The New Neighbor and What Marina Discovered That Night

The bedroom wall vibrated with a rhythm that left no room for doubt. Sharp, steady knocks, and above them a woman’s voice rising and falling like a distant siren. Daniel and Marina were lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, both awake and both pretending not to be.

—I can’t take it anymore —Marina muttered, pulling the pillow over her head—. It’s been like this ever since he moved in. It sounds like we’ve got an hourly motel behind the headboard.

—It’s two in the morning —Daniel said, not moving.

—Exactly. I start work at seven. Can you go tell him something? He’ll listen to you.

Daniel let out a slow breath. He knew there was no way out. He got up, tied his robe over his pajamas, and stepped barefoot into the landing, rubbing his eyes. The cold floor finished waking him up. He rang the bell across the hall twice and waited, with that awkward feeling of someone who knows he’s about to be the fun-killer in the building.

The door opened at once. The neighbor appeared in his underwear, his chest shining with sweat and a smile that looked painted on his face. His name was Iván. He’d moved in a little over a month earlier, and in that time Daniel had barely exchanged more than a couple of greetings with him in the elevator. Behind him, on a leather sofa, a very young girl was adjusting her dress without much hurry.

—Is there a problem, neighbor? —Iván asked, leaning his shoulder against the frame.

—Look, sorry about the hour —Daniel said, swallowing hard—. I don’t want to bother you, but everything carries. My wife can’t sleep, and she has to be up early tomorrow.

Iván let out a hearty laugh, without a trace of embarrassment. —So that’s what this was? What do you want me to say, friend? It’s not my fault. Women like what they like, and once one starts screaming there’s no way to turn the volume down. —He shrugged—. Should I put a gag on her next time? I mean, for your sake.

Daniel was left speechless. The other man’s brazenness left him standing there at the threshold, mouth half open. He muttered something like “good night” and went back to his apartment feeling smaller than when he’d left.

Marina was waiting for him seated on the bed, with the lamp on. —Well? Did you talk to him?

—I talked to him —Daniel said, dropping down beside her—. He told me women scream because they want to, that it’s not his problem, and that I should put a gag on mine.

Marina’s eyes went wide. Part of her, the part that had to wake up in five hours, felt offended. But there was another part, quieter and deeper, that took in that answer and tucked it away somewhere. They didn’t mention the matter again that night. Even so, the image of the arrogant neighbor, his calm voice, that confidence bordering on an insult, clung to both of them like a smell that wouldn’t go away.

***

A week went by with silent walls and silence between them. It was Marina who, one afternoon, floated the idea while setting the table.

—We should invite him to dinner —she said, without looking up from the plates—. To smooth things over. If we’re going to be neighbors, we might as well get along. I don’t want to be making faces in the elevator for the rest of the year.

Daniel looked at her a beat longer than necessary. There was something in the way she’d said it, too considered to be improvised. But he nodded. Anything to get the quiet nights back.

Iván accepted the invitation immediately, as if he’d been expecting it. He arrived on Saturday right on time, with a bottle of wine that cost more than they spent in a month of dinners. He dressed well, spoke even better, and during the first half hour he unfolded a polished charm that didn’t quite manage to hide something else underneath, something colder, more calculated. Marina laughed at his jokes a little more than necessary. Daniel noticed and poured himself another glass.

By dessert, with the wine already running through everyone’s veins, Iván set his glass on the table and looked at Marina over the candles.

—First of all, I want to apologize for the other night —he said—. I was rude to your husband. The thing is, the girls I bring home are kids. Pretty, yes, but empty. They only know how to scream and look at themselves in the mirror. —He paused, keeping his eyes on her—. Me, what I really like are real women. Women who already know who they are. Women with class. Like you, Marina.

Daniel felt his jaw tighten. Marina, on the other hand, felt heat rising up her neck to her cheeks and dropped her gaze to her glass.

—The problem —Iván went on, speaking only to her, as if Daniel had become invisible— is that women like that usually end up next to men who are too comfortable. Good husbands, calm husbands, who don’t realize what they’ve got beside them. And inside, those women start to go out. Waiting for someone who dares to tell them what they really want to hear.

The dining room air turned thick. Daniel put down his fork.

—I think that’s enough —he said, his voice less steady than he’d intended.

—Enough? —Iván didn’t even look at him—. You think it’s enough for her? Tell me something, Marina. Are you the kind who puts on an apron to cook? The kind who pays attention to the little details?

The question landed so directly, so out of place and yet so precise, that Marina answered before she thought.

—Sometimes… yes.

—Put it on —Iván said. He didn’t ask. He said it like someone giving an instruction he knows will be obeyed—. I want to see it.

Daniel looked at his wife, waiting for the refusal, the fist on the table, the indignation he himself couldn’t bring himself to have. But Marina rose slowly, almost in silence, and walked to the kitchen as if carried by a current. She came back with a light linen apron tied at her waist. She had put it on with her eyes down, not looking at either of them.

Iván looked her over from head to toe and smiled with the satisfaction of someone who’s gotten a bet right.

—Look at you —he said softly—. There you are, different. You don’t look like anybody’s wife. You look like someone who finally knows where she’s supposed to be.

He got up and walked around the table. He stood behind her and placed his hands on her waist, over the apron fabric, slowly, making each movement obvious so Daniel could see it well. Daniel was still nailed to the chair, trapped between the shame burning his face and a murky fascination he didn’t dare name. He wanted to shout. No sound would come.

—Here —Iván murmured into Marina’s ear—. This is where you were supposed to be.

She closed her eyes. She felt the man’s hands climb up her back, open the zipper of her dress, slide the fabric off her shoulders with a certainty that made her tremble. She didn’t protest. Each gesture was a small surrender, chained to the last, and inside her a mixture of panic and something darker raced her pulse. Iván bent her gently over the edge of the table, moved the clothing out of the way, and took her in one firm thrust. Marina stifled a sound against the tablecloth, a sound that had nothing to do with pain.

—Watch closely, Daniel —Iván said without speeding up, setting the rhythm, his hands buried in her hips—. Watch how she gives herself. Watch what she needed and you never gave her.

Daniel couldn’t move. He could see the naked back of his wife arching, her fingers gripping the edge of the table, the apron still tied at her waist like a mockery. He could see how she breathed, how she gave herself over, how one moan after another slipped out of her while the neighbor whispered in her ear, told her what she was that night, ordered her to stay still and enjoy it. And worst of all was not the hatred. Worst of all was realizing he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Marina let herself be carried all the way to the end, discovering in that public humiliation a form of pleasure she had never allowed herself to feel. The neighbor took her as if she belonged to him, whispered in her ear who was in charge, while on the other side of the table her husband sat through the slow collapse of everything he had believed was safe, mute. When it was over, the dining room was left with only the broken sound of three breathing bodies and the weight of something that could not be undone.

Iván straightened up calmly, picked up his glass from the table, and took a final drink, as if none of it had disturbed his evening. Marina was still bent over, catching her breath, not daring to turn around. Daniel looked at the crumpled tablecloth and understood, too late, that the thin walls had been the least of his problems.

—Thanks for dinner —Iván said, already at the door, buttoning his shirt—. We’ll have to do it again.

And from Marina’s silence, from the way she didn’t say no, Daniel knew they would do it again.