit understanding that this is just a polite expression that you owe him a debt, and he has the right to ask you to do something small to repay the debt at any time. Now, on this big day, his daughter's wedding day, Don Vito Corleone stood at the door of his Long Beach home to greet his guests.They were all people they knew, and they were all people they could trust. Many of them got lucky because of the old man's favor. On this intimate occasion, they could call him "Godfather" in person without restraint.Even the people in charge of entertaining at the festivities were his friends.The person who shows the wine to the guests is an old colleague, and his gift is the wine used in the whole wedding and his own skilled technology.The ushers were all friends of Don Corleone's sons.The old man's wife and her friends cooked all the food on the picnic table in the garden.The one-acre garden was festooned and decorated, and the whole arrangement was done by the bride's young friends. Don Corleone received everyone--rich and poor, powerful and obscure--with the same warmth and warmth, and he treated no one lightly.This is his temper.The guests chattered about how elegant he looked in his evening dress, and an inexperienced person would probably have taken the old man himself for the lucky bridegroom. Two of his three sons stood with him at the door.The eldest, christened Sandino, was called Sonny by everyone but his father.The older Italian expats always squinted disapprovingly when they saw him; the younger ones always expressed admiration when they saw him.Sonny Corleone was tall for a first-generation Italian American, almost six feet tall, and with his thick curly hair he looked even taller.His face was a crudely drawn Cupid-shaped face: well-proportioned, but the upper and lower lips were arched and thick, and the dimpled chin between the left and right seemed strange and sinister.He was as strong as a bull: he was known to be endowed with excellent health, and his doomed wife was as frightened of the bridal chamber as the heretics were of the rack.People whispered that he used to visit whorehouses at a young age, and that even the most numb old whore, fearless of anything, would turn away and demand double the price. At this very wedding feast several young ladies with broad hips and wide mouths looked Sonny Corleone calmly and confidently.But on this special day, they were just wasting their efforts.Sonny Corleone was already thinking about his sister's maid of honor, Lucy Mancini, despite the presence of his wife and three children.The young girl, too, fully understood, sitting at a table in the garden in a long pink dress and a wreath of flowers in her glossy black hair.Back in rehearsals last week, she'd been flirting with Sonny, pinching his hand at the altar.A girl can only do so much. He didn't care that he would never be as great as his father.Sonny Corleone had strength and courage.Yet he lacked the modesty and prudence of his father; he was quick-tempered and reckless, leading him to one misjudgment after another.He was a right-hand man in his father's business, but there were still many who doubted he would be the heir apparent. The second son, Frederick, usually called Frederick or Fredo, is a good boy. Every Italian prays to God and worships Buddha, hoping to have such a good boy himself. His father came and went as soon as he was called, and he was still living with his parents at the age of thirty.He was short, stocky, and not handsome, but he had the same type of Cupid's head in the family, covered with curly hair, a round face, and thick, arched lips.He has a stubborn personality and is still his father's right-hand man. He has never done anything shameful with women, and he will not let outsiders gossip or embarrass his father.For all these virtues, he lacked the charisma and moving energy necessary for a leader, and therefore he had no hope of succeeding in his father's footsteps. The third son, Michael Corleone, did not stand with his father and two older brothers, but sat at a table in the most secluded corner of the garden.Even if he sat there, he still couldn't avoid it if he wanted to, and his relatives and friends at home still wanted to compliment him courteously. Michael Corleone was the old man's son, the only boy who refused to be taught by the great man.His face was a different shape, not the bushy-eyed Cupid face of his siblings, and his shiny black hair was straight instead of curly.His skin was an olive-like hazel, and for a girl to have that was almost pretty.He looks delicate and delicate.For a while, the old man was really worried about whether his son had masculine characteristics.It wasn't until Michael Corleone was seventeen that the fear dissipated. Now, this guy sat in a corner of the garden, showing his willingness to distance himself from his father and siblings, and beside him sat an American girl whom everyone had heard of before but had only seen today for the first time.Of course, with all the proper politeness, he introduced her to everyone at the wedding, including his family.She didn't make a good impression on everyone.She was thin and fair; her face was too cunning and shrewd for a woman; her manners were too easy for a virgin; her name was foreign to their ears. She was pretty; her name was Kay Adams.If she told them that her ancestors had settled in America two hundred years ago and that her name was a common name, they would have shrugged. Every guest could tell that the old man didn't take this youngest very seriously.Michael had been his favourite, the obvious default heir, for a time before the war, to run the house when the time was right.He has the strength and wisdom displayed in silence that his great father has, and he is born with an ability to do things that people have to admire.However, when World War II broke out, he volunteered for the Marine Corps.He had defied his father's orders to join the army. Don Corleone resented the regime over his head and did not want or intend to send his son to die in its service.The doctor had been bribed a long time ago, and various arrangements were made privately through the back door.A great deal of money had been spent to take the proper precautions, but Michael was twenty-one years of age and nothing could be done against his own willfulness.He joined the army and fought in the Pacific.He also became a captain and got some medals. In 1944, his photo was published in "Life" magazine, accompanied by a description of his military exploits.A friend once showed that magazine to Don Corleone (no one in his family dared to do that), and the old man snorted contemptuously and said: "He works miracles for others." Early in the year, when Michael Corleone was recuperating from a serious injury, he had no idea that his father had arranged for him to retire.He stayed at home only a few weeks, and then, without consulting anyone, entered Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire, thus leaving his father's house.This time he came home, first to attend his sister's wedding, and second, to let his family see his future wife, a haggard, insignificant American girl. Michael Corleone was amusing Kay Adams by telling anecdotes about some of the extraordinarily well-dressed guests at the wedding.And she, too, amused him with the amazement she felt at the foreignness of the people here.He was equally fascinated by her keen interest in anything that seemed outlandish.Immediately afterwards, her attention was drawn to a small group of people gathered around the large barrel of wine. It turned out that these people were Amerigo Bonasera, Nazorin the baker, Andoni Copra, Luke Brasi.She, with her keen eyesight, pointed out straight to the point: These four people looked worried.Michael smiled knowingly. "Yes, they have concerns," he said. "They were all waiting to see my dad in private. They had something to ask of him." Indeed, it is easy to see that these four people always follow the old man with their eyes. While Don Corleone was standing there greeting his guests, a little black Chevrolet came and parked beside the avenue.The two people sitting in the front row took out their notebooks from their jacket pockets and blatantly copied down the license plate numbers of the cars parked near the boulevard.Sonny turned to his father and said: "Those boys must be the police." Don Corleone shrugged. "I don't own this street. It's up to them what they want." Sonny's Cupid-shaped face with thick eyebrows and big eyes was flushed red with anger: "Those lowly bastards don't even know how to be polite." He walked down the steps from the door, crossed the avenue, and walked towards the place where the black car was parked.He put his angry face close to that of the driver, who, without flinching, snapped open his wallet and showed him his green ID card.Sonny drew back without saying a word.He spat, spattered the back door of the car, and drove off.He wanted the driver to jump out of the car and chase him, but the driver didn't move.As soon as he reached the steps, he said to his father: "Those guys are from the FBI. They've got all the license plate numbers. Those bastards!" Don Corleone knew who they were.His closest and most confidant friends had been told long ago: Don't come in their own car when they come to the wedding.While he disapproved of his son's foolish displays of anger, being angry had its benefits.It would convince the few uninvited guests that their sudden arrival was unexpected and unprepared, so Don Corleone himself was not angry, he had learned his lesson.He understands that there are often sudden insults in society, which must be endured.It often happens in this world that the least, if he keeps his watchful eye, always has the opportunity to avenge the most insignificant.Once you understand this truth, you will be at peace.It was precisely because of this understanding that the old man never lost the modesty and prudence that all his friends admired. Whatever it is, now in the garden behind the house, the four-piece band is playing.All the guests are here.Don Corleone no longer cared about the unexpected guests and took his two sons to the wedding banquet. There were thousands of guests in the huge garden, some dancing on wooden tables covered with flowers, others sitting around long tables piled high with delicious meals and gallons of house red wine pot.Bride Connie Corleone, dressed in splendor, was seated at a specially raised table with the groom, bridesmaids, bridesmaids and ushers. This rustic arrangement is an old Italian relic.Although the bride Connie didn't like it, she had to make do with agreeing to a "guinea fowl" wedding because she had already annoyed her father in choosing a husband. The groom, Carlo Rizzi, is of mixed race, his father is Sicilian and his mother is from northern Italy.He was born with blond hair and blue eyes due to genetics.His parents both lived in Nevada, and he left Nevada because of a little legal trouble.In New York he met Sonny Corleone, and thus his sister.Of course, Don Corleone sent a few reliable friends to Nevada to find out the situation, and they reported back that Carlo's entanglement with the police was caused by a young man playing with a gun carelessly. A wipe from the archives allows young people to keep their history clean.They also brought back details of popular legal speculation in Nevada, of which the Don was of great interest and had been seriously considering.Part of the old man's greatness was that he got something out of everything. Connie Corleone is a not-so-beautiful girl, with a thin body and a nervous temper, and may become a cursing shrew in the future, but today she put on a snow-white bridal gown, coupled with her passionate virgin demeanor , The appearance has changed, it looks radiant, it can be said to be beautiful.Beneath the wooden table, her hand rests on the groom's muscular thigh.Her Cupid-shaped mouth pouted, as if to blow him a kiss. She imagined him as a man of unbelievable beauty.When Carlo Rizzi was young, he worked in the desolate wilderness-doing heavy physical labor.Consequently, the forearms were large and thick, and his evening dress bulged from his shoulders.He was absorbed in the admiring gaze of his bride, he filled her glass of wine, and paid her painstaking attention as if they were both actors on the stage.His eyes kept blinking at the huge velvet bag slung over the bride's right shoulder. The purse was stuffed to the brim now. How much money was stuffed in it?Ten thousand?Twenty thousand?Carlo Rizzi laughed, this is just the beginning, he has finally climbed to a noble family through marriage. Among the guests was a well-dressed young man with a greasy head like that of a ferret, who was also looking at the velvet purse.Out of sheer habit, Paulie Gatto wondered how he could snatch that bulging purse in a snap.The thought amused him too.However, he knew in his heart that this was just wishful thinking, like a child dreaming of shooting a tank with an air gun.He looked at his boss, Peter Clemenza.The fat, middle-aged man was dancing a vulgar and vivacious tarantula with the young girls on the stave.Clemenza, who was so tall and so big, danced so deftly and voluptuously, that all the guests drank at him with his big hard belly touching the breasts of young, short women. Cailai.The older woman held his arm firmly, wanting to be his partner for the next round.The younger men stepped aside reverently and clapped their hands to the frenzy of the mandolin.At last when Clemenza slumped in a chair with exhaustion, Paulie Gatto handed him a glass of chilled claret and took out his own handkerchief to wipe his boss's sweaty Jove forehead.As Clemenza gulped down the wine, he occasionally puffed out like a whale.He didn't even say a word of thanks to Paulie, but he just said: "Being a dance referee, what are you afraid of? Take responsibility and go around to do a string to see if there are any problems." So Paulie slipped into the crowd. The orchestra stopped for a break, and a young man named Nino Valenti grabbed a battered mandolin, put his left foot on a chair, and burst into a vulgar Sicilian love song.Nino Valenti's face was pretty, but a little swollen with frequent drinking; and now he was a little drunk again, his tongue flicking obscene lyrics, his eyes rolling .The girls were squealing with joy; the men were shouting the last word of each verse after the singer. Don Corleone, who was known to be rigid and rigid in such matters, stole away in the house, though his strong and well-built old mate was squealing with glee and glee.Seeing this, Sonny Corleone made her way to the bridal table and sat down beside the young bridesmaid, Lucy Mancini.They could now sit together with confidence and boldness.His wife was still in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the wedding cake.Sonny whispered a few words in the younggirl's ear and she rose.Sonny followed her indifferently after a while, stopping and talking to his guests as he pushed his way through the crowd. All eyes were on their departing figures.The bridesmaid had been thoroughly Americanized after three years of college, a mature girl with a "fame".She flirted with Sonny Corleone in a funny, playful way throughout the wedding rehearsal.She felt it was allowed because he was the nicest guy and the one she rehearsed for.Lucy Mancini now lifted her pink dress off the ground and went inside, smiling with feigned innocence, and ran briskly up the stairs and into the bathroom.She waited there for a while, and when she came out Sonny waved to her from the upper landing to come up. From the window of Don Corleone's "office" (a corner room with a slightly raised floor), Thomas Hagen watched the wedding party in the garden.In the corners on the left and right sides behind his body, there are piles of legal books.Hagen was the old man's lawyer and acting adviser, that is, legal adviser, and in this capacity he held a key position in the family next to the old man.He and the old man solved one difficult problem after another in this house.Therefore, when he saw the godfather leaving the lively scene and entering the house, he knew that no matter what kind of wedding or not, there must be some small things that must be done today.The old man was coming to find him.Then Hagen saw Sonny Corleone whispering to Lucy Mancini's ear.Also saw this little comedy of him following her into this house.Hagen grimaced and wondered if he should tell the old man to stop the hell.He went to the table and picked up a handwritten list of people who had been given permission to see Don Corleone in private.When the old man entered the room, Hagen handed him the list.Don Corleone nodded and said: "Put Bonasera last." Hagen went out through the French doors and walked straight out into the garden to the supplicants gathered around the barrel.He pointed to the chubby baker Nazorin. Don Corleone welcomed the baker with an embrace.They played together when they were children, and later became good friends and grew up together.Every Easter there are freshly baked blocks of fresh cheese and semolina pies, which are delivered to Don Corleone's house on time.At Christmas, on whoever's birthday in the family, the Nazorins pay their respects with tender, creamy pastries.这几年，纳佐林不管自己赚多赚少，总是高高兴兴地向老头子的面包业协会按期交纳会费。除了在战时曾希望有机会在黑市买到物价管理局发的糖票之外，他从来不要求得到任何报酬。现在这位面包师傅应当作为莫逆之交提提自己的要求了；而考利昂老头子也满心喜悦地盼望着有机会来满足他的要求。 他递给面包师傅一根“高贵牌”雪前烟，一杯“振奋牌”果子露，还把手搭在他的肩膀上鼓励他说下去，这就是老头子的人情味的一种表示。他从自己辛酸的经历中体会到：大家同样是人，要一个人央求另一个人办一件事，这可需要多大的勇气啊。 面包师傅把他女儿同恩佐的事讲了一遍：一个出生于西西里的很好的意大利小伙子给美军俘虏过来了，作为战俘送到了美国，假释出来后帮助他工作，诚实的恩佐和他那个卡丝琳产生一种纯洁而高尚的爱情，但现在战争结束了，这个可怜的小伙子就要被遣返回到意大利去，这样的话，纳佐林的女儿肯定要伤心得活不下去。只有教父考利昂才有能力帮助这一对苦恼的年轻人。他是他们最后的希望。 老头子陪着纳佐林在房子里踱来踱去，他的手搭在面包师傅的肩上，并把头点呀点的，表示理解，同时也用以鼓励面包师傅。当面包师傅讲完了之后，考利昂老头子对他笑笑，说： “好伙计，打消你的一切忧虑。” 他非常认真地考虑下一步该干些什么：必须向代表本区的国会议员请愿。议员可以提出一项特别法案，允许恩佐改为美国公民。这个法案保险会在国会通过。考利昂老头子还解释说，这就得花钱，目前流行的价格是两千美元。他，考利昂老头子，保证事情的顺利进行，并答应付这笔钱就可以了。他的朋友会同意吗？ 面包师傅使劲地点点头，他原来没有想到，要求办这样大的事竟可以不费吹灰之力。这是不言而喻的，国会的一项特别法案是不会来得很便宜的。纳佐林简直感激得热泪盈眶。考利昂老头子陪他走到门口，一再请他放心，会有个精干的人到面包房来安排一切细节和完成一切必要的文件。面包师傅把他拥抱了一下，然后就消失在花园里了。 黑根对老头子笑了笑： “这对纳佐林来说，真是一笔有利可图的投资。一个女婿，面包房里的一个便宜的终身助手，这一切只花两千美元。”他停了一会儿又问：“我该把这个任务拜托给谁？” 考利昂老头子皱着眉头在寻思： “不要找我们自己的人，不妨拜托给邻区的那个犹大人，把通讯地址改变改变。我想，如今战争已经过去了，这类问题可能很多。我们应在华盛顿额外安排一些人来处理这类问题，并设法不要让价格上涨。”黑根在便笺簿里记了一笔：“不找议员娄提库。可试试斐歇尔。” 黑根领进来的下一个人，他的问题非常简单。他的名字叫安多尼*寇普拉。他是考利昂老头子年轻时在火车站调车场一道工作过的老同事的儿子。寇普拉需要五百美元开一家意大利式烘馅饼店，安装设备和特制炉灶需要一笔押金。不知道什么缘故，也没有去深究，可就是得不到贷款。老头子把手伸进自己的衣服口袋，随手掏出了一卷支票，钱数还差一点点。 他挤眉弄眼地做了个鬼脸，然后对汤姆·黑根说： “借给我一百美元，我星期一到银行取回来后还你。” 央求者一再声明说四百元就绰绰有余了，但是考利昂老头子却拍拍他的肩膀，抱歉他说： “这，这花钱的婚礼把我一下子也弄得手头拮据了。” 他把黑根递过来的钱接住，然后连同他原来的那卷支票一道交给了安多尼·寇普拉。 黑根一言不发，只是赞赏地注视着。老头子经常开导说：如果一个人很慷慨，那么他就必须把自己的慷慨表现得充满感情。像老头子这样的大人物竟去借别人的钱来转借给像他这样的小人物，这简直使安多尼·寇普拉感到自己的身价是被过分抬高了。这倒不是因为寇普拉不知道老头子是个百万富翁，问题的关键在于：究竟有几个百万富翁为了一个穷朋友甘愿让自己忍受哪怕一小点不方便？ 老头子抬起头，像是在问什么的样子。黑根说：“有个人叫路加·布拉西，他没排在名单上，但是也想见见你。他认为公开谈是不可以的，反正他要求当面向你表示祝贺。” 老头子第一次显出了愉快的神色。他的答复拐弯抹角。他反问道：“这，有必要吗？” 黑根耸耸肩：“你比我更了解他嘛。不过，他对你请他来参加婚礼，心里非常感激，他原来没有料到。我想，他是来向你表示感激的。”