Short summary: María Camino lives with her mother and her sister Clara, hiding a deep torment that silently consumes her. One night, after an incident in her room, she begins living in terror of a presence that visits her every night. To hide her condition, she pretends to feel better and keeps herself busy, though she suffers in secret. She sees José Juan, cousin of her sister’s fiancé, as a possible savior and agrees to marry him, believing that marriage will set her free. However, the wedding preparations exhaust her, and her repulsion toward him grows. When José Juan announces a trip, María feels relieved, but his sudden return plunges her into despair. In the final section, the narrative shifts: María appears to be a prisoner in a dark place, delirious with memories, hallucinations, and violence, as it is implied that she has killed José Juan and that her mind has irreparably fractured.
Full summary of The Cell by Amparo Dávila
In The Cell (La celda), a short story published in the collection Tiempo destrozado (1959), Amparo Dávila tells the disturbing story of María Camino, a young woman living with her mother and sister Clara in a quiet, orderly family home. From the first scene, at breakfast, María appears agitated and afraid of being questioned or noticed. Her behavior reveals a secret torment she tries to conceal—an inner anguish that no one else perceives. Her mother and sister suspect nothing, but María feels watched, trapped by an unexplained discomfort and constant fear.
That evening, as usual, the family is visited by Mario Olaguíbel—Clara’s fiancé—and his cousin José Juan. While they play cards, María usually sits silently by the fire, knitting. But this time, unexpectedly, she asks to join the game, trying to appear cheerful and normal. Her attempts to fit in are clumsy; she can’t concentrate or hide her anxiety. As soon as the evening ends, she goes up to her room, and upon opening the door, she faces something—or someone—not clearly described, but whose presence terrifies her. From that moment on, her life changes completely.
María tries to keep up appearances of calm. She becomes active, takes on household tasks, and seems better, to avoid suspicion. But internally, she suffers constant torment. Haunted by the memory of the presence in her room and the nightly harassment she endures, she lives in fear and silence. She can’t tell anyone, fearing madness or destroying the fragile peace of her home. Her life becomes a hell of fear and repression.
Amid this despair, María sees José Juan as a possible way out. She imagines that marrying him would allow her to escape, travel far, and find peace. Struggling against her natural shyness, she begins to be more friendly. Her family welcomes this change, thinking her health has improved. Soon, she and José Juan are engaged, with the wedding set for January. Yet despite this hope, the terror of the nights remains. Each time he leaves, she is overwhelmed by panic.
As the wedding preparations advance, María becomes physically and emotionally exhausted. The shopping, appointments, and decisions drain her. She starts to feel disgusted by José Juan, losing interest in the marriage altogether. Life becomes a string of meaningless tasks, and her mind sinks into deep fatigue. When José Juan announces a trip to New York, María finally feels relief—his absence brings her joy and an odd sense of freedom. But her happiness crumbles that same night when he unexpectedly returns. Furious and desperate, she rushes to her room, cries in rage… and her consciousness begins to unravel.
The story then takes an abrupt turn. María now narrates in first person, from a dark, freezing place. She speaks from a “cell” or locked room where she lives as a prisoner, surrounded by rats and dead flies. Her monologue is fragmented and incoherent: she confuses times and places, recalling her home, her family, the castle where she now lives, and José Juan—who seems both her captor and lover. She says he won’t let her out, that he beats her and watches her, but also that “they are always together.” In her delirium, she remembers killing him one night under the white moonlight, and how his eyes remained open, like a rat’s.
The story ends with María speaking to herself, trapped in this dark, cold place, watching the corners where rats scurry, terrified that “he” might return. It’s unclear whether the prison is real or a product of her madness. What is certain is that María’s mind is now locked in a cell with no escape, consumed by fear, isolation, and obsession.
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