The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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other people living on the mall. And of course she had gotten pregnant right away, like a 
good, old-style Italian wife was supposed to, and that helped. The second kid on the 
way in two years was just icing. 
Kay would be waiting for him at the airport, she always came to meet him, she was 
always so glad when he came back from a trip. And he was too. Except now. For the 
end of this trip meant that he finally had to take the action he had been groomed for over 
the last three years. The Don would be waiting for him. The caporegimes would be 
waiting for him. And he, Michael Corleone, would have to give the orders, make the 
decisions which would decide his and his Family’s fate. 
* * *
Every morning when Kay Adams Corleone got up to take care of the baby’s early 
feeding, she saw Mama Corleone, the Don’s wife, being driven away from the mall by 
one of the bodyguards, to return an hour later. Kay soon learned that her mother-in-law 
went to church every single morning. Often on her return, the old woman stopped by for 
morning coffee and to see her new grandchild. 
Mama Corleone always started off by asking Kay why she didn’t think of becoming a 
Catholic, ignoring the fact that Kay’s child had already been baptized a Protestant. So 
Kay felt it was proper to ask the old woman why she went to church every morning, 
whether that was a necessary part of being a Catholic. 
As if she thought that this might have stopped Kay from converting the old woman said, 
“Oh, no, no, some Catholics only go to church on Easter and Christmas. You go when 
you feel like going.” 
Kay laughed. “Then why do you go every single morning?” 
In a completely natural way, Mama Corleone said, “I go for my husband,” she pointed 
down toward the floor, “so he don’t go down there.” She paused. “I say prayers for his 
soul every day so he go up there.” She pointed heavenward. She said this with an 
impish smile, as if she were subverting her husband’s will in some way, or as if it were a 
losing cause. It was said jokingly almost, in her grim, Italian, old crone fashion. And as 
always when her husband was not present, there was an attitude of disrespect to the 
great Don. 
“How is your husband feeling?” Kay asked politely. 
Mama Corleone shrugged. “He’s not the same man since they shot him. He lets Michael 

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