Mr. Boblyubov

María Alejandra Salazar always feared dogs, but she learned to feign affection towards them so as to please others.

A week before the first anniversary of her wedding, María sat at the kitchen counter, patiently stirring a cup of tea that she had prepared for her husband. She was humming a tune from her childhood. The leaves swirled up and down in the hot water, clustering at times and separating at others. Thoughts of her distant homeland entered her brain in confused fragments — fleeting imageries one would experience moments before falling asleep. She gazed at the teacup, with little perception of the outside world.

Then she heard the key in the door lock. She could recognize from the sound that it was her husband arriving home. María rushed to the door, holding the teacup with both hands.

“We are driving to the Fritz’s, remember?” her husband said: “We have to leave in ten minutes. There is no time for tea.”

María looked down into her teacup, then looked up again at her husband. She searched in her memory for a rendezvous at the Fritz’s, but to no avail. She lamented not being able to spend the afternoon, alone with her husband, chatting about trivialities in the sweet anticipation of their first anniversary. Then, her sadness was overrun by an embarrassing realization: her memory was failing, and she did not want to admit it.

“Fritz, the psy-cho-logo?” She asked, slightly stuttering.

“Well, one of the most respected in America. You know, it’s pretty crazy that they are personal friends of my parents.” He responded. Seeing the cluelessness on her face, he then tried to engage her differently: “María, I have told you about them before. They are the family with the cute chihuahuas.”

As María stood still near the door, her husband leaned in to kiss her. She frantically put the teacup aside so there was nothing between them. Then she let her body submerge in the warmth of his. He kissed her on the lips, on the eyes, then on the earlobe, telling her that she looked beautiful, and that a friendly visit would make her feel less lonely. She smiled. Then he asked her to get ready. He said that he would be waiting for her in the car.

Just before exiting the door, however, he threw a glance at her and laughed mischievously. As if plotting a little conspiracy, he leaned in again to whisper in her ear: “By the way, the word is ‘psychologist’.”

During the car ride to the Fritz’s, María suffered from cramps in her stomach. Even when she was a teenage girl, she had more painful menstrual cycles than her peers. The doctor said that it was due to having too much anxiety, and reassured her that things would become better over time. María had seen no improvements. When she found the pain too much to bear, she tried to distract herself mentally, ruminating over those kisses on the earlobe. They were softer than feathers and more intoxicating than wine. Behind the car windows, trees, children’s parks, pharmacy shops, and carwash centers passed by like the slides of a magic lantern.

Before ringing the doorbell of the Fritz’s, María took a deep breath. For her, every social interaction was an examination of her competence as a wife. She wanted to appear charming but not complacent, sociable but not zealous. Her beauty was evident, but it must not show any indecency. Only such a woman was deserving of the enterprising young man that was her husband. When the door opened, however, her calculated composure evaporated in an instant. An enormous German shepherd jumped right out of the door, encircling and sniffing the young couple. Terrified, she latched onto her husband’s sleeves with both hands.

“Oh, don’t be scared,” Mrs. Fritz said, “This is Mr. Boblyubov, the new member of our family!”

Entering Fritz’s living room, María took small and delicate steps, hoping to make her movement less noticeable. She first waited for her husband to sit down, then sat timidly by his side. The young couple exchanged pleasantries with the Fritz family, who gave their candid blessings for their first anniversary.

“You’ve found yourself a lovely wife, young man,” Mr. Fritz congratulated María’s husband.

“Look how beautiful she is!” exclaimed Mrs. Fritz, “I wish I had those brown eyes.”

After a series of quarrels and pursuits with the Chihuahuas, the German shepherd came around again, sniffing the guests. María noticed that the dog was particularly drawn to her, which exacerbated her discomfort. While trying to maintain her composure, she subconsciously moved closer to her husband, her sweaty fingers clinging more tightly onto his sleeves.

“So what’s going on with the new company?” Mr. Fritz asked.

“It’s quite intense,” María’s husband responded, “but what we do is meaningful. We are helping others.” His voice was gentle but confident.

María listened attentively, as he explained his current projects in detail. She had always loved to hear him speak. At certain moments, instead of listening to his words, she would observe the way he spoke, impressed that someone could be so eloquent with such ease. Each intonation, each gesture of his, was carried out in seamless perfection.

The German shepherd walked over again to María, and this time, it put its moist nose between her legs. The odd behavior alerted María. She evened her posture and held her legs closer together.

“Look, Mr. Boblyubov loves playing with you!” Mrs. Fritz said in her theatrical voice, interrupting the men’s conversation.

“A good boy,” replied María, repeating a description of dogs that she had often heard others use.

“Oh, I’d say a sweet gentleman!” Mrs. Fritz cried.

“And just like a gentleman of the old days, he seems keen on young girls,” Mr. Fritz remarked. Both of them burst out an exaggerated laughter while making eye contact between themselves. María’s husband felt moderately uneasy at the remark. He echoed with a polite laughter, before continuing the conversation about his new career.

María sat uncomfortably on the couch as the cramps in her stomach intensified. It crossed her mind that the hormonal changes in her body, while unnoticeable to her human companions, might have aroused the curiosity of the canine. The thought embarrassed her, as if the dog betrayed a shameful secret of hers. She blamed herself for the untimeliness of her cycle, and prayed that the dog would find distraction in something else: a ball, a toy, the noisy chihuahuas, anything, just so that she could be spared.

As time passed, however, the German shepherd became increasingly insistent on sniffing between her legs. She had no other defense than to hold them more tightly together, while subtly pulling down on her suspender skirt. Her guilt had turned into anger. Why, out of everything she could wear that afternoon, she chose a suspender skirt?

Finally, María gave up trying to conceal her discomfort. She started to make eye contact with Mrs. Fritz, sending a silent plea to have the dog removed from her. However, the only response she received was Mrs. Fritz’s constant praise of the dog’s friendliness. For Mrs. Fritz, the eager demeanors of Mr. Boblyubov were signs of a compassionate and hospitable spirit — everyone must love him as much as she did. After several failed attempts to be rescued, María excused herself and escaped to the bathroom.

Sitting alone and slowly removing her suspender skirt, María was able to restore some peace of mind. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. The lack of empathy from the Fritz’s puzzled her, but María convinced herself that it was the result of a different life, one which was so free of danger that they could no longer recognize it. She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. The terrible thoughts of Mr. Boblyubov began to fade away, as the air exited her nostrils.

All of a sudden, her sanctuary was disrupted by scratching noises at the bathroom door. Instantly alert, she found herself to be the victim of another untimely memory loss: she could not remember whether she had left the bathroom door unlocked.

The anxious thought paralyzed her, as she sat motionless on the toilet seat. She heard louder scratching, more agitated as each second passed. Then the door opened, and Mr. Boblyubov rushed in with the voracity of a hungry beast. Desperate and terrified, María tried to stand up from the toilet seat but her feet slipped and she fell onto the wet floor. In a moment of panic, María felt being pushed, then pressed against the wall by hairy limbs, a warm tongue running through her naked thighs, and just as her consciousness was slipping away, she experienced an excruciating pain, followed by a rapid series of violent thrusts that overpowered her unresponsive body.

As María slowly regained control of herself, she heard voices approaching the bathroom. She pulled up her suspender skirt as quickly as she could. Then she heard soft knocking on the bathroom door.

“Are you okay, honey?” Her husband asked.

“Yeah,” she murmured faintly.

Resounding in the living room were the blithe galloping of Mr. Boblyubov and the high-pitched voice of Mrs. Fritz, “Oh, did you see? They were getting along so well.”

The next few days were torturous for María. She wanted to relate her trauma to her husband on several occasions, but each time, a different reason dissuaded her.

The experience was more than an attack on her body. It transformed it, turning it into something repulsive and alien. The woman she had been before was reduced to an empty shell, inside which sat a rotten core, covered in black filth. She could no longer be loved, but be trampled upon and thrown away. If she revealed her secret to her husband, he would surely abandon her. She would be equally distressed if he did not, for her self-hatred had grown so overwhelmingly that she found the act of someone loving her, knowing what she had lived, to be despicable.

Then, it occurred to her that even if she confessed to him, he would not believe her. He admired the Fritz’s, who, most certainly, would not believe that Mr. Boblyubov could commit such a horrific crime. He was the embodiment of innocence, a newborn who had not known darkness, a saintly being incapable of evil. To accuse him was to assert that a baby is perverted, a laughable suggestion if not a nasty attack on its parents. They would banish her as a liar — a pathological one who saw malice in others because of her own resentful nature.

As María reached this thought, she started to question herself: perhaps she was a liar. Perhaps the experience never occurred and it was her failing memory and constant loss of attention, combined with paranoia, which caused her hallucination. The bathroom door could have been locked the entire time, and perhaps her husband, or the Fritz’s, remembered it. They did not have a failing memory like hers. It was a possibility that she could confess only to definitively reveal — to both herself and her husband — her loss of sanity, and she did not know what might befall her if she turned out to be insane.

Immersed in a train of torturous thoughts, María frequently broke down in tears, her mouth unable to utter a word. At these moments, her husband embraced her petit body, kissing her on the earlobe while whispering: “Honey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

On the night of their anniversary, María’s husband surprised her with a candlelight dinner. She was delighted to see him cook for the first time in several months. After the third glass of wine, she started to loosen up. He carried her in his arms up to their bedroom. It smelled of poppies and eucalyptus which reminded her of her childhood. The nostalgia amplified the love that she felt. As her body slowly melted in his caress, María tried to forget about the dreadful event at the Fritz’s. She thought that life could become normal again, as long as she convinced herself that nothing had happened.

When he put his fingers between her legs that night, however, she resisted. Then he tried again with more force, and this time she pushed them away, in a frenzy that was almost subconscious. He stood up from the bed, lit a cigarette, and left the room without saying a word. María did not remember when her husband returned that night. Hours must have passed, and she must have fallen asleep.

The next day, he called her on his way home. María was stirring a cup of hot tea that she had just finished preparing for him, as she picked up the phone.

“I want to say sorry,” he said. His voice was sincere and reassuring. “I have been too busy with work, and it’s not fair for you. You spend so much time at home with no one to talk to. Honey, life is hard enough as it is, and it’s even harder for you, because, well, you came here not knowing anyone besides me. You trusted me. You believed that together, we can build a better future, and we can build a family.”

María found consolation in his words. There was no trace of anger or frustration.

“I know that you have been going through a lot lately.” He continued, “Things are pretty rough, and work has been demanding, but it’s not an excuse for me to ignore your emotions. Honey, I have not been taking good care of you. That’s why I wanted to apologize.”

“Oh, my love,” María said as the spoon fell from her hand, falling onto the kitchen table and splashing drops of water onto her clothes. She was teary. She wanted to reassure him that she understood his struggles too, and that as long as he still loved her, she did not need any apologies. María did not finish her sentence.

“Aye — just from that afternoon, Fritz already noticed that you had — well, how should I put it — symptoms of depression. I mean, it’s natural. I understand where it’s coming from. Anyways, since it’s our anniversary, I thought I’d bring you a little gift.” He continued to speak on the phone, as he pushed his key into the door lock, “Fritz and I both think that a little companion would do you a great deal of good.”

As the door opened, María saw her husband standing outside in his winter coat. The next thing to catch her eye was a German shepherd eagerly trying to break free from its leash, its mouth full of lascivious drools.

“That’s why Mr. Boblyubov is going to live with us now,” her husband said. María’s face became pale, her hands trembling with the teetering teacup, and a stream of coldness ran down her spine.

“Why, isn’t he such a sweet gentleman?” He added with an innocuous smile.