“The Godfather” By Mario Puzo 286
back seat with their luparas and Michael told them they were to wait in the cafe, they
were not to come to the house. The cafe was closed but Vitelli was there waiting for
them, leaning against the railing of his empty terrace.
They shook hands all around and Michael took the three packages, the presents, and
trudged up the hill with Vitelli to his home. This proved to be larger than the usual village
hut, the Vitellis were not poverty-stricken.
Inside the house was familiar with statues of the Madonna entombed in glass, votive
lights flickering redly at their feet. The two sons were waiting, also dressed in their
Sunday black. They were two sturdy young men just out of their teens but liking older
because of their hard work on the farm. The mother was a vigorous woman, as stout as
her husband. There was no sign of the girl.
After the introductions, which Michael did not even hear, they sat in the room that might
possibly have been a living room or just as easily the formal dining room. It was
cluttered with all kinds of furniture and not very large but for Sicily it was middle-class
splendor.
Michael gave Signor Vitelli and Signora Vitelli their presents. For the father it was a gold
cigar-cutter, for the mother a bolt of the finest cloth purchasable in Palermo. He still had
one package for the girl. His presents were received with reserved thanks. The gifts
were a little too premature, he should not have given anything until his second visit.
The father said to him, in man-to-man country fashion, “Don’t think we’re so of no
account to welcome strangers into our house so easily. But Don Tommasino vouched
for you personally and nobody in this province would ever doubt the word of that good
man. And so we make you welcome. But I must tell you that if your intentions are
serious about my daughter, we will have to know a little more about you and your family.
You can understand, your family is from this country.”
Michael nodded and said politely, “I will tell you anything you wish to know anytime.”
Signor Vitelli held up a hand. “I’m not a nosy man. Let’s see if it’s necessary first. Right
now you’re welcome in my house as a friend of Don Tommasino.”
Despite the drug painted inside his nose, Michael actually smelled the girl’s presence in
the room. He turned and she was standing in the arched doorway that led to the back of
the house. The smell was of fresh flowers and lemon blossoms but she wore nothing in