Part 1, Chapter 6
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Author : Albert Camus

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VI



IT was an effort waking up that Sunday morning; Marie had to jog my shoulders and
shout my name. As we wanted to get into the water early, we didn't trouble about
breakfast. My head was aching slightly and my first cigarette had a bitter taste. Marie
told me I looked like a mourner at a funeral, and I certainly did feel very limp. She
was wearing a white dress and had her hair loose. I told her she looked quite
ravishing like that, and she laughed happily.



On our way out we banged on Raymond's door, and he shouted that he'd be with
us in a jiffy. We went down to the street and, because of my being rather under the
weather and our having kept the blind down in my room, the glare of the morning
sun hit me in the eyes like a clenched fist.



Marie, however, was almost dancing with delight, and kept repeating, "What a
heavenly day!" After a few minutes I was feeling better, and noticed that I was
hungry. I mentioned this to Marie, but she paid no attention. She was carrying an
oilcloth bag in which she had stowed our bathing kit and a towel. Presently we heard
Raymond shutting his door. He was wearing blue trousers, a short-sleeved white
shirt, and a straw hat. I noticed that his forearms were rather hairy, but the skin was
very white beneath. The straw hat made Marie giggle. Personally, I was rather put off
by his getup. He seemed in high spirits and was whistling as he came down the stairs.
He greeted me with, "Hello, old boy!" and addressed Marie as "Mademoiselle."



On the previous evening we had visited the police station, where I gave evidence
for Raymond — about the girl's having been false to him. So they let him off with a
warning. They didn't check my statement.



After some talk on the doorstep we decided to take the bus. The beach was within
easy walking distance, but the sooner we got there the better. Just as we were starting
for the bus stop, Raymond plucked my sleeve and told me to look across the street. I
saw some Arabs lounging against the tobacconist's window. They were staring at us
silently, in the special way these people have — as if we were blocks of stone or dead
trees. Raymond whispered that the second Arab from the left was "his man," and I
thought he looked rather worried However, he assured me that all that was ancient
history. Marie, who hadn't followed his remarks, asked, "What is it?"



I explained that those Arabs across the way had a grudge against Raymond. She
insisted on our going at once. Then Raymond laughed, and squared his shoulders.
The young lady was quite right, he said. There was no point in hanging about here.
Halfway to the bus stop he glanced back over his shoulder and said the Arabs
weren't following. I, too, looked back. They were exactly as before, gazing in the
same vague way at the spot where we had been.



When we were in the bus, Raymond, who now seemed quite at ease, kept making
jokes to amuse Marie. I could see he was attracted by her, but she had hardly a word
for him. Now and again she would catch my eye and smile.



We alighted just outside Algiers. The beach is not far from the bus stop; one has
only to cross a patch of highland, a sort of plateau, which overlooks the sea and
shelves down steeply to the sands. The ground here was covered with yellowish
pebbles and wild lilies that showed snow-white against the blue of the sky, which
had already the hard, metallic glint it gets on very hot days. Marie amused herself
swishing her bag against the flowers and sending the petals showering in all
directions. Then we walked between two rows of little houses with wooden balconies
and green or white palings. Some of them were half hidden in clumps of tamarisks;
others rose naked from the stony plateau. Before we came to the end of it, the sea
was in full view; it lay smooth as a mirror, and in the distance a big headland jutted
out over its black reflection. Through the still air came the faint buzz of a motor
engine and we saw a fishing boat very far out, gliding almost imperceptibly across
the dazzling smoothness.



Marie picked some rock irises. Going down the steep path leading to the sea, we
saw some bathers already on the sands.



Raymond's friend owned a small wooden bungalow at the near end of the beach.
Its back rested against the cliffside, while the front stood on piles, which the water
was already lapping. Raymond introduced us to his friend, whose name was Masson.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and thick-set; his wife was a plump, cheerful little
woman who spoke with a Paris accent.



Masson promptly told us to make ourselves at home. He had gone out fishing, he
said, first thing in the morning, and there would be fried fish for lunch. I
congratulated him on his little bungalow, and he said he always spent his week ends
and holidays here. "With the missus, needless to say," he added. I glanced at her, and
noticed that she and Marie seemed to be getting on well together; laughing and
chattering away. For the first time, perhaps, I seriously considered the possibility of
my marrying her.



Masson wanted to have a swim at once, but his wife and Raymond were
disinclined to move. So only the three of us, Marie, Masson, and myself, went down
to the beach. Marie promptly plunged in, but Masson and I waited for a bit. He was
rather slow of speech and had, I noticed, a habit of saying "and what's more"
between his phrases — even when the second added nothing really to the first. Talking
of Marie, he said: "She's an awfully pretty girl, and what's more, charming."



But I soon ceased paying attention to this trick of his; I was basking in the
sunlight, which, I noticed, was making me feel much better. The sand was beginning
to stoke up underfoot and, though I was eager for a dip, I postponed it for a minute or
two more. At last I said to Masson: "Shall we go in now?" and plunged. Masson
walked in gingerly and only began to swim when he was out of his depth. He swam
hand over hand and made slow headway, so I left him behind and caught up with
Marie. The water was cold and I felt all the better for it. We swam a long way out,
Marie and I, side by side, and it was pleasant feeling how our movements matched,
hers and mine, and how we were both in the same mood, enjoying every moment.



Once we were out in the open, we lay on our backs and, as I gazed up at the sky, I
could feel the sun drawing up the film of salt water on my lips and cheeks. We saw
Masson swim back to the beach and slump down on the sand under the sun. In the
distance he looked enormous, like a stranded whale. Then Marie proposed that we
should swim tandem. She went ahead and I put my arms round her waist, from
behind, and while she drew me forward with her arm strokes, I kicked out behind to
help us on.



That sound of little splashes had been in my ears for so long that I began to feel I'd
had enough of it. So I let go of Marie and swam back at an easy pace, taking long,
deep breaths. When I made the beach I stretched myself belly downward beside
Masson, resting my face on the sand. I told him "it was fine" here, and he agreed.
Presently Marie came back. I raised my head to watch her approach. She was
glistening with brine and holding her hair back. Then she lay down beside me, and
what with the combined warmth of our bodies and the sun, I felt myself dropping off
to sleep.



After a while Marie tugged my arm. and said Masson had gone to his place; it
must be nearly lunchtime. I rose at once, as I was feeling hungry, but Marie told me I
hadn't kissed her once since the early morning. That was so — though I'd wanted to,
several times. "Let's go into the water again," she said, and we ran into the sea and
lay flat among the ripples for a moment. Then we swam a few strokes, and when
we were almost out of our depth she flung her arms round me and hugged me. I felt
her legs twining round mine, and my senses tingled.



When we got back, Masson was on the steps of his bungalow, shouting to us to
come. I told him I was ravenously hungry, and he promptly turned to his wife and
said he'd taken quite a fancy to me. The bread was excellent, and I had my full share
of the fish. Then came some steak and potato chips. None of us spoke while eating.
Masson drank a lot of wine and kept refilling my glass the moment it was empty. By
the time coffee was handed round I was feeling slightly muzzy, and I started smoking
one cigarette after another. Masson, Raymond, and I discussed a plan of spending the
whole of August on the beach together, sharing expenses.



Suddenly Marie exclaimed: "I say! Do you know the time? It's only half-past
eleven!"



We were all surprised at that, and Masson remarked that we'd had a very early
lunch, but really lunch was a movable feast, you had it when you felt like it.



This set Marie laughing, I don't know why. I suspect she'd drunk a bit too much.



Then Masson asked if I'd like to come with him for a stroll on the beach.



"My wife always has a nap after lunch," he said. "Personally I find it doesn't agree
with me; what I need is a short walk. I'm always telling her it's much better for the
health. But, of course, she's entitled to her own opinion."



Marie proposed to stay and help with the washing up. Mme Masson smiled and
said that, in that case, the first thing was to get the men out of the way. So we went
out together, the three of us.



The light was almost vertical and the glare from the water seared one's eyes. The
beach was quite deserted now. One could hear a faint tinkle of knives and forks and
crockery in the shacks and bungalows lining the foreshore. Heat was welling up from
the rocks, and one could hardly breathe.



At first Raymond and Masson talked of things and people I didn't know. I
gathered that they'd been acquainted for some time and had even lived together for a
while. We went down to the water's edge and walked along it; now and then a longer
wave wet our canvas shoes. I wasn't thinking of anything, as all that sunlight beating
down on my bare head made me feel half asleep.



Just then Raymond said something to Masson that I didn't quite catch. But at the
same moment I noticed two Arabs in blue dungarees a long way down the beach,
coming in our direction. I gave Raymond a look and he nodded, saying, "That's
him." We walked steadily on. Masson wondered how they'd managed to track us
here. My impression was that they had seen us taking the bus and noticed Marie's
oilcloth bathing bag; but I didn't say anything.



Though the Arabs walked quite slowly, they were much nearer already. We didn't
change our pace, but Raymond said:



"Listen! If there's a roughhouse, you, Masson, take on the second one. I'll tackle
the fellow who's after me. And you, Meursault, stand by to help if another one
comes up, and lay him out."



I said, "Right," and Masson put his hands in his pockets.



The sand was as hot as fire, and I could have sworn it was glowing red. The
distance between us and the Arabs was steadily decreasing. When we were only a
few steps away the Arabs halted. Masson and I slowed down, while Raymond went
straight up to his man. I couldn't hear what he said, but I saw the native lowering his
head, as if to butt him in the chest. Raymond lashed out promptly and shouted to
Masson to come. Masson went up to the man he had been marking and struck him
twice with all his might. The fellow fell flat into the water and stayed there some
seconds with bubbles coming up to the surface round his head. Meanwhile Raymond
had been slogging the other man, whose face was streaming with blood. He glanced
at me over his shoulder and shouted:



"Just you watch! I ain't finished with him yet!"



"Look out!" I cried. "He's got a knife."



I spoke too late. The man had gashed Raymond's arm and his mouth as well.



Masson sprang forward. The other Arab got up from the water and placed himself
behind the fellow with the knife. We didn't dare to move. The two natives backed
away slowly, keeping us at bay with the knife and never taking their eyes off us.
When they were at a safe distance they swung round and took to their heels. We
stood stock-still, with the sunlight beating down on us. Blood was dripping from
Raymond's wounded arm, which he was squeezing hard above the elbow.



Masson remarked that there was a doctor who always spent his Sundays here, and
Raymond said: "Good. Let's go to him at once." He could hardly get the words out,
as the blood from his other wound made bubbles in his mouth.



We each gave him an arm and helped him back to the bungalow. Once we were
there he told us the wounds weren't so very deep and he could walk to where the
doctor was. Marie had gone quite pale, and Mme Masson was in tears.



Masson and Raymond went off to the doctor's while I was left behind at the
bungalow to explain matters to the women. I didn't much relish the task and soon
dried up and started smoking, staring at the sea.



Raymond came back at about half-past one, accompanied by Masson. He had his
arm bandaged and a strip of sticking plaster on the corner of his mouth. The doctor
had assured him it was nothing serious, but he was looking very glum. Masson tried
to make him laugh, but without success.



Presently Raymond said he was going for a stroll on the beach. I asked him where
he proposed to go, and he mumbled something about "wanting to take the air." We —
Masson and I — then said we'd go with him, but he flew into a rage and told us to
mind our own business. Masson said we mustn't insist, seeing the state he was in.
However, when he went out, I followed him.



It was like a furnace outside, with the sunlight splintering into flakes of fire on the
sand and sea. We walked for quite a while, and I had an idea that Raymond had a
definite idea where he was going; but probably I was mistaken about this.



At the end of the beach we came to a small stream that had cut a channel in the
sand, after coming out from behind a biggish rock. There we found our two Arabs
again, lying on the sand in their blue dungarees. They looked harmless enough, as if
they didn't bear any malice, and neither made any move when we approached. The
man who had slashed Raymond stared at him without speaking. The other man was
blowing down a little reed and extracting from it three notes of the scale, which he
played over and over again, while he watched us from the corner of an eye.



For a while nobody moved; it was all sunlight and silence except for the tinkle of
the stream and those three little lonely sounds. Then Raymond put his hand to his
revolver pocket, but the Arabs still didn't move. I noticed the man playing on the
reed had his big toes splayed out almost at right angles to his feet.



Still keeping his eyes on his man, Raymond said to me: "Shall I plug him one?"



I thought quickly. If I told him not to, considering the mood he was in, he might
very well fly into a temper and use his gun. So I said the first thing that came into my
head.



"He hasn't spoken to you yet. It would be a lowdown trick to shoot him like that,
in cold blood."



Again, for some moments one heard nothing but the tinkle of the stream and the
flute notes weaving through the hot, still air.



"Well," Raymond said at last, "if that's how you feel, I'd better say something
insulting, and if he answers back I'll loose off."



"Right," I said. "Only, if he doesn't get out his knife you've no business to fire."



Raymond was beginning to fidget. The Arab with the reed went on playing, and
both of them watched all our movements.



"Listen," I said to Raymond. "You take on the fellow on the right, and give me
your revolver. If the other one starts making trouble or gets out his knife, I'll shoot."



The sun glinted on Raymond's revolver as he handed it to me. But nobody made a
move yet; it was just as if everything had closed in on us so that we couldn't stir. We
could only watch each other, never lowering our eyes; the whole world seemed to
have come to a standstill on this little strip of sand between the sunlight and the sea,
the twofold silence of the reed and stream. And just then it crossed my mind that one
might fire, or not fire — and it would come to absolutely the same thing.



Then, all of a sudden, the Arabs vanished; they'd slipped like lizards under cover
of the rock. So Raymond and I turned and walked back. He seemed happier, and
began talking about the bus to catch for our return.



When we reached the bungalow Raymond promptly went up the wooden steps,
but I halted on the bottom one. The light seemed thudding in my head and I couldn't
face the effort needed to go up the steps and make myself amiable to the women. But
the heat was so great that it was just as bad staying where I was, under that flood of
blinding light falling from the sky. To stay, or to make a move — it came to much the
same. After a moment I returned to the beach, and started walking.



There was the same red glare as far as eye could reach, and small waves were
lapping the hot sand in little, flurried gasps. As I slowly walked toward the boulders
at the end of the beach I could feel my temples swelling under the impact of the light.
It pressed itself on me, trying to check my progress. And each time I felt a hot blast
strike my forehead, I gritted my teeth, I clenched my fists in my trouser pockets and
keyed up every nerve to fend off the sun and the dark befuddlement it was pouring
into me. Whenever a blade of vivid light shot upward from a bit of shell or broken
glass lying on the sand, my jaws set hard. I wasn't going to be beaten, and I walked
steadily on.



The small black hump of rock came into view far down the beach. It was rimmed
by a dazzling sheen of light and feathery spray, but I was thinking of the cold, clear
stream behind it, and longing to hear again the tinkle of running water. Anything to
be rid of the glare, the sight of women in tears, the strain and effort — and to retrieve
the pool of shadow by the rock and its cool silence!



But when I came nearer I saw that Raymond's Arab had returned. He was by
himself this time, lying on his back, his hands behind his head, his face shaded by the
rock while the sun beat on the rest of his body. One could see his dungarees steaming
in the heat. I was rather taken aback; my impression had been that the incident was
closed, and I hadn't given a thought to it on my way here.



On seeing me, the Arab raised himself a little, and his hand went to his pocket.
Naturally, I gripped Raymond's revolver in the pocket of my coat. Then the Arab let
himself sink back again, but without taking his hand from his pocket. I was some
distance off, at least ten yards, and most of the time I saw him as a blurred dark form
wobbling in the heat haze. Sometimes, however, I had glimpses of his eyes glowing
between the half-closed lids. The sound of the waves was even lazier, feebler, than at
noon. But the light hadn't changed; it was pounding as fiercely as ever on the long
stretch of sand that ended at the rock. For two hours the sun seemed to have made no
progress; becalmed in a sea of molten steel. Far out on the horizon a steamer was
passing; I could just make out from the corner of an eye the small black moving
patch, while I kept my gaze fixed on the Arab.



It struck me that all I had to do was to turn, walk away, and think no more about it.
But the whole beach, pulsing with heat, was pressing on my back. I took some steps
toward the stream. The Arab didn't move. After all, there was still some distance
between us. Perhaps because of the shadow on his face, he seemed to be grinning at
me.



I waited. The heat was beginning to scorch my cheeks; beads of sweat were
gathering in my eyebrows. It was just the same sort of heat as at my mother's
funeral, and I had the same disagreeable sensations — especially in my forehead,
where all the veins seemed to be bursting through the skin. I couldn't stand it any
longer, and took another step forward. I knew it was a fool thing to do; I wouldn't get
out of the sun by moving on a yard or so. But I took that step, just one step, forward.
And then the Arab drew his knife and held it up toward me, athwart the sunlight.



A shaft of light shot upward from the steel, and I felt as if a long, thin blade
transfixed my forehead. At the same moment all the sweat that had accumulated in
my eyebrows splashed down on my eyelids, covering them with a warm film of
moisture. Beneath a veil of brine and tears my eyes were blinded; I was conscious
only of the cymbals of the sun clashing on my skull, and, less distinctly, of the keen
blade of light flashing up from the knife, scarring my eyelashes, and gouging into my
eyeballs.



Then everything began to reel before my eyes, a fiery gust came from the sea,
while the sky cracked in two, from end to end, and a great sheet of flame poured
down through the rift. Every nerve in my body was a steel spring, and my grip closed
on the revolver. The trigger gave, and the smooth underbelly of the butt jogged my
palm. And so, with that crisp, whipcrack sound, it all began. I shook off my sweat
and the clinging veil of light. I knew I'd shattered the balance of the day, the
spacious calm of this beach on which I had been happy. But I fired four shots more
into the inert body, on which they left no visible trace. And each successive shot was
another loud, fateful rap on the door of my undoing.



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     Part 1, Chapter 6 -- Added : January 25, 2021

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