"Laura Resnick - Under a Sky More Fiercely Blue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Laura)

fat and well-dressed; a man such as Vizzini, a man of respect. The boy threw
himself at the man's feet and begged for something to eat. Even at Easter, his
family had no money for sweets, and he pleaded for one, just _one_ of the
man's precious _cannoli_. The man hit him and walked away, never looking back
to see the boy's tears, or the blood which gushed from his nose.
I suddenly wondered, as I sat in Don Vizzini's kitchen amidst the
remnants of that meal, why did _they_ always seem to have enough to eat, while
the rest of us went hungry? Why was Vizzini's wife plump and nicely dressed,
while my own mother wore rags and grew thinner every day? Why did _they_ have
hot and cold running water in their houses, while the rest of us had to carry
water home from public fountains which often ran dry?
I continued to chew, but the creamy ricotta cheese and crisp pastry
lost their sweetness and grew bitter on my tongue.
"I thought you were in jail," Don Vizzini said to Luciano, now that his
wife had left them alone. "Did you escape?"
"No."
"You can't mean to say the Americans simply let you out? They sentenced
you to thirty years!"
"The war has a way of changing the best laid plans. Hadn't you noticed?
The Americans called a sit-down and came up with a deal. If I help them out
with their war, they'll let me go free."
I listened in surprise, for Signor Cataldo had neglected to mention
that the great Luciano had been _imprisoned_ in America. I was astonished that
the Americans, whom everyone knew were very strict about such things, had
actually released him. I wondered why they had sent him here alone, without a
guard. Didn't they know he could disappear forever in Sicily? Not even his
enemies would betray him to foreigners.
"They said they'd free you? Let you go back to your business?" Vizzini
stared at Luciano, clearly torn between amusement and disgust. "And you
believe that? Have you grown stupid over the years?"
"You don't know the Americans. I do. They keep their word, even to guys
like me."
"And how do they expect you to help them with the war?"
Luciano removed his pistol from the waistband of his trousers, laid it
on the table between us, and leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and
confident. "I started off by using my influence on the New York waterfront to
prevent Nazi sabotage. That got me a reduced sentence." He swallowed some more
wine. We had not had wine in our house since my oldest brother's wake. "Then
they came to me with another deal."
The proposition was simple, and it was clear why they had chosen
Luciano. What other man in America had his connections? What other man from
that country could wield such influence here?
"You help them out, you make sure the population of Sicily offers them
no resistance," he said to Vizzini, "and they will return the favor."
Vizzini listened as Luciano outlined the promises of the Americans, who
were offering to hand over the country -- our country, _my_ country -- to
Vizzini and others of his kind, the very men who had controlled Sicily before
the Fascists had taken over. Special privileges, control of the black market,
official government positions -- whatever these friends of Luciano's required,
the Americans would give to them, provided they used their influence to ensure