{"product_id":"the-sicilian-isbn-9780345441706","title":"The Sicilian","description":"After Mario Puzo wrote his internationally acclaimed \u003ci\u003eThe Godfather,\u003c\/i\u003e he has often been imitated but never equaled. Puzo's classic novel, \u003ci\u003eThe Sicilian,\u003c\/i\u003e stands as a cornerstone of his work—a lushly romantic, unforgettable tale of bloodshed, justice, and treachery. . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe year is 1950. Michael Corleone is nearing the end of his exile in Sicily. The Godfather has commanded Michael to bring a young Sicilian bandit named Salvatore Guiliano back with him to America. But Guiliano is a man entwined in a bloody web of violence and vendettas. In Sicily, Guiliano is a modern day Robin Hood who has defied corruption—and defied the Cosa Nostra. Now, in the land of mist-shrouded mountains and ancient ruins, Michael Corleone's fate is entwined with the dangerous legend of Salvatore Guiliano: warrior, lover, and the ultimate Siciliano.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Sicilian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Puzo is a master storyteller.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The Balzac of the mafia.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An accomplished and imaginative writer.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Puzo is a master storyteller.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The Balzac of the mafia.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An accomplished and imaginative writer.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eMario Puzo was born in New York and, following military service in World War II, attended New York's New School for Social Research and Columbia University. His bestselling novel The Godfather was preceded by two critically acclaimed novels, The Dark Arena and The Fortunate Pilgrim. In 1978, he published Fools Die, followed by The Sicilian, The Fourth K, and the second installment in his Mafia trilogy, The Last Don. Mario Puzo also wrote many screenplays, including those for Earthquake, Superman, and all three Godfather movies, for which he received two Academy Awards. He died in July 1999 at his home on Long Island, New York, at the age of seventy-eight, just after completing the manuscript of his novel, Omerta.MICHAEL CORLEONE STOOD on a long wooden dock in Palermo and watched the\u003cbr\u003egreat ocean liner set sail for America.He was to have sailed on that\u003cbr\u003eship,but new in- structions had come from his father. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe waved goodbye to the men on the little oshing boat who had brought him to this\u003cbr\u003edock,men who had guarded him these past years.The oshing boat rode the\u003cbr\u003ewhite wake of the ocean liner,a brave little duckling after its mother.\u003cbr\u003eThe men on it waved back;he would see them no more. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe dock itself was alive with scurrying laborers in caps and baggy clothes unloading other\u003cbr\u003eships,loading trucks that had come to the long dock.They were small wiry\u003cbr\u003emen who looked more Arabic than Italian,wearing billed caps that\u003cbr\u003eobscured their faces.Amongst them would be new body- guards making sure\u003cbr\u003ehe came to no harm before he met with Don Croce Malo,Capo di Capi of the\u003cbr\u003e\"Friends of the Friends,\"as they were called here in Sicily.Newspapers\u003cbr\u003eand the outside world called them the Ma oa,but in Sicily the word Ma oa\u003cbr\u003enever passed the lips of the ordinary citizen.As they would never call\u003cbr\u003eDon Croce Malo the Capo di Capi but only \"The Good Soul.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn his two years of exile in Sicily,Michael had heard many tales about Don\u003cbr\u003eCroce,some so fantastic that he al- most did not believe in the\u003cbr\u003eexistence of such a man.But the  instructions relayed from his father were \u003cbr\u003eexplicit: he was ordered to have lunch with Don Croce this very day.And the\u003cbr\u003etwo of them were to arrange for the escape from Sicily of the country 's greatest\u003cbr\u003ebandit, Salvatore Guiliano. Michael Corleone could not leave Sicily\u003cbr\u003ewithout Guiliano. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDown at the end of the pier,no more than fifty yards away,a huge dark car was \u003cbr\u003eparked in the narrow street. Standing before it\u003cbr\u003ewere three men,dark rectangles cut out of the glaring sheet of light\u003cbr\u003ethat fell like a wall of gold from the sun.Michael walked toward them.He\u003cbr\u003epaused for a moment to light a cigarette and survey the city. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePalermo rested in the bottom of a bowl created by an extinct\u003cbr\u003evolcano,overwhelmed by mountains on three sides, and escaping into the\u003cbr\u003edazzling blue of the Mediterranean Sea on the fourth side.The city\u003cbr\u003eshimmered in the golden rays of the Sicilian noon-time sun.Veins of red\u003cbr\u003elight struck the earth,as if re oecting the blood shed on the soil of\u003cbr\u003eSicily for countless centuries.The gold rays bathed stately marble\u003cbr\u003ecolumns of Greek temples,spidery Moslem turrets,the oercely intricate\u003cbr\u003efacades of Spanish cathedrals;on a far hill- side frowned the\u003cbr\u003ebattlements of an ancient Norman castle. All left by diverse and cruel\u003cbr\u003earmies that had ruled Sicily since before Christ was born.Beyond the\u003cbr\u003ecastle walls,cone- shaped mountains held the slightly effeminate city of\u003cbr\u003ePalermo in a strangler 's embrace,as if both were sinking gracefully to\u003cbr\u003etheir knees,a cord pulling tightly around the city 's neck.Far\u003cbr\u003eabove,countless tiny red hawks darted across the brilliant blue sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMichael walked toward the three men waiting for him at the end of the\u003cbr\u003epier.Features and bodies formed out of their black rectangles.With each\u003cbr\u003estep he could see them more clearly and they seemed to loosen,to spread\u003cbr\u003eaway from each other as if to envelop him in their greeting. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll three of these men knew Michael 's history.That he was the youngest son of the\u003cbr\u003egreat Don Corleone in America, the Godfather,whose power extended even\u003cbr\u003einto Sicily.That he had murdered a high police of ocial of New York City\u003cbr\u003ewhile executing an enemy of the Corleone Empire.That he had been in\u003cbr\u003ehiding and exile here in Sicily because of those murders and that now\u003cbr\u003eonally,matters having been \"arranged,\"he was on his way back to his\u003cbr\u003ehomeland to re- sume his place as crown prince to the Corleone Family.\u003cbr\u003eThey studied Michael,the way he moved so quickly and ef- fortlessly,his\u003cbr\u003ewatchful wariness,the caved-in side of his face which gave him the look\u003cbr\u003eof a man who had endured suffering and danger.He was obviously a man of\u003cbr\u003e\"respect.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs Michael stepped off the pier the orst man to greet him was\u003cbr\u003ea priest,body plump in cassock,his head crowned by a greasy batlike\u003cbr\u003ehat.The white clerical collar was sprinkled with red Sicilian dust,the\u003cbr\u003eface above was worldly with oesh. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis was Father Benjamino Malo,brother to the great Don Croce.He had a shy \u003cbr\u003eand pious manner,but he was devoted to his renowned relative and never oinched \u003cbr\u003eat having the devil so close to his bosom.The malicious even whis- pered that he handed over\u003cbr\u003ethe secrets of the confessional to Don Croce. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFather Benjamino smiled nervously as he shook Michael 's hand and seemed surprised and\u003cbr\u003erelieved by Michael 's friendly,lopsided grin,so unlike that of a\u003cbr\u003efamous murderer. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe second man was not so cordial,though polite enough.This was Inspector \u003cbr\u003eFrederico Velardi,head of the Security Police\u003cbr\u003eof all Sicily.He was the only one of the three who did not have a\u003cbr\u003ewelcoming smile on his face.Thin and far too beautifully tailored for a\u003cbr\u003eman who received a gov- ernment salary,his cold blue eyes shot two\u003cbr\u003egenetic bullets from long-ago Norman conquerors.Inspector Velardi could\u003cbr\u003ehave no love for an American who killed high-ranking police of\u003cbr\u003eocials.He might try his luck in Sicily.Velardi 's hand- shake was like\u003cbr\u003ethe touching of swords. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe third man was taller and bulkier;he seemed huge beside the other two.He imprisoned Michael's\u003cbr\u003ehand,then pulled him forward into an affectionate embrace.\"Cousin Michael,\"he\u003cbr\u003esaid.\"Welcome to Palermo.\"He drew back and regarded Michael with a fond but wary eye.\"I am Stefan\u003cbr\u003eAndolini,your father and I grew up together in Corleone.I saw you in\u003cbr\u003eAmerica,when you were a child.Do you remember me?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOddly enough Michael did remember.For Stefan Andolini was that rarest of all Sicilians,a\u003cbr\u003eredhead.Which was his cross,for Sicilians believe that Judas was a\u003cbr\u003eredheaded man.His face too was unforgettable.The mouth was huge and\u003cbr\u003eirregular,the thick lips like bloody hacked meat;above were hairy\u003cbr\u003enostrils,and eyes cavernous in deep sockets. Though he was smiling,it\u003cbr\u003ewas a face that made you dream of murder. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith the priest,Michael understood the connection at once.But Inspector Velardi was a\u003cbr\u003esurprise.Andolini,carrying out the responsibility of a relative,carefully explained \u003cbr\u003eto Michael the Inspector's official capacity.Michael was wary. What was the man doing \u003cbr\u003ehere?Velardi was reputed to be one of Salvatore Guiliano 's most implacable pursuers.And\u003cbr\u003eit was obvious that the Inspector and Stefan Andolini disliked each\u003cbr\u003eother;they behaved with the exquisite courtesy of two men readying\u003cbr\u003ethemselves for a duel to the death. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe chauffeur had the car door open for them.Father Benjamino and Stefan Andolini ushered\u003cbr\u003eMichael into the back seat with deferential pats.Father Benjamino insisted with Christian\u003cbr\u003ehumility that Michael sit by the window while he sat in the middle,for\u003cbr\u003eMichael must see the beauties of Palermo.Andolini took the other back\u003cbr\u003eseat.The Inspector had already jumped in beside the chauffeur.Michael\u003cbr\u003enoticed that Inspector Velardi held the door handle so that he could\u003cbr\u003etwist it open quickly.The thought passed through Michael 's mind that\u003cbr\u003eperhaps Father Benjamino had scurried into the middle seat to make\u003cbr\u003ehimself less of a target. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike a great black dragon,the car moved slowly through the streets of Palermo.\u003cbr\u003eOn this avenue rose graceful Moorish-looking houses,massive Greek-columned public \u003cbr\u003ebuildings,Spanish cathedrals.Private houses painted blue, painted white,painted yellow,all\u003cbr\u003ehad balconies festooned with oowers that formed another highway above their heads. It would have\u003cbr\u003ebeen a pretty sight except for squads of cara- binieri ,the Italian\u003cbr\u003eNational Police,who patrolled every corner, rifles at the ready.And\u003cbr\u003emore of them on the balconies above.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTheir car dwarfed the other vehicles surrounding it,especially the mule-drawn peasant carts which\u003cbr\u003ecarried in most of the fresh produce from the countryside.These carts\u003cbr\u003ewere painted in gay,vivid colors,every inch of them down to the spokes\u003cbr\u003eof the wheels,the shafts that held the mules.On the sides of many carts\u003cbr\u003ewere murals showing helmeted knights and crowned kings in dramatic\u003cbr\u003escenes from the legends of Charlemagne and Roland,those ancient heroes\u003cbr\u003eof Sicilian folklore.But on some carts Michael saw scrawled,beneath the\u003cbr\u003eogure of a handsome youth in moleskin trousers and sleeveless white\u003cbr\u003eshirt,guns in his belt,guns slung over his shoulder,a legend of two\u003cbr\u003elines which always ended with great red letters that spelled out the\u003cbr\u003ename GUILIANO.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDuring his exile in Sicily,Michael had heard a good deal\u003cbr\u003eabout Salvatore Guiliano.His name had always been in the\u003cbr\u003enewspapers.People everywhere talked about him.Michael 's\u003cbr\u003ebride,Apollonia,had confessed that every night she said prayers for the\u003cbr\u003esafety of Guiliano,as did nearly all the chil- dren and young people of\u003cbr\u003eSicily.They adored him,he was one of them,he was the man they all\u003cbr\u003edreamed of becoming. Young,in his twenties,he was acclaimed a great\u003cbr\u003egeneral because he outfought the carabinieri armies sent against him.\u003cbr\u003eHe was handsome and he was generous,he gave most of his criminal\u003cbr\u003eearnings to the poor.He was virtuous and his bandits were never\u003cbr\u003epermitted to molest women or priests.When he executed an informer or a\u003cbr\u003etraitor,he always gave the victim time to say his prayers and cleanse\u003cbr\u003ehis soul in order to be on the best of terms with the rulers of the next\u003cbr\u003eworld.All this Michael knew without being briefed. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey turned off the avenue and a huge black-lettered poster on a house wall caught Michael\u003cbr\u003e's eye.He just had time to see the word GUILIANO on the top line.Father\u003cbr\u003eBenjamino had been leaning toward the window and said,\"It is one of\u003cbr\u003eGuiliano 's proclamations.Despite everything he still controls Palermo\u003cbr\u003eat night.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And what does it say?\"Michael asked. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He permits the people of Palermo to ride the streetcars again,\"Father Benjamino said. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He permits?\"Michael asked with a smile.\"An outlaw permits?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the other side of the car Stefan Andolini laughed. \"The carabinieri ride the trams\u003cbr\u003eso Guiliano blows them up. But orst he warned the public not to use\u003cbr\u003ethem.Now he is promising not to blow them up anymore.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMichael said dryly,\"And why did Guiliano blow up trams full of police?\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInspector Velardi turned his head,blue eyes glaring at Michael.\"Because Rome in\u003cbr\u003eits stupidity arrested his father and mother for consorting with a known\u003cbr\u003ecriminal,their own son.A Fascist law never repealed by the republic.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFather Benjamino said with quiet pride.\"My brother, Don Croce,arranged\u003cbr\u003efor their release.Oh,my brother was very angry with Rome.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChrist,Michael thought.Don Croce was angry with Rome?Who the hell was\u003cbr\u003ethis Don Croce besides being pezzonovante in the Mafia? \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe car stopped in front of a block-long,rose-colored building.Blue minarets\u003cbr\u003ecrowned each separate corner.Be- fore the entrance an extraordinary,wide\u003cbr\u003egreen-striped canopy lettered HOTEL UMBERTO was guarded by two door- men\u003cbr\u003estuffed into dazzling gold-buttoned uniforms.But Michael was not\u003cbr\u003edistracted by this splendor. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis practiced eye photographed the street in front of the hotel.He spotted \u003cbr\u003eat least ten bodyguards walking in couples, leaning against the iron railings.These men were not disguising\u003cbr\u003etheir function.Unbuttoned jackets revealed weapons strapped to their\u003cbr\u003ebodies.Two of them smoking thin cigars blocked Michael 's path for a\u003cbr\u003emoment when he came out of the car,scrutinizing him closely --measuring him for a grave.They\u003cbr\u003eignored Inspector Velardi and the others. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the group entered the hotel,the guards sealed off the entrance behind them.In the lobby four\u003cbr\u003emore guards mate- rialized and escorted them down a long corridor.These\u003cbr\u003emen had the proud looks of palace servants to an emperor. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe end of the corridor was barred by two massive oaken doors.A man seated in a\u003cbr\u003ehigh,thronelike chair stood up and unlocked the doors with a bronze\u003cbr\u003ekey.He bowed,giving Fa- ther Benjamino a conspiratorial smile as he did\u003cbr\u003eso. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe doors opened into a magni ocent suite of rooms;open French\u003cbr\u003ewindows revealed a luxuriously deep garden be- yond,which blew in the\u003cbr\u003esmell of lemon trees.As they en- tered Michael could see two men posted\u003cbr\u003eon the inside of the suite.Michael wondered why Don Croce was so heavily\u003cbr\u003eguarded.He was Guiliano 's friend,he was the con odant of the Minister\u003cbr\u003eof Justice in Rome and therefore safe from the carabinieri who olled the\u003cbr\u003etown of Palermo.Then who,and what,did the great Don fear?Who was his\u003cbr\u003eenemy? \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe furniture in the living room of the suite had been originally\u003cbr\u003edesigned for an Italian palace --gargantuan arm- chairs,sofas as long and\u003cbr\u003edeep as small ships,massive marble tables that looked as if they had\u003cbr\u003ebeen stolen from museums.They suitably framed the man who now came in\u003cbr\u003efrom the garden to greet them. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis arms were held out to embrace Michael Corleone. Standing,Don Croce was \u003cbr\u003ealmost as wide as he was tall. Thick gray hair,crinkly as a Negro 's,carefully \u003cbr\u003ebarbered, crowned a head massively leonine.His eyes were lizardly dark,two raisins embedded on\u003cbr\u003etop of heavily oeshed cheeks.These cheeks were two great slabs of\u003cbr\u003emahogany,the left side planed smooth,the other creased with overgrown\u003cbr\u003eoesh.The mouth was surprisingly delicate,and above it was a thin\u003cbr\u003emustache.The thick imperial spike of a nose nailed his face together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut beneath that emperor 's head he was all peasant.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300612657381,"sku":"NP9780345441706","price":10.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345441706.jpg?v=1767741507","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-sicilian-isbn-9780345441706","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}