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

When I woke up, Marie had gone. SheТd told me her aunt expected her first thing in the morning. I remembered it was a Sunday, and that put me off; IТve never cared for Sundays. So I turned my head and lazily sniffed the smell of brine that MarieТs head had left on the pillow. I slept until ten. After that I stayed in bed until noon, smoking cigarettes. I decided not to lunch at CщlesteТs restaurant as I usually did; theyТd be sure to pester me with questions, and I dislike being questioned. So I fried some eggs and ate them off the pan. I did without bread as there wasnТt any left, and I couldnТt be bothered going down to buy it.
After lunch I felt at loose ends and roamed about the little flat. It suited us well enough when Mother was with me, but now that I was by myself it was too large and IТd moved the dining table into my bedroom. That was now the only room I used; it had all the furniture I needed: a brass bedstead, a dressing table, some cane chairs whose seats had more or less caved in, a wardrobe with a tarnished mirror. The rest of the flat was never used, so I didnТt trouble to look after it.
A bit later, for want of anything better to do, I picked up an old newspaper that was lying on the floor and read it. There was an advertisement of Kruschen Salts and I cut it out and pasted in into an album where I keep things that amuse me in the papers. Then I washed my hands and, as a last resource, went out on to the balcony.
My bedroom overlooks the main street of our district. Though it was a fine afternoon, the paving blocks were black and glistening. What few people were about seemed in an absurd hurry. First of all there came a family, going for their Sunday-afternoon walk; two small boys in sailor suits, with short trousers hardly down to their knees, and looking rather uneasy in their Sunday best; then a little girl with a big pink bow and black patent-leather shoes. Behind them was their mother, an enormously fat woman in a brown silk dress, and their father, a dapper little man, whom I knew by sight. He had a straw hat, a walking stick, and a butterfly tie. Seeing him beside his wife, I understood why people said he came of a good family and had married beneath him.
Next came a group of young fellows, the local Уbloods,Ф with sleek oiled hair, red ties, coats cut very tight at the waist, braided pockets, and square-toed shoes. I guessed they were going to one of the big theaters in the center of the town. That was why they had started out so early and were hurrying to the streetcar stop, laughing and talking at the top of their voices.
After they had passed, the street gradually emptied. By this time all the matinees must have begun. Only a few shopkeepers and cats remained about. Above the sycamores bordering the road the sky was cloudless, but the light was soft. The tobacconist on the other side of the street brought a chair out on to the pavement in front of his door and sat astride it, resting his arms on the back. The streetcars which a few minutes before had been crowded were now almost empty. In the little cafщ, Chez Pierrot, beside the tobacconistТs, the waiter was sweeping up the sawdust in the empty restaurant. A typical Sunday afternoon. ...
I turned my chair round and seated myself like the tobacconist, as it was more comfortable that way. After smoking a couple of cigarettes I went back to the room, got a tablet of chocolate, and returned to the window to eat it. Soon after, the sky clouded over, and I thought a summer storm was coming. However, the clouds gradually lifted. All the same, they had left in the street a sort of threat of rain, which made it darker. I stayed watching the sky for quite a while.
At five there was a loud clanging of streetcars. They were coming from the stadium in our suburb where there had been a football match. Even the back platforms were crowded and people were standing on the steps. Then another streetcar brought back the teams. I knew they were the players by the little suitcase each man carried. They were bawling out their team song, УKeep the ball rolling, boys.Ф One of them looked up at me and shouted, УWe licked them!Ф I waved my hand and called back, УGood work!Ф From now on there was a steady stream of private cars.
The sky had changed again; a reddish glow was spreading up beyond the housetops. As dusk set in, the street grew more crowded. People were returning from their walks, and I noticed the dapper little man with the fat wife amongst the passers-by. Children were whimpering and trailing wearily after their parents. After some minutes the local picture houses disgorged their audiences. I noticed that the young fellows coming from them were taking longer strides and gesturing more vigorously than at ordinary times; doubtless the picture theyТd been seeing was of the wild-West variety. Those who had been to the picture houses in the middle of the town came a little later, and looked more sedate, though a few were still laughing. On the whole, however, they seemed languid and exhausted. Some of them remained loitering in the street under my window. A group of girls came by, walking arm in arm. The young men under my window swerved so as to brush against them, and shouted humorous remarks, which made the girls turn their heads and giggle. I recognized them as girls from my part of the town, and two or three of them, whom I knew, looked up and waved to me.
Just then the street lamps came on, all together, and they made the stars that were beginning to glimmer in the night sky paler still. I felt my eyes getting tired, what with the lights and all the movement IТd been watching in the street. There were little pools of brightness under the lamps, and now and then a streetcar passed, lighting up a girlТs hair, or a smile, or a silver bangle.
Soon after this, as the streetcars became fewer and the sky showed velvety black above the trees and lamps, the street grew emptier, almost imperceptibly, until a time came when there was nobody to be seen and a cat, the first of the evening, crossed, unhurrying, the deserted street.
It struck me that IТd better see about some dinner. I had been leaning so long on the back of my chair, looking down, that my neck hurt when I straightened myself up. I went down, bought some bread and spaghetti, did my cooking, and ate my meal standing. IТd intended to smoke another cigarette at my window, but the night had turned rather chilly and I decided against it. As I was coming back, after shutting the window, I glanced at the mirror and saw reflected in it a corner of my table with my spirit lamp and some bits of bread beside it. It occurred to me that somehow IТd got through another Sunday, that Mother now was buried, and tomorrow IТd be going back to work as usual. Really, nothing in my life had changed.

III
I HAD a busy morning in the office. My employer was in a good humor. He even inquired if I wasnТt too tired, and followed it up by asking what MotherТs age was. I thought a bit, then answered, УRound about sixty,Ф as I didnТt want to make a blunder. At which he looked relievedЧwhy, I canТt imagineЧand seemed to think that closed the matter.
There was a pile of bills of lading waiting on my desk, and I had to go through them all. Before leaving for lunch I washed my hands. I always enjoyed doing this at midday. In the evening it was less pleasant, as the roller towel, after being used by so many people, was sopping wet. I once brought this to my employerТs notice. It was regrettable, he agreedЧbut, to his mind, a mere detail. I left the office building a little later than usual, at half-past twelve, with Emmanuel, who works in the Forwarding Department. Our building overlooks the sea, and we paused for a moment on the steps to look at the shipping in the. harbor. The sun was scorching hot. Just then a big truck came up, with a din of chains and backfires from the engine, and Emmanuel suggested we should try to jump it. I started to run. The truck was well away, and we had to chase it for quite a distance. What with the heat and the noise from the engine, I felt half dazed. All I was conscious of was our mad rush along the water front, amongst cranes and winches, with dark hulls of ships alongside and masts swaying in the offing. I was the first to catch up with the truck. I took a flying jump, landed safely, and helped Emmanuel to scramble in beside me. We were both of us out of breath, and the bumps of the truck on the roughly laid cobbles made things worse. Emmanuel chuckled, and panted in my ear, УWeТve made it!Ф
By the time we reached CщlesteТs restaurant we were dripping with sweat. Cщleste was at his usual place beside the entrance, with his apron bulging on his paunch, his white mustache well to the fore. When he saw me he was sympathetic and Уhoped I wasnТt feeling too badly.Ф I said, УNo,Ф but I was extremely hungry. I ate very quickly and had some coffee to finish up. Then I went to my place and took a short nap, as IТd drunk a glass of wine too many.
When I woke I smoked a cigarette before getting off my bed. I was a bit late and had to run for the streetcar. The office was stifling, and I was kept hard at it all the afternoon. So it came as a relief when we closed down and I was strolling slowly along the wharves in the coolness. The sky was green, and it was pleasant to be out-of-doors after the stuffy office. However, I went straight home, as I had to put some potatoes on to boil.
The hall was dark and, when I was starting up the stairs, I almost bumped into old Salamano, who lived on the same floor as I. As usual, he had his dog with him. For eight years the two had been inseparable. SalamanoТs spaniel is an ugly brute, afflicted with some skin diseaseЧmange, I suspect; anyhow, it has lost all its hair and its body is covered with brown scabs. Perhaps through living in one small room, cooped up with his dog, Salamano has come to resemble it. His towy hair has gone very thin, and he has reddish blotches on his face. And the dog has developed something of its masterТs queer hunched-up gait; it always has its muzzle stretched far forward and its nose to the ground. But, oddly enough, though so much alike, they detest each other.
Twice a day, at eleven and six, the old fellow takes his dog for a walk, and for eight years that walk has never varied. You can see them in the rue de Lyon, the dog pulling his master along as hard as he can, till finally the old chap misses a step and nearly falls. Then he beats his dog and calls it names. The dog cowers and lags behind, and itТs his masterТs turn to drag him along. Presently the dog forgets, starts tugging at the leash again, gets another hiding and more abuse. Then they halt on the pavement, the pair of them, and glare at each other; the dog with terror and the man with hatred in his eyes. Every time theyТre out, this happens. When the dog wants to stop at a lamppost, the old boy wonТt let him, and drags him on, and the wretched spaniel leaves behind him a trail of little drops. But, if he does it in the room, it means another hiding.
ItТs been going on like this for eight years, and Cщleste always says itТs a Уcrying shame,Ф and something should be done about it; but really one canТt be sure. When I met him in the hall, Salamano was bawling at his dog, calling him a bastard, a lousy mongrel, and so forth, and the dog was whining. I said, УGood evening,Ф but the old fellow took no notice and went on cursing. So I thought IТd ask him what the dog had done. Again, he didnТt answer, but went on shouting, УYou bloody cur!Ф and the rest of it. I couldnТt see very clearly, but he seemed to be fixing something on the dogТs collar. I raised my voice a little. Without looking round, he mumbled in a sort of suppressed fury: УHeТs always in the way, blast him!Ф Then he started up the stairs, but the dog tried to resist and flattened itself out on the floor, so he had to haul it up on the leash, step by step.
Just then another man who lives on my floor came in from the street. The general idea hereabouts is that heТs a pimp. But if you ask him what his job is, he says heТs a warehouseman. One thingТs sure: he isnТt popular in our street. Still, he often has a word for me, and drops in sometimes for a short talk in my room, because I listen to him. As a matter of fact, I find what he says quite interesting. So, really IТve no reason for freezing him off. His name is Sintшs; Raymond Sintшs. HeТs short and thick-set, has a nose like a boxerТs, and always dresses very sprucely. He, too, once said to me, referring to Salamano, that it was Уa damned shame,Ф and asked me if I wasnТt disgusted by the way the old man served his dog. I answered: УNo.Ф
We went up the stairs together, Sintшs and I, and when I was turning in at my door, he said:
УLook here! How about having some grub with me? IТve a black pudding and some wine.Ф
It struck me that this would save my having to cook my dinner, so I said, УThanks very much.Ф
He, too, has only one room, and a little kitchen without a window. I saw a pink-and-white plaster angel above his bed, and some photos of sporting champions and naked girls pinned to the opposite wall. The bed hadnТt been made and the room was dirty. He began by lighting a paraffin lamp; then fumbled in his pocket and produced a rather grimy bandage, which he wrapped round his right hand. I asked him what the trouble was. He told me heТd been having a roughhouse with a fellow whoТd annoyed him.
УIТm not one who looks for trouble,Ф he explained, Уonly IТm a bit short-tempered. That fellow said to me, challenging-like, СCome down off that streetcar, if youТre a man.Т I says, СYou keep quiet, I ainТt done nothing to you.Т Then he said I hadnТt any guts. Well, that settled it. I got down off the streetcar and I said to him, СYou better keep your mouth shut, or IТll shut it for you.Т СIТd like to see you try!Т says he. Then I gave him one across the face, and laid him out good and proper. After a bit I started to help him get up, but all he did was to kick at me from where he lay. So I gave him one with my knee and a couple more swipes. He was bleeding like a pig when IТd done with him. I asked him if heТd had enough, and he said, СYes.Т Ф
Sintшs was busy fixing his bandage while he talked, and I was sitting on the bed.
УSo you see,Ф he said, Уit wasnТt my fault; he was asking for it, wasnТt he?Ф
I nodded, and he added:
УAs a matter of fact, I rather want to ask your advice about something; itТs connected with this business. YouТve knocked about the world a bit, and I daresay you can help me. And then IТll be your pal for life; I never forget anyone who does me a good turn.Ф
When I made no comment, he asked me if IТd like us to be pals. I replied that I had no objection, and that appeared to satisfy him. He got out the black pudding, cooked it in a frying pan, then laid the table, putting out two bottles of wine. While he was doing this he didnТt speak.
We started dinner, and then he began telling me the whole story, hesitating a bit at first.
УThereТs a girl behind itЧas usual. We slept together pretty regular. I was keeping her, as a matter of fact, and she cost me a tidy sum. That fellow I knocked down is her brother.Ф
Noticing that I said nothing, he added that he knew what the neighbors said about him, but it was a filthy lie. He had his principles like everybody else, and a job in a warehouse.
УWell,Ф he said, Уto go on with my story ... I found out one day that she was letting me down.Ф He gave her enough money to keep her going, without extravagance, though; he paid the rent of her room and twenty francs a day for food. УThree hundred francs for rent, and six hundred for her grub, with a little present thrown in now and then, a pair of stockings or whatnot. Say, a thousand francs a month. But that wasnТt enough for my fine lady; she was always grumbling that she couldnТt make both ends meet with what I gave her. So one day I says to her, СLook here, why not get a job for a few hours a day? ThatТd make things easier for me, too. I bought you a new dress this month, I pay your rent and give you twenty francs a day. But you go and waste your money at the cafщ with a pack of girls. You give them coffee and sugar. And, of course, the money comes out of my pocket. I treat you on the square, and thatТs how you pay me back.Т But she wouldnТt hear of working, though she kept on saying she couldnТt make do with what I gave her. And then one day I found out she was doing me dirt.Ф
He went on to explain that heТd found a lottery ticket in her bag, and, when he asked where the moneyТd come from to buy it, she wouldnТt tell him. Then, another time, heТd found a pawn ticket for two bracelets that heТd never set eyes on.
УSo I knew there was dirty work going on, and I told her IТd have nothing more to do with her. But, first, I gave her a good hiding, and I told her some home truths. I said that there was only one thing interested her and that was getting into bed with men whenever sheТd the chance. And I warned her straight, СYouТll be sorry one day, my girl, and wish youТd got me back. All the girls in the street, theyТre jealous of your luck in having me to keep you.Т Ф
HeТd beaten her till the blood came. Before that heТd never beaten her. УWell, not hard, anyhow; only affectionately-like. SheТd howl a bit, and I had to shut the window. Then, of course, it ended as per usual. But this time IТm done with her. Only, to my mind, I ainТt punished her enough. See what I mean?Ф
He explained that it was about this he wanted my advice. The lamp was smoking, and he stopped pacing up and down the room, to lower the wick. I just listened, without speaking. IТd had a whole bottle of wine to myself and my head was buzzing. As IТd used up my cigarettes I was smoking RaymondТs. Some late streetcars passed, and the last noises of the street died off with them. Raymond went on talking. What bored him was that he had Уa sort of lech on herФ as he called it. But he was quite determined to teach her a lesson.
His first idea, he said, had been to take her to a hotel, and then call in the special police. HeТd persuade them to put her on the register as a Уcommon prostitute,Ф and that would make her wild. Then heТd looked up some friends of his in the underworld, fellows who kept tarts for what they could make out of them, but they had practically nothing to suggest. Still, as he pointed out, that sort of thing should have been right up their street; whatТs the good of being in that line if you donТt know how to treat a girl whoТs let you down? When he told them that, they suggested he should УbrandФ her. But that wasnТt what he wanted, either. It would need a lot of thinking out. ... But, first, heТd like to ask me something. Before he asked it, though, heТd like to have my opinion of the story heТd been telling, in a general way.
I said I hadnТt any, but IТd found it interesting.
Did I think she really had done him dirt?
I had to admit it looked like that. Then he asked me if I didnТt think she should be punished and what IТd do if I were in his shoes. I told him one could never be quite sure how to act in such cases, but I quite understood his wanting her to suffer for it.
I drank some more wine, while Raymond lit another cigarette and began explaining what he proposed to do. He wanted to write her a letter, Уa real stinker, thatТll get her on the raw,Ф and at the same time make her repent of what sheТd done. Then, when she came back, heТd go to bed with her and, just when she was Уproperly primed up,Ф heТd spit in her face and throw her out of the room. I agreed it wasnТt a bad plan; it would punish her, all right.
But, Raymond told me, he didnТt feel up to writing the kind of letter that was needed, and that was where I could help. When I didnТt say anything, he asked me if IТd mind doing it right away, and I said, УNo,Ф IТd have a shot at it.
He drank off a glass of wine and stood up. Then he pushed aside the plates and the bit of cold pudding that was left, to make room on the table. After carefully wiping the oilcloth, he got a sheet of squared paper from the drawer of his bedside table; after that, an envelope, a small red wooden penholder, and a square inkpot with purple ink in it. The moment he mentioned the girlТs name I knew she was a Moor.
I wrote the letter. I didnТt take much trouble over it, but I wanted to satisfy Raymond, as IТd no reason not to satisfy him. Then I read out what IТd written. Puffing at his cigarette, he listened, nodding now and then. УRead it again, please,Ф he said. He seemed delighted. УThatТs the stuff,Ф he chuckled. УI could tell you was a brainy sort, old boy, and you know whatТs what.Ф
At first I hardly noticed that Уold boy.Ф It came back to me when he slapped me on the shoulder and said, УSo now weТre pals, ainТt we?Ф I kept silence and he said it again. I didnТt care one way or the other, but as he seemed so set on it, I nodded and said, УYes.Ф
He put the letter into the envelope and we finished off the wine. Then both of us smoked for some minutes, without speaking. The street was quite quiet, except when now and again a car passed. Finally, I remarked that it was getting late, and Raymond agreed. УTimeТs gone mighty fast this evening,Ф he added, and in a way that was true. I wanted to be in bed, only it was such an effort making a move. I must have looked tired, for Raymond said to me, УYou mustnТt let things get you down.Ф At first I didnТt catch his meaning. Then he explained that he had heard of my motherТs death; anyhow, he said, that was something bound to happen one day or another. I appreciated that, and told him so.