The Godfather

 “The Godfather” By Mario Puzo
 
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that the soon-to-be widow did not comprehend that her husband would die this night. 
Genco Abbandando had been in this hospital for nearly a year dying of his cancer and 
the wife had come to consider his fatal illness almost an ordinary part of life. Tonight 
was just another crisis. She babbled on. “Go in and see my poor husband,” she said, 
“he asks for you. Poor man, he wanted to come to the wedding to show his respect but 
the doctor would not permit it. Then he said you would come to see him on this great 
day but I did not believe it possible. Ah, men understand friendship more than we 
women. Go inside, you will make him happy.” 
A nurse and a doctor came out of Genco Abbandando’s private room. The doctor was a 
young man, serious-faced and with the air of one born to command, that is to say, the 
air of one who has been immensely rich all his life. One of the daughters asked timidly, 
“Dr. Kennedy, can we go to see him now?” 
Dr. Kennedy looked over the large group with exasperation. Didn’t these people realize 
that the man inside was dying and dying in torturous pain? It would be much better if 
everyone let him die in peace. “I think just the immediate family,” he said in his 
exquisitely polite voice. He was surprised when the wife and daughters turned to the 
short, heavy man dressed in an awkwardly fitted tuxedo, as if to hear his decision. 
The heavy man spoke. There was just the slightest trace of an Italian accent in his 
voice. “My dear doctor,” said Don Corleone, “is it true he is dying?” 
“Yes,” said Dr. Kennedy. 
“Then there is nothing more for you to do,” said Don Corleone. “We will take up the 
burden. We will comfort him. We will close his eyes. We will bury him and weep at his 
funeral and afterwards we will watch over his wife and daughters.” At hearing things put 
so bluntly, forcing her to understand, Mrs. Abbandando began to weep. 
Dr. Kennedy shrugged. It was impossible to explain to these peasants. At the same time 
he recognized the crude justice in the man’s remarks. His role was over. Still exquisitely 
polite, he said, “Please wait for the nurse to let you in, she has a few necessary things to 
do with the patient.” He walked away from them down the corridor, his white coat 
flapping. 
The nurse went back into the room and they waited. Finally she came out again, holding 
the door for them to enter. She whispered, “He’s delirious with the pain and fever, try not 
to excite him. And you can stay only a few minutes, except for the wife.” She recognized 
Johnny Fontane as he went by her and her eyes opened wide. He gave her a faint smile 

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