by Mario Puzo
The Don turned to Pippi who was standing beside him. “Pippi will represent the Family at the wedding. He’s a nephew and he loves to dance. Pippi, you will give your cousin away and then you can all dance to the bottom of the ocean.”
Pippi bent to kiss Rose Marie’s cheek. “I’ll be there,” he said with false gallantry, “and if Jimmy doesn’t show up, we’ll run away together.”
Rose Marie gratefully raised her eyes and came into his arms.
A month later Pippi De Lena was on the plane from Vegas to Palm Springs to attend the wedding. That month had been spent with Don Clericuzio in the Quogue mansion, and in meetings with Giorgio, Vincent, and Petie.
The Don clearly instructed that Pippi was to be in charge of the operation. That his orders were to be treated as orders from the Don himself, no matter what the orders might be.
Only Vincent dared to question the Don. “What if the Santadio didn’t kill Silvio?”
The Don said, “It doesn’t matter, but it reeks of their stupidity, which will endanger us in the future. We will only have to fight them at another time. Of course, they are guilty. Ill will itself is murder. If the Santadio are not guilty then we must agree that Fate itself is against us. Which would you rather believe?”
For the first time in his life, Pippi noted that the Don was distraught. He spent long hours in the chapel in the basement of his house. He ate very little, and drank more wine, which was unusual for him. And he put Silvio’s framed photo in his bedroom for a few days. One Sunday he asked the priest saying Mass to hear his confession.
On the last day, the Don had a meeting with Pippi alone.
“Pippi,” the Don said, “this is a very tricky operation. There may be a situation when the question comes up if Jimmy Santadio is to be spared. Do not. But no one is to know this is my order. That deed must be on your head. Not on mine, not Giorgio or Vincent or Petie. Are you willing to take the blame?”
“Yes,” Pippi said. “You don’t want your daughter to hate you or reproach you. Or her brothers.”
“A situation may arise where Rose Marie is at risk,” the Don said.
“Yes,” Pippi said.
The Don sighed. “Do everything to safeguard my children,” he said. “You must make the final decisions. But I never gave you the order to kill Jimmy Santadio.”
“And if Rose Marie discovers it was . . .” Pippi asked.
The Don looked directly at Pippi De Lena. “She is my child and the sister of Silvio. She will never betray us.”
The Santadio mansion in Palm Springs had forty rooms on just three floors, built in the Spanish style to harmonize with the surrounding desert. It was separated from that enormous field of sand by an encircling wall of redstone. The compound within held not only the house but a huge swimming pool, a tennis court, and a boccie alley.
On this wedding day there was a massive barbecue pit, a platform for the orchestra, and a wooden dance floor, laid over the lawn. This floor was surrounded by long banquet tables. Parked by the huge bronzed gates of the compound were three large catering trucks.
Pippi De Lena arrived early Saturday morning with a suitcase filled with wedding clothes. He was given a room on the second floor, the bright golden light of the desert sun pouring in the windows. He started to unpack.
The church ceremony would be held in Palm Springs only a half hour away. The religious rites would begin about noon. Then the guests would return to the house for the celebration.
There was a knock on the door and Jimmy Santadio came in. His face was shiny with happiness and he gave Pippi a vigorous hug. He was not yet dressed in his wedding clothes and looked very handsome in loose white slacks and a gray-and-silver silk shirt. He held Pippi’s hands in his to show his affection.
“It’s great you came,” Jimmy said, “and Roe is thrilled you’re giving her away. Now before everything starts, the old man wants to meet you.”
Still holding his hand, he led Pippi down to the first floor and down a long corridor to Don Santadio’s room. Don Santadio lay in bed clad in blue cotton nightclothes. He was far more decrepit than Don Clericuzio but he had the same sharp eyes, the alert listening manner; his head was round as a ball and bald. He beckoned Pippi close to him and held out his arms so that Pippi could embrace him.
“How just it is that you came,” the old man said, his voice was hoarse. “I count on you to help our two Families embrace each other as we two have done. You are the dove of peace we must have. Bless you. Bless you.” He sank back on the bed and closed his eyes. “How happy I am this day.”
There was a nurse in the room, a stout middle-aged woman. Jimmy introduced her as a cousin. The nurse whispered that they should leave, the old Don was conserving his strength to join the celebration later in the day. For a moment Pippi reconsidered. It was obvious that Don Santadio did not have long to live. Then Jimmy would become the head of his Family. Perhaps things still could be worked out. But Don Clericuzio could never accept the murder of his son, Silvio; there never could be real peace between the two Families. In any case, the Don had given him strict instructions.
Meanwhile two of the Santadio brothers, Fonsa and Italo, were searching Pippi’s room for weapons and communications equipment. Pippi’s rental car had also been thoroughly checked.
The Santadio had prepared lavishly for the wedding of their prince. Huge woven baskets filled with exotic flowers were scattered all over the compound. There were colorful pavilions stocked with bartenders pouring champagne. There was a jester in a medieval costume doing magic tricks for the children, and music blasted out of speakers strung along the compound. Each guest was given a lotto ticket for a prize of twenty thousand dollars that was to be drawn later. What could be more splendid?
Huge gaily colored tents had been pitched all over the manicured lawn to protect the guests from the desert heat. Green tents over the dance floor, red over the orchestra. Blue tents over the tennis court, which held the wedding gifts. These included a silver Mercedes for the bride and a small private plane for the groom, from Don Santadio himself.
The church ceremony was simple and short, and the guests returned to the Santadio compound to find the orchestra playing. Food counters and three separate bars were put in their own tents, one decorated with scenes of hunters pursuing wild boars, another filled with highball glasses containing fruity tropical drinks.
The wedding couple danced the first dance in lonely splendor. They danced in the shade of the tent, the red desert sun peeked into the corners and bronzed their happiness as they ducked their heads into the patches of sunlight. They were so obviously in love that the crowd cheered and clapped. Rose Marie had never looked so beautiful, nor Jimmy Santadio so young.
When the band stopped playing, Jimmy plucked Pippi out of the crowd and presented him to the more than two hundred guests.
He said, “This is Pippi De Lena who gave the bride away, and he represents the Clericuzio Family. He is my dearest friend. His friends are my friends. His enemies are my enemies.” He raised his glass and said, “We all drink to him. And he gets the first dance with the bride.”
As Pippi and Rose Marie danced, she whispered to him, “You’ll bring the Families together, won’t you, Pippi?”
“It’s a cinch,” Pippi said, and whirled her around.
Pippi was the marvel of the celebration, never had there been a more convivial wedding guest. He danced every dance, and was lighter on his feet than any of the younger men. He danced with Jimmy and then with the other brothers, Fonsa, Italo, Benedict, Gino, and Louis. He danced with the children and the matrons. He waltzed with the orchestra leader, and sang with the band, rowdy songs in Sicilian dialect. He ate and drank with such abandon that his tux was spotted with tomato sauce and the fruity juice of the cocktails and the wine. He hurled the boccie balls with such élan that the court became the center of the wedding for an hour.
After boccie, Jimmy Santadio drew Pippi aside. “I’m counting on you to make everything work,” he sa
id. “Our two Families together, nothing can stop us. Me and you.” It was Jimmy Santadio at his charming best.
Pippi mustered every ounce of sincerity for his answer. “We will. We will.” And he wondered if Jimmy Santadio was as honest as he seemed. By now he must know that somebody in his Family had committed the murder.
Jimmy seemed to sense this. “I swear to you, Pippi, I had nothing to do with it.” He took Pippi’s hand in his. “We had nothing to do with Silvio’s death. Nothing. I swear on the head of my father.”
“I believe you,” Pippi said and pressed Jimmy’s hands. He had a moment of doubt, but it didn’t matter. It was too late.
The red desert sun faded to twilight, and lights came on all over the compound. This was the signal for a formal dinner to be served. And all the brothers, Fonsa, Italo, Gino, Benedict, and Louis, proposed a toast to the bride and groom. To the happiness of the marriage, to the special virtues of Jimmy, to Pippi De Lena, their great new friend.
Old Don Santadio was too ill to leave his bed but sent his heartiest good wishes in which he mentioned the plane he had given his son, at which everybody cheered. Then the bride herself cut a huge slice of the wedding cake and brought it to the old man’s bedroom. But he was asleep, so they gave it to his nurse, who promised to feed it to him when he woke up.
Finally, toward midnight, the party broke. Jimmy and Rose Marie retired to their bridal chamber, saying they would leave on their honeymoon to Europe the next morning and they needed their rest. At which the guests hooted derisively and made vulgar remarks. All in high spirits and good humor.
The hundreds of cars left the compound and sped off into the desert. The catering trucks were packed, the personnel pulled down the tents and assembled the tables and chairs, then pulled up the platform and even hastily policed the grounds to be certain there was no garbage. Finally they were through; they would finish it up the next day.
At Pippi’s request, a ceremonial meeting had been arranged with the five Santadio brothers, to be held after the guests had left. They would exchange gifts to celebrate the new friendship of the two Families.
At midnight they gathered together in the huge dining room of the Santadio mansion. Pippi had a suitcase full of Rolex watches (genuine, not knockoffs). There was also a large Japanese kimono studded with hand-painted sexual scenes of Oriental lovemaking.
Fonsa shouted out, “Let’s bring it up to Jimmy right now.”
“Too late,” Italo said cheerily. “Jimmy and Rose Marie are on their third round.”
And they all laughed.
Outside, the desert moon isolated the compound in an icy white light. Chinese lanterns hanging on compound walls made red circles in the white moonbeams.
A large truck, the word CATERING limned in gold paint on its side, rumbled up to the gates of the Santadio compound.
One of the two guards approached the truck, and the driver told him they had come back to pick up a forgotten generator.
“This late?” the guard said.
As he spoke, the driver’s helper got out of the truck and moved toward the other guard. Both guards were sluggish with the food and drink from the wedding.
In one synchronized movement two things happened: The driver reached down between his legs and showed a gun with a silencer, then fired three times directly into the first guard’s face. The driver’s helper grabbed the other guard in a stranglehold and with a large, sharp knife in one swift motion cut his throat.
They were dead on the ground. The soft hum of a motor sounded as the large metal platform on the rear of the truck quickly descended and twenty soldiers of the Clericuzio sprang out. Stocking masked, dressed in black, armed with silenced guns, led by Giorgio, Petie, and Vincent, they spilled all over the compound. A special crew cut through the telephone lines. Another crew spread out to command the compound. Ten of the masked men with Giorgio, Petie, and Vincent crashed into the dining room.
The Santadio brothers held their wine glasses to toast Pippi, he stepped away from them. No words were spoken. The invaders opened fire and the five Santadio brothers were torn apart by a hail of bullets. One of the masked men, Petie, stood over them and gave all five the coup de grace, a bullet under the chin. The floor glittered with broken glass.
Another masked man, Giorgio, handed Pippi a mask and black trousers and sweater. Pippi quickly changed and threw his discarded clothes into a bag held by another masked invader.
Pippi, still unarmed, led Giorgio, Petie, and Vincent down the long corridor to the bedroom of Don Santadio. He pushed open the door.
Don Santadio had finally woken and was eating the bridal cake. He took one look at the four men, made the sign of the cross, and put a pillow over his face. The dish holding the cake slipped to the floor.
The nurse was reading in the corner of the room. Petie was on her like a great cat, gagging her and then tying her to the chair with thin nylon rope.
It was Giorgio who advanced to the bed. He reached out gently and pulled the pillow from Don Santadio’s head. He hesitated a moment and then fired two shots, the first in the eye, the second, lifting up the round bald head, upward from under the chin.
They regrouped. Vincent finally armed Pippi, he handed over a long silver rope.
Pippi led them from the room down the long corridor and then up to the third floor, which held the bridal chamber. The corridor was littered with flowers and baskets of fruit.
Pippi pushed against the bridal chamber door. It was locked. Petie took off one of his gloves and produced a pick. With this he easily opened the door and pushed it back.
Rose Marie and Jimmy were sprawled on the bed. They had just finished making love, and their bodies were almost liquid with released sensuality. Rose Marie’s see-through negligee was bunched above her waist, and the straps had slipped down, exposing her breasts. Her right hand was on Jimmy’s hair, the left on his stomach. Jimmy was completely naked, but he sprang up as soon as he saw the men and pulled a bedsheet to use as a robe. He understood everything. “Not here, outside,” he said, and advanced toward them.
Rose Marie, for a fraction of a second, was still uncomprehending. As Jimmy moved toward the door, she clutched at him but he evaded her. He went through the door surrounded by the masked Giorgio, Petie, and Vincent. And then Rose Marie said, “Pippi, Pippi, please don’t.” It was only when the three men turned to look at her that she realized that they were her brothers. “Giorgio, Petie, Vincent. Don’t. Don’t.”
This was the most difficult moment for Pippi. If Rose Marie talked, the Clericuzio Family was doomed. His duty was to kill her. The Don had not specifically instructed him on this; how could he condone the killing of his daughter? Would her brothers obey him? And how did she know it was them? He made the decision. He closed the door behind him and was out in the corridor with Jimmy and Rose Marie’s three brothers.
Here the Don had been explicit. Jimmy Santadio was to be strangled. It was perhaps the mark of mercy that there should be no penetrations of his body for his loved ones to weep over. It was perhaps from some tradition of not shedding a loved one’s blood while consecrating him to death.
Suddenly Jimmy Santadio let the bedsheet drop, and his hands reached out and ripped Pippi’s mask from his face. Giorgio grabbed one of his arms, Pippi the other. Vincent dropped to the floor and grabbed Jimmy’s legs. Now Pippi had his rope around Jimmy’s neck and bent him to the floor. Jimmy had a twisted smile on his lips, curiously pitying as he stared into Pippi’s face: that this act would be avenged by Fate or some mysterious God.
Pippi pulled the cord tight, Petie reached to help with the pressure, and they all sank to the floor of the corridor, where the white bedsheet received Jimmy Santadio’s body like a shroud. Inside the bridal chamber, Rose Marie began to scream . . .
The Don had finished speaking. He lit up another cheroot and sipped his wine.
Giorgio said, “Pippi planned the whole thing. We got away clean and the Santadio were wiped out. It was brilliant.”
Vincent said, “It solved everything. We haven’t had any trouble since.”
Don Clericuzio sighed. “It was my decision and it was wrong. But how were we to know Rose Marie would go mad? We were in crisis and this was our only opportunity to strike a decisive blow. You must remember that at that time, I was not yet sixty, I thought too much of my power and intelligence. I thought then certainly it would be a tragedy for my daughter but widows do not grieve forever. And they had killed my son Silvio. How could I forgive that, daughter or no daughter? But I learned. You cannot come to a reasonable solution with stupid people. I should have wiped them out at the very beginning. Before the lovers met. I would have saved my son and daughter.” He paused for a moment.
“So, you see, Dante is Jimmy Santadio’s son. And you, Cross, shared a baby carriage with him when you were infants, your first summer in this house. All those years I have tried to make up to Dante for the loss of his father. I tried to help my daughter recover from her grief. Dante was brought up as a Clericuzio and he will, with my sons, be my heir.”
Cross tried to understand what was happening. His whole body quivered with revulsion toward the Clericuzio and the world they lived in. He thought of his father, Pippi, playing the role of Satan, seducing the Santadio to their death. How could such a man be his father? He thought then of his beloved aunt, Rose Marie, living all those years with her heart and her mind broken, knowing that her husband had been murdered by her father and her brothers. That her own family had betrayed her. He even thought of Dante with some pity, now Dante’s guilt was established. And then he wondered about the Don. Surely he did not believe the story of Pippi’s mugging. Why did he seem to accept it, a man who had never believed in coincidence. What was the message here?
Cross could never read Giorgio. Did he believe in the mugging killing? It was obvious that Vincent and Petie believed it. But now he understood the special bond between his father and the Don and his three sons. They had been soldiers together in the massacre of the Santadio. And his father had spared Rose Marie.