The Sicilian

look like an affable grocer rather than a police officer.

But it was the pictures of Turi Guiliano that filled the newspapers all over the world. On one outstretched hand was the emerald ring he had taken from the Duchess. Around his body was the belt with golden buckle with its engraved eagle and lion. A pool of blood lay beneath his body.

Before Maria Lombardo's arrival, the body was taken to the town mortuary and put on a huge oval marble slab. The mortuary was part of the cemetery, which was ringed with tall black cypresses. It was here that Maria Lombardo was brought and made to sit on a stone bench. They were waiting for Colonel and Captain to finish their victory lunch in the nearby Hotel Selinus. Maria Lombardo began to weep at the sight of all the journalists, the curious townspeople, the many carabinieri working to keep them under control. Hector Adonis tried to comfort her.

Finally they led her into the mortuary. Officials around the oval slab were asking questions. She raised her eyes and saw Turi's face.

He had never looked so young. He looked as he looked as a child after an exhausting day of play with his Aspanu. There was no mark on his face, only a smudge of powdery dirt where his forehead had lain in the courtyard. The reality sobered her, made her calm. She answered questions. 'Yes,' she said, 'that is my son Turi, born of my body twenty-seven years ago. Yes I identify him.' The officials were still talking to her, giving her papers to sign, but she did not hear or see them. She did not see or hear the crowd pressing around her, the journalists screaming, the photographers fighting with the carabinieri to take pictures.

She kissed his forehead, as white as the gray-veined marble, she kissed his blueing lips, the hand torn to pulp by bullets. Her mind dissolved in grief. 'Oh my blood, my blood,' she said, 'what a terrible death you have died.'

She lost consciousness then, and when the attending physician gave her a shot and she had been brought to her senses, she insisted on going to the courtyard where her son's body had been found. There she knelt and kissed the bloodstains on the ground.

When she was brought home to Montelepre she found her husband waiting for her. It was then she learned the murderer of her son was her beloved Aspanu.

CHAPTER 29

Michael Corleone and Peter Clemenza were transported to the Palermo jail right after their arrest. From there they were taken to Inspector Velardi's office to be interrogated.

Velardi had six carabinieri officers, fully armed, with him. He greeted Michael and Clemenza with a cold courtesy and spoke to Clemenza first. 'You are an American citizen,' he said. 'You have a passport that says you have come here to pay your brother a visit. Don Domenico Clemenza of Trapani. A very respectable man, they tell me. A man of respect.' He said the traditional phrase with obvious sarcasm. 'We find you with this Michael Corleone, and you are armed with lethal weapons in the town where Turi Guiliano has met his death just a few hours before. Would you care to make a statement?'

Clemenza said, 'I was out hunting, we were looking for rabbits and foxes. Then we saw all the commotion in Castelvetrano when we stopped at a cafe for our morning coffee. So we went to see what had happened.'

'In America do you shoot rabbits with a machine pistol?' Inspector Velardi asked. He turned to Michael Corleone. 'We have met before, you and I, we know what you are here for. And your fat friend knows too. But things have changed since we had that charming lunch with Don Croce a few days ago. Guiliano is dead. You are an accomplice in a criminal conspiracy to effect his escape. I am no longer required to treat scum like you as if you were human. Confessions are being prepared which I recommend you sign.'

At this moment a carabinieri officer came into the room and whispered into Inspector Velardi's ear. Velardi said curtly, 'Let him enter.'

It was Don Croce, no better dressed than Michael remembered him from that famous lunch. His mahogany face was just as impassive. He waddled over to Michael and embraced him. He shook hands with Peter Clemenza. Then he turned and still standing stared Inspector Velardi full in the face without saying a word. A brute force emanated from that hulk of a man. Power radiated from his face and eyes. 'These two men are my friends,' he said. 'What possible reason do you have to treat them with disrespect?' There was no anger in that voice, no emotion. It seemed merely to be a question demanding an answer with facts. It was also a voice that stated there was no fact that could justify their arrest.

Inspector Velardi shrugged. 'They will appear before the magistrate and he will settle the matter.'

Don Croce sat down in one of the armchairs next to Inspector Velardi's desk. He mopped his brow. He said in a quiet voice which again seemed to hold no threat, 'Out of respect for our friendship, call Minister Trezza and ask his opinion on this matter. You will be rendering me a service.'

Inspector Velardi shook his head. The blue eyes were no longer cold but blazing with hatred. 'We were never friends,' he said. 'I acted under orders which are no longer binding now that Guiliano is dead. These two men will go before the magistrate. If it were within my power you would appear with them.'

At that moment the phone on Inspector Velardi's desk rang. He ignored it waiting for Don Croce's answer. Don Croce said, 'Answer your telephone, that will be Minister Trezza.'

The Inspector slowly picked up the phone, his eyes watching Don Croce. He listened for a few minutes, then said, 'Yes, Your Excellency,' and hung up the phone. He slumped down in his chair and said to Michael and Peter Clemenza, 'You are free to go.'

Don Croce rose to his feet and shepherded Michael and Clemenza out of the room with a shooing motion, as if they were chickens entrapped in a yard. Then he turned to Inspector Velardi. 'I have treated you with every courtesy this past year though you are a foreigner in my Sicily. And yet here in front of friends and in front of your fellow officers you have shown disrespect to my person. But I'm not the man to hold a grudge. I hope in the near future we can have dinner together and renew our friendship with a clearer understanding.'

Five days later in broad daylight Inspector Federico Velardi was shot to death on the main boulevard of Palermo.

Two days later Michael was home. There was a family feast – his brother Fredo flew in from Vegas, there was Connie and her husband Carlo, there was Clemenza and his wife, Tom Hagen and his wife. They hugged and toasted Michael and commented on how well he looked. Nobody talked about his years of exile, nobody seemed to notice that the side of his face was caved in, nobody mentioned Sonny's death. It was a family homecoming party as if he had been away to college or on a long vacation. He was seated on his father's right. Finally he was safe.

The next morning he slept late, his first truly restful sleep since before he had fled the country. His mother had breakfast waiting and kissed him when he sat down at the table, an unusual sign of affection from her. She had done it only once before, when he had returned from the war.

When he finished eating he went to the library and found his father waiting for him. He was surprised that Tom Hagen was not there also and then realized that the Don wished to speak to him without any witnesses.

Don Corleone ceremoniously poured out two glasses of anisette and handed one to Michael. 'To our partnership,' the Don said.

Michael raised his glass. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I have a lot to learn.'

'Yes,' Don Corleone said. 'But we have plenty of time, and I'm here to teach you.'

Michael said, 'Don't you think we should clear up the Guiliano business first?'

The Don sat down heavily and wiped his mouth of the liqueur. 'Yes,' he said. 'A sad business. I was hoping he would escape. His father and mother were my good friends.'

Michael said, 'I never really understood what the hell was happening, I never could get the sides right. You told me to trust Don Croce, but Guiliano hated him. I thought the Testament being held by you would keep them from killing Guiliano, but they killed him anyway. And now when we release the Testament to all the newspapers, they will have cut their own throats.'

He saw his father looking at him coolly. 'That is Sicily,' the Don said. 'There is always treachery within