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- Марио Пьюзо
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- Стр. 230/319
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One
morning
Michael
decided
to
take
a
long
hike
to
the
mountains
beyond
Corleone
.
He
was
,
naturally
,
accompanied
by
the
two
shepherd
bodyguards
.
This
was
not
really
a
protection
against
enemies
of
the
Corleone
Family
.
It
was
simply
too
dangerous
for
anyone
not
a
native
to
go
wandering
about
by
himself
.
It
was
dangerous
enough
for
a
native
.
The
region
was
loaded
with
bandits
,
with
Mafia
partisans
fighting
against
each
other
and
endangering
everybody
else
in
the
process
.
He
might
also
be
mistaken
for
a
pagliaio
thief
.
A
pagliaio
is
a
straw-thatched
but
erected
in
the
fields
to
house
farming
tools
and
to
provide
shelter
for
the
agricultural
laborers
so
that
they
will
not
have
to
carry
them
on
the
long
walk
from
their
homes
in
the
village
.
In
Sicily
the
peasant
does
not
live
on
the
land
he
cultivates
.
It
is
too
dangerous
and
any
arable
land
,
if
he
owns
it
,
is
too
precious
.
Rather
,
he
lives
in
his
village
and
at
sunrise
begins
his
voyage
out
to
work
in
distant
fields
,
a
commuter
on
foot
.
A
worker
who
arrived
at
his
pagliaio
and
found
it
looted
was
an
injured
man
indeed
.
The
bread
was
taken
out
of
his
mouth
for
that
day
.
The
Mafia
,
after
the
law
proved
helpless
,
took
this
interest
of
the
peasant
under
its
protection
and
solved
the
problem
in
typical
fashion
.
It
hunted
down
and
slaughtered
all
pagliaio
thieves
.
It
was
inevitable
that
some
innocents
suffered
.
It
was
possible
that
if
Michael
wandered
past
a
pagliaio
that
had
just
been
looted
he
might
be
adjudged
the
criminal
unless
he
had
somebody
to
vouch
for
him
.
So
on
one
sunny
morning
he
started
hiking
across
the
fields
followed
by
his
two
faithful
shepherds
.
One
of
them
was
a
plain
simple
fellow
,
almost
moronic
,
silent
as
the
dead
and
with
a
face
as
impassive
as
an
Indian
.
He
had
the
wiry
small
build
of
the
typical
Sicilian
before
they
ran
to
the
fat
of
middle
age
.
His
name
was
Calo
.
The
other
shepherd
was
more
outgoing
,
younger
,
and
had
seen
something
of
the
world
.
Mostly
oceans
,
since
he
had
been
a
sailor
in
the
Italian
navy
during
the
war
and
had
just
had
time
enough
to
get
himself
tattooed
before
his
ship
was
sunk
and
he
was
captured
by
the
British
.
But
the
tattoo
made
him
a
famous
man
in
his
village
.
Sicilians
do
not
often
let
themselves
be
tattooed
,
they
do
not
have
the
opportunity
nor
the
inclination
.
(
The
shepherd
,
Fabrizzio
,
had
done
so
primarily
to
cover
a
splotchy
red
birthmark
on
his
belly
.
)
And
yet
the
Mafia
market
carts
had
gaily
painted
scenes
on
their
sides
,
beautifully
primitive
paintings
done
with
loving
care
.
In
any
case
,
Fabrizzio
,
back
is
his
native
village
,
was
not
too
proud
of
that
tattoo
on
his
chest
,
though
it
showed
a
subject
dear
to
the
Sicilian
"
honor
,
"
a
husband
stabbing
a
naked
man
and
woman
entwined
together
on
the
hairy
floor
of
his
belly
.
Fabrizzio
would
joke
with
Michael
and
ask
questions
about
America
,
for
of
course
it
was
impossible
to
keep
them
in
the
dark
about
his
true
nationality
.
Still
,
they
did
not
know
exactly
who
he
was
except
that
he
was
in
hiding
and
there
could
be
no
babbling
about
him
.
Fabrizzio
sometimes
brought
Michael
a
fresh
cheese
still
sweating
the
milk
that
formed
it
.
They
walked
along
dusty
country
roads
passing
donkeys
pulling
gaily
painted
carts
.
The
land
was
filled
with
pink
flowers
,
orange
orchards
,
groves
of
almond
and
olive
trees
,
all
blooming
.
That
had
been
one
of
the
surprises
.
Michael
had
expected
a
barren
land
because
of
the
legendary
poverty
of
Sicilians
.
And
yet
he
had
found
it
a
land
of
gushing
plenty
,
carpeted
with
flowers
scented
by
lemon
blossoms
.
It
was
so
beautiful
that
he
wondered
how
its
people
could
bear
to
leave
it
.
How
terrible
man
had
been
to
his
fellow
man
could
be
measured
by
the
great
exodus
from
what
seemed
to
be
a
Garden
of
Eden
.
He
had
planned
to
walk
to
the
coastal
village
of
Mazara
,
and
then
take
a
bus
back
to
Corleone
in
the
evening
,
and
so
tire
himself
out
and
be
able
to
sleep
.
The
two
shepherds
wore
rucksacks
filled
with
bread
and
cheese
they
could
eat
on
the
way
.
They
carried
their
luparas
quite
openly
as
if
out
for
a
day
's
hunting
.
It
was
a
most
beautiful
morning
.
Michael
felt
as
he
had
felt
when
as
a
child
he
had
gone
out
early
on
a
summer
day
to
play
ball
.
Then
each
day
had
been
freshly
washed
,
freshly
painted
.
And
so
it
was
now
.
Sicily
was
carpeted
is
gaudy
flowers
,
the
scent
of
orange
and
lemon
blossoms
so
heavy
that
even
with
his
facial
injury
which
pressed
on
the
sinuses
,
he
could
smell
it
.
The
smashing
on
the
left
site
of
his
face
had
completely
healed
but
the
bone
had
formed
improperly
and
the
pressure
on
his
sinuses
made
his
left
eye
hurt
.
It
also
made
his
nose
run
continually
,
he
filled
up
handkerchiefs
with
mucus
and
often
blew
his
nose
out
onto
the
ground
as
the
local
peasants
did
,
a
habit
that
had
disgusted
him
when
he
was
a
boy
and
had
seen
old
Italians
,
disdaining
handkerchiefs
as
English
foppery
,
blow
out
their
noses
in
the
asphalt
gutters
.
