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caporegimes, as did the Tessio and Clemenza Families. Johnny Fontane made
the tabloid headlines by attending the funeral despite the advice of Michael not
to appear. Fontane gave a statement to the newspapers that Vito Corleone was
his Godfather and the finest man he had ever known and that he was honored to
be permitted to pay his last respects to such a man and didn’t give a damn who
knew it.
The wake was held in the house of the mall, in the old-fashioned style.
Amerigo Bonasera had never done finer work, had discharged all obligations, by
preparing his old friend and Godfather as lovingly as a mother prepares a bride
for her wedding. Everyone commented on how not even death itself had been
able to erase the nobility and the dignity of the great Don’s countenance and
such remarks made Amerigo Bonasera fill with knowing pride, a curious sense
of power. Only he knew what a terrible massacre death had perpetrated on the
Don’s appearance.
All the old friends and servitors came. Nazorine, his wife, his daughter
and her husband and their children, Lucy Mancini came with Freddie from Las
Vegas. Tom Hagen and his wife and children, the Dons from San Francisco and
Los Angeles, Boston and Cleveland. Rocco Lampone and Albert Neri were
pallbearers with Clemenza and Tessio and, of course, the sons of the Don. The
mall and all its houses were filled with floral wreaths.

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Outside the gates of the mall were the newspapermen and
photographers and a small truck that was known to contain FBI men with their
movie cameras recording this epic. Some newspapermen who tried to crash the
funeral inside found that the gate and fence were manned with security guards
who demanded identification and an invitation card. And though they were
treated with the utmost courtesy, refreshment sent out to them, they were not
permitted inside. They tried to speak with some of the people coming out but
were met with stony stares and not a syllable.
Michael Corleone spent most of the day in the comer library room
with Kay, Tom Hagen and Freddie. People were ushered in to see him, to offer
their condolences. Michael received them with all courtesy even when some of
them addressed him as Godfather or Don Michael, only Kay noticing his lips
tighten with displeasure.
Clemenza and Tessio came to join this inner circle and Michael
personally served them with a drink. There was some gossip of business.
Michael informed them that the mall and all its houses were to be sold to a
development and construction company. At an enormous profit, still another
proof of the great Don’s genius.
They all understood that now the whole empire would be ill the West.
That the Corleone Family would liquidate its power in New York. Such action
had been awaiting the retirement or death of the Don.
It was nearly ten years since there had been such a celebration of
people in this house, nearly ten years since the wedding of Constanzia Corleone
and Carlo Rizzi, so somebody said. Michael walked to the window that looked
out on the garden. That long time ago he had sat in the garden with Kay never
dreaming that so curious a destiny was to be his. And his father dying had said,
“Life is so beautiful.” Michael could never remember his father ever having
uttered a word about death, as if the Don respected death too much to
philosophize about it.
It was time for the cemetery. It was time to bury the great Don.
Michael linked his arm with Kay’s and went out into the garden to join the host
of mourners. Behind him came the caporegimes followed by their soldiers and
then all the humble people the Godfather had blessed during his lifetime. The
baker Nazorine, the widow Colombo and her sons and all the countless others of
his world he had ruled so firmly but justly. There were even some who had been
his enemies, come to do him honor.
Michael observed all this with a tight, polite smile. He was not

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impressed. Yet, he thought, if I can die saying, “Life is so beautiful,” then
nothing else is important. If I can believe in myself that much, nothing else
matters. He would follow his father. He would care for his children, his family,
his world. But his children would grow in a different world. They would be
doctors, artists, scientists. Governors. Presidents. Anything at all. He would see
to it that they joined the general family of humanity, but he, as a powerful and
prudent parent would most certainly keep a wary eye on that general family.
On the morning after the funeral, all the most important officials of the
Corleone Family assembled on the mall. Shortly before noon they were admitted
into the empty house of the Don. Michael Corleone received them.
They almost filled the corner library room. There were the two