Speculation

The walls of the apartment are thin. I hear the children next door laughing and screaming as they run up and down the hallway of their apartment. When the baby cries next door, friends open their eyes wide and ask, "Is that D?" so close is the sound of screaming, it is hard to believe it is next door and not here.

Luckily, the bedrooms don't share a wall so I am spared intimate night sounds. Mostly it is children yelling, whining, running and playing, comfortable and warm sounds that make me feel part of a world larger than myself.

Yesterday morning, D and I engaged in our weekly ritual of making buckwheat pancakes. Lined up along the long counter, I placed a mixing bowl, the maple syrup, buckwheat flour, rice milk, a spatula, frozen berries, and a plate. D mixed the pancake batter and I heated the frying pan.

The woman next door started to yell, her voice full of recriminations and resentment. I heard no other voices so assumed she was speaking on the phone. Both of her parents and her sister are currently in Pakistan so I figured it was a long list of pent-up complaints to family far away. Her voice shaped our pancakes, making them thicker than usual, clotted and condensed with rage. Then to my surprise, I heard the quiet mumble of her husband, a murmured response when she paused to catch her breath.

So it shifted in my imagination. Why is she yelling at him? I wondered and added more water to the batter, making it easier to pour, making nicer pancakes. D asked for more maple syrup.

Why do wives yell at husbands? My first thought was: another woman! Loving a scandal, I immediately dived into thoughts infidelity and promiscuity. What else do couples argue about? I listened carefully to her voice. Maybe money? She has complained to me that she doesn't have a 'good husband' because he lacks ambition, working in a restaurant kitchen while her sister's husband is slowly working his way up the ladder in a fruit-packing company.

Has he spent too much money? Gotten involved in some ridiculous money-making scheme? Bet on horses, men or roosters?

D takes his pancakes to the table, no longer satisfied to eat standing at the counter. I pour myself some cereal coffee. The front door of the nieghbours' slams shut and there is silence.

Perhaps I should sign up for Urdu lessons and end this idle speculation.