The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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back seat with their luparas and Michael told them they were to wait in the cafe, they 
were not to come to the house. The cafe was closed but Vitelli was there waiting for 
them, leaning against the railing of his empty terrace. 
They shook hands all around and Michael took the three packages, the presents, and 
trudged up the hill with Vitelli to his home. This proved to be larger than the usual village 
hut, the Vitellis were not poverty-stricken. 
Inside the house was familiar with statues of the Madonna entombed in glass, votive 
lights flickering redly at their feet. The two sons were waiting, also dressed in their 
Sunday black. They were two sturdy young men just out of their teens but liking older 
because of their hard work on the farm. The mother was a vigorous woman, as stout as 
her husband. There was no sign of the girl. 
After the introductions, which Michael did not even hear, they sat in the room that might 
possibly have been a living room or just as easily the formal dining room. It was 
cluttered with all kinds of furniture and not very large but for Sicily it was middle-class 
splendor. 
Michael gave Signor Vitelli and Signora Vitelli their presents. For the father it was a gold 
cigar-cutter, for the mother a bolt of the finest cloth purchasable in Palermo. He still had 
one package for the girl. His presents were received with reserved thanks. The gifts 
were a little too premature, he should not have given anything until his second visit. 
The father said to him, in man-to-man country fashion, “Don’t think we’re so of no 
account to welcome strangers into our house so easily. But Don Tommasino vouched 
for you personally and nobody in this province would ever doubt the word of that good 
man. And so we make you welcome. But I must tell you that if your intentions are 
serious about my daughter, we will have to know a little more about you and your family. 
You can understand, your family is from this country.” 
Michael nodded and said politely, “I will tell you anything you wish to know anytime.” 
Signor Vitelli held up a hand. “I’m not a nosy man. Let’s see if it’s necessary first. Right 
now you’re welcome in my house as a friend of Don Tommasino.” 
Despite the drug painted inside his nose, Michael actually smelled the girl’s presence in 
the room. He turned and she was standing in the arched doorway that led to the back of 
the house. The smell was of fresh flowers and lemon blossoms but she wore nothing in 

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