The walls of the guest house
The receipt of keys came in a closed envelope that smelled like dust and old varnish. Martha opened it on the study table, and at the first click of the lock she knew that she would not return to the usual floor. The golden stone building, erected between pines and slate walls, was called The House of the Ebro and had for eighty years housed travellers tired of passing. Now, the town council was assigning it to temporary residence of artists in exchange for their care.
Marta arrived on the first Monday of October with two suitcases and a black notebook. The beams smelled of resin and old wool; the silence was so thick that the brush of the boots was heard against the planks. She settled in the room on the first floor, where the light entered oblique and drew golden rectangles on the linen quilt. She lit a table lamp and opened the notebook. The first sentence was suspended in the air: «No one has stepped on this floor since March».
That afternoon Gabriel appeared. He was the architect in charge of the restoration. He brought helmet under his arm and a folder of planes that overflowed corners. He presented himself at the threshold of the kitchen while Marta rolled a pot of lentils. The smell of cumin and paprika filled the hallway; he breathed in as if he smelled a childhood memory.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, and he corrected himself. "Martha, isn't it?" I am Gabriel. I came to see the state of the roof.
Her last name was Herrera and he pronounced it with the softness of those who avoid breaking a glass. Marta pointed to the table.
"There is bread on the table. Sit down if you want. The roof will not fall in the next twenty minutes.
Gabriel smiled, a brief smile, just a lip inclination. He left the plans and took off his boots in the hallway. The lentil steam tarnished the crystals. They spoke of cracks, of cracking beams, of the need to caulk windows. The words were technical, but the looks were delayed in the space between two phrases when neither of them is ready to finish the conversation.
From then on they coincided every afternoon. Gabriel arrived when the sun went down behind the pine trees and Marta, without proposing it, left the door open. He brought coffee in a thermos and she offered him the bowl of the snack: nuts, quince, a slice of cured cheese. They sat on the gallery bench and watched the river draw a silver line under the bridge. Gabriel told him that his grandfather had built adobe houses in Teruel; Marta read him fragments of the novel that he was writing about women who disappeared without leaving a trace. None mentioned the word solitude, although she felt that they were both carrying it in the palm of their hand as a coin that they did not dare to throw.
One windy night the power supply failed. The lamps blinked and remained in the dark. Gabriel appeared with a flashlight and two sebum candles that smelled like honey. He placed one on the shelf of the dining room and the other on the windowsill facing the valley. The flame rolled the profile of his jaw. Martha watched the way the light stopped on her hands, wide, marked by the dry plaster, and felt that the body was lit from the sternum downwards, slow, like a resold that takes time to set on.
"The candles don't last all night," he said quietly, apologizing for the abandonment of electric light.
"We can speak until they are extinguished," answered Martha, and her voice sounded more serious than usual.
They stayed in the kitchen. Gabriel approached two chairs to the stove. He lit a gas stove and prepared infusions of cinnamon. The steam went up in volutes that dissipated against the ceiling. They spoke of the first book that each had loved, of the villages that had left behind, of the scars that the houses inherited from its inhabitants. When the second candle began to bow, Gabriel bowed to it to adjust the fuse. The brush of his fingers on the back of Martha’s hand was longer than necessary. No one withdrew his hand.
The first time they kissed was standing next to the table. Martha felt the taste of cinnamon on his tongue and the brush of the wool jacket against her breasts. Gabriel did not rush the gesture; he let her decide how long the kiss lasted, how much the lips opened, how much the breaths mixed. When they separated, Gabriel leaned against her forehead.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispered.
"I don't want you to stop," answered Martha, and slid his hands under his shirt until he found hot skin on his back.
They lowered the candles to the bedroom. Gabriel closed the door carefully, like the one who seals a pact. They undressed their own clothes in silence, looking into their eyes, without turning their eyes even when the last button jumped to the floor. Martha looked at Gabriel’s chest, the hair line descending to the navel, the erection that beat against the inner fabric. Gabriel, on the other hand, crossed with his eyes the curves of his breasts, the soft shadow of the hair between his legs, the barely perceptible tremor of his thighs.
"Come here," Martha asked, and stretched out her hand.
They lay on the woolen quilt. Gabriel kissed the base of Martha’s neck, then the gap between the clavicles, then the left nipple, sucking it slowly until she arched her back and let go of a low moan. She wrapped her fingers in her hair and led him to the other chest, without words, only with the pressure of the palm. Gabriel lowered her hand through Martha’s belly, rubbing the navel, until she found the heat between her legs. She opened her thighs uncompromisingly, inviting him. His fingers caressed her gently, drawing circles around the clitoris before sliding inside, first one, then two, curving to touch the point that made her tremble.
Martha sought Gabriel's erection and surrounded her with her hand. She masturbated him slowly, feeling the pulse under her skin, the gland that moistened. He breathed hard against her neck.
"I want to feel you inside," she said, and the phrase was a thread of voice that ended in a sigh.
Gabriel placed a condom that he pulled out of the jacket pocket, placed it between his legs and penetrated it with a soft and deep movement. Martha let go of a long groan, relief and hunger. Gabriel waited a few seconds, letting her adapt to the pressure, and began to move with a slow pace, pulling away almost completely before sinking again. Each onslaught provoked a damp friction that filled the silence of the room. Marta raised her legs, surrounding his waist, and attracted him deeper. Gabriel leaned his hands on both sides of his head and looked at her eyes as the speed increased.
"Tell me how you like it," he asked in a hoarse voice.
"Thus," answered Martha, and clapped her nails in her back. "Stronger."
Gabriel obeyed. The sound of their bodies colliding mixed with her moaning and his resounding. Martha felt the orgasm growing in waves, from the lower belly to the ends of her feet. When she arrived, she let out a choked scream against Gabriel’s shoulder and contracted the inner walls around her penis. Gabriel grunted and ran inside her with long spasms, burying her face in her neck.
They remained hugged, sweaty, as the last piece of sail went out. The room was dark, only the glow of the river through the window. Gabriel kissed Marta’s temple and pulled away a lock of wet hair.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.
"I want you to stay as many nights as you want," she replied.
In the following days, the house witnessed more encounters. Gabriel arrived at sunset with his hands dirty of work and Marta waited for him in the gallery with a glass of red wine. They showered together under the hot water stream, soaping each other, laughing when the soap was itching in the eyes. Then, on the bed or against the wall of the corridor, they explored the positions that the desire dictated: she on four legs, receiving deep onslaughts; he on his knees, licking her sex until she ran against her mouth; she rode it, swinging slowly as he held his hips. Each night ended with a long hug, with a tacit promise that the next morning would continue the same.
One afternoon in the rain, Gabriel proposed a game to her. They closed all the windows and turned off the lights. They walked naked around the house, touching themselves with their fingertips, guiding themselves by the sound of breathing. In the attic, between boxes of old books and cobwebs, Marta knelt and took Gabriel’s sex between her lips. She sucked him with devotion, sinking his nose at the base, licking the glans, swallowing until he warned her that he was about to run. Gabriel lifted her up, sat her on a dusty table and penetrated her standing, holding her by the buttocks as she surrounded her neck with her arms. The orgasm of both of them was simultaneous, silent, only the echo of her breaths against the beams.
The winter progressed. The roof cracks were repaired, the calafated crystals were repaired, the boiler was revised. The town council informed Marta that the residence ended in March. Gabriel received a job offer in another province. Neither of them spoke the word "bye".
Last night they had dinner in the kitchen, in front of the tarnished window. Gabriel cut a piece of quince and offered it to Marta between her fingers. She bit him and kissed his thumb, leaving the sweet taste on his lips.
"We could write to each other," said Gabriel.
"We could meet each time the river drys," answered Martha, and smiled with sadness.
They lay down once more, slow, as if they wanted to lengthen the time. Martha climbed over Gabriel and guided him inside her. They moved with the cadence of those who know that pleasure is also a form of memory. When Gabriel ran, Marta remained still, feeling the pulsations inside, and then collapsed on her chest. Gabriel caressed her back until the dream overcame them.
At dawn, Martha woke up alone. On the pillow there was a piece of paper with Gabriel’s signature and a single phrase: “The house is still open.” She kept the paper in the black notebook and went down to the kitchen. The sun went in oblique, like the first day. She lit the coffee maker and opened the window. The wind smelled pine and the river. Martha breathed deep and wrote the first sentence of the new chapter: “No one leaves at all as long as the walls stand”.
The End
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