“The Godfather” By Mario Puzo 230
a little stiffly, his clothes hung a little loosely on his frame but to Hagen’s eyes he looked
the same as always. It was almost as if by his will alone the Don had discarded all
external evidence of his still weakened frame. His fact was sternly set with all its old
force and strength. He sat straight in the armchair and he said to Hagen, “Give me a
drop of anisette.”
Hagen switched bottles and poured them both a portion of the fiery, licorice-tasting
alcohol. It was peasant, homemade stuff, much stronger than that sold in stores, the gift
of an old friend who every year presented the Don with a small truckload.
“My wife was weeping before she fell asleep,” Don Corleone said. “Outside my window I
saw my caporegimes coming to the house and it is midnight. So, Consigliere of mine, I
think you should tell your Don what everyone knows.”
Hagen said quietly, “I didn’t tell Mama anything. I was about to come up and wake you
and tell you the news myself. In another moment I would have come to waken you.”
Don Corleone said impassively, “But you needed a drink first.”
“Yes,” Hagen said.
“You’ve had your drink,” the Don said. “You can tell me now.” There was just the faintest
hint of reproach for Hagen’s weakness.
“They shot Sonny on the causeway,” Hagen said. “He’s dead.”
Don Corleone blinked. For just the fraction of a second the wall of his will disintegrated
and the draining of his physical strength was plain on his face. Then he recovered.
He clasped his hands in front of him on top of the desk and looked directly into Hagen’s
eyes. “Tell me everything that happened,” he said. He held up one of his hands. “No,
wait until Clemenza and Tessio arrive so you won’t have to tell it all again.”
It was only a few moments later that the two caporegimes were escorted into the room
by a bodyguard. They saw at once that the Don knew about his son’s death because the
Don stood up to receive them. They embraced him as old comrades were permitted to
do. They all had a drink of anisette which Hagen poured them before he told them the
story of that night.
Don Corleone asked only one question at the end. “Is it certain my son is dead?”
Clemenza answered. “Yes,” he said. “The bodyguards were of Santino’s regime but
picked by me. I questioned them when they came to my house. They saw his body in