What I Saw Through My Neighbors’ Window

The light of a few candles trembled behind the hedges of the house across the street, and Bruno knew it was happening again. He set his cup on the table, slipped on his slippers, and, without raising his voice too much, told his wife he was going to stretch his legs for a moment.

—I’ll be back in ten minutes —he muttered—. I need some air.

Elena didn’t even look away from the television. Bruno went out through the back door before she could offer to come with him. He didn’t want witnesses.

His heart was beating faster than he admitted as he edged around the tall bushes that separated the two plots. It was the third time that month he had done the same thing. He had been watching that house for weeks, ever since he began to notice something strange about his neighbors’ habits.

First it had been a gray car that parked at dusk. Then a blue sedan. In the last few days, a dark van. None of them arrived before sunset, and none of them left until the following dawn, when it still wasn’t fully daylight.

Carla and Damián lived there. A normal, friendly couple, the kind who greet you in the supermarket. What puzzled Bruno was that the whole house went dark shortly after the visitors arrived, every light off except one: the one in the back bedroom.

He told himself he was only doing his duty as a neighbor. He was part of the neighborhood watch group, wasn’t he? If something odd was going on, someone had to check it. It was a poor excuse and he knew it, but it let him keep moving through the shadows.

The bedroom blind was up. It struck him as a strange oversight. He only needed a few more steps to peer in and see, with his own eyes, what his neighbors were doing with so many people and so often.

There was no moon that night. The darkness covered him completely, and he wore a black T-shirt that made him almost invisible. If someone discovered him, he could run and slip into his house before they made out his face.

He pressed his forehead to the glass and what he saw left him breathless.

It was Carla, standing by the window, in a dark, thin nightgown that barely covered her. Her blonde mane fell to her waist. She moved slowly, smiling, swaying her hips as if she were dancing for someone who was inside the room, beyond his sight.

She’s alone, she seems happy, he thought, not understanding. Why is she dancing in her nightgown at this hour?

Then Carla moved away from the window and Bruno only managed to see shadows on the wall, drawn by the flame of a candle. Two silhouettes, perhaps three. Someone else was in that room with her.

He remembered the tall, broad-shouldered man who had gotten out of the van that very night. He hadn’t seen his face, but his size was unmistakable.

***

When he looked in again, Carla was no longer standing. She was on the bed, lying on her side, kissing that stranger. She was still wearing the nightgown, and the man’s hand had slipped beneath the fabric while their mouths searched for each other with a calm that made Bruno even more nervous.

Why is she doing this to Damián? She’s cheating on her husband in his own bed.

His heart was pounding so hard against his chest that he feared they’d hear it from inside. He couldn’t move. He watched his blonde neighbor give herself to another man and, against all logic, felt his own body responding. Desire ran through him like a current he had never asked for.

Carla sat up, knelt on the mattress, and gently pushed the man down against the pillow. There was a movement of hands, of clothes falling, and then she lowered her head toward him slowly, with a skill that showed this was not the first time.

Bruno swallowed. What he was witnessing was more intense than any film he had ever watched in secret. The fact that it was real, that he knew her, that he greeted her every morning over the hedge, made it unbearably hot.

The man moaned, his head thrown back. Carla looked down at him, satisfied, in control. She’s a stranger, Bruno thought. The woman I know stands at her front door, and this one here has nothing to do with her.

Questions piled up in his head. Where was Damián? How long had this been going on? How many men had crossed that threshold in the last few weeks? And, above all, how was it possible that that couple, who seemed so happy, lived like this?

He didn’t dare answer himself. He just wanted to keep watching.

***

The man sat up and helped Carla take off her nightgown. Bruno watched the fabric slide over her head and leave her completely exposed to the candlelight. The sight rooted him to the spot.

What followed was a sequence Bruno devoured with his eyes, almost without blinking, while part of him kept repeating that this was wrong and another part, stronger, stopped him from taking even a single step back. Carla and her lover moved unhurriedly, finding each other, and the moans came muffled through the glass.

At some point, without fully realizing it, Bruno found himself responding to the scene, caught in an arousal that both shamed and mastered him. He thought of Damián, of his betrayed trust, and yet he still couldn’t tear himself from the window.

And then something happened that threw him completely off balance.

The lover turned his head toward the foot of the bed and spoke in a low voice, addressing someone Bruno hadn’t seen.

—I think it’s a good time for you to come and take care of your wife.

Who is he talking to? Is there someone else?

A third figure emerged from the back shadows. Bruno recognized the profile instantly. It was Damián. And he wasn’t angry, or surprised, or hurt. He approached the bed with a naturalness that said everything, and bent over his wife with the same devotion as a man kissing the woman he loves.

Bruno felt the ground move beneath his feet. He’s not cheating on her. They do it together. This is what they are.

Carla placed her hands on her husband’s neck and, for a second, lifted her gaze toward the window. Bruno froze. Their eyes met through the glass. She didn’t look away. She smiled.

She had found him out.

Bruno pulled away from the window as if it were burning, turned around, and crossed the garden almost blind, stumbling over roots, until he slipped through the door into his own kitchen. His heart was about to burst.

***

Elena was still on the sofa, in her pink pajamas, her feet tucked beneath her body. She lifted her head when she heard him come in.

—How was the walk? —she asked without much curiosity.

—Quiet —he lied, dropping down beside her—. It’s cool out.

She snuggled against his shoulder and went back to her film. Bruno closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids he could only see Carla looking at him, smiling, knowing. She recognized me. She knows it was me.

The possibilities crowded his head. They could call the police. They could tell Elena. They could ruin his life with a single sentence. How was he supposed to explain to his wife that he spent his nights spying on the neighbors through the bedroom window?

That night he barely slept. Elena got into bed naked beside him, as always, and kissed him goodnight. He wrapped an arm around her waist and stared at the ceiling, thinking about what he could never have imagined about the couple across the street.

***

The next morning, on a sunny Sunday, Bruno was cutting the grass in the back garden. Elena had gone out to do the shopping, as she did every Sunday. The hum of the mower almost kept him from hearing the voice on the other side of the hedge.

—Hello, neighbor.

He turned around. Carla was crossing onto his plot with two glasses of iced tea in her hands. She wore a light summer dress and an impossible-to-interpret smile.

—I saw you sweating behind the mower and thought you could use something cold —she said, offering him one of the glasses.

—Thanks —he replied, his throat dry.

Carla took a sip without taking her eyes off him, and her smile sharpened a little.

—Bruno, I came to talk about last night.

His blood ran cold. He tried to get ahead of her, stammering out a clumsy excuse.

—I’m really sorry, truly. I was only checking that everything was okay. I saw the house in the dark and a light in the back and thought there might be a problem, a leak, a fire...

He knew it sounded ridiculous. Carla tilted her head, amused.

—How thoughtful, to have a neighbor so concerned about us —she said, lowering her voice—. But I heard you perfectly, Bruno. Last night, by the window.

He nearly choked on the tea. For an instant he was unable to speak. In the end, only one word came out.

—Yes.

Carla let out a short laugh, not unkind, almost tender.

—I figured as much. Damián and I have been at this for months. He likes watching as much as he likes taking part. He doesn’t mind seeing me with other men; on the contrary. —She looked at him straight on—. I suppose you saw that part too.

Bruno nodded silently, unable to believe they were having this conversation in broad daylight, amid the smell of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of a sprinkler.

—I’m going to propose something —she went on, taking a step closer—. What happens in our house stays between us. No one in the neighborhood needs to know. Agreed?

—Of course —he said quickly—. Of course. I won’t say anything.

—Good. —Carla leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. The brush of her body against Bruno’s arm made his skin prickle—. By the way, what time does Elena get back from shopping? There’s something I’d like to talk to her about.

Bruno’s heart lurched in a different way. Something in Carla’s tone told him the conversation from last night hadn’t ended, only just begun.

—In a couple of hours, I suppose —he answered—. Do you want me to tell her anything?

—No need. —Carla smiled again, that smile Bruno was beginning to fear—. I’ll tell her myself.

***

Elena’s car appeared in the driveway before Bruno could sort out his thoughts. The two women hugged as if they were lifelong friends, and Carla, with astonishing ease, told her she wanted to invite her out next Friday. A girls’ night, she said. Music, a few drinks, nothing out of the ordinary.

Elena lit up. She confessed, laughing, that she hadn’t gone out without him in years, and thought it was a fantastic idea. Carla hooked her arm through Elena’s and, before leaving, turned back toward Bruno.

—Why don’t you act like the good husband and bring the shopping in while I have a little chat with your wife?

Bruno carried the bags in silence, knowing Carla was playing with him, moving him around the board as she pleased. When he finished and stepped back out into the garden, the two women were already disappearing through the hedges on their way to the house across the street.

It was a very long week. Elena spoke with Carla every day, on the phone or in person, and each day she seemed more excited about the damn Friday outing. Bruno tried to coax out of her where exactly they were going, but his wife brushed it off: a club, a few drinks, dancing a little.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Elena. It was Carla who unsettled him. He had the feeling she wasn’t being entirely honest about that night’s plans.

***

On Friday, while Elena was in the shower, Carla appeared at the door with a black plastic garment bag slung over her arm and a bag with shoes. She gave Bruno a smile he knew far too well and went into the bedroom to wait for his wife.

It took them nearly two hours. When Elena finally came out, Bruno hardly recognized her. She was wearing a fitted red dress, much bolder than anything she had ever put on, and matching heels. Her hair was pinned up with loose curls, her lips painted. She was dazzling and, at the same time, seemed like another person.

—Where are you taking her dressed like that? —Bruno asked, trying not to let the knot in his throat show.

—Don’t worry about Elena tonight —Carla replied sweetly—. If you love her, trust her. Right, Elena?

Elena came over and kissed him on the lips.

—Honey, I won’t be late. We’re just going dancing for a while. It’s been ages since I went out without you and I really wanted to.

She picked up a small purse, gave him another kiss, and walked toward the door on Carla’s arm. Before leaving, Carla turned back one last time, wearing that smile that had worked its way under Bruno’s skin.

—Damián will come by for a while to keep you company tonight. See you later.

The door closed and Bruno was left alone in the living room, his heart racing, wondering exactly what he had gotten into the night he decided to approach that window.

Damián arrived an hour later with a bottle of wine and a couple of DVD cases under his arm. He said hello like someone visiting an old friend, asked for a couple of glasses, and settled onto the sofa as if the house were his.

—Our women went out looking very beautiful tonight —he commented as he poured the wine—. We’ll be ready when they get back, don’t worry.

Bruno noticed his hands shaking as he held the glass. Damián smiled, switched on the player, and handed him one of the cases.

—Sit down and relax, Bruno. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.

And Bruno, not quite knowing whether he wanted to run or stay, sat down.