mp.godfather-第88部分

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ed　his　shirt　and　contracted　his　stomach　muscles　to　make　the　tattoo　e　alive。　The　naked　couple　on　his　chest　writhed　in　a　lover's　agony　and　the　dagger　thrust　by　the　husband　quivered　in　their　transfixed　flesh。　It　amused　them。　It　was　while　this　was　going　on　that　Michael　was　hit　with　what　the　Sicilians　call　〃the　thunderbolt。〃
　
　Beyond　the　orange　grove　lay　the　green　ribboned　fields　of　a　baronial　estate。　Down　the　road　from　the　grove　was　a　villa　so　Roman　it　looked　as　if　it　had　been　dug　up　from　the　ruins　of　Pompeii。　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　from　the　village　and　had　obviously　fulfilled　their　ancient　duty　to　the　local　baron　by　cleaning　his　villa　and　otherwise　preparing　it　for　his　winter　sojourn。　Now　they　were　going　into　the　fields　to　pick　the　flowers　with　which　they　would　fill　the　rooms。　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　bee　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　pletely　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。
　
　The　village　was　grouped　around　the　usual　central　square　with　its　fountain。　But　it　was　on　a　main　route　so　there　were　some　stores；　wine　shops　and　one　little　café　with　three　tables　out　on　a　small　terrace。　The　shepherds　sat　at　one　of　the　tables　and　Michael　joined　them。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　girls；　not　a　trace。　The　village　seemed　deserted　except　for　small　boys　and　a　meandering　donkey。
　
　The　proprietor　of　the　café　came　to　serve　them。　He　was　a　short；　burly　man；　almost　dwarfish　but　he　greeted　them　cheerfully　and　set　a　dish　of　chickpeas　at　their　table。　〃You're　strangers　here；〃　he　said；　〃so　let　me　advise　you。　Try　my　wine。　The　grapes　e　from　my　own　farm　and　it's　made　by　my　sons　themselves。　They　mix　it　with　oranges　and　lemons。　It's　the　best　wine　in　Italy。〃
　
　They　let　him　bring　the　wine　in　a　jug　and　it　was　even　better　than　he　claimed；　dark　purple　and　as　powerful　as　a　brandy。　Fabrizzo　said　to　the　café　proprietor；　〃You　know　all　the　girls　here；　I'll　bet。　We　saw　some　beauties　ing　down　the　road；　one　in　particular　got　our　friend　here　hit　with　the　thunderbolt。〃　He　motioned　to　Michael。
　
　The　cafe　owner　looked　at　Michael　with　new　interest。　The　cracked　face　had　seemed　quite　ordinary　to　him　before；　not　worth　a　second　glance。　But　a　man　hit　with　the　thunderbolt　was　another　matter。　〃You　had　better　bring　a　few　bottles　home　with　you；　my　friend；〃　he　said。　〃You'll　need　help　in　getting　to　sleep　tonight。〃
　
　Michael　asked　the　man；　〃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　café　owner　said　curdy；　〃No。　I　don't　know　any　girl　like　that。〃　He　vanished　from　the　terrace　into　his　café。
　
　The　three　men　drank　their　wine　slowly；　finished　off　the　jug　and　called　for　more。　The　owner　did　not　reappear。　Fabrizzio　went　into　the　café　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　e　to　their　own　opinion　of　Michael；　and　n