Let the Games Begin (36 page)

Saverio had the tip of his nose up against the ceiling. With his mouth open, he breathed and coughed. Larita, who was next to him, couldn't stop coughing either.

‘Can you make it?' the singer gasped.

Saverio attempted to improve his hold with his hands and feet against the funeral niches. The current was so strong, if he let down his guard for a second it would drag him away. ‘Yes. I've got it.'

Larita used one hand to grab on to a jutted rock. ‘You all right?'

‘All right.' And to be more convincing, he repeated himself. ‘All right.'

It wasn't true. He must have broken his right leg. While they were being dragged by the current, he had slammed violently up against a wall.

He released his grasp with this right hand and touched where he was feeling pain. He felt . . .

Oh God
. . .

. . . a long, pointy shard sticking out of his leg.

A piece of wood, something, has been driven into my thigh
. . .

Then he understood and almost let go of his grip.

It was his broken femur that was sticking out of his leg like a knife. His head started to spin. His ears were burning hot. His oesophagus squeezed tighter and stomach acid rose up and touched his palate.

I'm about to faint
.

He couldn't. If he fainted, the current would suck him in. He stayed still, squashed up against the rock, waiting for his head to stop spinning.

‘What should we do?' Larita's voice echoed from far away.

Saverio vomited and closed his eyes.

‘Should we stay here? Wait until they come and save us?' He made a huge effort to answer her. ‘I don't know.'

I'm losing blood
.

The water stopped him from being able to see the wound. A small mercy.

‘Neither do I,' Larita said after a little while. ‘We can't wait here, though.'

Please, help me, I'm dying
, was the only thing he would have liked to say to her. But he couldn't. He had to be a man.

How ridiculous
. . . Less than forty-eight hours earlier, he had been the sad employee of a furniture shop, a failure oppressed by his own family. And now he was next to the most popular singer in Italy, in a flooded catacomb, bleeding to death.

A weird twist of fate was offering him an opportunity. That woman there, who knew nothing about him, or about his inbred bad luck, would see him and judge him for who he was in this moment.

At least, for once, someone would see him as a hero. A fearless man. A samurai.

What was it that Yamamoto Tsunemoto said in
Hagakure
? ‘The Way of the Samurai is found in death.'

He felt his willpower strengthen like a hard blood clot in his aching guts.

Show her who Saverio Moneta is
.

He opened his eyes again. It was dark, but he could see the bones of the dead floating around them. There had to be light coming in from somewhere.

Larita was struggling to hold on. ‘I think the water's rising.'

Saverio tried to concentrate and not think about the pain. ‘Listen to me . . . The air will run out soon. And who knows how long it will take for the rescue teams to get here. We've got to make it on our own.'

‘How?' Larita asked.

‘I think I can see a glimmer of light coming from over there. Can you see it, too?'

‘Yes . . . only just.'

‘All right. Let's go over there.'

‘But if I let go, I'll get dragged under.'

‘I'll take care of you.' Mantos moved towards the voice of the singer, digging his fingers into the crumbly tuff rock. ‘Wait . . . Hang on to my shoulders.'

The pain was blinding him. To stop himself from screaming, he grabbed a tibia that was floating by and gripped it between his teeth. Then he moved right up to the young woman, who grabbed on to his shoulder and wrapped her thighs around his chest.

 

74

Matteo Saporelli was a fish.

In fact, he was a yellowfin tuna fish. No, actually, he was a dolphin. A splendid male dolphin swimming through the
mysterious remains of Atlantis. His arms held close to his body, he moved his head up and down in time with his legs, which flapped in unison.

I am a marine mammal
.

He was exploring the remains of a great civilisation sunk into the depths of the ocean. Now he found himself in the long corridors that led to the royal chambers. With his sharp eyes he could see gold, precious stones, antique jewels encrusted with seaweed and coral. He could see crabs and lobsters walking over mountains of gold coins.

He felt at ease. It had been a long counter-evolution, which had lasted millions of years and had led the mammals back into the sea, but it had really been worth it.

Water life is so much better
.

There was just one problem that ruined that magical state of grace.

The air. He needed air too much, considering he was a dolphin. This disappointed him. He remembered that cetaceans could stay under water for a long time, but instead he felt a desperate need for air.

He tried to give a shit. There were too many fantastic things to see down there, he couldn't waste time breathing.

Along with the jewels, and the hot pink octopus, there was also amazing coral that he would have spent hours admiring.

Hey, you know what I'll do? I'll grab a bit of air and then I'll come back down
.

He flippered his way to the surface, like the man from Atlantis, and popped his snout out of the water in a small pocket of air beneath a vault in the catacomb.

 

75

While Saverio Moneta was struggling along towards the glimmer, with Larita grasping on to his neck, the head of a man popped out of the water less than a metre away.

The leader of the Wilde Beasts of Abaddon, after a second of amazement, spat out the tibia and screamed: ‘Help!'

Larita began to squeal, too: ‘Help! Help!'

The man puffed and unpuffed his cheeks, looked at them for a second, let out a strange guttural call, a sort of ultrasound, and then dove back down.

Saverio couldn't believe his eyes. ‘Did you see him, too?'

‘Yes.'

‘He's a nutter. You don't know what he said to me before. Who the fuck is that guy?'

Larita took a moment to answer. ‘It looked like Matteo Saporelli to me.'

‘And who's he?'

‘He's a writer. He won the Strega award.' Her voice went up an octave. ‘Look! Look over there!'

A beam of light fell down from a hole in the vault of the catacomb and died in the slimy waters.

Saverio, fighting against the current that tried to pull them in the opposite direction, put in a huge effort and managed to get them under the hole.

It was a long cylinder dug into the earth. The walls were covered with roots and spiders' webs. Up top they could see the branches of a fig tree swaying in the wind, and behind that the pale sky of the Roman dawn.

Larita let go of Saverio and grabbed on to the rock. ‘We can make it . . .' She stretched out her hand, but it was too
high. She tried to push herself upwards by kicking her feet, but nothing. ‘If I had some flippers . . .'

She won't be able to make it
, Saverio said to himself as she tried again to push herself up to the edge of the hole. It was about seventy centimetres from the water's surface and there was nothing to grab on to on the tuff rock, as smooth as a slab of marble. She would never make it, kicking with her legs alone.

Larita was out of breath. ‘You try. I can't do it.'

Saverio pushed up with his kidneys, but as soon as he moved his leg he let out a scream of agony. A stab of pain as sharp as a scalpel shot through the flesh of the injured limb. He fell back down, without any strength. He drank in a heap of water.

Larita grabbed him by the hood of his robe before the current carried him away. She pulled him to her. ‘What's the matter? What happened to you?'

Saverio squeezed his eyes tight and struggled to keep himself afloat. In a soft voice, he murmured: ‘I think I have a broken leg. I've lost a lot of blood.'

She hugged him, laid her head against the nape of his neck and began to sob. ‘No . . . What do we do now?'

Saverio could feel a lump of tears pushing against his sternum. But he had sworn he'd be a man. He took three deep breaths and said: ‘Hang on . . . Don't cry . . . I might just have an idea.'

‘What?'

‘If I prop myself against that niche, you climb onto my shoulders, and then you grab on to the walls of the hole. From there, the rest is easy.'

‘But what about your leg?'

‘I'll just use my left leg.'

‘You sure?'

‘I'm sure.'

Saverio took a hold of the wall. Every movement took a huge amount of effort, and he was slowed down by a tiredness like he had never felt before in his life. Every cell, tendon and neuron in his body had run out of energy. Along with his blood, he was draining out his final reserves of energy.

Come on, I beg you, don't give up
, he said to himself, as he felt his eyes fill with tears.

With his good foot, he touched the wall until he found a niche he could push up from. He stretched out his arm and grabbed on to a small outcrop. ‘Quickly! Climb up on me.'

Larita climbed up, using him like a ladder. She put her feet on his shoulders and then one on top of his head.

He was forced to push down on his other leg as well, so that he wouldn't lose his hold.

Please
. . .
please
. . .
hurry up
. . .
I can't take it any longer
, he screamed into the water.

He suddenly felt the load lighten. He looked up. Larita had made it to the hole and was propping herself up with her legs on the edge. With one hand she held on to a root protruding from the rock face.

‘I made it.' Larita was out of breath. ‘Now give me your arm and I'll pull you up.'

‘You can't . . .'

‘What do you mean, I can't?'

‘The root won't hold our weight . . . You'll end up back in the water.'

‘No. It's strong. Don't worry. Give me your hand.'

‘You go. Call the rescuers. I'll wait here. Go on, hurry up. Don't think about me.'

‘No. I won't leave you here. If I leave, you won't be able to bear up and you'll be carried away by the current.'

‘Please, Larita . . . Just go . . . I'm dying . . . I can't feel my legs any more. There's nothing you can do.'

Larita began to cry, shaken by sobs. ‘I don't want to . . . It's not fair . . . I'm not leaving you. You . . . what's your name, I don't even know your name . . .'

Saverio had only his mouth and nose above the surface of the water. ‘Mantos. My name is Mantos.'

‘Mantos, you saved my life and I can't leave you to die. I beg you, let's at least give it a try.'

‘But if we don't succeed, will you promise to leave?'

Larita dried her tears and nodded.

Mantos closed his eyes, and with the little strength he had left he pushed himself upwards and stretched his hand out towards Larita's. He managed just to touch her but then fell back, his arms wide open as if he'd been shot in the chest. His body sank, bobbed to the surface again for just a second, and then the current pulled him under. He didn't fight it. He was carried down to the bottom.

At first his body didn't want to give up, and fought not to be overcome. Then, beaten, it quietened and Saverio could hear only the water ringing in his ears. It was beautiful being able to let himself go like that, let himself be carried downwards in the dark. The water that was killing him was extinguishing the last flames of life.

How liberating
, he said to himself, and then he could think no longer.

 

76

A tiny little spot kept the sun anchored to the horizon, when Fabrizio Ciba opened his eyes again.

He saw a vaulted ceiling of golden leaves, clouds of midges, butterflies. Bird calls echoed all around him. And he could hear the water running and dripping softly, like in a shower. He breathed in the smell of wet earth. On his shoulders, the back of his neck, and on the wet rags he was wearing, he could feel the soft warmth of the sun.

He lay there, without thinking about anything. Then slowly the memories of the night, the catacomb, the wall of water that had buried him, clotted together into one thought. A very positive thought.

I'm alive
.

This awareness cradled him, and he began to reflect on the fact that this terrible experience would be left behind. Over time it would lose its dramatic force, and over the next few months he would begin to remember it with a mixture of amusement and regret. And it would mean something.

The human mind works that way
.

He was surprised by his own wisdom.

The time had come to figure out where he was. He pulled himself up onto his elbows and saw that he was lying on a bed of mud and sand spread over two small, tree-covered hills. A stream of water flowed through the middle. There were bones everywhere, shoes, a riding hat and a huge crocodile, tummy-up, its abdomen swollen and white. Flies were buzzing around it.

He stood up and stretched, happy to not have any injuries, feeling a little battered but otherwise in good shape. And he realised he was hungry.

That's a good sign. It's a sign of life
.

He walked in the direction of the sun. He overtook the woods, yawning, but then had to stop when faced with a breathtaking vision.

A small opening appeared in the vegetation. He could see
the Via Olimpica off in the distance, with the usual morning traffic jams, the deserted rugby fields at Acqua Acetosa, the still, grey bend in the Tiber River. Further down, the viaduct of Corso Francia covered in cars, and the Fleming Hill covered in luxuriant vegetation.

Roma
.

His city. The most beautiful and oldest city in the world. He had never loved it as much as he did in that very moment.

He began to conjure up a café, a Roman café, any one would do. With the waiting staff in their jackets and bow ties crowded around the sugar-strewn bench. The custard-filled croissants. The apple tarts. The tramezzini. The sounds of saucers and cups being knocked against the sink. The tinkling sound of teaspoons. The
Corriere dello Sport
.