between the eyes. "You can do whatever you like," he said. "You've got a growth of
some sort on your vocal chords, in your larynx. If you stay here the next few hours, we
can nail it down, whether it's malignant or nonmalignant. We can make a decision for
surgery or treatment. I can give you the whole story. I can give you the name of a top
specialist in America and we can have him out here on the plane tonight, with your
money that is, and if I think it necessary. But you can walk out of here and see your
quack (знахарь; шарлатан) buddy or sweat while you decide to see another doctor, or
get referred to somebody incompetent. Then if it's malignant and gets big enough they'll
cut out your whole larynx or you'll die. Or you can just sweat. Stick here with me and we
can get it all squared away in a few hours. You got anything more important to do?"
Valenti said, "Let's stick around, Johnny, what the hell. I'll go down the hall and call
the studio. I won't tell them anything, just that we're held up. Then I'll come back here
and keep you company."
It proved to be a very long afternoon but a rewarding one. The diagnosis of the staff
throat man was perfectly sound as far as Jules could see after the X rays and swab
(мазок /мед./) analysis. Halfway through, Johnny Fontane, his mouth soaked with
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iodine, retching (to retch – рыгать, тужиться /при рвоте/) over the roll of gauze stuck in
his mouth, tried to quit. Nino Valenti grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him
back into a chair. When it was all over Jules grinned at Fontane and said, "Warts."
Fontane didn't grasp it. Jules said again. "Just some warts. We'll slice them right off
like skin off baloney (= Bologna-sausage – болонская /копченая/ колбаса). In a few
months you'll be OK."
Valenti let out a yell but Fontane was still frowning. "How about singing afterward, how
will it affect my singing?"
Jules shrugged. "On that there's no guarantee. But since you can't sing now what's
the difference?"
Fontane looked at him with distaste. "Kid, you don't know what the hell you're talking
about. You act like you're giving me good news when what you're telling me is maybe I
won't sing anymore. Is that right, maybe I won't sing anymore?"
Finally Jules was disgusted. He'd operated as a real doctor and it had been a
pleasure. He had done this bastard a real favor and he was acting as if he'd been done
dirt. Jules said coldly, "Listen, Mr. Fontane, I'm a doctor of medicine and you can call
me Doctor, not kid. And I did give you very good news. When I brought you down here I
was certain that you had a malignant growth in your larynx which would entail
(повлечет за собой) cutting out your whole voice box. Or which could kill you. I was
worried that I might have to tell you that you were a dead man. And I was so delighted
when I could say the word 'warts.' Because your singing gave me so much pleasure,
helped me seduce girls when I was younger and you're a real artist. But also you're a
very spoiled guy. Do you think because you're Johnny Fontane you can't get cancer? Or
a brain tumor that's inoperable. Or a failure of the heart? Do you think you're never
going to die? Well, it's not all sweet music and if you want to see real trouble take a
walk through this hospital and you'll sing a love song about warts. So just stop the crap
and get on with what you have to do. Your Adolphe Menjou (американский актер
(1890 – 1963), изысканно-аристократический) medical man can get you the proper
surgeon but if he tries to get into the operating room I suggest you have him arrested for
attempted murder."
Jules started to walk out of the room when Valenti said, "Attaboy (= at-a-boy –
молодец, молодчина), Doc, that's telling him."
Jules whirled around and said, "Do you always get looped (напившийся,
надрызгавшийся /сленг/; loop – петля) before noontime?"
Valenti said, "Sure," and grinned at him and with such good humor that Jules said
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more gently than he had meant to, "You have to figure you'll be dead in five years if you
keep that up."
Valenti was lumbering (to lumber – тяжело, неуклюже двигаться; lumber –
ненужные громоздкие вещи; бревна) up to him with little dancing steps. He threw his
arms around Jules, his breath stank of bourbon. He was laughing very hard. "Five
years?" he asked still laughing. "Is it going to take that long?"
A month after her operation Lucy Mancini sat beside the Vegas hotel pool, one hand
holding a cocktail, the other hand stroking Jules' head, which lay in her lap.
"You don't have to build up your courage," Jules said teasingly. "I have champagne
waiting in our suite."
"Are you sure it's OK so soon?" Lucy asked.
"I'm the doctor," Jules said. "Tonight's the big night. Do you realize I'll be the first
surgeon in medical history who tried out the results of his 'medical first' operation? You
know, the Before and After. I'm going to enjoy writing it up for the journals. Let's see,
'while the Before was distinctly pleasurable for psychological reasons and the
sophistication of the surgeon-instructor, the post-operative coitus was extremely
rewarding strictly for its neurological" – he stopped talking because Lucy had yanked on
his hair hard enough for him to yell with pain.
She smiled down at him. "If you're not satisfied tonight I can really say it's your fault,"
she said.
"I guarantee my work. I planned it even though I just let old Kellner do the manual
labor," Jules said. "Now let's just rest up, we have a long night of research ahead."
When they went up to their suite – they were living together now – Lucy found a
surprise waiting: a gourmet (гурман /франц./ ['gu∂meı]) supper and next to her
champagne glass, a jeweler's box with a huge diamond engagement ring inside it.
"That shows you how much confidence I have in my work," Jules said. "Now let's see
you earn it."
He was very tender, very gentle with her. She was a little scary at first, her flesh
jumping away from his touch but then, reassured, she felt her body building up to a
passion she had never known, and when they were done the first time and Jules
whispered, "I do good work," she whispered back, "Oh, yes, you do; yes, you do." And
they both laughed to each other as they started making love again.
Book 6
Chapter 23
After five months of exile in Sicily, Michael Corleone came finally to understand his
father's character and his destiny. He carne to understand men like Luca Brasi, the
ruthless caporegime Clemenza. his mother's resignation and acceptance of her role.
For in Sicily he saw what they would have been if they had chosen not to struggle
against their fate. He understood why the Don always said, "A man has only one
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destiny." He came to understand the contempt for authority and legal government, the
hatred for any man who broke omerta, the law of silence.
Dressed in old clothes and a billed cap, Michael had been transported from the ship
docked at Palermo to the interior of the Sicilian island, to the very heart of a province
controlled by the Mafia, where the local capo-mafioso was greatly indebted to his father