Fools Die

Mario Puzo

Book I

“Listen to me.  I will tell you the truth about a man’s life. I
will tell you the truth about his love for women. That he never
hates them. Already you think I’m on the wrong track. Stay
with me.  Really – I’m a master of magic.

                “Do you believe a man can truly love a woman and con-
stantly betray her?  Never mind physically, but betray her in
his mind, in the very ‘poetry of his soul.’ Well, it’s not
easy, but men do it all the time.

                “Do you want to know how women can love you, feed you
that love deliberately to poison your body and mind simply to
destroy you? And out of passionate love choose not to love you
anymore? And at the same time dizzy you with an idiot’s ecstasy.
Impossible? That’s the easy part.

                “But don’t run away.  This is not a love story.

                “I will make you feel the painful beauty of a child, the
animal horniness of the adolescent males, the yearning suicidal
moodiness of the young female.  And then (here’s the hard part)
show you how time turns man and woman around full circle, ex-
changed in body and soul.

                “And then of course there is TRUE LOVE. Don’t go away!
It exists or I will make it exist.  I’m not a master of magic
for nothing.  Is it worth the cost? And how about sexual fid-
elity?  Does it work?  Is it love?  Is it even human, that perverse
passion to be with only one person? And if it doesn’t work,
do you still get a bonus for trying?  Can it work both ways?
Of course not, that’s easy. And yet –

                “Life is a comical business, and there is nothing funnier
than love traveling through time. But a true master of magic
can make his audience laugh and cry at the same time. Death
is another story.  I will never make a joke about death.  It is
beyond my powers.

                “I am always alert for death.  He doesn’t fool me.  I spot
his right away.  He loves to come in his country-bumpkin dis-
guise; a comical wart that suddenly grows and grows; the dark,
hairy mole that sense its roots to the very bone; or hiding
behind a pretty little fever blush.  Then suddenly that grinning
skull appears to take the victim by surprise.  But never me.
I’m waiting for him. I take my precautions.

                “Parallel to death, love is a tiresome, childish business,
though men believe more in love than death. Women are another story.  They have a powerful secret.  They don’t take love ser-
iously and never have.

                “But again, don’t go away. Again; this is not a love
story. Forget about love. I will show you all the stretches of power.   First the life of a poor struggling writer.  Sensitive. Talented. Maybe even some genius. I will show you the artist getting the shit kicked out of him for the sake of his art. And why he so richly deserves it.  Then I will show him as a cunning criminal and have the time of his life.  Ah, what a  joy the true artist feels when he finally becomes a crook. It’s
out in the open now, his essential nature. No more kidding around about his honor. The son of a bitch is a hustler. A
conniver.  An enemy of society right out in the clear instead
of hiding behind his whore’s cunt of art. What a relief.
What pleasure. Such sly delight. And then how he becomes an
honest man again.  It’s an awful strain being a crook.

                “But it helps you accept society and forgive your
fellowman. Once that’s done no person should be a crook unless he really needs the money.

                “Then on to one of the most amazing success stories in the history of literature. The intimate lives of the giants of
our culture. One crazy bastard especially. The classy world.
So now we have the poor struggling genius world, the crooked world and the classy literary world.  All this laced with
plenty of sex, some complicated ideas and you won’t be hit over the head with and may even find interesting. And finally on
to a full-blast ending in Hollywood with our hero gobbling up
all its rewards, money, fame, beautiful women. And. . .
don’t go away – don’t go away – how it all turns to ashes.

                “That’s not enough? You’ve heard it all before? But re-
member I’m a master of magic.  I can bring all these people truly alive. I can show you what they truly thing and feel.  You’ll
weep for them, all of them, I promise you that. Or maybe just laugh. Anyway, we’re going to have a lot of fun. And learn something about life. Which is really no help.

                “Ah, I know what you’re thinking. That conning bastard trying to make us turn the page. But wait, it’s only a tale I
want to tell.  What’s the harm? Even if I take it seriously,
you don’t have to. Just have a good time.

                “I want to tell you a story, I have no other vanity.
I don’t desire success or fame or money. But that’s easy, most men, most women don’t, not really.  Even better, I don’t want love. When I was young, some women told me they loved me for my long eyelashes.  I accepted. Later it was for my wit. Then
for my power and money. Then for my talent. Then for my mind – deep.  OK, I can handle all of it. The only woman who scares me
is the one who loves me for myself alone. I have plans for her.
I have poisons and daggers and dark graves in caves to hide her head. She can’t be allowed to live. Especially if she is sexually faithful and never lies and always puts me ahead of everything and everyone.

                “There will be a lot about love in this book, but it’s
not a love book. It’s a war book. The old war between men who are true friends. The great ‘new’ war between men and women. Sure it’s an old story, but it’s out in the open now. The
Women’s Liberation warriors think they have something new, but it’s just their armies coming out of their guerrilla hills.
Sweet women ambushed men always: at their cradles, in the kitchen, the bedroom. And at the graves of their children,
the best place not to hear a plea for mercy.

                “Ah, well, you think I have a grievance against women.  But I never hated them. And they’ll come out better people
than men, you’ll see.  But the truth is that only women have
been able to make me unhappy, and they have done so from the cradle on.  But most men can say that.  And there’s nothing to be done.

                “What a target I’ve given here. I know – I know – how ir-
resistible it seems. But be careful. I’m a tricky storyteller,
not just one of your vulnerable sensitive artists.  I’ve taken
my precautions.  I’ve still got a few surprises left.

                “But enough. Let me get to work. Let me begin and let me end.