5

For the third time I've refused to see the chaplain. I

don't have anything to say to him; I don't feel like

talking, and I'll be seeing him soon enough as it is.

4

Even in the prisoner's dock it's always interesting to hear

people talk about you. And during the summations by

the prosecutor and my lawyer, there was a lot said about

me, maybe more about me than about my crime.

3

But I can honestly say that the time from summer to

summer went very quickly. And I knew as soon as the

weather turned hot that something new was in store for

me.

2

There are some things I've never liked talking about. A

few days after I entered prison, I realized that I wouldn't

like talking about this part of my life.

PART TWO

1

Right after my arrest I was questioned several times, but

it was just so they could find out who I was, which didn't

take long. The first time, at the police station, nobody

seemed very interested in my case.

I had a hard time waking up on Sunday, and Marie had

to call me and shake me. We didn't eat anything, be-

cause we wanted to get to the beach early. I felt com-

pletely drained and I had a slight headache. My cigarette

tasted bitter.

Raymond called me at the office. He told me that a

friend of his (he'd spoken to him about me) had invited

me to spend the day Sunday at his little beach house,

near Algiers. I said I'd really like to, but I'd promised to

spend the day with a girlfriend. Raymond immediately

told me that she was invited too.

I worked hard all week. Raymond stopped by and told

me he'd sent the letter. I went to the movies twice with

Emmanuel, who doesn't always understand what's going

on on the screen. So you have to explain things to him.

Yesterday was Saturday, and Marie came over as we'd

planned.

I worked hard at the office today. The boss was nice. He

asked me if I wasn't too tired and he also wanted to

know Maman's age. I said, "About sixty," so as not to

make a mistake; and I don't know why, but he seemed

to be relieved somehow and to consider the matter

closed.

As I was waking up, it came to me why my boss had

seemed annoyed when I asked him for two days off :

today is Saturday. I'd sort of forgotten, but as I was

getting up, it came to me.

PART ONE

1

Maman died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don't know.

I got a telegram from the home: "Mother deceased.

Funeral tomorrow. Faithfully yours." That doesn't mean

anything. Maybe it was yesterday.

The Stranger demanded of Camus the creation of a style

at once literary and profoundly popular, an artistic

sleight of hand that would make the complexities of a

man's life appear simple.