The upstairs neighbor
It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon when Vera went out with her dog for her daily stroll through the Botafogo neighborhood. As she passed through the gate of the building, a large and noisy group arrived, headed by a very well-dressed gentleman, who politely held the gate for her to pass through first, because in the confusion of coming and going, her dog had been frightened and was pulling stubbornly in the opposite direction, wanting to return to the safety of home. He smiled at her with the complicit smile of those who love dogs and know their quirks and faults well. She returned the smile gratefully, because in those post-pandemic days most neighbors and their guests never held the building gate or elevator door to do others a kindness, as if this act of simple civility were a death sentence. Or did this economy of manners have nothing to do with the pandemic?
As she passed this proud visitor, dressed in his Sunday clothes, she received an unexpected explanation. "I'm the father of Carlinhos, from "Malhação". We're here for his birthday party." "Oh, good. Enjoy yourselves!" she replied, and quickly set off as the group of family members excitedly entered Carlinhos' party. On the way back from her walk, she stopped in front of the concierge's desk, where the concierge had been sitting all day, watching TV. Reluctantly, he looked away from the program and greeted her, "Good afternoon, Miss Vera, can I help you?". "Yes, Mr. Silva, tell me something, who is Carlinhos, whose birthday is today?". "He's your upstairs neighbor, in 806, that nice guy who works at the Globo TV station. He plays Marcus in "Malhação". He's a good guy, my daughter loves him!". "Oh yes, Marcus. Of course, of course. Thank you very much, Mr. Silva."
She had never watched the soap opera "Malhação" in her entire life. But she knew Carlinhos well. As his downstairs neighbor, she knew intimate details about him and his wife. She didn't know he was an actor, but she knew what time he went to sleep and woke up, when they liked to have sex, the days when he was in a good mood and sang out loud in the shower. She also knew that he had a lively social life, the bastard. Every night at two in the morning, when he arrived home with his troupe of friends, he, his wife and their guests would drag the armchairs three meters from the living room to the balcony, where they would spend the whole night talking loudly, drinking beer and throwing cans on the floor.
As his balcony was next to her bedroom window, the noise was unbearable. The first time this happened, just after she moved into the building, she waited in astonishment for them to calm down so she could finally go back to sleep. But as the whole thing went on for hours, she eventually lost patience and called his apartment to politely ask them to be quiet. But the intercom rang in the kitchen for several minutes without anyone answering. The next day, her face swollen from a bad night's sleep, she spoke to the doorman about what had happened and he promised to speak to the resident of 806 when he came through the door. When she returned home in the evening, Vera heard from the doorman that her neighbor had apologized and said it wouldn't happen again. But night after night, the noise was the same. The intercom no longer rang. It had been turned off so that the neighbors' complaints wouldn't disturb the party. Not even the landlord was able to solve the problem.
So Vera soon established a routine. Every night she went to bed early, but half an hour before the racket started, her alarm clock would go off. She then took a Rivotril, stuck some silicone balls in her ears and, armed with her comforter, went to lie down on the floor of the maid's room, which was the furthest part of the apartment from the neighbor's balcony. For a while she fought against the irritation and the noise, which insisted on reaching her, but finally, overcome by the action of the medicine, she fell asleep. At six o'clock, when she woke up to go to work, she could hear her neighbor picking up the beer cans scattered on the floor and dragging the armchairs back to the living room. When she got out of the shower, she could still hear the creaking of the bed as he drunkenly threw himself on the mattress to enjoy the sleep of the just. A sleep to which she had no right.
Vera had been living in that building for a year and a half when one day she finally realized that something had changed in her neighbor's routine. Every time Vera passed him in the doorway, she noticed that his hair, which used to be curly, shiny and voluminous, was now always dirty and unkempt. The late-night parties, which used to be a cause of endless torture, had slowly dwindled until they disappeared. The creaking of the double bed on Saturday mornings followed by singing in the shower had disappeared. In their place were the endless fights with his wife, followed by sobs and slamming doors. One day Vera couldn't resist asking the doorman, "How's Carlinhos doing, Mr. Silva, is everything all right with him and his wife?". "Oh, Miss Vera, it's a sad story I'm going to tell you! Carlinhos was fired from Globo. They said he was too old to work on 'Malhação'. It seems that things are a bit difficult now, as they haven't paid their monthly condominium fees. Their cleaner, Iraci, told me that, although the mess in the house had increased, they offered to pay less for the cleaning."
Although the noises at dawn had stopped, Vera still slept on the floor of the maid's room from time to time. When problems at work insisted on running through her head all night, lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, was the only place in the world where she could finally relax and sleep. Her cat, in a declaration of esteem and admiration for her owner, had developed the strange habit of opening the closet door with her nails and sleeping inside, among the wool sweaters stored at the bottom of the lowest shelf.
One day, Vera became aware of a new noise coming from upstairs. She put her ear to the wall of the smaller room and heard a clear hum-pfff, hum-pfff, hum-pfff. It sounded like a steam iron. The noise, she noticed, went on and on. It was day and night, night and day. A mystery! However, things seemed to have improved for the couple. The fights had stopped and he now dressed like a businessman. The following Saturday, Vera met Carlinhos' wife at the Rio Sul shopping center. She was full of shopping bags. "Things seem to be going from strength to strength!" Vera commented to herself. When she arrived at her building, curiosity overcame common sense and Vera asked the doorman, "Has Carlinhos got another soap opera role?". "No," replied Silva, laconic, and turned his attention back to the TV.
When Tonico went to visit Vera that weekend, she immediately remembered to show him that strange noise coming from the apartment above to see if he could unravel the mystery. "Vera, you'll fall out of the sky with the story I'm about to tell you. That noise is just like the one I used to hear coming from the apartment above my father's, in Barra da Tijuca. The owner of the apartment didn't live there, he just stopped by from time to time to pick up the mail and take a quick look at the apartment. He was the ideal neighbor.
"One day a damp stain appeared on the ceiling of my father's apartment. We spent months sending letters to the upstairs neighbor and complaining to the landlord, but nothing was done. Then one day the bailiff came and ordered the entrance door to be broken down so that the leak could be repaired. You won't believe it... When the door finally opened, you could see a forest. There were marijuana plants everywhere. With special lighting to stimulate photosynthesis and a machine to generate water vapor, the plants reached almost to the ceiling. It was a beautiful sight, but the police were called and the owner of the apartment was arrested. The noise you hear day and night comes from the water vaporizer.
Shortly afterwards Vera moved to another building. She never heard from Carlinhos again, but she hoped he was all right. After all, he was a nice guy. She now lived in a penthouse apartment. "No more upstairs neighbors!" she shouted at the top of her lungs as she took her usual tour of the apartment, showing each of the pieces to her visitors. "Now my upstairs neighbor is God.
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