Read Online The Bottom of Your Heart by Maurizio de Giovanni, Antony Shugaar - Free Book Online
Authors: Maurizio de Giovanni, Antony Shugaar
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good for. I looked heaven right in the face. And I could hear my heart in my ears,
thump thump
thump
, like I had that night by the sea when I was fourteen, and that day in front of the church. But Iâll never hear it again, my heart. My blood, yes.
Those months flew by. I felt like a god, and I said to myself: I can never die. I can never, ever die. Because I have to take care of my flesh and blood, and if Iâm dead I canât do that. I canât do what my father did, when he went to sea one night to keep me from starving and never returned, and I, just a year old, never saw him and canât even remember him stroking my head, and I look at the one yellowing picture of him that I possess, with a round hat and a long mustache, standing next to the chair in which my
mammÃ
is sitting, no more than a girl, with me in her arms. Iâve devoured it, that portrait. I can never die, I told myself in those months.
Your labor pains began early, too early, a full month before your time had come. Your fear, my despair; I ran back and forth, I went to get the doctor, the one who comes down into the
vicoli
with his black bag in hand, and I took him by the collar: Dottoâ, tell me who the best one is, the best doctor in town. Tell me, or I swear as God is my witness Iâll gut you like a fish. He saw in my eyes that I meant what I said. And quick as a flash, without taking a breath, he gave me the name of the doctor who was better than all the others, none other than the boss of all the doctors who teach at the university.
I waited outside his gate for two days. Two days, then I saw him, driving a black-and-cream car, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles. I stopped him. I talked to him. At first he snorted impatiently, he told me he didnât have the time. Then he too looked in my eyes and understood. Professoâ, I told him, there are no problems, no problems with money or anything else. But if you tell me no,
then
there are going to be problems, and theyâre all going to be yours.
Do you remember when he came to our home, Rosineâ? All the people standing in silence outside our
basso
. His car could barely even make it through the
vicolo
. He said: everyone out, and I left the apartment and only my
mamma
and yours stayed behind with you. Then they called me, and I went back in.
He told me that the situation was difficult, but that it could be solved. He told me that heâd take care of things, but that it wouldnât be cheap. He gave me a figure, and it was a yearâs salary, but what the hell did I care? All right Professoâ, I told him. Do what you need to do.
I took you every day, Rosineâ, do you remember? Every day. Iâd filled the inside of the van with straw and cotton, because the professor said it was important for you to lie down, that you should never get up. And then I carried you up the stairs in my arms; Iâm strong, you know it, and you were light, even with the baby in your body you were light, Rosineâ, and pale, and still you smiled, and when you smiled you were like that time on the beach at Posillipo, and you made the sun come out, even in the middle of the night, Rosineâ.
The professor would examine you in his office, on that reclining chair with stirrups. That room was the antechamber to hell, as far as I was concerned. He never said a word, he just shook his head no and said nothing. Nothing ever scared me in my life, Rosineâ, Iâm Peppino the Wolf. But that white face, with the double chin and the spectaclesâit terrified me.
Then one night, Rosineâ, the blood began to flow. Your blood, and so much of it, it seemed like liter after liter to me, and the bed was dripping blood onto the floor. I took you straight to the general hospital. I didnât want to leave you, so I sent two of my boys to get him, but the professor wasnât home. No one knew where he was. Your blood kept flowing, pouring down, and my boys turned
thump thump
thump
, like I had that night by the sea when I was fourteen, and that day in front of the church. But Iâll never hear it again, my heart. My blood, yes.
Those months flew by. I felt like a god, and I said to myself: I can never die. I can never, ever die. Because I have to take care of my flesh and blood, and if Iâm dead I canât do that. I canât do what my father did, when he went to sea one night to keep me from starving and never returned, and I, just a year old, never saw him and canât even remember him stroking my head, and I look at the one yellowing picture of him that I possess, with a round hat and a long mustache, standing next to the chair in which my
mammÃ
is sitting, no more than a girl, with me in her arms. Iâve devoured it, that portrait. I can never die, I told myself in those months.
Your labor pains began early, too early, a full month before your time had come. Your fear, my despair; I ran back and forth, I went to get the doctor, the one who comes down into the
vicoli
with his black bag in hand, and I took him by the collar: Dottoâ, tell me who the best one is, the best doctor in town. Tell me, or I swear as God is my witness Iâll gut you like a fish. He saw in my eyes that I meant what I said. And quick as a flash, without taking a breath, he gave me the name of the doctor who was better than all the others, none other than the boss of all the doctors who teach at the university.
I waited outside his gate for two days. Two days, then I saw him, driving a black-and-cream car, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles. I stopped him. I talked to him. At first he snorted impatiently, he told me he didnât have the time. Then he too looked in my eyes and understood. Professoâ, I told him, there are no problems, no problems with money or anything else. But if you tell me no,
then
there are going to be problems, and theyâre all going to be yours.
Do you remember when he came to our home, Rosineâ? All the people standing in silence outside our
basso
. His car could barely even make it through the
vicolo
. He said: everyone out, and I left the apartment and only my
mamma
and yours stayed behind with you. Then they called me, and I went back in.
He told me that the situation was difficult, but that it could be solved. He told me that heâd take care of things, but that it wouldnât be cheap. He gave me a figure, and it was a yearâs salary, but what the hell did I care? All right Professoâ, I told him. Do what you need to do.
I took you every day, Rosineâ, do you remember? Every day. Iâd filled the inside of the van with straw and cotton, because the professor said it was important for you to lie down, that you should never get up. And then I carried you up the stairs in my arms; Iâm strong, you know it, and you were light, even with the baby in your body you were light, Rosineâ, and pale, and still you smiled, and when you smiled you were like that time on the beach at Posillipo, and you made the sun come out, even in the middle of the night, Rosineâ.
The professor would examine you in his office, on that reclining chair with stirrups. That room was the antechamber to hell, as far as I was concerned. He never said a word, he just shook his head no and said nothing. Nothing ever scared me in my life, Rosineâ, Iâm Peppino the Wolf. But that white face, with the double chin and the spectaclesâit terrified me.
Then one night, Rosineâ, the blood began to flow. Your blood, and so much of it, it seemed like liter after liter to me, and the bed was dripping blood onto the floor. I took you straight to the general hospital. I didnât want to leave you, so I sent two of my boys to get him, but the professor wasnât home. No one knew where he was. Your blood kept flowing, pouring down, and my boys turned
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