Chapter 4
I enter that house behind my mother, following her as she follows the old man. Upon entering the house, we see everything dimly lit, smelling bad. What is this smell? Dampness? Stale air? The feeling of dirtiness is overwhelming. Everything that meets our eyes is deteriorated, as if it were an abandoned apartment. As if the entire house somehow reveals the true nature of Mr. Ferdinand and his character.
"Mum, what kind of place is this..." She looks at me, scrunching her nose without him noticing, and I continue to follow her.
We stop in a long hallway. The layout of the floor is identical to ours, but the comparison between the two houses is striking. While ours is fully illuminated, clean, with every object and piece of furniture meticulously placed, this house is messy. Boxes of different sizes pile up along the hallway, and on top of them, we see magazines with explicit sexual content. I notice, but I doubt if my mother has noticed and what her reaction might be. I never thought my mother could tolerate something like this. Still, the old man's voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
"Over here, neighbor," he says, walking down the hallway and stopping at a door on the right. Due to the identical layout, I know he has stopped in the bathroom.
"Forgive me for saying this, Mr. Ferdinand, but this is disgusting," she says, reaching his side.
"Apologies, neighbor, but I wasn't expecting visitors..." His tone seems dismissive of her comment.
"Well, let's get this over with quickly. I don't want to waste any more time."
"It's here," he says, entering the bathroom. The sight is horrendous. The bathroom matches everything we saw earlier. The first thing that catches my eye is the amount of dampness visible on the tiles. Different rags are scattered on the floor, with clumps of hair gathering on them. The bathtub curtain is yellowed and appears dirty at the bottom. Several used glass cups and razors are piled on the sink, along with a toothbrush that seems to have been unused for a long time. The ceiling corners are stained, showing that this bathroom has been neglected for a very long time.
"Here are the leaks. Can you see them, neighbor? There, there, and there," he says, pointing at the ceiling without stopping.
"Actually, it's so full of dampness that it's hard to tell where it's coming from, but well, this doesn't prove anything. It could be a leak from your plumbing," she replies, making a superhuman effort not to look at the things around her.
From the bathroom doorway, I observe the situation. I see the old man, with his peculiar appearance, not stopping pointing out the possible leaks, while my mother, looking completely out of place amid all the filth and neglect, keeps her hands on her hips as she tries to look at the ceiling following Mr. Ferdinand 's indications. Could it be that my mother is starting to get nervous? If so, she's keeping her composure well.
My mother, fed up with all the filth and bad smell, can't help but feel uncomfortable. "Maybe I should call the insurance company. You should hire a cleaning woman," she says, despite the situation. This catches the old man off guard, but there's no trace of nervousness on his part--only a faint smile.
"Don't worry, neighbor, we don't need to discuss that. I want you to pay for the repairs, which is what I'm entitled to. It's none of your business how I take care of my bathroom."
In the face of such an answer, my attention and gaze shift to my mother. It would be understandable for her to give him a piece of her mind, as she's been doing since this situation began, but reality proves to be quite different.
"Well... I guess I'll take some photos with my phone and send them to my insurance company. Since I'm here..."
What? Why such an answer? Why not put him in his place? Is she going to allow him to be on top? Yet, he keeps talking, seeming experienced in these kinds of situations.
"It's a shame that both you and your husband hate me so much because if we were better neighbors, I wouldn't have any problem reaching some kind of agreement. We wouldn't need to involve any insurance company."
My mother's face stops looking at her phone and instead looks at him. She doesn't say anything at first. Her expression seems to say, "What does this man want now?"
All this situation gives me a bad feeling...
"An agreement? What kind of agreement? Look, I'll take the photos, and that's it. I'll discuss this with my husband tonight, and we'll handle it through the appropriate channels. Alright?"
"You'd prefer that instead of us settling it between us?"
"Are you suggesting we pay without having an assessor check it out or anything?" she responds, bewildered.
"If the time comes, I wouldn't mind paying for it all myself. But I know you hate me. If it were the other way around, I'm sure you'd make me pay for the repairs, maybe even sue me."
My mother looks at him without saying anything.
"Don't you remember what happened at the last neighborhood meeting? How your husband confronted me?"
" Mr. Ferdinand, don't make me bring up that incident. And don't you dare mention it either. You know why things happened the way they did. Why there was almost a physical confrontation with my husband. Why that clash occurred."
I don't like how the situation is unfolding, especially after Mr. Ferdinand brings up the confrontation with my father. I remember my father's anger in the days that followed and how he came to hate him.
Still, from the doorway, I dare to say, somewhat frightened, "Come on, Mom, let's go upstairs and call the insurance company. It's getting late, you have to go to work, and we still have to make lunch."
"You're right, son, let's go up. Sorry, Mr. Ferdinand, but I need to speak to you privately," she says, facing the exit of that filthy bathroom, still with her hands on her hips.
The old man remains silent behind us. Nevertheless, his smile becomes more pronounced. His ugly, yellowish teeth become visible. To my surprise, I hear what I never wanted to hear under any circumstances from my mother, standing to my left, with my back to him, looking at the bathroom door.
"Son, give us a moment. I need to talk to Mr. Ferdinand privately."
"What? What are you saying, Mom?"
Her composure and confidence surprise me. "You know I'm a lawyer. I'm going to explain something to him that he doesn't know."
"Mom, don't even joke about that," I continue pulling her arm. "Come on, let's go."
Behind us, I hear him say, "Go ahead, close the door, little neighbor."
"Little neighbor"? Since when have we been little neighbors? Who does this man think he is? But my mother, with the same determination, as if she didn't hear anything he said, replies, "Come on, John, leave us. You'll see how I put him in his place."
I get scared, it can't be, how is it possible that we're reaching this point? "No!! I won't leave you alone!!"
"Come on, Alexandra, close the door already, I can't hold it much longer..."
