The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
13
He gave the baker a Di Nobili cigar and a glass of yellow Strega and put his hand on the 
man’s shoulder to urge him on. That was the mark of the Don’s humanity. He knew from 
bitter experience what courage it took to ask a favor from a fellow man. 
The baker told the story of his daughter and Enzo. A fine Italian lad from Sicily; captured 
by the American Army; sent to the United States as a prisoner of war; given parole to 
help our war effort! A pure and honorable love had sprung up between honest Enzo and 
his sheltered Katherine but now that the war was ended the poor lad would be 
repatriated to Italy and Nazorine’s daughter would surely die of a broken heart. Only 
Godfather Corleone could help this afflicted couple. He was their last hope. 
The Don walked Nazorine up and down the room, his hand on the baker’s shoulder, his 
head nodding with understanding to keep up the man’s courage. When the baker had 
finished, Don Corleone smiled at him and said, “My dear friend, put all your worries 
aside.” He went on to explain very carefully what must be done. The Congressman of 
the district must be petitioned. The Congressman would propose a special bill that 
would allow Enzo to become a citizen. The bill would surely pass Congress. A privilege 
all those rascals extended to each other. Don Corleone explained that this would cost 
money, the going price was now two thousand dollars. He, Don Corleone, would 
guarantee performance and accept payment. Did his friend agree? 
The baker nodded his head vigorously. He did not expect such a great favor for nothing. 
That was understood. A special Act of Congress does not come cheap. Nazorine was 
almost tearful in his thanks. Don Corleone walked him to the door, assuring him that 
competent people would be sent to the bakery to arrange all details, complete all 
necessary documents. The baker embraced him before disappearing into the garden. 
Hagen smiled at the Don. “That’s a good investment for Nazorine. A son-in-law and a 
cheap lifetime helper in his bakery all for two thousand dollars.” He paused. “Who do I 
give this job to?” 
Don Corleone frowned in thought. “Not to our paisan. Give it to the Jew in the next 
district. Have the home addresses changed. I think there might be many such cases 
now the war is over; we should have extra people in Washington that can handle the 
overflow and not raise the price.” Hagen made a note on his pad. “Not Congressman 
Luteco. Try Fischer.” 
The next man Hagen brought in was a very simple case. His name was Anthony 
Coppola and he was the son of a man Don Corleone had worked with in the railroad 

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