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[InkJoy]

     The Vietnam War

 

was a long, costly and divisive conflict that pitted the communist government of North Vietnam against South Vietnam and its principal ally, the United States. The conflict was intensified by the ongoing Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union. More than 3 million people (including over 58,000 Americans) were killed in the Vietnam War, and more than half of the dead were Vietnamese civilians.
     The Vietnam War and active U.S. involvement in the war began in 1954, though ongoing conflict in the region had stretched back several decades.
     
Roots of the Vietnam War
     During World War II, Japanese forces invaded Vietnam. To fight off both Japanese occupiers and the French colonial administration, political leader Ho Chi Minh—inspired by Chinese and Soviet communism—formed the Viet Minh, or the League for the Independence of Vietnam.
     Following its 1945 defeat in World War II, Japan withdrew its forces from Vietnam, leaving the French-educated Emperor Bao Dai in control. Seeing an opportunity to seize control, Ho’s Viet Minh forces immediately rose up, taking over the northern city of Hanoi and declaring a Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRV) with Ho as president.

The Viet Cong
     With the Cold War intensifying worldwide, the United States hardened its policies against any allies of the Soviet Union, and by 1955 President Dwight D. Eisenhower had pledged his firm support to Diem and South Vietnam.
     With training and equipment from American military and the CIA, Diem’s security forces cracked down on Viet Minh sympathizers in the south, whom he derisively called Viet Cong (or Vietnamese Communist), arresting some 100,000 people, many of whom were brutally tortured and executed.
     By 1957, the Viet Cong and other opponents of Diem’s repressive regime began fighting back with attacks on government officials and other targets, and by 1959 they had begun engaging the South Vietnamese army in firefights.

     The next few years would bring even more carnage, including the horrifying revelation that U.S. soldiers had mercilessly slaughtered more than 400 unarmed civilians in the village of My Lai in March 1968.
     After the My Lai Massacre, anti-war protests continued to build as the conflict wore on. In 1968 and 1969, there were hundreds of marches and gatherings throughout the country.
     On November 15, 1969, the largest anti-war demonstration in American history took place in Washington, D.C., as over 250,000 Americans gathered peacefully, calling for withdrawal of American troops from Vietnam.

End of the War
     In January 1973, the United States and North Vietnam concluded a final peace agreement, ending open hostilities between the two nations. War between North and South Vietnam continued, however, until April 30, 1975.
     After years of warfare, an estimated 2 million Vietnamese were killed, while 3 million were wounded and another 12 million became refugees. Warfare had demolished the country’s infrastructure and economy, and reconstruction proceeded slowly.

[InkJoy]

     The Space Race

 

was a 20th-century competition between two Cold War participants, the Soviet Union (USSR) and the United States (US), to be the first in the space.
It had its origins in the nuclear arms race between the two nations following World War II. The Space Race led to efforts to launch satellites, space probes of the Moon, Venus, and Mars, and human spaceflight in low Earth orbit and to the Moon.
     On October 4, 1957, the USSR launched Sputnik 1, the world’s first artificial satellite and the first man-made object to be placed into the Earth’s orbit. Sputnik’s launch came as a surprise, and not a pleasant one, to most Americans. The success of Sputnik 1 has changed minds around the world regarding a shift in power to the Soviets.
     In 1958, the U.S. launched its own satellite, Explorer I, made by the U.S. Army. That same year, President Eisenhower signed a public order creating the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), a federal agency dedicated to space exploration.
     On August 19, 1960, the dogs Belka and Strelka were sent into orbit aboard Sputnik 5 and safely returned.

First humans in space
     On 12 April 1961, at 6:07 am, the Vostok 1 spacecraft was launched from Baikonur Cosmodrome. Aboard was Gagarin, the first human to travel into space, using the call sign Kedr (Кедр, Siberian pine or cedar).
     The radio communication between the launch control room and Gagarin included the following dialogue at the moment of rocket launch:
     Korolev: Preliminary stage ... intermediate... main... LIFT-OFF! We wish you a good flight. Everything's all right.
     Gagarin: Off we go! Goodbye, until [we meet] soon, dear friends.

     Gagarin's farewell to Korolev using the informal phrase Poyekhali! (Поехали!, 'Off we go!') later became a popular expression in the Eastern Bloc that was used to refer to the beginning of the Space Age.
     Gagarin's flight was a triumph for the Soviet space programme and he became a national hero of the Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc, as well as a worldwide celebrity. Newspapers around the globe published his biography and details of his flight. He was escorted in a long motorcade of high-ranking officials through the streets of Moscow to the Kremlin where, in a lavish ceremony, Nikita Khrushchev awarded him the title Hero of the Soviet Union. Other cities in the Soviet Union also held mass demonstrations, the scale of which were second only to the World War II Victory Parades.

First humans on the Moon
     On July 16, 1969, at 9:32 am, the Saturn V rocket lifted off from Kennedy Space Center Launch Complex in Florida. The trip to the Moon took just over three days. After achieving orbit, Armstrong transferred into the Lunar Module named Eagle. Armstrong left the Eagle to become the first human to set foot on the Moon. The first step was witnessed on live television by at least one-fifth of the population of Earth, or about 723 million people. His first words when he stepped off the landing footpad were, "That's one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind."
     Apollo 11 left lunar orbit and returned to Earth, landing safely in the Pacific Ocean on July 24, 1969. When the spacecraft splashed down, 2,982 days had passed since Kennedy's commitment to landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to the Earth before the end of the decade; the mission was completed with 161 days to spare. With the safe completion of the Apollo 11 mission, the Americans won the race to the Moon.

Legacy
     After the end of the Cold War in 1991, the assets of the USSR's space program passed mainly to Russia. Since then, the United States and Russia have cooperated in space with the Shuttle-Mir Program, and the International Space Station (ISS).

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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7_kHRytn3k" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7_kHRytn3k</a>

     Ernesto "Che" Guevara was an Argentine Marxist revolutionary, physician, writer, diplomat, and military theorist. A major figure of the Cuban Revolution, his stylized visage has become a countercultural symbol of rebellion and global insignia in popular culture.

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vP4iY1TtS3s" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vP4iY1TtS3s</a>

     Martin Luther King Jr., an African American clergyman and civil rights leader, was fatally shot at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee, on April 4, 1968. He was rushed to St. Joseph's Hospital, where he died. He was a prominent leader of the civil rights movement and a Nobel Peace Prize laureate who was known for his use of nonviolence and civil disobedience.
    His assassination led to an outpouring of anger among Black Americans, as well as a period of national mourning that helped speed the way for an equal housing bill

[InkJoy]

1960s. History
1. The Cold War (1946-1990s) +
2. The Space Race (Gagarin, Armstrong, Belka and Strelka) +
3. The Vietnam War (1955-1975) +
4. The Berlin Wall (1961)
5. The Six-Day War (5-10 June, 1967)
6. The Caribbean Crisis (1962) +
7. Assassination of John F. Kennedy (1963) +
8. Leonid Brezhnev became a leader of the USSR (1964) +-
9. Che Guevara's death (1967)
10. Assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. (1968) +
11. The Tsar Bomb (1961) +
12. Woodstock (1969)
13. Sexual Revolution (bikini, hippies etc.)

1970s
1. The Cold War (1945–1991) +
2. The Vietnam War (1955-1975) +
3. Soviet–Afghan War (1979–1989) +
4. The Munich massacre (1972) +\~
5. 1973 oil crisis and 1979 energy crisis
6. Richard Nixon (1974) •••
7. The Space Race +
8. Email, with the first transmission in 1971 •••
9. Cell phones (Motorola, 1973) +
10. The World Trade Center towers were the world's tallest buildings from 1972 to 1973. •••

1980s
1. The Iran–Iraq War •••
2. Canada, New Zealand, Australia and others gained official independence from the United Kingdom (1982) •••
3. Ronald Reagan (1980)
4. Mikhail Gorbachev (1985) +
5. End of the Cold War +
6. The fall of the Berlin Wall (1989) +
7. Margaret Thatcher +
8. The Space Shuttle Challenger disaster (1986) +
9. The Chernobyl disaster (1986) +
10. The personal computer experienced explosive growth in the 1980s +
11. World Wide Web +
12. The "Black Monday" (1987) •••
13. Michael Jackson was one of the icons of the 1980s +
14. Cable television •••
15. The 1980 Summer Olympics in Moscow +
16. Rubik's Cube +

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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBNhYOmEgy0" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBNhYOmEgy0</a>

   
     The Tsar Bomba was a hydrogen aerial bomb, and the most powerful nuclear weapon ever created and tested. Tsar Bomba was developed in the Soviet Union (USSR) by a group of nuclear physicists under the leadership of Igor Kurchatov, an academician of the Academy of Sciences of the Soviet Union.
     Tested on 30 October 1961, the scientific result of the test was the experimental verification of calculation principles and multi-stage thermonuclear charges. The bomb was dropped by parachute from a Tu-95V aircraft, and detonated autonomously 4,000 metres above the Sukhoy Nos ("Dry Nose") cape of Severny Island, Novaya Zemlya, 15 km  from Mityushikha Bay, north of Matochkin Strait. The detonation was intended to be secret, but was detected by United States intelligence agencies, via a KC-135A aircraft (Operation SpeedLight) in the area at the time. A secret U.S. reconnaissance aircraft named "Speed Light Alpha" monitored the blast, coming close enough to have its antiradiation paint scorched.

<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTsq3eacP3E" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTsq3eacP3E</a>

 
 Woodstock Music and Art Fair, (Woodstock), was a music festival held August 15–18, 1969, on Max Yasgur's dairy farm in Bethel, New York, 65 km southwest of the town of Woodstock. Billed as "an Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music" and alternatively referred to as the Woodstock Rock Festival, it attracted an audience of more than 400,000. Thirty-two acts performed outdoors despite sporadic rain.
     The festival has become widely regarded as a pivotal moment in popular music history as well as a defining event for the counterculture generation. The event's significance was reinforced by a 1970 documentary film, an accompanying soundtrack album, and a song written by Joni Mitchell that became a major hit for both Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and Matthews Southern Comfort. Music events bearing the Woodstock name were planned for anniversaries, which included the tenth, twentieth, twenty-fifth, thirtieth, fortieth, and fiftieth. In 2004, Rolling Stone magazine listed it as number 19 of the 50 Moments That Changed the History of Rock and Roll. In 2017, the festival site became listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DoLewSRZZyA" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DoLewSRZZyA</a>

   
      The sexual revolution in the 1960s United States was a social and cultural movement that resulted in liberalized attitudes toward sex and morality. In the 1960s, social norms were changing as sex became more widely discussed in society. Erotic media, such as films, magazines, and books, became more popular and gained widespread attention across the country. These changes reveal that sex was entering the public domain, and sex rates, especially among young people, could no longer be ignored.
     With the introduction of the pill and second-wave feminism, women gained more control over their bodies and sexuality during the 1960s. Women could engage in sex without the risk of pregnancy. At the same time, many women involved in the feminist movement questioned the traditional gender and sex roles ascribed to them. Women’s liberation movements sought to free women from social and moral confines.
     Developments in the gay rights movement occurred during the same period, such as public demonstrations and protests to challenge discrimination against sexuality. Some activists began celebrating homosexuality, but the movement did not really take off until the Stonewall riots of 1969.

[InkJoy]

JOHN STEINBECK - THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT (1961)

 

[InkJoy]

About the Author
  Graham Greene was born in 1904. On coming down from Balliol College, Oxford, he worked for four years as sub-editor on The Times. He established his reputation with his fourth novel, Stamboul Train. In 1935 he made a journey across Liberia, described in Journey Without Maps, and on his return was appointed film critic of the Spectator. In 1926 he had been received into the Roman Catholic Church and visited Mexico in 1938 to report on the religious persecution there. As a result he wrote The Lawless Roads and, later, his famous novel The Power and the Glory. Brighton Rock was published in 1938 and in 1940 he became literary editor of the Spectator. The next year he undertook work for the Foreign Office and was stationed in Sierra Leone from 1941 to 1943. This later produced the novel, The Heart of the Matter, set in West Africa.
  As well as his many novels, Graham Greene wrote several collections of short stories, four travel books, six plays, three books of autobiography – A Sort of Life, Ways of Escape and A World of My Own (published posthumously) – two of biography and four books for children. He also contributed hundreds of essays, and film and book reviews, some of which appear in the collections Reflections and Mornings in the Dark. Many of his novels and short stories have been filmed and The Third Man was written as a film treatment. Graham Greene was a member of the Order of Merit and a Companion of Honour. He died in April 1991.

About the Book
  Wormold is a vacuum cleaner salesman in a city of powercuts. His adolescent daughter spends his money with a skill that amazes him, so when a mysterious Englishman offers him an extra income; he is tempted. In return all he has to do is file a few reports. But when his fake reports start coming true, things suddenly get more complicated and Havana becomes a threatening place.

Our Man in Havana

[InkJoy]

1960s movies
 1. To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
 2. The Birds (1962)+
 3. Psycho (1960)+
 4. The Pink Panther (1963)
 5. Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)
 6. Cleopatra (1963)+++
 7. Planet of the Apes (1968)
 8. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
 9. West Side Story (1961)+
10. James Bond films: Dr. No (1962), Goldfinger (1964), Thunderball (1965)
11. My Fair Lady (1964)
12. Romeo and Juliet (1968)
13. Lawrence of Arabia (1962)+
14. Easy Rider (1969)
15. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1967)
16. Where Love Has Gone (1964)

1970s
1. The Godfather (1972)
2. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)
3. Barry Lyndon (1975)
4. Apocalypse Now (1979)
5. The Deer Hunter (1978)
6. Rocky (1976)
7. Grease (1978)
8. Superman (1978)

1980s
 1. Beverly Hills Cop (1984)
 2. Commando (1985)
 3. Back to the Future (1985)
 4. Indiana Jones (1981) + Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)
 5. Twins (1988)
 6. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
 7. Overboard (1987)
 8. Christine (1983)
 9. Police Academy (1984)
10. Romancing the Stone (1984)
11. First Blood (1982)

Actors: Audrey Hepburn, Harrison Ford, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Kirk Douglas, Daniel (Danny) DeVito, Bette Davis, Thomas Sean Connery, Sylvester Stallone, Alfredo (Al) Pacino, Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro

[melange]

ALL TIME LITERATURE

https://www.so-school.ru/forum/index.php?topic=4173.msg180356#msg180356

[DAS]

Apollonia's death

 

    The Sicilian sun, early-morning lemon-colored, filled Michael’s bedroom. He awoke and, feeling Apollonia’s satiny body against his own sleep-warm skin, made her come awake. Even all the months of complete possession could not stop him from marveling at her beauty and her passion.
    She left the bedroom to wash and dress in the bathroom down the hall. Michael, the morning sun refreshing his body, lit a cigarette and relaxed on the bed. This was the last morning they would spend in this house and the villa. Don Tommasino had arranged for him to be transferred to another town on the southern coast of Sicily. Apollonia, in the first month of pregnancy, wanted to visit with her family for a few weeks and would join him at the new hiding place after the visit.
    The night before, Don Tommasino had sat with Michael in the garden after Apollonia had gone to bed. The Don had been worried and tired, and admitted that he was concerned about Michael’s safety. “Your marriage brought you into sight,” he told Michael: “I’m surprised your father hasn’t made arrangements for you to go someplace else. In any case I’m having my own troubles with the young Turks in Palermo. I’ve offered some fair arrangements so that they can wet their beaks more than they deserve, but those scum want everything. I can’t understand their attitude. They’ve tried a few little tricks but I’m not so easy to kill. They must know I’m too strong for them to hold me so cheaply. But that’s the trouble with young people, no matter how talented. They don’t reason things out and they want all the water in the well.”
     And then Don Tommasino had told Michael that the two shepherds, Fabrizzio and Calo, would go with him as bodyguards in the Alfa Romeo. Don Tommasino would say his good-byes tonight since he would be off early in the morning, at dawn, to see to his affairs in Palermo. Also, Michael was not to tell Dr. Taza about the move, since the doctor planned to spend the evening in Palermo and might blab.
     Michael had known Don Tommasino was in trouble. Armed guards patrolled the walls of the villa at night and a few faithful shepherds with their luparas were always in the house. Don Tommasino himself went heavily armed and a personal bodyguard attended him at all times.
     The morning sun was now too strong. Michael stubbed out his cigarette and put on work pants, work shirt and the peaked cap most Sicilian men wore. Still barefooted, he leaned out his bedroom window and saw Fabrizzio sitting in one of the garden chairs. Fabrizzio was lazily combing his thick dark hair, his lupara was carelessly thrown acres the garden table. Michael whistled and Fabrizzio looked up to his window.
     “Get the car,” Michael called down to him. “I’ll be leaving in five minutes. Where’s Calo?”
Fabrizzio stood up. His shirt was open, exposing the blue and red lines of the tattoo on his chest. “Calo is having a cup of coffee in the kitchen,” Fabrizzio said. “Is your wife coming with you?”
     Michael squinted down at him. It occurred to him that Fabrizzio had been following Apollonia too much with his eyes the last few weeks. Not that he would dare ever to make an advance toward the wife of a friend of the Don’s. In Sicily there was no surerroad to death. Michael said coldly, “No, she’s going home to her family first, she’ll join us in a few days.” He watched Fabrizzio hurry into the stone hut that served as a garage for the Alfa Romeo.
     Michael went down the hall to wash. Apollonia was gone. She was most likely in the kitchen preparing his breakfast with her own hands to wash out the guilt she felt because she wanted to see her family one more time before going so far away to the other end of Sicily. Don Tommasino would arrange transportation for her to where Michael would be.
Down in the kitchen the old woman Filomena brought him his coffee and shyly bid him a good bye. ‘I’ll remember you to my father,” Michael said and she nodded.
     Calo came into the kitchen and said to Michael, “The car’s outside, shall I get your bag?”
     “No, I’ll get it,” Michael said. “Where’s Apolla?”
     Calo’s face broke into an amused grin. “She’s sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, dying to step on the gas. She’ll be a real American woman before she gets to America.” It was unheard of for one of the peasant women in Sicily to attempt driving a car. But Michael sometimes let Apollonia guide the Alfa Romeo around the inside of the villa walls, always beside her however because she sometimes stepped on the gas when she meant to step on the brake.
      Michael said to Calo, “Get Fabrizzio and wait for me in the car.” He went out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs to the bedroom. His bag was already packed. Before picking it up he looked out the window and saw the car parked in front of the portico steps rather than the kitchen entrance.
      Apollonia was sitting in the car, her hands on the wheel like a child playing. Calo was just putting the lunch basket in the rear seat. And then Michael was annoyed to see Fabrizzio disappearing through the gates of the villa on some errand outside. What the hell was he doing? He saw Fabrizzio take a look over his shoulder, a look that was somehow furtive. He’d have to straighten that damn shepherd out. Michael went down the stairs and decided to go through the kitchen to see Filomena again and give her a final farewell. He asked the old woman, “Is Dr. Taza still sleeping?”
      Filomena’s wrinkled face was sly. “Old roosters can’t greet the sun. The doctor went to Palermo last night.”
     Michael laughed. He went out the kitchen entrance and the smell of lemon blossoms penetrated even his sinus-filled nose. He saw Apollonia wave to him from the car just ten paces up the villa’s driveway and then he realized she was motioning him to stay where he was, that she meant to drive the car to where he stood. Calo stood grinning beside the car, his lupara dangling in his hand. But there was still no sign of Fabrizzio.
     At that moment; without any conscious reasoning process, everything came together in his mind, and Michael shouted to the girl, “No! No!” But his shout was drowned in the roar of the tremendous explosion as Apollonia switched on the ignition. The kitchen door shattered into fragments and Michael was hurled along the wall of the villa for a good ten feet. Stones tumbling from the villa roof hit him on the shoulders and one glanced off his skull as he was lying on the ground. He was conscious just long enough to see that nothing remained of the Alfa Romeo but its four wheels and the steel shafts which held them together.

  Apollonia's death (adapted)

 

The Sicilian sun filled Michael’s bedroom.  This was the last morning Michael and Apollonia would spend in this house and the villa. Don Tommasino decided to transfer them to another town on the southern coast of Sicily because staying in the same house could be dangerous for their safety. Apollonia wanted to visit  her family for a few weeks and would join him at the new hiding place after the visit.
   
Don Tommasino had told Michael that the two shepherds, Fabrizzio and Calo, would go with him as bodyguards in the Alfa Romeo. Also, Michael didn't tell Dr. Taza about the move, since the doctor planned to spend the evening in Palermo and might tell somebody about that.
     Michael had known Don Tommasino was in trouble. Armed guards patrolled the walls of the villa at night and shepherds with their guns were always in the house. Don Tommasino himself went heavily armed and a personal bodyguard was with him at all times.
     The morning sun was now too strong. Michael put on work pants, work shirt and the cap most Sicilian men wore. Then he leaned out his bedroom window and saw Fabrizzio sitting in one of the garden chairs.
     “Get the car,” Michael called down to him. “I’ll be leaving in five minutes. Where’s Calo?”
Fabrizzio stood up. His shirt was open, exposing the blue and red lines of the tattoo on his chest. “Calo is having a cup of coffee in the kitchen,” Fabrizzio said. “Is your wife coming with you?”

"No," Michael said coldly, “She’s going home to her family first, she’ll join us in a few days.” He watched Fabrizzio hurry into the garage for the Alfa Romeo.
     When Michael left the house, he saw Apollonia already sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, dying to step on the gas.
"She’ll be a real American woman before she gets to America.” Calo said.
 Women from villages in Sicily rarely tried driving a car. But Michael sometimes let Apollonia guide the Alfa Romeo around the inside of the villa walls, always staying near her because she sometimes stepped on the gas when she wanted to step on the brake.

      Apollonia was sitting in the car, her hands on the wheel like a child playing. Calo was just putting the lunch basket in the car. And then Michael was surprised to see Fabrizzio disappearing through the gates of the villa. What the hell was he doing?
      Apollonia waved to him from the car just ten paces up the villa’s driveway and then he realized she wanted him to stay where he was, that she meant to drive the car to where he stood. Calo stood smiling beside the car but there was no sign of Fabrizzio.
     At that moment everything came together in his mind, and Michael shouted to the girl, “No! No!” But his shout vanished in the terrible  explosion when Apollonia stepped on the gas. The kitchen door was completely destroyed and Michael was thrown away for a good ten feet. Before losing his senses Michael saw that  nothing remained of the Alfa Romeo but its four wheels and the steel shafts which held them together.

[DAS]

Marriage

 

    He didn’t. The next day, without his shepherds, he drove to the village and sat on the garden terrace of the cafe to chat with her father. Signor Vitelli took pity on him and sent for his wife and daughter to come down to the cafe to join them. This meeting was less awkward. The girl Apollonia was less shy, and spoke more. She was dressed in her everyday print frock which suited her coloring much better.
    The next day the same thing happened. Only this time Apollonia was wearing the gold chain he had given her. He smiled at her then, knowing that this was a signal to him. He walked with her up the hill, her mother close behind them. But it was impossible for the two young people to keep their bodies from brushing against each other and once Apollonia stumbled and fell against him so that he had to hold her and her body so warm and alive in his hands started a deep wave of blood rising in his body. They could not see the mother behind them smiling because her daughter was a mountain goat and had not stumbled on this path since she was an infant in diapers. And smiling because this was the only way this young man was going to get his hands on her daughter until the marriage.
    This went on for two weeks. Michael brought her presents every time he came and gradually she became less shy. But they could never meet without a chaperone being present. She was just a village girl, barely literate, with no idea of the world, but she had a freshness, an eagerness for life that, with help of the language barrier, made her seem interesting. Everything went very swiftly at Michael’s request. And because the girl was not only fascinated by him but knew he must be rich, a wedding date was set for the Sunday two weeks away.
    Now Don Tommasino took a hand. He had received word from America that Michael was not subject to orders but that all elementary precautions should be taken. So Don Tommasino appointed himself the parent of the bridegroom to insure the presence of his own bodyguards. Calo and Fabrizzio were also members of the wedding party from Corieone as was Dr. Taza. The bride and groom would live in Dr. Taza’s villa surrounded by its stone wall.
    The wedding was the usual peasant one. The villagers stood in the streets and threw flowers as the bridal party, principals and guests, went on foot from the church to the bride’s home. The wedding procession pelted the neighbors with sugar-coated almonds, the traditional wedding candies, and with candies left over made sugary white mountain on the bride’s wedding bed, in this case only a symbolic one since the first night would be spent in the villa outside Corleone. The wedding feast went on until midnight but bride and groom would leave before that in the Alfa Romeo. When that time came Michael was surprised to find that the mother was coming with them to the Corleone villa at the request of the bride. The father explained: the girl was young, a virgin, a little frightened, she would need someone to talk to on the morning following her bridal night; to put her on the right track if things went wrong. These matters could sometimes get very tricky. Michael saw Apollonia looking at him with doubt in her huge doe-brown eyes. He smiled at her and nodded.
    And so it came about that they drove back to the villa outside Corleone with the mother-in-law in the car. But the older woman immediately put her head together with the servants of Dr. Taza, gave her daughter a hug and a kiss and disappeared from the scene. Michael and his bride were allowed to go to their huge bedroom alone.
    Apollonia was still wearing her bridal costume with a cloak thrown over it. Her trunk and case had been brought up to the room from the car. On a small table was a bottle of wine and a plate of small wedding cakes. The huge canopied bed was never out of their vision. The young girl in the center of the room waited for Michael to make the first move.
    And now that he had her alone, now that he legally possessed her, now that there was no barrier to his enjoying that body and face he had dreamed about every night, Michael could not bring himself to approach her. He watched as she took off the bridal shawl and draped it over a chair, and placed the bridal crown on the small dressing table. That table had an array of perfumes and creams that Michael had sent from Palermo. The girl tallied them with her eyes for a moment.
Michael turned off the lights, thinking the girl was waiting for some darkness to shield her body while she undressed. But the Sicilian moon came through the unshuttered windows, bright as gold, and Michael went to close the shutters but not all the way, the room would be too warm...

Marriage (adapted)

 

He didn’t. The next day, without his shepherds, he drove to the village and sat on the garden terrace of the cafe to chat with her father. Signor Vitelli  sent for his wife and daughter to come down to the cafe to join them. This meeting was much better. The girl Apollonia was less shy, and spoke more. She was dressed in her everyday print dress which suited her coloring.
    The next day the same thing happened. Only this time Apollonia was wearing the gold chain he had given her. He smiled at her then, knowing that this was a signal to him. He walked with her up the hill, while her mother was walking behind them all the time.
    This went on for two weeks. Michael brought her presents every time he came and  she became less and less shy. Everything went very well in their relationship. The girl liked him and knew he must be rich, so a wedding date was set for the Sunday two weeks after.
   However, Don Tommasino, received an order from Michael's father from America that Michael had to be taken care of. So Don Tommasino ensured that bodyguards were present to protect Michael and Apollonia all the time. The bride and groom would live in Dr. Taza’s villa surrounded by stone wall.

 The wedding was the usual peasant one. The villagers stood in the streets and threw flowers as the bridal party and guests, went on foot from the church to the bride’s home. The wedding dinner went on until midnight but bride and groom left for their villa before that in the Alfa Romeo.

[DAS]

First meeting with Apollonia and her parents

 

    Michael entered the cafe in the village and asked  the man at the counter, “Do you know a girl with her hair all curly? Very creamy skin, very big eyes, very dark eyes. Do you know a girl like that in the village?”
    The cafe owner said curdy, “No. I don’t know any girl like that.” He vanished from the terrace into his cafe.
    The three men drank their wine slowly, finished off the jug and called for more. The owner did not reappear. Fabrizzio went into the cafe after him. When Fabrizzio came out he grimaced and said to Michael, “Just as I thought, it’s his daughter we were talking about and now he’s in the back boiling up his blood to do us a mischief. I think we’d better start walking toward Corleone.”

     Despite his months on the island Michael still could not get used to the Sicilian touchiness on matters of sex, and this was extreme even for a Sicilian. But the two shepherds seemed to take it as a matter of course. They were waiting for him to leave. Fabrizzio said, “The old bastard mentioned he has two sons, big tough lads that he has only to whistle up. Let’s get going.”
     Michael gave him a cold stare. Up to now he had been a quiet, gentle young man, a typical American, except that since he was hiding in Sicily he must have done something manly. This was the first time the shepherds had seen the Corleone stare. Don Tommasino, knowing Michael’s true identity and deed, had always been wary of him, treating him as a fellow “man of respect.” But these unsophisticated sheep herders had come to their own opinion of Michael, and not a wise one. The cold look, Michael’s rigid white face, his anger that came off him like cold smoke off ice, sobered their laughter and snuffed out their familiar friendliness.
     When he saw he had their proper, respectful attention Michael said to them, “Get that man out here to me.”
They didn’t hesitate. They shouldered their luparas and went into the dark coolness of the cafe. A few seconds later they reappeared with the cafe owner between them. The stubby man looked in no way frightened but his anger had a certain wariness about it.
     Michael leaned back in his chair and studied the man for a moment. Then he said very quietly, “I understand I’ve offended you by talking about your daughter. I offer you my apologies, I’m a stranger in this country, i don’t know the customs that well. Let me say this. I meant no disrespect to you or her.”
     The shepherd bodyguards were impressed. Michael’s voice had never sounded like this before when speaking to them. There was command and authority in it though he was making an apology. The cafe owner shrugged, more wary still, knowing he was not dealing with some farmboy. “Who are you and what do you want from my daughter?”

     Without even hesitating Michael said, “I am an American hiding in Sicily, from the police of my country. My name is Michael. You can inform the police and make your fortune but then your daughter would lose a father rather than gain a husband. In any case I want to meet your daughter. With your permission and under the supervision of your family. With all decorum. With all respect. I’m an honorable man and I don’t think of dishonoring your daughter. I want to meet her, talk to her and then if it hits us both right we’ll marry. If not, you’ll never see me again. She may find me unsympathetic after all, and no man can remedy that. But when the proper time comes I’ll tell you everything about me that a wife’s father should know.”
     All three men were looking at him with amazement. Fabrizzio whispered in awe, “It’s the real thunderbolt.” The cafe owner, for the first time, didn’t look so confident, or contemptuous; his anger was not so sure. Finally he asked, “Are you a friend of the friends?”
     Since the word Mafia could never be uttered aloud by the ordinary Sicilian, this was as close as the cafe owner could come to asking if Michael was a member of the Mafia. It was the usual way of asking if someone belonged but it was ordinarily not addressed to the person directly concerned.
     “No,” Michael said. “I’m a stranger in this country.”
The cafe owner gave him another look, the smashed left side of his face, the long legs rare in Sicily. He took a look at the two shepherds carrying their luparas quite openly without fear and remembered how they had come into his cafe and told him their padrone wanted to talk to him. The cafe owner had snarled that he wanted the son of a bitch out of his terrace and one of the shepherds had said, “Take my word, it’s best you go out and speak to him yourself.” And something had made him come out. Now something made him realize that it would be best to show this stranger some courtesy. He said grudgingly, “Come Sunday afternoon. My name is Vitelli and my house is up there on the hill, above the village. But come here to the cafe and I’ll take you up.”
     Fabrizzio started to say something but Michael gave him one look and the shepherd’s tongue froze in his mouth. This was not lost on Vitelli. So when Michael stood up and stretched out his hand, the cafe owner took it and smiled. He would make some inquiries and if the answers were wrong he could always greet Michael with his two sons bearing their own shotguns. The cafe owner was not without his contacts among the “friends of the friends.” But something told him this was one of those wild strokes of good fortune that Sicilians always believed in, something told him that his daughter’s beauty would make her fortune and her family secure. And it was just as well. Some of the local youths were already beginning to buzz around and this stranger with his broken face could do the necessary job of scaring them off. Vitelli, to show his goodwill, sent the strangers off with a bottle of his best and coldest wine. He noticed that one of the shepherds paid the bill. This impressed him even more, made it clear that Michael was the superior of the two men who accompanied him.
Michael was no longer interested in his hike. They found a garage and hired a car and driver to take them back to Corleone, and some time before supper, Dr. Taza must have been informed by the shepherds of what had happen. That evening, sitting in the garden, Dr. Taza said to Don Tommasino, “Our friend got hit by the thunderbolt today.”
     Don Tommasino did not seem surprised. He grunted. “I wish some of those young fellows in Palermo would get a thunderbolt, maybe I could get some peace.” He was talking about the new-style Mafia chiefs rising in the big cities of Palermo and challenging the power of old-regime stalwarts like himself.
      Michael said to Tommasino, “I want you to tell those two sheep herders to leave me alone Sunday. I’m going to go to this girl’s family for dinner and I don’t want them hanging around.”
      Don Tommasino shook his head. “I’m responsible to your father for you, don’t ask me that. Another thing, I hear you’ve even talked marriage. I can’t allow that until I’ve sent somebody to speak to your father.”
     Michael Corleone was very careful, this was after all a man of respect. “Don Tommasino, you know my father. He’s a man who goes deaf when somebody says the word no to him. And he doesn’t get his hearing back until they answer him with a yes. Well, he has heard my no many times. I understand about the two guards, I don’t want to cause you trouble, they can come with me Sunday, but if I want to marry I’ll marry. Surely if I don’t permit my own father to interfere with my personal life it would be an insult to him to allow you to do so.”
     The capo-mafioso sighed. “Well, then, marriage it will have to be. I know your thunderbolt. She’s a good girl from a respectable family. You can’t dishonor them without the father trying to kill you, and then you’ll have to shed blood. Besides, I know the family well, I can’t allow it to happen.”
      Michael said, “She may not be able to stand the sight of me, and she’s a very young girl, she’ll think me old.” He saw the two men smiling at him. “I’ll need some money for presents and I think I’ll need a car.”
The Don nodded. “Fabrizzio will take care of everything, he’s a clever boy, they taught him mechanics in the navy. I’ll give you some money in the morning and I’ll let your father know what’s happening. That I must do.”
Michael said to Dr. Taza, “Have you got anything that can dry up this damn snot always coming out of my nose? I can’t have that girl seeing me wiping it all the time.”
     Dr. Taza said, “I’ll coat it with a drug before you have to see her. It makes your flesh a little numb but, don’t worry, you won’t be kissing her for a while yet.” Both doctor and Don smiled at this witticism.
     By Sunday, Michael had an Alfa Romeo, battered but serviceable. He had also made a bus trip to Palermo to buy presents for the girl and her family. He had learned that the girl’s name was Apollonia and every night he thought of her lovely face and her lovely name. He had to drink a good deal of wine to get some sleep and orders were given to the old women servants in the house to leave a chilled bottle at his bedside. He drank.it empty every night.
On Sunday, to the tolling of church bells that covered all of Sicily, he drove the Alfa Romeo to the village and parked it just outside the cafe. Calo and Fabrizzio were in the back seat with their luparas and Michael told them they were to wait in the cafe, they were not to come to the house. The cafe was closed but Vitelli was there waiting for them, leaning against the railing of his empty terrace.
     They shook hands all around and Michael took the three packages, the presents, and trudged up the hill with Vitelli to his home. This proved to be larger than the usual village hut, the Vitellis were not poverty-stricken.
Inside the house was familiar with statues of the Madonna entombed in glass, votive lights flickering redly at their feet. The two sons were waiting, also dressed in their Sunday black. They were two sturdy young men just out of their teens but liking older because of their hard work on the farm. The mother was a vigorous woman, as stout as her husband. There was no sign of the girl.

     After the introductions, which Michael did not even hear, they sat in the room that might possibly have been a living room or just as easily the formal dining room. It was cluttered with all kinds of furniture and not very large but for Sicily it was middle-class splendor.
     Michael gave Signor Vitelli and Signora Vitelli their presents. For the father it was a gold cigar-cutter, for the mother a bolt of the finest cloth purchasable in Palermo. He still had one package for the girl. His presents were received with reserved thanks. The gifts were a little too premature, he should not have given anything until his second visit.
The father said to him, in man-to-man country fashion, “Don’t think we’re so of no account to welcome strangers into our house so easily. But Don Tommasino vouched for you personally and nobody in this province would ever doubt the word of that good man. And so we make you welcome. But I must tell you that if your intentions are serious about my daughter, we will have to know a little more about you and your family. You can understand, your family is from this country.”
Michael nodded and said politely, “I will tell you anything you wish to know anytime.”
     Signor Vitelli held up a hand. “I’m not a nosy man. Let’s see if it’s necessary first. Right now you’re welcome in my house as a friend of Don Tommasino.”
     Despite the drug painted inside his nose, Michael actually smelled the girl’s presence in the room. He turned and she was standing in the arched doorway that led to the back of the house. The smell was of fresh flowers and lemon blossoms but she wore nothing in her hair of jet black curls, nothing on her plain severe black dress, obviously her Sunday best. She gave him a quick glance and a tiny smile before she cast her eyes down demurely and sat down next to her mother.
Again Michael felt that shortness of breath, that flooding through his body of something that was not so much desire as an insane possessiveness. He understood for the first time the classical jealousy of the Italian male. He was at that moment ready to kill anyone who touched this girl, who tried to claim her, take her away from him. He wanted to own her as wildly as a miser wants to own gold coins, as hungrily as a sharecropper wants to own his own land. Nothing was going to stop him from owning this girl, possessing her, locking her in a house and keeping her prisoner only for himself. He didn’t want anyone even to see her. When she turned to smile at one of her brothers Michael gave that young man a murderous look without even realizing it. The family could see it was a classical case of the “thunderbolt” and they were reassured. This young man would be putty in their daughter’s hands until they were married. After that of course things would change but it wouldn’t matter.
       Michael had bought himself some new clothes in Palermo and was no longer the roughly dressed peasant, and it was obvious to the family that he was a Don of some kind. His smashed face did not make him as evil-looking as he believed; because his other profile was so handsome it made the disfigurement interesting even. And in any case this was a land where to be called disfigured you had to compete with a host of men who had suffered extreme physical misfortune.
Michael looked directly at the girl, the lovely ovals of her face. Her lips now he could see were almost blue so dark was the blood pulsating in them. He said, not daring to speak her name, “I saw you by the orange groves the other day. When you ran away. I hope I didn’t frighten you?”

     The girl raised her eyes to him for just a fraction. She shook her head. But the loveliness of those eyes had made Michael look away. The mother said tartly, “Apollonia, speak to the poor fellow, he’s come miles to see you,” but the girl’s long jet lashes remained closed like wings over her eyes. Michael handed her the present wrapped in gold paper and the girl put it in her lap. The father said, “Open it, girl,” but her hands did not move. Her hands were small and brown, an urchin’s hands. The mother reached over and opened the package impatiently, yet careful not to tear the precious paper. The red velvet jeweler’s box gave her pause, she had never held such a thing in her hands and didn’t know how to spring its catch. But she got it open on pure instinct and then took out the present.
     It was a heavy gold chain to be worn as a necklace, and it awed them not only because of its obvious value but because a gift of gold in this society was also a statement of the most serious intentions. It was no less than a proposal of matrimony, or rather the signal that there was the intention to propose matrimony. They could no longer doubt the seriousness of this stranger. And they could not doubt his substance.
    Apollonia still had not touched her present. Her mother held it up for her to see and she raised those long lashes for a moment and then she looked directly at Michael, her doelike brown eyes grave, and said, “Grazie.” It was the first time he had heard her voice.
    It had all the velvety softness of youth and shyness and it set Michael’s ears ringing. He kept looking away from her and talking to the father and mother simply because looking at her confused him so much. But he noticed that despite the conservative looseness of her dress her body almost shone through the cloth with sheer sensuality. And he noticed the darkening of her skin blushing, the dark creamy skin, going darker with the blood surging to her feet.
     Finally Michael rose to go and the family rose too. They said their good-byes formally, the girl at last confronting him as they shook hands, and he felt the shock of her skin on his skin, her skin warm and rough, peasant skin. The father walked down the hill with him to his car and invited him to Sunday dinner the next week. Michael nodded but he knew he couldn’t wait a week to see the girl again.

First meeting with Apollonia and her parents (adapted)

 

Michael entered the cafe in the village with his two companions Calo and Fabrizzio and asked  the man at the counter, “Do you know a girl with her hair all curly? Very creamy skin, very big eyes, very dark eyes. Do you know a girl like that in the village?”
    The cafe owner said politely, “No. I don’t know any girl like that.” He disappeared back into his cafe.
    The three men drank their wine slowly, and called for more. The owner did not reappear. Fabrizzio went into the cafe after him. Fabrizzio came out and said to Michael, “Just as I thought, it’s his daughter we were talking about and now he’s in the back trying to invent something bad for us. I think we’d better start walking toward Corleone.”
     Michael looked at him coldly. Before this moment he had been a quiet, gentle young man, a typical American. But this time he was different. When he saw his companions had their complete, respectful attention Michael said to them, “Get that man out here to me.”
 A few seconds later they reappeared with the cafe owner between them. The old man didn't look afraid but he was really angry.
     Michael sat back in his chair and studied the man for a moment. Then he said very quietly, “I understand I’ve offended you by talking about your daughter. I am sorry,but I’m a stranger in this country, i don’t know the customs very well. I didn't want to disrespect you or her.”
     I was clear to the cafe owner that he was not dealing with some farmboy. “Who are you and what do you want from my daughter?” he asked.

     Michael asnwered, “I am an American hiding in Sicily, from the police of my country. My name is Michael. You can inform the police and make your fortune but then your daughter will lose and not gain a husband. I’m an honorable man and I don’t think of dishonoring your daughter. I want to meet her, talk to her and then if we fall in love, we’ll marry. If not, you’ll never see me again.

By Sunday, Michael had an Alfa Romeo, battered but serviceable. He had also made a bus trip to Palermo to buy presents for the girl and her family. He had learned that the girl’s name was Apollonia and every night he thought of her lovely face and her lovely name. Michael had also bought himself some new clothes in Palermo and that made him look like a Don of some kind.
He drove the Alfa Romeo to the village and parked it just outside the cafe. Calo and Fabrizzio were in the back seat with their luparas and Michael told them to wait in the cafe and not to come to the house. The cafe was closed but Vitelli was there waiting for them on the terrace.
     They shook hands all around and Michael took the three packages, the presents, and went up the hill with Vitelli to his home.
    When they arrived, Michael gave Signor Vitelli and Signora Vitelli their presents. For the father it was a gold cigar-cutter, for the mother a  finest cloth that could be bought in Palermo. He still had one package for the girl.
When he was inside the house, Michael actually smelled the girl’s presence in the room. He turned and saw her standing in the arched doorway of the house. At this moment he understood he really wanted to marry her.

Michael looked directly at the girl, the lovely ovals of her face. Her lips now he could see were almost blue so dark was the blood pulsating in them. He said, not daring to speak her name, “I saw you by the orange groves the other day. When you ran away. I hope I didn’t frighten you?”

     The girl raised her eyes to him for just a second. She shook her head. But the loveliness of those eyes had made Michael look away. Michael handed her the present wrapped in gold paper and the girl put it in her hands. The father said, “Open it, girl,” but her hands did not move, so her mother had to open it.
     It was a heavy gold chain to be worn as a necklace, and it shocked the family because a gift of gold in this society showed the most serious intentions
    Apollonia still had not touched her present. Her mother held it up for her to see and she raised those long lashes for a moment and then she looked directly at Michael, her doelike brown eyes grave, and said, “Grazie.” It was the first time he had heard her voice.
     Finally Michael rose to go and the family rose too. They said their good-byes formally and the father walked down the hill with him to his car and invited him to Sunday dinner the next week. Michael agreed but he knew he couldn’t wait a week to see the girl again.
       

[DAS]

Michael falls in love (Thunderbolt)

 

      It was a little palace with a huge marble portico and fluted Grecian columns and through those columns came a bevy of village girls flanked by two stout matrons clad in black. They were gathering the pink sulla, purple wisteria, mixing them with orange and lemon blossoms. The girls, not seeing the men resting in the orange grove, came closer and closer.
They were dressed in cheap gaily printed frocks that clung to their bodies. They were still in their teens but with the full womanliness sun-drenched flesh ripened into so quickly. Three or four of them started chasing one girl, chasing her toward the grove. The girl being chased held a bunch of huge purple grapes in her left hand and with her right hand was picking grapes off the cluster and throwing them at her pursuers. She had a crown of ringleted hair as purple-black as the grapes and her body seemed to be bursting out of its skin.
      Just short of the grove she poised, startled, her eyes having caught the alien color of the men’s shirts. She stood there up on her toes poised like a deer to run. She was very close now, close enough for the men to see every feature of her face. She was all ovals— oval-shaped eyes, the bones of her face, the contour of her brow. Her skin was an exquisite dark creaminess and her eyes, enormous, dark violet or brown but dark with long heavy lashes shadowed her lovely face. Her mouth was rich without being gross, sweet without being weak and dyed dark red with the juice of the grapes. She was so incredibly lovely that Fabrizzio murmured, “Jesus Christ, take my soul, I’m dying,” as a joke, but the words came out a little too hoarsely. As if she had heard him, the girl came down off her toes and whirled away from them and. fled back to her pursuers. Her haunches moved like an animal’s beneath the tight print of her dress; as pagan and as innocently lustful. When she reached her friends she whirled around again and her face was like a dark hollow against the field of bright flowers. She extended an arm, the hand full of grapes pointed toward the grove. The girls fled laughing, with the black-clad, stout matrons scolding them on.
     As for Michael Corleone, he found himself standing, his heart pounding in his chest; he felt a little dizzy. The blood was surging through his body, through all its extremities and pounding against the tips of his fingers, the tips of his toes. All the perfumes of the island came rushing in on the wind, orange, lemon blossoms, grapes, flowers. It seemed as if his body had sprung away from him out of himself. And then he heard the two shepherds laughing.

   “You got hit by the thunderbolt, eh?” Fabrizzio said, clapping him on the shoulder. Even Calo became friendly, patting him on the arm and saying, “Easy, man, easy,” but with affection. As if Michael had been hit by a car. Fabrizzio handed him a wine bottle and Michael took a long slug. It cleared his head.
    “What the hell are you damn sheep lovers talking about?” he said.
    Both men laughed. Calo, his honest face filled with the utmost seriousness, said, “You can’t hide the thunderbolt. When it hits you, everybody can see it. Christ, man, don’t be ashamed of it, some men pray for the thunderbolt. You’re a lucky fellow.”
    Michael wasn’t too pleased about his emotions being so easily read. But this was the first time in his life such a thing had happened to him. It was nothing like his adolescent crushes, it was nothing like the love he’d had for Kay, a love based as much on her sweetness, her intelligence and the polarity of the fair and dark. This was an overwhelming desire for possession, this was an unerasable printing of the girl’s face on his brain and he knew she would haunt his memory every day of his life if he did not possess her. His life had become simplified, focused on one point, everything else was unworthy of even a moment’s attention. During his exile he had always thought of Kay, though he felt they could never again be lovers or even friends. He was, after all was said, a murderer, a Mafioso who had “made his bones.” But now Kay was wiped completely out of his consciousness.
     Fabrizzio said briskly, “I’ll go to the village, we’ll find out about her. Who knows, she may be more available than we think. There’s only one cure for the thunderbolt, eh, Calo?”
     The other shepherd nodded his head gravely. Michael didn’t say anything. He followed the two shepherds as they started down tie road to the nearby village into which the flock of girls had disappeared.

Thunderbolt (adapted)
   

 

  It was a little palace with a huge marble bridge and  Greek columns. A small group of teenage village girls were walking through these columns surrounded by two matrons dressed in black. They were gathering some pink and purple flowers, mixing them with orange and lemon blossoms. The girls, not seeing the men resting in the orange grove, came closer and closer.
     They were wearing cheap bright dresses clinging to their bodies.  Three or four of them started running after one girl, chasing her toward the grove. The girl was holding a bunch of huge purple grapes in her left hand and with her right hand was picking grapes and throwing them at other ladies. She had a bunch of beautiful hair as purple-black as the grapes she was throwing. 
      Just in front of the grove she stopped when her eyes caught the  colour of the men’s shirts. She stood there up on her feet  like a deer, ready to run.  She was so incredibly lovely that Fabrizzio said, “Jesus Christ, take my soul, I’m dying,” as a joke, but the words came out in a rude way. As if she had heard him, the girl turned around and ran away from them  back to her friends. When she reached them, she turned round again, extended her arm, the hand full of grapes and pointed toward the grove. The girls ran away laughing, with the matrons in black scolding them on the way.


  Michael Corleone was standing, his heart pounding in his chest; feeling a little dizzy. The blood was going through his body,  pounding in his fingers and toes. All the perfumes of the island were in the air: orange, lemon blossoms, grapes, flowers. It looked as if his body was going to jump out of himself. And then he heard the two shepherds laughing.

   “You got hit by the thunderbolt, eh?” Fabrizzio said and clapped him on the shoulder. Even Calo became friendly, patting him on the arm and saying, “Easy, man, easy,”. Michael felt as if he had been hit by a car. Fabrizzio gave him a little wine and it cleared his head.
    “What the hell are you sheep lovers talking about?” he said.
     Both men laughed. Calo, being absolutely serious, said, “You can’t hide the thunderbolt. When it hits you, everybody can see it. Don’t be ashamed of it, many men pray for the thunderbolt. You’re a lucky man.”
    Michael wasn’t too pleased that it was so easy to read his emotions. But this was the first time in his life such a thing had happened to him. It was nothing like his childhood crushes, it was nothing like the love he’d had for Kay, a love based as much on her sweetness, her intelligence and the polarity of the fair and dark. This was completely different, this was an unerasable image of the girl’s face on his brain and he knew he would think about her every day. His life  become simple, focused on one point, everything else was not important. He often thought of Kay, though he felt they could never again be lovers or even friends. He was, after all was said, a gangster and a killer. But now Kay was wiped completely out of his mind.
     Fabrizzio said “I’ll go to the village, we’ll find out about her. Who knows, she may be more available than we think. There’s only one medicine for the thunderbolt, eh, Calo?”
     The other shepherd agreed. Michael didn’t say anything. He followed the two shepherds as they started were going along the road to the nearby village into which the group of girls had disappeared.

[InkJoy]

Jacqueline Susann - Dolores (the book)

 

PART
  Everything to Live For
     There was a mean chill in the air as Air Force One began its slow approach toward Washington. Although the plane was warm, the occupants could almost sense the dankness below. Dolores shivered and folded her arms about herself and stared at the lights below . . . the thousands of tiny cars that moved like an army of lemmings through the city. And yet those rows of minuscule cars carried people to visit friends ... to a movie ... to some place they wanted to go. She shivered again and huddled deeper in the seat. She was still wearing the beige suit she had worn in New Orleans.
     It had been warm and sunny in New Orleans. But it was winter in Washington. She knew the press would be waiting for her when she got off the plane. They were always waiting when she got off the plane . . . but this would be the last time she would ever disembark from Air Force One. James T. Ryan, affectionately called Jimmy by everyone, usually stretched out on the couch until the moment before landing (he still suffered pain from the broken vertebrae in his neck and the couch had been made especially for him) . . . only now he didn't feel any pain . . . and Elwood Jason Lyons was sitting on the couch. Jimmy was in the back . . . cold and alone ... in a box with that bullet that hit him . . . clean and quick . . . right through his heart. They had caught the man immediately and riddled him with bullets as he tried to escape. H. Ronald Preston ... a man with a greenish-white complexion . . . tall and thin . . . hawk-nosed. Why had he done it? Did he think that in his miserable little life, this one act would give him a permanent place in history? Was that worth dying for? Just to be remembered as the man who killed James T. Ryan. Maybe the H. Ronald Prestons of this world had nothing else to live for, and dying spectacularly was the only important thing they could do. But Jimmy had everything to live for . . . God, no one loved life as much as Jimmy. Just this morning . . . the pride on his face as the audience called out "Dolores!" . . . "Do-lores!" And the lovely little Italian woman who had given her a flower and murmured, "Mw/ff-hellal" She certainly didn't look multibella now.
     One of her white gloves was missing and there was blood all over the suit. Jim liked the suit ... it didn't look as expensive as it really was. Oh God, why had she argued with him all that weekend about the luggage and the clothes she took? She had wanted to look her best, and had brought several changes even though Betsy Minton had checked and rechecked the weather reports . . . one could never tell. Right now, Betsy was with the children. Thank God for Betsy. She had started as a housekeeper when Jim was just a Senator . .. and when he had become President, she had elevated Betsy to personal maid and secretary. Betsy did everything. She had even taken the children to Jim's sister—and when the proper moment came, Betsy would break it to them.
     Break what to them? That their father had been shot while he was being cheered at a speech .. . that they would have to leave the White House . . . that their entire world had changed. Would they understand about death? Mary Lou was six. She had seen her doggy die. She understood about Heaven. But the twins . . . little Jimmy and Mike . . . they were only three . . . they still couldn't differentiate between God and Santa Claus. She hadn't even tried to explain Jesus. Just last night in New Orleans, she and Jim had discussed religion. Was it just last night? He had wanted to go to bed with her but she was expecting the hairdresser at eight in the morning and there was the breakfast ceremony and then the long ride through the city to the huge auditorium where he was to make the speech. It was hot in New Orleans and her hair really had to be done. Jim had smiled . . . he understood. Part of the duties of being First Lady was to look perfect. She sure didn't look perfect now . . . the wrinkled suit . . . her hair falling across her face . . . and now she'd never be able to go to bed with Jim again . . . never! No . . . she mustn't allow the tears to come. A lady doesn't show emotion in public.

First Lady

     She felt a gentle hand pat her on the arm. Who dared to touch her! She was Dolores Ryan, First Lady . . . Oh God, no, she was Dolores Ryan, private citizen now . . . and the gentle hand that patted her arm belonged to Elwood Jason Lyons, the new President of the United States. He managed a sympathetic smile as he walked on down the aisle. She stared at the skinny back of the new President. She watched him sit beside his buxom wife—the new First Lady. They would live in her beloved White House, the place she had redecorated and made so beautiful. The place where she wanted Mike, Jinuny and Mary Lou to spend eight wonderful years. Elwood and Lillian's children would live there now. Ellie, Edie, Elwood, Jr., and Edward. Nice enough children but they wouldn't appreciate the beauty she had brought into the White House. She couldn't picture Lillian Lyons living in her white and yellow bedroom. Or one of the girls living in Mary Lou's bedroom. All yellow and white, a miniature version of "Mommy's." No, they'd change all that . . . and Elwood would probably change Jimmy's room. Elwood Jason Lyons thought of himself as a man of the people. He never let anyone forget his grandfather had been a coal miner. And that he liked plain ordinary food. They'd probably have wienie roasts right on the White House lawn. Oh Lord, why was she thinking in such non-sequiturs. Jimmy wouldn't like her to put down the Lyonses. Besides, there was nothing wrong with hot dogs. Jimmy loved them. When they went on the family's beach parties at Newport Beach, the whole clan ate hot dogs and Jimmy's brother, Michael, even used to put on a chef's hat when he served. The Ryans adored hot dogs and com on the cob. Jimmy used to get so angry when she packed a picnic basket of pate and cucumber sandwiches for herself. And he grimaced at the thin watercress sandwiches she often served for tea. He also thought her passion for caviar was ridiculous.
     Caviar! That brought back memories of Paris. Paris had given them some wonderful close moments. There weren't too many of those moments in their lives . . . and, oddly enough, most of them came out of tragedy. Like now, she felt Jimmy was not cold and dead in that flag-draped box. He belonged to her. But he didn't belong to her. Impersonal doctors' hands would touch him and cut him open and do an autopsy and ... Oh God, he hated illness or weakness ... he had been thrown from a horse a year after their marriage and his collarbone had been broken. And how he had hated all those weeks in traction in the hospital, with nurses handling him, doctors probing, and no noticeable signs or promises of complete recovery. He had been so brave . .. until that one day when she saw the lone tear travel down his cheek. She had kissed it off with her lips and held his hand . . . and he had managed a weak smile. Why had she been able to show her feelings then (was it because of his vulnerability?)? He always seemed a bit aloof when he was strong. But in the hospital for just one precious moment he had reached out for her emotionally. He had never done that before. Even on their honeymoon, he had wanted her . . . taken her ... but had not seemed to belong to her in any way. There had always been a part of James T. Ryan that he kept to himself, a strange coolness that would occasionally come to his eyes, a look that said, "No trespassing." Oddly enough, she had always run into this obstacle with anyone she loved or cared about. Her tennis pro when she was fifteen . . . she hadn't an inkling he was a homosexual . . . and the times he had walked off the court with his arm loosely draped around her had been enough to give her hours of schoolgirl dreams. But the dreams had lasted only a few precious weeks. Then her mother had dropped the bomb. When she caught Dolores staring at Billy, she laughingly explained to Dolores that Billy had a friend, a special friend named Bob.
     She had continued to adore the tennis lessons, but had held back her emotions because she knew Billy had a world of his own ... a world she could not enter.
     Like Jimmy's private world . . . Jimmy had recovered . . . there had never been a hint of a tear again. He was the old Jimmy . . . invincible . . . "Superman." And then one night she saw the bottles in his medicine chest. All marked "For Pain." And when she watched closely she saw a tightness in his jaw at times ... a pill popped into his mouth when he thought no one was looking .., and suddenly she was aware of the daily massages, the steam baths, the therapist who came to give him special exercises. But no admission of pain on his part, no close moments until the night of the debacle of the River War in Southeast Asia when so many American soldiers were killed. He had come to her bedroom that night to tell her the news. She had never seen him so defeated . . . and she had spnmg into his arms because she had seen the tears in his eyes. And that night in bed they had climg together . . . not even a night on their honeymoon had they ever been so close. She was sure the second set of twins was conceived then. And she carried her large belly with pride, because these two babies had come from moments of their deepest love.
She hadn't been able to take it when they were stillborn. Little Timothy and William. There had been a hint of tears in Jimmy's eyes too, but he had held them back because she was sobbing so hard. That's when he had said, "Dolo . . . I've always felt God has singled me out for some kind of greatness . . . and they say that with greatness goes tragedy. And remember, it's you who have to share both the greatness and the tragedy. So, remember, a Ryan never shows weakness in public. If you don't win the game in tennis, you jump over the net as if you had like a champion and congratulate the opponent." And then through her sobbing she had shouted, "But I'm not a Ryan . . . I'm a Cortez . . . I'm of Castilian descent. . . Latins are emotional." And she had wanted to cry out, "And Latins want to show their feelings . . . share feelings ... be close . . . not just at certain times." Yes, the closeness came during the tragedies.

Nita

And now this was the biggest tragedy of all. "Jimmy' she whispered to herself, "I can't hold you in my arms because you're back there . . . growing colder every moment in that box. That's why I put my St. Theresa necklace around your neck. My father put it on me when I was seven. I never took it off. At least with that medal we are together. I hope there really is a hereafter because there were so many times we were apart ... so many times I found it impossible to tell you how I felt . . . but I'll try to do what you would want me to do today ... I'll be a Ryan. And I won't cry ... I didn't cry when I stood next to Elwood and heard him sworn in. I pretended I was a real Ryan. Oh Jimmy, I promise I No one will ever forget that I am Dolores Ryan . . . and no one will ever forget you. Til see to that. Jimmy, is there really anything . . . after . . . can you see into my mind ... are you 'up there' . . . have you met my father? They used to call him Dashing Dan because he was so handsome. He loved beautiful women, too . . . that's why my mother left him. But she was wrong because she sort of dried up after that. And no man could replace him and she would watch him dating all those beautiful actresses and models in New York. That's why I never left you, Jimmy. All those times when you— but I won't think of it now. You belong to me now ... forever .. . and I'll try to make you proud of me. The way you were that time in Paris . . . when you finally admitted that caviar didn't really taste bad at all."
Caviar . . . there had been tons of caviar in Paris. That was when she had come into her own. Until Paris she had always been the blue blood, the pretty girl-woman married to a main with movie star looks and unbelievable charisma. She had been the unknown entity ... a girl from a fine family ... but a blank. And then that trip to Paris, during his second year of the Presidency. The French had adored her. They had admired her chic clothes and her easy fluency with the language. Poor Jimmy, he had sputtered a well-rehearsed greeting, but it had been Dolores who had taken over Paris. That was the first time she had seen the new look in Jimmy's eyes. Actually it was not really a new look ... it was the old look . . . the look he had given her when they were first dating . . . the look he had given her when she wore all those beautiful dresses on their honeymoon. The look that had vanished after the birth of Mary Lou. The look that had been replaced with guilt because he knew she had learned about Tanya. During the last months of her pregnancy, all of her "best friends" had hinted about Tanya. Elegant Tanya with the slight accent, married to an elderly Senator. Jimmy had disappeared a lot during those last months, while she sat with the heaviness ill-concealed even in chic made-to-order pregnancy clothes. He always had an excuse . . . some official business ... a meeting with his brother . . . but it hadn't taken her long to learn about his unofficial visits to the lovely house in Georgetown . . . especially when the elderly Senator was on his estate in Maryland. The Senator was twenty years older than Tanya and he knew all about the romance, but how could he compete with any man who wanted the beautiful Tanya, especially when the man was the President of the United States?
But Paris had changed things. Dolores had come into her own as a full-fledged glamorous personality. And it had been like a second honeymoon. Even Jimmy's attitude about sex had been more intimate than aggressive. Sometimes it bothered Dolores. She had never been able to abandon herself in sex. In fact, she had to grit her teeth each time she allowed Jimmy to make love to her. She had pretended to feel a climax to build up his ego . . . and it wasn't until Jimmy stopped asking that she found herself wanting it. Not wanting it out of desire . . . but wanting it because it gave her the security of her own femininity to know she was desired. Sometimes she read the movie magazines where she was called beautiful. Secretly she cut out the pictures of herself on the covers . .. and would stare in the mirror and whisper, "I am beautiful." Actually, she didn't believe it. Nita was the beauty. Juanita and Dolores Cortez . . . eleven months apart. . . the most beautiful debutantes in New York. How she had envied Nita's looks . . . and Nita was only five foot four . . . never too tall for a man. Dolores was five foot seven . . . marvelous now for fashion . . . marvelous because Jimmy had been six foot one. But at sixteen she had always felt oafish and climisy around Nita.
And all those secret tears she had swallowed when Nita became engaged to Lord Bramley. Dolores had adored Lord Nelson Bramley. And she had felt he admired her. They had met at "their" coming-out party, a party when she and Nita had been presented together. Being "presented" at nineteen! But it was the only way her mother had been able to manage it, presenting the two sisters together. Things had been rough after her father's death. The Cortezes were still high in the Social Register but nil in Dun and Bradstreet. But with it all, the debut of Dolores and Juanita had been an important social event. Every eligible male had accepted. With the help of an old friend who had turned society press agent, Mrs. Cortez had even managed to have a few titles attend. Lord Nelson Bramley was the outstanding name. Not only was his lineage perfect, he was also a millionaire . . . and he was the most handsome man Dolores had ever seen.
Lord Bramley had danced with Nita a few times but it had been Dolores he had danced with most of the evening. After that, he had taken them both to the theater several times. And then there was the night he came to call ... to speak to Mrs. Cortez alone. Dolores waited in her bedroom, trying to hide her excitement, while Nita placidly played solitaire on the bed. It seemed an eternity before Mrs. Cortez sent for both girls. She was smiling happily. Lord Bramley had asked for Nita's hand. Somehow Dolores had managed a bright snule as her mother beamed and Nita demurely accepted.
Yes, in the beginning, Nita had it all. Tiny . . . slim figure . . . heavy black hair. (Dolores had been bom with mousy brown hair and had started streaking it with peroxide at school . . . she felt she had to when people kept commenting on Nita's striking coloring.) Nita's marriage had been spectacular. For weeks, the newspapers carried pictures of Nita and Lord Bramley. The Beautiful Pair . . . dining at the Colony . . . lunching at "21." Often Dolores was included in the luncheons . . . she tried to decline but she knew she had to make some appearances. At night, alone in bed, she refused to allow herself to cry, because she felt if she ever let loose, she would have no control.
She managed to go to Nita's fittings for her trousseau and wedding gown (the last of the Georgian silver and Limoges china had been sold for these luxuries). "Dolo," her mother had said, "you're just going to have to elope when your big moment comes! I can't afford another wedding." Dolores had gotten a job with the U.N. as a translator. She had not only conquered French but was fluent in Spanish and she began to study Russian— anything to obliterate Nita's marriage and all the attending press.

The Baron

She had been at the U.N. a year when she met James T. Ryan. She realized he was marvelously attractive but she was imable to feel any emotion about him. It was too soon after Lord Bramley. However, they dated whenever he was in New York and she pretended an enthusiasm she didn't feel. After all, dating the most eligible attractive Senator was a coup . . . and when their pictures began to appear in the society columns, she promptly sent them to Nita.
She knew it didn't impress Nita. Nita still had it all. She had had two lovely sons within three short years after her marriage. Her pictures appeared in Women's Wear attending every lavish Eiuropean ball. She commuted between London, Paris, and Italy, and Dolores was quick to note that Nita had at least seven fur coats.
But it didn't hurt as much because Nita was in London . . . and she was in New York in the thick of it, with a dashing Senator commuting to see her. James T. Ryan was the direct opposite of Lord Nelson Bramley. His father, Timothy Ryan, never hid the fact that he had worked as a bricklayer in Shamokin, Pennsylvania . . . came to Philadelphia with eight hundred dollars and wound up becoming the top contractor in the East. He owned property and buildings in Philadelphia, New York, Boston, Detroit, Chicago. He bought up real estate in Florida in the thirties when it was cheap . . , he became a multimillionaire before his two sons and three daughters were in their teens. Yet he always remained "one of the people." His wife, Bridget, was beautiful and strong. She shut her eyes to his notorious affair with a famous sculptress and went to Mass twice a day and prayed for strength. And when he had his first major heart attack, he gave up the sculptress and came home to Bridget.