The judge, a formidably heavy-featured man, rolled up the sleeves of his black robe as if to physically chastise the two young men standing before the bench. His face was cold with majestic contempt. But there was something false in all this that Amerigo Bonasera sensed but did not yet understand.
"You acted like the worst kind of degenerates," the judge said harshly. Yes, yes, thought Amerigo Bonasera. Animals. Animals. The two young men, glossy hair crew cut, scrubbed clean-cut faces composed into humble contrition, bowed their heads in submission.
The judge went on. "You acted like wild beasts in a jungle and you are fortunate you did not sexually molest that poor girl or I'd put you behind bars for twenty years." The judge paused, his eyes beneath impressively thick brows flickered slyly toward the sallow-faced Amerigo Bonasera, then lowered to a stack of probation reports before him. He frowned and shrugged as if convinced against his own natural desire. He spoke again.
"But because of your youth, your clean records, because of your fine families, and because the law in its majesty does not seek vengeance, I hereby sentence you to three years' confinement to the penitentiary. Sentence to be suspended."
Only forty years of professional mourning kept the overwhelming frustration and hatred from showing on Amerigo Bonasera's face. His beautiful young daughter was still in the hospital with her broken jaw wired together; and now these two animales went free? It had all been a farce. He watched the happy parents cluster around their darling sons. Oh, they were all happy now, they were smiling now.
The black bile, sourly bitter, rose in Bonasera's throat, overflowed through tightly clenched teeth. He used his white linen pocket handkerchief and held it against his lips. He was standing so when the two young men strode freely up the aisle, confident and cool-eyed, smiling, not giving him so much as a glance. He let them pass without saying a word, pressing the fresh linen against his mouth.
The parents of the animales were coming by now, two men and two women his age but more American in their dress. They glanced at him, shamefaced, yet in their eyes was an odd, triumphant defiance.
Out of control, Bonasera leaned forward toward the aisle and shouted hoarsely, "You will weep as I have wept - I will make you weep as your children make me weep" - the linen at his eyes now. The defense attorneys bringing up the rear swept their clients forward in tight little band, enveloping the two young men, who had started back down the aisle as if to protect their parents. A huge bailiff moved quickly to block the row in which Bonasera stood. But it was not necessary.
All his years in America, Amerigo Bonasera had trusted in law and order. And he had prospered thereby. Now, though his brain smoked with hatred, though wild visions of buying a gun and killing the two young men jangled the very bones of his skull, Bonasera turned to his still uncomprehending wife and explained to her, "They have made fools of us." He paused and then made his decision, no longer fearing the cost. "For justice we must go on our knees to Don Corleone."
In a garishly (роскошно, крикливо) decorated Los Angeles hotel suite, Johnny Fontane was as jealously drunk (так же «ревниво пьян» = пьян из-за ревности) as any ordinary husband. Sprawled (развалившись) on a red couch, he drank straight (прямо) from the bottle of scotch in his hand, then washed the taste away by dunking (макая) his mouth in a crystal bucket of ice cubes and water. It was four in the morning and he was spinning drunken fantasies (плел = воображал пьяные фантазии) of murdering his trampy wife (что он убивает свою гулящую жену; to tramp - бродяжничать) when she got home, if she ever did come home (если вообще придет). It was too late to call his first wife and ask about the kids and he felt funny about calling any of his friends (ему было неловко, как-то не хотелось звонить кому-нибудь из друзей) now that his career was plunging downhill (летела: «падала вниз; ныряла» вниз по склону, с горки). There had been a time when they would have been delighted (были бы в восторге), flattered (польщены) by his calling them at four in the morning but now he bored them (он был им скучен = казался им занудой). He could even smile a little to himself as he thought that on the way up (когда дело шло в гору) Johnny Fontane's troubles had fascinated (привлекали, были интересны для) some of the greatest female stars in America.
Gulping (потягивaя: «глотая») at his bottle of scotch, he heard finally his wife's key in the door, but he kept drinking until she walked into the room and stood before him. She was to him so very beautiful, the angelic face, soulful (живые, «одушевленные») violet eyes, the delicately fragile (нежно-хрупкое) but perfectly formed body. On the screen her beauty was magnified, spiritualized (на экране ее красота была возвеличенной, одухотворенной). A hundred million men all over the world were in love with the face of Margot Ashton. And paid to see it on the screen.
"Where the hell were you?" Johnny Fontane asked.
"Out fucking (да потрахаться ходила)," she said.
She had misjudged his drunkenness (неверно оценила его опьянение = степень его опьянения). He sprang over the cocktail table and grabbed her by the throat (схватил за глотку). But close up to that magical face, the lovely violet eyes, he lost his anger (утратил свою злобу) and became helpless again. She made the mistake of smiling mockingly (насмешливо), saw his fist draw back (увидела, что он снова занес кулак). She screamed, "Johnny, not in the face, I'm making a picture."
She was laughing. He punched her (ударил ее; to punch – ударить кулаком) in the stomach and she fell to the floor. He fell on top of her. He could smell her fragrant breath (ароматное, благоуханное дыхание) as she gasped for air (ловила ртом воздух). He punched her on the arms and on the thigh muscles of her silky tanned legs (шелковистых загорелых ног). He beat her as he had beaten snotty (сопливых) smaller kids long ago when he had been a tough (крутым: «жестким, крепким») teenager in New York's Hell's Kitchen (в Адской Кухне = в одном из кварталов бедноты). A painful punishment (болезненное наказание) that would leave no lasting disfigurement of loosened teeth (никакого длящегося = надолго повреждения вроде выбитого зуба) or broken nose.
But he was not hitting her hard enough. He couldn't. And she was giggling (хихикала) at him. Spread-eagled (раскинувшись, распластавшись) on the floor, her brocaded gown (платье с бархатной оторочкой, с бархатными нашивками; brocade [br∂u’keıd]) hitched up (задранное) above her thighs, she taunted him (насмехалась над ним) between giggles. "Come on, stick it in (воткни его). Stick it in, Johnny, that's what you really want."
Johnny Fontane got up. He hated the woman on the floor but her beauty was a magic shield. Margot rolled away (откатилась в сторону), and in a dancer's spring (прыжком танцовщицы) was on her feet facing him (напротив него, перед ним). She went into a childish mocking dance (она начала по-детски насмешливо пританцовывать) and chanted (напевала), "Johnny never hurt me, Johnny never hurt me." Then almost sadly (почти грустно, с досадой) with grave beauty (со строгой красотой) she said, "You poor silly bastard (жалкий, глупый выродок), giving me cramps (судороги /сводящие ноги/) like a kid. Ah, Johnny, you always will be a dumb romantic guinea (тупым индюком, глупым романтичным итальяшкой; guinea-hen – цесарка ['gını]; /сленг, презрит./ итальяшка), you even make love like a kid. You still think screwing is really like those dopey songs (глуповатые, жалкие, пошлые; dopey также – находящийся под воздействием dope - наркотика) you used to sing." She shook her head and said, "Poor Johnny. Good-bye, Johnny." She walked into the bedroom and he heard her turn the key in the lock (в замке).