He thought of Marie, who would soon find another yes. Of Salamano, who lost his dog. Of the Arab, whose name he never learned.
The courtroom laughed. He did not understand why.
His lawyer begged him: “Say you were sad. Say you loved her. Cry. Please .”
“I have only this life. I am sure of my death, and surer of my indifference. Your certainties are worth less than a woman’s tear. I am a stranger to you, to this world, to your God. But at least I am not a stranger to myself.”
The Day the Sky Went Quiet
He felt the world’s tender indifference wash over him. It was like a mother. Quiet. Vast. Asking nothing.
Meursault looked at him. “It would be a lie.”
The funeral procession climbed a sun-scorched hill. Meursault felt the heat first as an assault, then as a fact. He thought: Maman is now ash-colored earth. Good. She hated the wind.
The Arab was lying on the shore. A shimmer of water, a slash of shadow. Meursault took a step forward. The sun hit him like a long, silent scream. The trigger gave way like a sigh.
Meursault was not a cruel man. He was simply a man who forgot to perform grief.
He returned to Algiers. Went to the beach. Saw a film with Marie, a former typist who laughed at his silences. She asked if he loved her. He said the words had no meaning, but probably not. She asked if he would marry her. He said yes, if she wanted. It made no difference.
“I loved her as much as anyone. But that is not a number.”
He opened his mouth to the dawn.
Meursault grabbed him by the cassock. For the first time, he shouted.
He thought of Marie, who would soon find another yes. Of Salamano, who lost his dog. Of the Arab, whose name he never learned.
The courtroom laughed. He did not understand why.
His lawyer begged him: “Say you were sad. Say you loved her. Cry. Please .”
“I have only this life. I am sure of my death, and surer of my indifference. Your certainties are worth less than a woman’s tear. I am a stranger to you, to this world, to your God. But at least I am not a stranger to myself.” libro el extranjero de albert camus
The Day the Sky Went Quiet
He felt the world’s tender indifference wash over him. It was like a mother. Quiet. Vast. Asking nothing.
Meursault looked at him. “It would be a lie.” He thought of Marie, who would soon find another yes
The funeral procession climbed a sun-scorched hill. Meursault felt the heat first as an assault, then as a fact. He thought: Maman is now ash-colored earth. Good. She hated the wind.
The Arab was lying on the shore. A shimmer of water, a slash of shadow. Meursault took a step forward. The sun hit him like a long, silent scream. The trigger gave way like a sigh.
Meursault was not a cruel man. He was simply a man who forgot to perform grief. The courtroom laughed
He returned to Algiers. Went to the beach. Saw a film with Marie, a former typist who laughed at his silences. She asked if he loved her. He said the words had no meaning, but probably not. She asked if he would marry her. He said yes, if she wanted. It made no difference.
“I loved her as much as anyone. But that is not a number.”
He opened his mouth to the dawn.
Meursault grabbed him by the cassock. For the first time, he shouted.