CHAPTER 17

Michael Corleone and Hector Adonis walked back to the villa and sat under a lemon tree with Peter Clemenza. Michael was eager to read the Testament, but Hector Adonis said that Andolini was due to pick him up for the trip back to Montelepre and Michael waited to see if Andolini had any messages for him.

An hour passed. Hector Adonis looked at his watch, his face worried. Michael said, "His car probably broke down. That Fiat is on its last legs."

Hector Adonis shook his head. "Stefano Andolini has the heart of a murderer, but he is the soul of punctuality. And dependable. I'm afraid that since he is already an hour late, something has gone wrong. And I must be in Montelepre before dark when curfew begins."

Peter Clemenza said, "My brother will give you a car and driver."

Adonis thought about this for a moment. "No," he said, "I will wait. It's important that I see him."

Michael said, "Do you mind if we go on and read the Testament without you? How do you open the statue?"

Hector Adonis said, "Of course – read it. As for opening it there's no trick. It is carved out of solid wood. The head was soldered on after Turi put the papers inside. You simply chop off the head. If you have trouble reading it, I will be glad to assist you. Send one of the servants for me."

Michael and Peter Clemenza went up to Michael's bedroom. The statue was still in Michael's jacket; he had completely forgotten it. When he took it out, both men stared at the black Virgin Mary. The features were definitely African yet the expression was exactly that of the white Madonnas that decorated almost every poor household in Sicily. Michael turned it over in his hands. It was very heavy – you could not guess that it was hollow.

Peter Clemenza went to the door and shouted an order down to one of the woman servants. The woman appeared carrying the kitchen cleaver. She stared into the room for a moment and handed the cleaver to Clemenza. He shut the door to close out her curious eyes.

Michael held the black Madonna on the heavy wooden dresser table. He grasped the disc carved into the bottom with one hand and used his other to clasp the top of the statue's head. Clemenza carefully put the cleaver to the neck of the Madonna, raised his burly arm, and with one quick powerful stroke, chopped off the head and sent it flying across the room. A sheaf of papers bound with a piece of soft gray leather sprouted out of the hollow neck.

Clemenza had hit exactly on the seam where it had been soldered; the cleaver could never have cut through the hard olive wood. He put the cleaver on the table and pulled the papers out of the headless statue. He loosened the leather thong and spread the papers out on the table. They consisted of one sheaf of about fifteen onionskin pages covered with close handwriting in black ink. The bottom of each page was signed by Guiliano in the careless scrawl of kings. There were also documents with official government seals, letters with government letterheads and statements bearing notary seals. The papers were curling up to resume the shape of their confinement and Michael used the two pieces of the statue and the cleaver to hold them flat on the table. Then he ceremoniously poured two glasses of wine from the jug on the night table and handed one to Clemenza. They drank and then started to read the Testament. It took them almost two hours to finish. Michael marveled that Turi Guiliano, so young, so idealistic, had lived through these treacheries. Michael knew enough of the world to imagine that Guiliano harbored his own cunning, his own scheme of power, in order to remain dedicated to his mission. Michael was filled with an enormous sense of identification and commitment to the cause of Guiliano's escape.

It was not so much Guiliano's diary which recounted his history for the past seven years but the documents supporting it that could surely topple the Christian Democratic government in Rome. How could these powerful men have been so foolish, Michael wondered: a note signed by the Cardinal, a letter sent by the Minister of Justice to Don Croce asking what could be done to crush the demonstration at Ginestra, all coyly worded to be sure, but damning in the light of the events that followed. Each thing by itself was innocent enough, brought together they built a mountain of evidence as imposing as the Pyramids.

There was a letter from Prince Ollorto full of flowery compliments to Guiliano and assuring him that all the men in high places of the Christian Democratic government in Rome had assured the Prince that they would do everything in their power to have Guiliano pardoned, providing he did what they had asked of him. In his letter Prince Ollorto claimed he had a complete understanding with the Minister of Justice in Rome.

There were also copies of operational plans prepared by high officials of the carabinieri to capture Guiliano – plans that had been turned over to Guiliano in exchange for services rendered.

"No wonder they don't want to catch Guiliano," Michael said. "He can blow them all up with these papers."

Peter Clemenza said, "I'm taking this stuff to Tunis right away. By tomorrow night they'll be in your father's safe." He picked up the headless Madonna and stuffed the papers back inside. He put the statue in his pocket and said to Michael, "Let's get going. If I start now I can be back here tomorrow morning."

They went out of the villa, Clemenza depositing the cleaver with the old crone in the kitchen, who examined it suspiciously as if for some sign of blood. They started down toward the beach when they were surprised by the sight of Hector Adonis still waiting. Stefano Andolini had not appeared.

The little man had unloosened his tie and taken off his jacket; his shiny white shirt was dulled with sweat though he was in the shade of a lemon tree. He was also a bit drunk – the big wine jug on the wooden garden table was empty.

He greeted Michael and Peter Clemenza despairingly. "The final treacheries are beginning. Andolini is three hours late. I must get to Montelepre and Palermo. I must send word to Guiliano."

Peter Clemenza said with rough good humor, "Professor, his car might have broken down, or he might have been detained by some other more urgent business, any number of things. He knows you're here in safety and will wait. Spend another night with us if he doesn't come today."

But Hector Adonis kept muttering, "It will all go badly, it will all go badly," and begged them for transportation. Clemenza ordered two men to use one of the Alfa Romeos and drive Hector Adonis as far as Palermo. He told the men to be sure to have the car back at the villa before nightfall.

They helped Hector Adonis get into the car and told him not to worry. The Testament would be in America within twenty-four hours and Guiliano would be safe. After the car rolled through the gates, Michael walked down to the beach with Clemenza and watched him get on the motor launch, and continued watching as the boat started its journey to Africa. "I'll be back in the morning," Peter Clemenza called out. And Michael wondered what would happen if this was the night Guiliano chose to appear.

Later he had dinner, the two old women serving him. Afterward he walked along the beach until turned back by the guards at the perimeter of the villa's estate. It was the few minutes before darkness, and the Mediterranean Sea was the deepest and most velvety blue and from beyond the horizon he could smell the continent of Africa, a perfume of wild flowers and wild animals.

Here by the water there was not the whirring of insects; those creatures needed the lush vegetation, the smoky heated air of the interior. It was almost as if a machine had stopped running. He stood on the beach feeling the peace and beauty of a Sicilian night and he pitied all the others voyaging fearfully in the darkness; Guiliano in his mountains, Pisciotta with the fragile shield of his special red-bordered pass going through enemy lines, Professor Adonis and Stefano Andolini searching for each other on the dusty roads of Sicily, Peter Clemenza riding the blue-black sea to Tunis; and where had Don Domenico Clemenza gone that he had not appeared for dinner? They were all shadows in the Sicilian night, and when they reappeared the stage would be set for the life or death of Turi Guiliano.