The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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and would join him at the new hiding place after the visit. 
The night before, Don Tommasino had sat with Michael in the garden after Apollonia 
had gone to bed. The Don had been worried and tired, and admitted that he was 
concerned about Michael’s safety. “Your marriage brought you into sight,” he told 
Michael: “I’m surprised your father hasn’t made arrangements for you to go someplace 
else. In any case I’m having my own troubles with the young Turks in Palermo. I’ve 
offered some fair arrangements so that they can wet their beaks more than they 
deserve, but those scum want everything. I can’t understand their attitude. They’ve tried 
a few little tricks but I’m not so easy to kill. They must know I’m too strong for them to 
hold me so cheaply. But that’s the trouble with young people, no matter how talented. 
They don’t reason things out and they want all the water in the well.” 
And then Don Tommasino had told Michael that the two shepherds, Fabrizzio and Calo, 
would go with him as bodyguards in the Alfa Romeo. Don Tommasino would say his 
good-byes tonight since he would be off early in the morning, at dawn, to see to his 
affairs in Palermo. Also, Michael was not to tell Dr. Taza about the move, since the 
doctor planned to spend the evening in Palermo and might blab. 
Michael had known Don Tommasino was in trouble. Armed guards patrolled the walls of 
the villa at night and a few faithful shepherds with their luparas were always in the 
house. Don Tommasino himself went heavily armed and a personal bodyguard attended 
him at all times. 
The morning sun was now too strong. Michael stubbed out his cigarette and put on work 
pants, work shirt and the peaked cap most Sicilian men wore. Still barefooted, he leaned 
out his bedroom window and saw Fabrizzio sitting in one of the garden chairs. Fabrizzio 
was lazily combing his thick dark hair, his lupara was carelessly thrown acres the 
garden table. Michael whistled and Fabrizzio looked up to his window. 
“Get the car,” Michael called down to him. “I’ll be leaving in five minutes. Where’s Calo?” 
Fabrizzio stood up. His shirt was open, exposing the blue and red lines of the tattoo on 
his chest. “Calo is having a cup of coffee in the kitchen,” Fabrizzio said. “Is your wife 
coming with you?” 
Michael squinted down at him. It occurred to him that Fabrizzio had been following 
Apollonia too much with his eyes the last few weeks. Not that he would dare ever to 
make an advance toward the wife of a friend of the Don’s. In Sicily there was no 
surerroad to death. Michael said coldly, “No, she’s going home to her family first, she’ll 

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