Gonçalo Tavares - The Neighborhood

At that precise moment, Walser was interested in only one detail of what was happening beyond that screen: the number of objects and tools that the plumber had taken out of his case and had now left scattered all over the floor or on top of the basin. The greater the number of objects that were visible, the more time the man would take to leave. And, a few minutes ago, Walser had detected more things than were visible now. There was no doubt about it, the man’s movements were like the ebbing of a tide, a withdrawal, which left Walser satisfied. He’s about to leave, he thought.

In the meanwhile: the doorbell. Again.

Walser bowed slightly in a mute apology for absenting himself, and walked away from the plumber, who did not cease his activities for even a second.

Walser opened the door.

It was another man, with a toolkit in his hands.

“It’s the floorboards.”

Walser smiled, nodded his head, and let the man in.

11

No more than half an hour had passed when the doorbell rang for the third time.

It was a man who had come to fix something in the wall of one of the rooms. It seemed to be a crack.

He was immediately followed by another man. Walser hadn’t even had the opportunity to shut the door. A window — it wasn’t closing properly. Walser moved away from the door to allow the man to enter and followed him up to the window. Walser did not see anything wrong with the window in question, but it was clear that this new man, apart from being friendly and talkative, was a specialized technician.

“You were right to use bay windows, they’re the easiest to open, but since the bolts run all along the window and slide into a groove, this sometimes creates an excessive gap right here, see? which can cause … I’m going to have to dismantle the window!” he exclaimed.

Perhaps he was about to object, who knows? but the sound of the doorbell once again forced Walser to hurry away.

To have to dismantle a window (and that too on the first day), how unfortunate.

12

Over the course of the afternoon, all sorts of professionals continued to arrive. Between receiving them, which he tried to do as cordially as possible, and keeping track of the various repairs that were already under way, Walser, in a manner of speaking, forgot about himself.

As for the house, it gradually became unrecognizable, since the problems appeared to be worse than had been initially thought. Two windows had already been dismantled and had been temporarily substituted by cardboard, stuck to the walls with strong glue.

“It’s not pretty, but it’s only for a little while,” somebody said, soothing Walser.

A little ahead, two or three men hunched over the floor were trying to adjust a series of floorboards that had been prized out, “due to seepage problems.”

In fact, glancing through the length of the house, one could see that floorboards had been removed in several rooms.

In the meanwhile, a second man who specialized in plumbing was trying to unblock a sewage pipe, while the first plumber was patiently explaining to Walser that since it had been impossible to finish his work that day, it would be necessary to disconnect the water supply at least for a few days.

In their turn, the men who were working on the walls — repairing cracks and holes with cellulose filler — also said it would be impossible to finish that day. One of them described the difficulties involved in the task at length to Walser. If most of the small cracks could be covered up with filler and sandpapered, others required one or two extra coats of thick textured paint.

“Yes,” agreed Walser. His new home still needed a few small repairs. So be it. What did he know about construction?!

“The electrical wiring has to be inspected thoroughly!” someone yelled from inside, apparently addressing Walser, but nobody would swear to the fact.

In fact, it had seemed, so they said, more like a shout making a general announcement; as though to alert a crowd and not just a single proprietor.

In the meanwhile, three men had already dismantled and were taking away parts of the gray sofa — the two-seater — in order to, as they duly informed him, “fix the springs.”

At that moment, two men with grim, stony expressions crossed the room from one side to the other, muttering rather impolitely under their breath, protesting that the electrical wiring had been installed incorrectly from the very outset.

“You’re not going to cut the power supply, are you?” asked Walser, smiling, but obviously afraid of the answer.

13

Nobody answered. Everybody was engaged in some gainful activity or the other. One of the men involved in the question of the electrical wiring around the house merely returned his smile; a smile that, from the corner of his lips, betrayed an obvious superiority in technical matters. Even a believer in the presence of an atheist could not have flashed a more satisfied grin.

In the meantime, several stepladders had already been scattered around the house, and some of the men were substituting roof panels that, they said, had mistakenly been glued to the slats.

“They should never have been glued,” a man now explained to Walser. “The slats should either be fixed with nails or with brackets, never with glue; and they should be carefully spaced, with a gap of about 0.5 meters, at least, between them. Is this envelope yours, may I?”

Walser hesitated, he did not wish to seem rude, however, that letter was …

The man proceeded to go about his business, using the envelope to estimate the distance between the slats: “Well now, as you can see the gap here is far smaller.”

“In addition …,” and he continued, however Walser, unfortunately, was unable to hear the rest of his explanation owing to an enormous crash that rang out from the other side of the house.

14

In fact, at first glance, it had seemed to him to be a little over the top (although it’s true he was a layman) to destroy a wall simply because the electrical wiring had been badly installed from the outset, but what did he know about such matters? he repeated to himself. However, he was unable to shake off a certain feeling of unease that engulfed him, for the first time, on that oh-so-important day on which he was inaugurating his new house. They could have at least informed me, thought Walser. Knocking down a wall, dammit, was something major.

“Was it really necessary?” asked Walser, standing a few meters away from a heap of broken bricks that were lying scattered all over and almost completely covered the floor in one of the rooms. “Was it because of the electrical wiring?”

“No, no,” answered one of the men. “It’s better this way, it facilitates movement. It provides a greater sense of comfort, we’ve joined these two rooms together and you now have a vast space.”

“But why?!” gasped Walser, immediately disarmed by the man’s smile and friendly insistence.

“It looks more beautiful this way.”

In any case, it proved impossible to continue the conversation, since someone outside was urgently asking for Walser’s presence. The latter, solicitous as ever, dutifully headed toward the grounds.