And then he raised his voice in the saddest song I have ever heard. The choir swelled in solemn beauty behind him.
The Latin music faded away. Here came another to the small pulpit, an elderly man, stooped with age.
"As head of the reform school, I counted Jimmy as my friend. My fondest memories of him are those when he organized, all by himself and out of charity, the greatest riots the youth prison has ever experienced. And today, without his coaching, we would have hardly any new prisoners at all. A great man, idol of a thousand street gangs. He will be missed."
The choir lifted their voices in saintly chords that faded away into the vaulted dome toward heaven.
And here was another man coming to the pulpit. He bowed his head reverently, and there were tears in his voice as he spoke. "I was his prison psychologist many times. Jimmy Tavilnasty was a model patient. I have never seen a man who took to behavior modification therapy so well. He went from bad to worse and finally, under my careful coaching, became the very embodiment of American crime." His voice broke with emotion. "He was the All American Boy that became the hit man we will never forget."
The choir swelled in reverence and awe.
Oh, it was beautiful.
The funeral progressed. Eight pallbearers bore the casket. They were dressed in black. They were all Sicilians. They all had bulges where their guns would be beneath their coats.
And then I saw why my screen had been dim. Everyone was wearing heavy, dark glasses, including Heller. I noticed this because the screen got even darker than it had been and once more I had to turn up the brightness. A gloomy, gloomy day! It was raining!
The casket was carried through an arch of switchblades made by twenty street gangs.
At the cemetery, there were wreaths and wreaths and flowers everywhere. A huge horseshoe of lilies had a banner on it:
Jimmy Our Pal
Another stand of flowers was in the shape of a stiletto. Its banner said:
To Jimmy from the Faustino Narcotici Mob
It got kicked down and trampled under solemn feet.
Five chorus girls in widow's weeds stood weeping at the grave, pressing black handkerchiefs to their sobbing mouths.
The reason for the dark glasses appeared. The whole funeral was being covered by TV crews that had the good grace to wear black armbands at the last. The bands were being handed out by a mobster who held a gun in his other hand.
The huge procession wound down into a crypt. It said:
Family Crypt Corleone
Jimmy's casket was slid into a vault. The sobbing was much louder.
Babe's fingers were trailing over a stone:
"Holy Joe" Corleone
She was breaking down. Heller led her toward a limousine. He gently got her away from people who were trying to touch her hand or kiss her cheek in sympathy. She was really crying hard.
Heller got her in the back. He closed the door. She clung to him.
"I'm losing all my boys," she sobbed.
He patted her gently and gave her another handkerchief. She sat back, more quietly. Bodyguards were gently pushing the crowd away from the car with sawed-off shotguns. At last the limousine was moving.
Babe was clenching and unclenching her hands. They were going across a bridge. "Jerome," she said brokenly. "I have heard you are learning to drive race cars. Jerome, promise me, please promise me not to do anything dangerous."
Heller seemed unwilling to speak. Then he said, "Life is a chancy thing, Mrs. Corleone. I cannot promise that."
She looked at him suddenly. "Good," she said. "Then if you ever see that God (bleeped) Silva, promise me you'll rub the (bleepard) out."
He said he would.
But I was haunted by that cathedral music, the choir boys, the Latin solemnity and tragedy of it all. I turned the viewscreen off.
The music continued to haunt me. How lovely. What a gorgeous funeral.
There crept into my mind the vision of my own funeral.
And there was Utanc kneeling beside my grave, withered flowers in her hand, in the rain. She was weeping because she had been so mean to me.
Oh, what a gorgeous vision. I felt like crying myself.
Dim-eyed, I stumbled into my bedroom.
I collapsed on the bed.
Something was under my head. The operation was still sore but I let it hurt. The vision of Utanc kneeling at my grave was still with me.
The pain hurt worse and I brushed at it because it was interrupting my mood.
Something flew out onto the other pillow. I turned my head.
Face to face, I saw a note. It said:
Just to remind you that idleness don't pay. Lombar was sure you would slack off. So this serves notice that if you haven't handled Heller, it will be my duty to terminate you.
It had only a bloody dagger as signature.
Ah, so my vision was going to come true after all.
After a little while, I sat up. The beautiful cathedral music still haunted me.
I picked up the note. The rear side of it was blank.
I found a pen. I wrote on it Go ahead. I signed my name. I left it on the pillow.
It seemed the right thing to do.
Utanc would kneel in the rain. She would be sorry. At least I'd have her precious tears in mud spots on my grave.
I made sure I had no weapons in my pockets.
I walked out across the shattered mess in the patio-how similar it was to my shattered life.
With the cathedral music sounding in my ears, I walked alone through the dusk, hoping for a fatal shot that would end a life that no longer was worth living.
Perhaps, as she wept, she would sing some sad song and realize she should have been much nicer to me while I still lived.
How beautiful.
I walked all night and nobody shot me.
In the cold dawn, I went to my bedroom, disappointed.
The note I had left was gone. Whoever it was that had Lombar's assignment to kill me must be pretty skilled at getting in and out of places, but I had gone all over that.
Exhausted, I got out of my clothes and got into bed. Maybe there was still hope. Maybe I would die in my sleep.
In the late afternoon, I awoke. I was disappointed to find I was still alive.
Somewhat petulantly I turned over to get out of bed.
And there, on the other pillow, not five inches in front of my eyes, was a new note! Maybe it was an apology for not having killed me last night.
I sat up. I disinterestedly turned it right way to.
It said:
While it would be a pleasure to kill you, that isn't the sequence. If Heller is not stopped, Utanc will be killed first.
A surge of shock went through me!
A scream of protest struggled to escape my constricted throat!
Without even grabbing a towel, I rushed into the patio and pressed my ear to Utanc's door.
Silence!
Maybe they had killed her already!
I dashed into the yard.
Melahat was cutting some flowers. She averted her eyes.
"Have they killed Utanc?" I demanded.
She stared at me. Then she averted her eyes again. "She was all right a few minutes ago when I took in some towels."
I wheezed with relief. Then I thought I'd better take precautions! I lifted my head and yelled real loud, "I'm working!"
Maybe that would hold them!
It seemed to confuse Melahat. But this was no time for parlor manners.
I rushed back into my room. I struggled into some clothes. I tried to think. It was difficult. What was the reason for this sudden attack?
They must know something I didn't know!
Heller. Heller was up to something!
I rushed into my secret room. I turned on the viewer. I braced myself and stood watching it. I couldn't see it well from that angle. I sat down.
Just some old parts on a table.
He looked up at that moment. He was in his office at the Empire State Building. The office had some people in it. The decor was different!
Ah, the walls. Huge murals of oil refineries decorated the walls now. They were in color. They were belching smoke. Vast vistas of tall stacks coating the sky black.
No. They were not all of refineries. One wall had a montage. Hard to make out in peripheral vision but it seemed to be birds drowning in pools of oil, flowers wilting, trees dying.