The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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muscle as one of my daughters. My voice is gone; if I had that back I could make some 
moves. Oh, hell. How does my Godfather know I won’t win it? OK, I believe he knows. 
He’s never been wrong.” 
Hagen lit a thin cigar. “We got the word that Jack Woltz won’t spend studio money to 
support your candidacy. In fact he’s sent the word out to everybody who votes that he 
does not want you to win. But holding back the money for ads and all that may do it. 
He’s also arranging to have one other guy get as much of the opposition votes as he 
can swing. He’s using all sorts of bribes– jobs, money, broads, everything. And he’s 
trying to do it without hurting the picture or hurting it as little as possible.” 
Johnny Fontane shrugged. He filled his glass with whiskey and downed it. “Then I’m 
dead.” 
Hagen was watching him with his mouth curled up with distaste. “Drinking won’t help 
your voice,” he said. 
“Fuck you,” Johnny said. 
Hagen’s face suddenly became smoothly impassive. Then he said, “OK, I’ll keep this 
purely business.” 
Johnny Fontane put his drink down and went over to stand in front of Hagen. “I’m sorry I 
said that, Tom,” he said. “Christ, I’m sorry. I’m taking it out on you because I wanta kill 
that bastard Jack Woltz and I’m afraid to tell off my Godfather. So I get sore at you.” 
There were tears in his eyes. He threw the empty whiskey glass against the wall but so 
weakly that the heavy shot glass did not even shatter and rolled along the floor back to 
him so that he looked down at it in baffled fury. Then he laughed. “Jesus Christ,” he 
said. 
He walked over to the other side of the room and sat opposite Hagen. “You know, I had 
everything my own way for a long time. Then I divorced Ginny and everything started 
going sour. I lost my voice. My records stopped selling. I didn’t get any more movie 
work. And then my Godfather got sore at me and wouldn’t talk to me on the phone or 
see me when I came into New York. You were always the guy barring the path and I 
blamed you, but I knew you wouldn’t do it without orders from the Don. But you can’t get 
sore at him. It’s like getting sore at God. So I curse you. But you’ve been right all along 
the line. And to show you I mean my apology I’m taking your advice. No more booze 
until I get my voice back. OK?” 
The apology was sincere. Hagen forgot his anger. There must be something to this 

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