"A Camus - The Stranger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Camus Albert)

Part One

I
MOTHER died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I canТt be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday.
The Home for Aged Persons is at Marengo, some fifty miles from Algiers. With the two oТclock bus I should get there well before nightfall. Then I can spend the night there, keeping the usual vigil beside the body, and be back here by tomorrow evening. I have fixed up with my employer for two daysТ leave; obviously, under the circumstances, he couldnТt refuse. Still, I had an idea he looked annoyed, and I said, without thinking: УSorry, sir, but itТs not my fault, you know.Ф
Afterwards it struck me I neednТt have said that. I had no reason to excuse myself; it was up to him to express his sympathy and so forth. Probably he will do so the day after tomorrow, when he sees me in black. For the present, itТs almost as if Mother werenТt really dead. The funeral will bring it home to me, put an official seal on it, so to speak. ...
I took the two-oТclock bus. It was a blazing hot afternoon. IТd lunched, as usual, at CщlesteТs restaurant. Everyone was most kind, and Cщleste said to me, УThereТs no one like a mother.Ф When I left they came with me to the door. It was something of a rush, getting away, as at the last moment I had to call in at EmmanuelТs place to borrow his black tie and mourning band. He lost his uncle a few months ago.
I had to run to catch the bus. I suppose it was my hurrying like that, what with the glare off the road and from the sky, the reek of gasoline, and the jolts, that made me feel so drowsy. Anyhow, I slept most of the way. When I woke I was leaning against a soldier; he grinned and asked me if IТd come from a long way off, and I just nodded, to cut things short. I wasnТt in a mood for talking.
The Home is a little over a mile from the village. I went there on foot. I asked to be allowed to see Mother at once, but the doorkeeper told me I must see the warden first. He wasnТt free, and I had to wait a bit. The doorkeeper chatted with me while I waited; then he led me to the office. The warden was a very small man, with gray hair, and a Legion of Honor rosette in his buttonhole. He gave me a long look with his watery blue eyes. Then we shook hands, and he held mine so long that I began to feel embarrassed. After that he consulted a register on his table, and said:
УMadame Meursault entered the Home three years ago. She had no private means and depended entirely on you.Ф
I had a feeling he was blaming me for something, and started to explain. But he cut me short.
УThereТs no need to excuse yourself, my boy. IТve looked up the record and obviously you werenТt in a position to see that she was properly cared for. She needed someone to be with her all the time, and young men in jobs like yours donТt get too much pay. In any case, she was much happier in the Home.Ф
I said, УYes, sir; IТm sure of that.Ф
Then he added: УShe had good friends here, you know, old folks like herself, and one gets on better with people of oneТs own generation. YouТre much too young; you couldnТt have been much of a companion to her.Ф
That was so. When we lived together, Mother was always watching me, but we hardly ever talked. During her first few weeks at the Home she used to cry a good deal. But that was only because she hadnТt settled down. After a month or two sheТd have cried if sheТd been told to leave the Home. Because this, too, would have been a wrench. That was why, during the last year, I seldom went to see her. Also, it would have meant losing my SundayЧnot to mention the trouble of going to the bus, getting my ticket, and spending two hours on the journey each way.
The warden went on talking, but I didnТt pay much attention. Finally he said:
УNow, I suppose youТd like to see your mother?Ф
I rose without replying, and he led the way to the door. As we were going down the stairs he explained:
УIТve had the body moved to our little mortuaryЧso as not to upset the other old people, you understand. Every time thereТs a death here, theyТre in a nervous state for two or three days. Which means, of course, extra work and worry for our staff.Ф
We crossed a courtyard where there were a number of old men, talking amongst themselves in little groups. They fell silent as we came up with them. Then, behind our backs, the chattering began again. Their voices reminded me of parakeets in a cage, only the sound wasnТt quite so shrill. The warden stopped outside the entrance of a small, low building.
УSo here I leave you, Monsieur Meursault. If you want me for anything, youТll find me in my office. We propose to have the funeral tomorrow morning. That will enable you to spend the night beside your motherТs coffin, as no doubt you would wish to do. Just one more thing; I gathered from your motherТs friends that she wished to be buried with the rites of the Church. IТve made arrangements for this; but I thought I should let you know.Ф
I thanked him. So far as I knew, my mother, though not a professed atheist, had never given a thought to religion in her life.
I entered the mortuary. It was a bright, spotlessly clean room, with whitewashed walls and a big skylight. The furniture consisted of some chairs and trestles. Two of the latter stood open in the center of the room and the coffin rested on them. The lid was in place, but the screws had been given only a few turns and their nickeled heads stuck out above the wood, which was stained dark walnut. An Arab womanЧa nurse, I supposedЧwas sitting beside the bier; she was wearing a blue smock and had a rather gaudy scarf wound round her hair.
Just then the keeper came up behind me. HeТd evidently been running, as he was a little out of breath.
УWe put the lid on, but I was told to unscrew it when you came, so that you could see her.Ф
While he was going up to the coffin I told him not to trouble.
УEh? WhatТs that?Ф he exclaimed. УYou donТt want me to ...?Ф
УNo,Ф I said.
He put back the screwdriver in his pocket and stared at me. I realized then that I shouldnТt have said, УNo,Ф and it made me rather embarrassed. After eying me for some moments he asked:
УWhy not?Ф But he didnТt sound reproachful; he simply wanted to know.
УWell, really I couldnТt say,Ф I answered.
He began twiddling his white mustache; then, without looking at me, said gently:
УI understand.Ф
He was a pleasant-looking man, with blue eyes and ruddy cheeks. He drew up a chair for me near the coffin, and seated himself just behind. The nurse got up and moved toward the door. As she was going by, the keeper whispered in my ear:
УItТs a tumor she has, poor thing.Ф
I looked at her more carefully and I noticed that she had a bandage round her head, just below her eyes. It lay quite flat across the bridge of her nose, and one saw hardly anything of her face except that strip of whiteness.
As soon as she had gone, the keeper rose.
УNow IТll leave you to yourself.Ф
I donТt know whether I made some gesture, but instead of going he halted behind my chair. The sensation of someone posted at my back made me uncomfortable. The sun was getting low and the whole room was flooded with a pleasant, mellow light. Two hornets were buzzing overhead, against the skylight. I was so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open. Without looking round, I asked the keeper how long heТd been at the Home. УFive years.Ф The answer came so pat that one could have thought heТd been expecting my question.
That started him off, and he became quite chatty. If anyone had told him ten years ago that heТd end his days as doorkeeper at a home at Marengo, heТd never have believed it. He was sixty-four, he said, and hailed from Paris.
When he said that, I broke in. УAh, you donТt come from here?Ф
I remembered then that, before taking me to the warden, heТd told me something about Mother. He had said sheТd have to be buried mighty quickly because of the heat in these parts, especially down in the plain. УAt Paris they keep the body for three days, sometimes four.Ф After that he had mentioned that heТd spent the best part of his life in Paris, and could never manage to forget it. УHere,Ф he had said, Уthings have to go with a rush, like. YouТve hardly time to get used to the idea that someoneТs dead, before youТre hauled off to the funeral.Ф УThatТs enough,Ф his wife had put in. УYou didnТt ought to say such things to the poor young gentleman.Ф The old fellow had blushed and begun to apologize. I told him it was quite all right. As a matter of fact, I found it rather interesting, what heТd been telling me; I hadnТt thought of that before.
Now he went on to say that heТd entered the Home as an ordinary inmate. But he was still quite hale and hearty, and when the keeperТs job fell vacant, he offered to take it on.
I pointed out that, even so, he was really an inmate like the others, but he wouldnТt hear of it. He was Уan official, like.Ф IТd been struck before by his habit of saying УtheyФ or, less often, Уthem old folks,Ф when referring to inmates no older than himself. Still, I could see his point of view. As doorkeeper he had a certain standing, and some authority over the rest of them.
Just then the nurse returned. Night had fallen very quickly; all of a sudden, it seemed, the sky went black above the skylight. The keeper switched on the lamps, and I was almost blinded by the blaze of light.
He suggested I should go to the refectory for dinner, but I wasnТt hungry. Then he proposed bringing me a mug of cafщ au lait. As I am very partial to cafщ au lait I said, УThanks,Ф and a few minutes later he came back with a tray. I drank the coffee, and then I wanted a cigarette. But I wasnТt sure if I should smoke, under the circumstancesЧin MotherТs presence. I thought it over; really, it didnТt seem to matter, so I offered the keeper a cigarette, and we both smoked.
After a while he started talking again.
УYou know, your motherТs friends will be coming soon, to keep vigil with you beside the body. We always have a СvigilТ here, when anyone dies. IТd better go and get some chairs and a pot of black coffee.Ф
The glare off the white walls was making my eyes smart, and I asked him if he couldnТt turn off one of the lamps. УNothing doing,Ф he said. TheyТd arranged the lights like that; either one had them all on or none at all. After that I didnТt pay much more attention to him. He went out, brought some chairs, and set them out round the coffin. On one he placed a coffeepot and ten or a dozen cups. Then he sat down facing me, on the far side of Mother. The nurse was at the other end of the room, with her back to me. I couldnТt see what she was doing, but by the way her arms moved I guessed that she was knitting. I was feeling very comfortable; the coffee had warmed me up, and through the open door came scents of flowers and breaths of cool night air. I think I dozed off for a while.