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He had just finished the coffee when his phone in the living room rang。 His wife never answered it when he was home； so he got up and drained his cup and stubbed out his cigarette。 As he walked to the phone he pulled off his tie and started to unbutton his shirt； getting ready for his little nap。 Then he picked up the phone and said with quiet courtesy； 〃Hello。〃
The voice on the other end was harsh； strained。 〃This is Tom Hagen；〃 it said。 〃I'm calling for Don Corleone； at his request。〃
Amerigo Bonasera felt the coffee churning sourly in his stomach； felt himself going a little sick。 It was more than a year since he had put himself in the debt of the Don to avenge his daughter's honor and in that time the knowledge that he must pay that debt had receded。 He had been so grateful seeing the bloody faces of those two ruffians that he would have done anything for the Don。 But time erodes gratitude more quickly than it does beauty。 Now Bonasera felt the sickness of a man faced with disaster。 His voice faltered as he answered； 〃Yes； I understand。 I'm listening。〃
He was surprised at the coldness in Hagen's voice。 The Consigliere had always been a courteous man； though not Italian； but now he was being rudely brusque。 〃You owe the Don a service；〃 Hagen said。 〃He has no doubt that you will repay him。 That you will be happy to have this opportunity。 In one hour； not before； perhaps later； he will be at your funeral parlor to ask for your help。 Be there to greet him。 Don't have any people who work for you there。 Send them home。 If you have any objections to this； speak now and I'll inform Don Corleone。 He has other friends who can do him this service。〃
Amerigo Bonasera almost cried out in his fright； 〃How can you think I would refuse the Godfather？ Of course I'll do anything he wishes。 I haven't forgotten my debt。 I'll go to my business immediately； at once。〃
Hagen's voice was gentler now； but there was something strange about it。 〃Thank you；〃 he said 〃The Don never doubted you。 The question was mine。 Oblige him tonight and you can always e to me in any trouble； you'll earn my personal friendship。〃
This frightened Amerigo Bonasera even more。 He stuttered； 〃The Don himself is ing to me tonight？〃
〃Yes；〃 Hagen said。
〃Then he's pletely recovered from his injuries； thank God；〃 Bonasera said。 His voice made it a question。
There was a pause at the other end of the phone； then Hagen's voice said very quietly； 〃Yes。〃 There was a click and the phone went dead。
Bonasera was sweating。 He went into the bedroom and changed his shirt and rinsed his mouth。 But he didn't shave or use a fresh tie。 He put on the same one he had used during the day。 He called the funeral parlor and told his assistant to stay with the bereaved family using the front parlor that night。 He himself would be busy in the laboratory working area of the building。 When the assistant started asking question Bonesera cut him off very curtly and told him to follow orders exactly。
He put on his suit jacket and his wife； still eating； looked up at him in surprise。 〃I have work to do；〃 he said and she did not dare question him because of the look on his face。 Bonasera went out of the house and walked the few blocks to his funeral parlor。
This building stood by itself on a large lot with a white picket fence running all around it。 There was a narrow roadway leading from the street to the rear； just wide enough for ambulances and hearses。 Bonasera unlocked the gate and left it open。 Then he walked to the rear of the building and entered it through the wide door there。 As he did so he could see mourners already entering the front door of the funeral parlor to pay their respects to the current corpse。
Many years ago when Bonasgra had bought this building from an undertaker planning to retire； there had been a stoop of about ten steps that mourners had to mount before entering the funeral parlor。 This had posed a problem。 Old and crippled mourners determined to pay their respects had found the steps almost impossible to mount； so the former undertaker had used the freight elevator for these people； a small metal platform； that rose out of the ground beside the building。 The elevator was for coffins and bodies。 It would descend underground； then rise into the funeral parlor itself； so that a crippled mourner would find himself rising through the floor beside the coffin as other mourners moved their black chairs aside to let the elevator rise throngh the trapdoor。 Then when the crippled or aged mourner had finished paying his respects； the elevator would again e up through the polished floor to take him down and out again。
Amerigo Bonasera had found this solution to the problem upseernly and penny…pinching。 So he had had the front of the building remodeled； the stoop done away with and a slightly inclining walk put in its place。 But of course the elevator was still used for coffins and corpses。
In the rear of the building； cut off from the funeral parlor and reception rooms by a massive soundproof door； was the business office； the embalming room； a storeroom for coffins； and a carefully locked closet holding chemicals and the awful tools of his trade。 Bonasera went to the office； sat at his desk and lit up a Camel；；one of the few times he had ever smoked in this building。 Then he waited for Don Corleone。
He waited with a feeling of the utmost despair。 For； he had no doubt as to what services he would be called upon to perform。 For the last year the Corleone Family had waged war against the five great Mafia Families of New York and the carnage had filled the newspapers。 Many men on both sides had been killed。 Now the Corleone Family had killed somebody so important that they wished to hide his body； make it disappear； and what better way than to have it officially buried by a registered undertaker？ And Amerigo Bonasera had no illusions about the act he was to mit。 He would be an accessory to murder。 If it came out； he would spend years in jail。 His daughter and wife would be disgraced； his good name； the respected name of Amerigo Bonasera； dragged through the bloody； mud of the Mafia war。
He indulged himself by smoking another Camel。 And then he thought of something even more terrifying。 When the other Mafia Families found out that he had aided the Corleones they would treat him as an enemy。 They would murder him。 And now he cursed the day he had gone to the Godfather and begged for his vengeance。 He cursed the day his wife and the wife of Don Corleone had bee friends。 He cursed his daughter and America and his own success。 And then his optimism returned。 It could all go well。 Don Corleone was a clever man。 Certainly everything had been arranged to keep the secret。 He had only to keep his nerve。 For of course the one thing more fatal than any other was to earn the Don's displeasure。
He heard tires on gravel。 His practiced ear told him a car was ing through the narrow driveway and parking in the back yard。 He opened the rear door to let them in。 The huge fat man； Clemenza； entered； followed by two very rough…looking young fellows。 They searched the rooms without saying a