The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
101
bathroom to wash up and comb his hair. Kay came in after him and put her arms around 
his waist from behind. “When are we going to get married?” she asked. 
“Whenever you say,” Michael said. “As soon as this family thing quiets down and my old 
man gets better. I think you’d better explain things to your parents though.” 
“What should I explain?” Kay said quietly. 
Michael ran the comb through his hair. “Just say that you’ve met a brave, handsome guy 
of Italian descent. Top marks at Dartmouth. Distinguished Service Cross during the war 
plus the Purple Heart. Honest. Hard-working. But his father is a Mafia chief who has to 
kill bad people, sometimes bribe high government officials and in his line of work gets 
shot full of holes himself. But that has nothing to do with his honest hardworking son. Do 
you think you can remember all that?” 
Kay let go his body and leaned against the door of the bathroom. “Is he really?” she 
said. “Does he really?” She paused. “Kill people?” 
Michael finished combing his hair. “I don’t really know,” he said. “Nobody really knows. 
But I wouldn’t be surprised.” 
Before he went out the door she asked, “When will I see you again?” 
Michael kissed her. “I want you to go home and think things over in that little hick town 
of yours,” he said. “I don’t want you to get mixed up in this business in any way. After 
the Christmas holidays I’ll be back at school and we’ll get together up in Hanover. OK?” 
“OK,” she said. She watched him go out the door, saw him wave before he stepped into 
the elevator. She had never felt so close to him, never so much in love and if someone 
had told her she would not see Michael again until three years passed, she would not 
have been able to bear the anguish of it. 
* * *
When Michael got out of the cab in front of the French Hospital he was surprised to see 
that the street was completely deserted. When he entered the hospital he was even 
more surprised to find the lobby empty. Damn it, what the hell were Clemenza and 
Tessio doing? Sure, they never went to West Point but they knew enough about tactic to 
have outposts. A couple of their men should have been in the lobby at least. 
Even the latest visitors had departed, it was almost ten-thirty at night. Michael was tense 
and alert now. He didn’t bother to stop at the information desk, he already knew his 
father’s room number up on the fourth floor. He took the self-service elevator. Oddly 

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