“The Godfather” By Mario Puzo 316
paused to finish his drink. “But even that’s trouble, for women anyway. I used to have
women who weren’t supposed to have any more babies. ‘It’s dangerous,’ I’d tell them.
‘You could die,’ I’d tell them. And a month later they pop in, their faces all rosy, and say,
‘Doctor, I think I’m pregnant,’ and sure enough they’d kill the rabbit. ‘But it’s dangerous,’
I’d tell them. My voice used to have expression in those days. And they’d smile at me
and say, ‘But my husband and I are very strict Catholics,’ they’d say.”
There was a knock on the door and two waiters wheeled in a cart covered with food and
silver service coffeepots. They took a portable table from the bottom of the cart and set
it up. Then Johnny dismissed them.
They sat at the table and ate the hot sandwiches Lucy had ordered and drank the
coffee. Johnny leaned back and lit up a cigarette. “So you save lives. How come you
became an abortionist?”
Lucy spoke up for the first time. “He wanted to help girls in trouble, girls who might
commit suicide or do something dangerous to get rid of the baby.”
Jules smiled at her and sighed. “It’s not that simple. I became a surgeon finally. I’ve got
the good hands, as ballplayers say. But I was so good I scared myself silly. I’d open up
some poor bastard’s belly and know he was going to die. I’d operate and know that the
cancer or tumor would come back but I’d send them off home with a smile and a lot of
bullshit. Some poor broad comes in and I slice off one tit. A year later she’s back and I
slice off the other tit. A year after that, I scoop out her insides like you scoop the seeds
out of a cantaloupe. After all that she dies anyway. Meanwhile husbands keep calling up
and asking, ‘What do the tests show? What do the tests show?’
“So I hired an extra secretary to take all those calls. I saw the patient only when she was
fully prepared for examination, tests or operation. I spent the minimum possible time
with the victim because I was, after all, a busy man. And then finally I’d let the husband
talk to me for two minutes. ‘It’s terminal,’ I’d say. And they could never hear that last
word. They understood what it meant but they never heard it. I thought at first that
unconsciously I was dropping my voice on the last word, so I consciously said it louder.
But still they never heard it. One guy even said, ‘What the hell do you mean, it’s
germinal?’” Jules started to laugh. “Germinal, terminal, what the hell. I started to do
abortions. Nice and easy, everybody happy, like washing the dishes and leaving a clean
sink. That was my class. I loved it, I loved being an abortionist. I don’t believe that a
two-month fetus is a human being so no problems there. I was helping young girls and