The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
334
two years. Nobody blamed him for what had happened. 
“Then why don’t you invite them over some evening and you can reassure your sister?” 
Kay said. “The poor thing is always so nervous about what you think of her husband. 
Tell her. And tell her to put those silly worries out of her head.” 
“I can’t do that,” Michael said. “We don’t talk about those things in our family.” 
“Do you want me to tell her what you’ve told me?” Kay said. 
She was puzzled because he took such a long time thinking over a suggestion that was 
obviously the proper thing to do. Finally he said, “I don’t think you should, Kay. I don’t 
think it will do any good. She’ll worry anyway. It’s something nobody can do anything 
about.” 
Kay was amazed. She realized that Michael was always a little colder to his sister 
Connie than he was to anyone else, despite Connie’s affection. “Surely you don’t blame 
Connie for Sonny being killed?” she said. 
Michael sighed. “Of course not,” he said. “She’s my kid sister and I’m very fond of her. I 
feel sorry for her. Carlo straightened out, but he’s really the wrong kind of husband. It’s 
just one of those things. Let’s forget about it.” 
It was not in Kay’s nature to nag; she let it drop. Also she had learned that Michael was 
not a man to push, that he could become coldly disagreeable. She knew she was the 
only person in the world who could bend his will, but she also knew that to do it too often 
would be to destroy that power. And living with him the last two years had made her love 
him more. 
She loved him because he was always fair. An odd thing. But he always was fair to 
everybody around him, never arbitrary even in little things. She had observed that he 
was now a very powerful man, people came to the house to confer with him and ask 
favors, treating him with deference and respect but one thing had endeared him to her 
above everything else. 
Ever since Michael had come back from Sicily with his broken face, everybody in the 
Family had tried to get him to undergo corrective surgery. Michael’s mother was after 
him constantly; one Sunday dinner with all the Corleones gathered on the mall she 
shouted at Michael, “You look like a gangster in the movies, get your face fixed for the 
sake of Jesus Christ and your poor wife. And so your nose will stop running like a 
drunken Irish.” 

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