The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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were another matter; she came, of course, from a more primitive culture. 
And so she let Tom Hagen escape to his corner conference room and once in that 
room, Hagen began to tremble so violently he had to sit down with his legs squeezed 
together, his head hunched into his contracted shoulders, hands clasped together 
between his knees as if he were praying to the devil. 
He was, he knew now, no fit Consigliere for a Family at war. He had been fooled, faked 
out, by the Five Families and their seeming timidity. They had remained quiet, laying 
their terrible ambush. They had planned and waited, holding their bloody hands no 
matter what provocation they had been given. They had waited to land one terrible blow. 
And they had. Old Genco Abbandando would never have fallen for it, he would have 
smelled a rat, he would have smoked them out, tripled his precautions. And through all 
this Hagen felt his grief. Sonny had been his true brother, his savior; his hero when they 
had been boys together. Sonny had never been mean or bullying with him, had always 
treated him with affection, had taken him in his arms when Sollozzo had turned him 
loose. Sonny’s joy at that reunion had been real. That he had grown up to be a cruel 
and violent and bloody man was, for Hagen, not relevant. 
He had walked out of the kitchen because he knew he could never tell Mama Corleone 
about her son’s death. He had never thought of her as his mother as he thought of the 
Don as his father and Sonny as his brother. His affection for her was like his affection for 
Freddie and Michael and Connie. The affection for someone who has been kind but not 
loving. But he could not tell her. In a few short months she had lost all her sons; Freddie 
exiled to Nevada, Michael hiding for his life in Sicily, and now Santino dead. Which of 
the three had she loved most of all? She had never shown. 
It was no more than a few minutes. Hagen got control of himself again and picked up 
the phone. He called Connie’s number. It rang for a long time before Connie answered 
in a whisper. 
Hagen spoke to her gentiy. “Connie, this is Tom. Wake your husband up, I have to talk 
to him.” 
Connie said in a low frightened voice, “Tom, is Sonny coming here?” 
“No,” Hagen said. “Sonny’s not coming there. Don’t worry about that. Just wake Carlo 
up and tell him it’s very important I speak to him.” 
Connie’s voice was weepy. “Tom, he beat me up, I’m afraid he’ll hurt me again if he 
knows I called home.” 

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