Part One
I
MOTHER died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't 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 o'clock 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 days' leave; obviously, under the
circumstances, he couldn't refuse. Still, I had an idea he looked annoyed, and I said,
without thinking: "Sorry, sir, but it's not my fault, you know."
Afterwards it st... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
II
ON WAKING I understood why my employer had looked rather cross when I asked
for my two days off; it's a Saturday today. I hadn't thought of this at the time; it only
struck me when I was getting out of bed. Obviously he had seen that it would mean
my getting four days' holiday straight off, and one couldn't expect him to like that.
Still, for one thing, it wasn't my fault if Mother was buried yesterday and not today;
and then, again, I'd have had my Saturday and Sunday off in any case. But naturally
this didn't prevent me from seeing my employer's point.
Getting up was an effort, as I'd been really exhausted by the previous day's
experiences. While shaving, I wondered how to spend the morning, and decided that
a swi... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
III
I HAD a busy morning in the office. My employer was in a good humor. He even
inquired if I wasn't too tired, and followed it up by asking what Mother's age was. I
thought a bit, then answered, "Round about sixty," as I didn't want to make a
blunder. At which he looked relieved — why, I can't imagine — and 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 employer's notice. It was
regrettable, he agreed &mdash... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
IV
I HAD a busy time in the office throughout the week. Raymond dropped in once to
tell me he'd sent off the letter. I went to the pictures twice with Emmanuel, who
doesn't always understand what's happening on the screen and asks me to explain it.
Yesterday was Saturday, and Marie came as we'd arranged. She had a very pretty
dress, with red and white stripes, and leather sandals, and I couldn't take my eyes off
her. One could see the outline of her firm little breasts, and her sun-tanned face was
like a velvety brown flower. We took the bus and went to a beach I know, some
miles out of Algiers. It's just a strip of sand between two rocky spurs, with a line of
rushes at the back, along the tide line. At four o'clock the sun w... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
V
RAYMOND rang me up at the office. He said that a friend of his — to whom he'd
spoken about me — invited me to spend next Sunday at his little seaside bungalow
just outside Algiers. I told him I'd have been delighted; only I had promised to spend
Sunday with a girl. Raymond promptly replied that she could come, too. In fact, his
friend's wife would be very pleased not to be the only woman in a party of men.
I'd have liked to hang up at once, as my employer doesn't approve of my using the
office phone for private calls. But Raymond asked me to hold on; he had something
else to tell me, and that was why he'd rung me up, though he could have waited till
the evening to pass on the invitation.
"It's like ... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
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 ... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
Part Two
I
I was questioned several times immediately after my arrest. But they were all formal
examinations, as to my identity and so forth. At the first of these, which took place at
the police station, nobody seemed to have much interest in the case. However, when
I was brought before the examining magistrate a week later, I noticed that he eyed
me with distinct curiosity. Like the others, he began by asking my name, address,
and occupation, the date and place of my birth. Then he inquired if I had chosen a
lawyer to defend me. I answered, "No," I hadn't thought about it, and asked him if it
was really necessary for me to have one.
"Why do you ask that?" he said. I replied that I regarded my case as very simple.
... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
II
THERE are some things of which I've never cared to talk. And, a few days after I'd
been sent to prison, I decided that this phase of my life was one of them. However, as
time went by, I came to feel that this aversion had no real substance. In point of fact,
during those early days, I was hardly conscious of being in prison; I had always a
vague hope that something would turn up, some agreeable surprise.
The change came soon after Marie's first and only visit. From the day when I got
her letter telling me they wouldn't let her come to see me any more, because she
wasn't my wife — it was from that day that I realized that this cell was my last home,
a dead end, so to speak.
On the day of my arrest they pu... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
III
ON THE whole I can't say that those months passed slowly; another summer was on
its way almost before I realized the first was over. And I knew that with the first
really hot days something new was in store for me. My case was down for the last
sessions of the Assize Court, and those sessions were due to end some time in June.
The day on which my trial started was one of brilliant sunshine. My lawyer
assured me the case would take only two or three days. "From what I hear," he
added, "the court will dispatch your case as quickly as possible, as it isn't the most
important one on the Cause List. There's a case of parricide immediately after, which
will take them some time."
They came for me at half-past seven ... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
IV
IT is always interesting, even in the prisoner's dock, to hear oneself being talked
about. And certainly in the speeches of my lawyer and the prosecuting counsel a
great deal was said about me; more, in fact, about me personally than about my
crime.
Really there wasn't any very great difference between the two speeches. Counsel
for the defense raised his arms to heaven and pleaded guilty, but with extenuating
circumstances. The Prosecutor made similar gestures; he agreed that I was guilty, but
denied extenuating circumstances.
One thing about this phase of the trial was rather irksome. Quite often, interested
as I was in what they had to say, I was tempted to put in a word, myself. But my
lawyer had advised m... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
V
I HAVE just refused, for the third time, to see the prison chaplain. I have nothing to
say to him, don't feel like talking — and shall be seeing him quite soon enough,
anyway. The only thing that interests me now is the problem of circumventing the
machine, learning if the inevitable admits a loophole.
They have moved me to another cell. In this one, lying on my back, I can see the
sky, and there is nothing else to see. All my time is spent in watching the slowly
changing colors of the sky, as day moves on to night. I put my hands behind my
head, gaze up, and wait.
This problem of a loophole obsesses me; I am always wondering if there have
been cases of condemned prisoners' escaping from the implacable ma... (From: TheAnarchistLibrary.org.)
