Free Grace by Linn Ullmann Page B

call me Jumpin’ Johan!”
    He was gasping for breath and there was a tightness in his chest, but he went on jumping. He shouted, “Jumpin’ Johan jumped and jumped, up and down he jumped.” Every time he came down, his feet hit the floor with a thud. Mai put her hands to her face.
    “Stop that, please,” she whispered. “Come and lie down.”
    But Johan would not stop.
Thud! Thud!
I’ll show her who can still jump till dawn, he thought.
    “Look at me!” He gasped. “Look, Mai!”
    “Stop it!” she shouted.
    “I’ll show you who can jump till day breaks and the rooster crows.”
    She began to cry.
    Johan stopped. He was panting heavily. Her face was buried in her hands. He sat down on the bed and stroked her hair.
    “Why do you do that?” she shouted.
    “What, jumping?” There was a willful note in his voice.
    He reached for the tissues they kept on the bedside table, in case he started bleeding during the night, and mopped his brow.
    Mai turned to him. “You’re the one who wanted to talk about this seriously, so we’re talking. But then you have to go and make a joke of the whole thing. Do you know what? You’re belittling us, Johan. You’re doing everything you can to avoid talking about what has befallen us, befallen both you and me. You’re sick. You’re not getting better. Do you know how much that hurts? And you refuse to admit it; that hurts too. We need to make plans. We need to make arrangements.” Her voice broke.
    “I’m going to fight it, Mai.” But his voice was faint. Sweat poured off him, however much he mopped, his breathing was labored, and the nausea was coming back. He felt as if some creeping thing in his belly were trying to work its way up and out, but he whispered that he was going to fight this and then he mumbled that she musn’t take away what hope he had; she was supposed to take his hand and say that she would be with him, right there with him always. But she did not hear. Possibly he couldn’t quite form the words and say them out loud.
    Mai said, “Johan, this conversation began with you asking me to help you. I need to know if you are sure you know what you’re asking for, and that you’re sure this is what you want—if the time comes. That’s just one of the things we have to talk about.”
    “What about the consequences? For you, I mean.”
    “I don’t know.”
    Mai turned out the light. For a while they just listened to each other breathe.
    Johan whispered, “All I want is for you to say that you’ll be with me when it becomes hard to bear. That you’ll hold my hand. You said that a while back, and I loved hearing you say it. I want to hear you say it again. The other part . . . about you helping me if . . . I hadn’t really thought it through properly, and you took me seriously. That scared me.” He gave a little laugh. “I don’t know what I want, you see. I don’t know what will happen, so it’s hard to know what I want.”
    She squeezed his hand; he went on.
    “All I want is to lie here next to you.”
    “And you will lie here next to me.”
    “That’s all. Nothing else.”
    “That’s all.”
    “Let’s forget the other part. I didn’t like that conversation. I just want to take one day at a time.”
    “Then let’s forget all about it.”
    He breathed a sigh of relief.
    “Good night, Mai.”
    “Good night, Johan.”
    First came the light: white, hot. Then came the headache. Johan was woken by the headache. Or the light. Or both. The sheets were damp with sweat, his and hers. The fist had ground its way deeper into his skull, except that it was no longer a fist, it was a hammer, pounding away. Pounding him to pieces, he thought. “Go right ahead. Don’t mind me,” he muttered to himself. He dragged himself into the bathroom, threw up in the sink, and stared at himself in the mirror. His boil leered redly. He knew they would have to go back to Oslo right away. It was no use, this being away. He had realized it yesterday, but