The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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in their beds, there came a knocking on Filomena’s door. She was by no means 
frightened, it was the quiet hour babes prudently chose to enter safely into this sinful 
world, and so she dressed and opened the door. Outside it was Luca Brasi whose 
reputation even then was fearsome. It was known also that he was a bachelor. And so 
Filomena was immediately frightened. She thought he had come to do her husband 
harm, that perhaps her husband had foolishly refusal Brasi some small favor. 
But Brasi had come on the usual errand. He told Filomena that there was a woman 
about to give birth, that the house was out of the neighborhood some distance away and 
that she was to come with him. Filomena immediately sensed something amiss. Brasi’s 
brutal face looked almost like that of a madman that night, he was obviously in the grip 
of some demon. She tried to protest that she attended only women whose history she 
knew but he shoved a handful of green dollars in her hand and ordered her roughly to 
come along with him. She was too frightened to refuse. 
In the street was a Ford, its driver of the same feather as Luca Brasi. The drive was no 
more than thirty minutes to a small frame house in Long Island City right over the bridge. 
A two-family house but obviously now tenanted only by Brasi and his gang. For there 
were some other ruffians in the kitchen playing cards and drinking. Brasi took Filomena 
up the stairs to a bedroom. In the bed was a young pretty girl who looked Irish, her face 
painted, her hair red; and with a belly swollen like a sow. The poor girl was so 
frightened. When she saw Brasi she turned her head away in terror, yes terror, and 
indeed the look of hatred on Brasi’s evil face was the most frightening thing she had 
ever seen in her life. (Here Filomena crossed herself again.) 
To make a long story short, Brasi left the room. Two of his men assisted the midwife and 
the baby was born, the mother was exhausted and went into a deep sleep. Brasi was 
summoned and Filomena, who had wrapped the newborn child in an extra blanket, 
extended the bundle to him and said, “If you’re the father, take her. My work is finished.” 
Brasi glared at her, malevolent, insanity stamped on his face. “Yes, I’m the father,” he 
said. “But I don’t want any of that race to live. Take it down to the basement and throw it 
into the furnace.” 
For a moment Filomena thought she had not understood him properly. She was puzzled 
by his use of the word “race.” Did he mean because the girl was not Italian? Or did he 
mean because the girl was obviously of the lowest type; a whore in short? Or did he 
mean that anything springing from his loins he forbade to live. And then she was sure he 

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