Read Online Me and You by Niccolò Ammaniti - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Niccolò Ammaniti
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Say it, say it . . . Please . . .’ She collapsed on the floor and she began groaning like
she’d been punched in the stomach.
She’s not breathing, I thought, covering my ears, but her groans pierced my eardrums.
Someone has to help her. Someone has to come here. Otherwise she’ll die.
‘Please . . . please . . . help me,’ I begged the walls of the room.
Then I saw her.
Lying on the floor surrounded by the money, alone and desperate.
Something inside me snapped. The giant that had been holding me up against his stone chest had let me go.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry . . .’ I grabbed my sister by the arms and pulled her up from the floor.
She was out of breath, like she was choking. I didn’t know what to do, so I shook her and patted her on the back. ‘Don’t die. Please. Don’t die. I’m going to help
you now. I’ll take care of everything . . .’ And little by little I heard a breath of air slide into her mouth and down her throat into her chest. Very little to begin with, then her
breathing gradually grew deeper until she eventually said in a whisper, ‘I’m not going to die. It takes more than that to kill me.’
I hugged her and leaned my forehead against her neck, my nose on her collarbone, and I burst into tears.
I couldn’t stop. The sobs came in gusts. I would settle for a few moments and then it welled up and I cried even louder than before.
Olivia was shaking and her teeth were chattering. I wrapped her up in a blanket but she barely noticed. It looked like she was sleeping, but she wasn’t asleep. She was squeezing her lips
together from the pain.
I felt useless. I didn’t know what to do. ‘Do you feel like a sip of Coke? A sandwich?’
She didn’t answer me.
And in the end I asked, ‘Do you want me to call Dad?’
She opened her eyes and murmured, ‘No. Please don’t.’
‘What can I do then?’
‘Do you really want to help me?’
I nodded.
‘You have to find me some sleeping pills then. I need to sleep. I can’t take any more of this.’
‘I’ve only got some aspirin, paracetamol . . .’
‘No, they’re not strong enough.’
I sat down on the bed. I felt embarrassed to just sit and watch her like an idiot without knowing how to help her.
I felt the same way about Grandma Laura.
A tumour had been eating her stomach for two years and she had had loads of operations and each time we had to go and visit her. She lay there, in that little hospital room with the fake leather
armchairs, the People and l’Espresso magazines that only we read, the laminate on the furniture, the pale green walls, the dry croissants in the cafeteria, the grumpy nurses and
their hideous white clogs, the disgusting tiles on the plantless little terrace. And her in that metal bed, pumped with medicines, her mouth open without her false teeth, and my parents watching
her in silence, smiling with tight lips while they secretly hoped that she would die as quickly as possible.
I didn’t get why we had to go and visit her. Grandma barely understood who we were.
‘We’re keeping her company. You’d like that too’, my mum would say to me.
No, it’s not true. It’s embarrassing getting visits when you’re not well. And when you’re dying I bet you want to be left alone. I really didn’t get this thing
about paying visits.
I looked at my sister. She was trembling all over.
Then, suddenly, I remembered.
What an idiot. I knew exactly where I could find the medicine.
‘I’ll take care of everything. You stay here, I’ll be back soon.’
8
Beneath a light rain, I caught the number 30 bus.
I’d been lucky. When I’d left the building, the Silver Monkey had been taking his afternoon nap.
I sat at the back of the bus with my hoodie pulled down over my face. I was a secret agent on a mission to save my sister and nothing would stop me.
The last time we had gone with Grandma to the hospital, shortly before leaving home, she had
she’d been punched in the stomach.
She’s not breathing, I thought, covering my ears, but her groans pierced my eardrums.
Someone has to help her. Someone has to come here. Otherwise she’ll die.
‘Please . . . please . . . help me,’ I begged the walls of the room.
Then I saw her.
Lying on the floor surrounded by the money, alone and desperate.
Something inside me snapped. The giant that had been holding me up against his stone chest had let me go.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry . . .’ I grabbed my sister by the arms and pulled her up from the floor.
She was out of breath, like she was choking. I didn’t know what to do, so I shook her and patted her on the back. ‘Don’t die. Please. Don’t die. I’m going to help
you now. I’ll take care of everything . . .’ And little by little I heard a breath of air slide into her mouth and down her throat into her chest. Very little to begin with, then her
breathing gradually grew deeper until she eventually said in a whisper, ‘I’m not going to die. It takes more than that to kill me.’
I hugged her and leaned my forehead against her neck, my nose on her collarbone, and I burst into tears.
I couldn’t stop. The sobs came in gusts. I would settle for a few moments and then it welled up and I cried even louder than before.
Olivia was shaking and her teeth were chattering. I wrapped her up in a blanket but she barely noticed. It looked like she was sleeping, but she wasn’t asleep. She was squeezing her lips
together from the pain.
I felt useless. I didn’t know what to do. ‘Do you feel like a sip of Coke? A sandwich?’
She didn’t answer me.
And in the end I asked, ‘Do you want me to call Dad?’
She opened her eyes and murmured, ‘No. Please don’t.’
‘What can I do then?’
‘Do you really want to help me?’
I nodded.
‘You have to find me some sleeping pills then. I need to sleep. I can’t take any more of this.’
‘I’ve only got some aspirin, paracetamol . . .’
‘No, they’re not strong enough.’
I sat down on the bed. I felt embarrassed to just sit and watch her like an idiot without knowing how to help her.
I felt the same way about Grandma Laura.
A tumour had been eating her stomach for two years and she had had loads of operations and each time we had to go and visit her. She lay there, in that little hospital room with the fake leather
armchairs, the People and l’Espresso magazines that only we read, the laminate on the furniture, the pale green walls, the dry croissants in the cafeteria, the grumpy nurses and
their hideous white clogs, the disgusting tiles on the plantless little terrace. And her in that metal bed, pumped with medicines, her mouth open without her false teeth, and my parents watching
her in silence, smiling with tight lips while they secretly hoped that she would die as quickly as possible.
I didn’t get why we had to go and visit her. Grandma barely understood who we were.
‘We’re keeping her company. You’d like that too’, my mum would say to me.
No, it’s not true. It’s embarrassing getting visits when you’re not well. And when you’re dying I bet you want to be left alone. I really didn’t get this thing
about paying visits.
I looked at my sister. She was trembling all over.
Then, suddenly, I remembered.
What an idiot. I knew exactly where I could find the medicine.
‘I’ll take care of everything. You stay here, I’ll be back soon.’
8
Beneath a light rain, I caught the number 30 bus.
I’d been lucky. When I’d left the building, the Silver Monkey had been taking his afternoon nap.
I sat at the back of the bus with my hoodie pulled down over my face. I was a secret agent on a mission to save my sister and nothing would stop me.
The last time we had gone with Grandma to the hospital, shortly before leaving home, she had
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