“You see, Monsieur Meursault,” he said, “it’s not thatI’m a bad guy, butl have a short fuse. This guy says tome, ‘If you’re man enough you’ll get down off thatstreetcar.’ I said, ‘C’mon, take it easy.’ Then he said,’You’re yellow.’ So I got off and I said to him, ‘I thinkyou better stop right there or I’m gonna have to teachyou a lesson.’ And he said, ‘You and who else?’ So Ilet him have it. He went down. I was about to help himup but he started kicking me from there on the ground.So I kneed him one and slugged him a couple of times.His face was all bloody. I asked him if he’d had enough.He said, ‘Yes.’ ” All this time, Sintes was fiddling withhis bandage. I was sitting on the bed. He said, “So yousee, I wasn’t the one who started it. He was asking forit.” It was true and I agreed. Then he told me that as amatter of fact he wanted to ask my advice about thewhole business, because I was a man, I knew aboutthings, I could help him out, and then we’d be pals. Ididn’t say anything, and he asked me again if I wantedto be pals. I said it was fine with me: he seemed pleased.He got out the blood sausage, fried it up, and set outglasses, plates, knives and forks, and two bottles of wine.All this in silence. Then we sat down. As we ate, hestarted telling me his story. He ‘>vas a little hesitant atfirst. “I knew this lady . . . as a matter of fact, well, shewas my mistress.” The man he’d had the fight with wasthis woman’s brother. He told me he’d been keepingher. I didn’t say anything, and yet right away he addedthat he knew what people around the neighborhood were saying, but that his conscience was clear and thathe was a warehouse guard.’To get back to what I was saying,” he continued,”I realized that she was cheating on me.” He’d beengiving her just enough to live on. He paid the rent onher room and gave her twenty francs a day for food.”Three hundred francs for the room, six hundred forfood, a pair of stockings every now and then-that madeit a thousand francs. And Her Highness refused to work.But she was always telling me that things were too tight,that she couldn’t get by on what I was giving her. AndI’d say to her, ‘Why not work half-days? You’d be helpingme out on all the little extras. I bought you a new outfitjust this month, I give you twenty francs a day, I payyour rent, and what do you do? . . . You have coffee inthe afternoons with your friends. You even provide thecoffee and sugar. And me, I provide the money. I’ve beengood to you, and this is how you repay me.’ But shewouldn’t work; she just kept on telling me she couldn’tmake ends meet-and that’s what made me realize shewas cheating on me.”Then he told me that he’d found a lottery ticket inher purse and she hadn’t been able to explain how shepaid for it. A short time later he’d found a ticket from theshop in Mont-de-Piete in her room which proved thatshe’d pawned two bracelets. Until then he hadn’t evenknown the bracelets existed. “It was clear that she wascheating on me. So I left her. But first I smacked heraround. And then I told her exactly what I thought of her. I told her that all she was interested in was gettinginto the sack. You see, Monsieur Meursault, it’s like Itold her: ‘You don’t realize that everybody’s jealous ofhow good you have it with me. Someday you’ll know justhow good it was.’ “He’d beaten her till she bled. He’d never beaten herbefore. ”I’d smack her around a little, but nice-like, youmight say. She’d scream a little. I’d close the shuttersand it always ended the same way. But this time it’sfor real. And if you ask me, she still hasn’t gotten whatshe has corning.”Then he explained that that was what he neededadvice about. He stopped to adjust the lamp’s wick,which was smoking. I just listened. I’d drunk close to aliter of wine and my temples were burning. I wassmoking Raymond’s cigarettes because I’d run out. Thelast streetcars were going by, taking the now distantsounds of the neighborhood with them. Raymond wenton. What bothered him was that he “still had sexualfeelings for her.” But he wanted to punish her. Firsthe’d thought of taking her to a hotel and calling thevice squad to cause a scandal and have her listed as acommon prostitute. After that he’d looked up some of hisunderworld friends. But they didn’t come up with anything. As Raymond pointed out to me, a lot of good itdoes being in the underworld. He’d said the same thingto them, and then they’d suggested “marking” her. Butthat wasn’t what he wanted. He was going to thinkabout it. But first he wanted to ask me something. Be fore he did, though, he wanted to know what I thoughtof the whole thing. I said I didn’t think anything butthat it was interesting. He asked if I thought she wascheating on him, and it seemed to me she was; if Ithought she should be punished and what I would doin his place, and I said you can’t ever be sure, but Iunderstood his wanting to punish her. I drank a littlemore wine. He lit a cigarette and let me in on what hewas thinking about doing. He wanted to write her aletter, “one with a punch and also some things in it tomake her sorry for what she’s done.” Then, when shecarne running back, he’d go to bed with her and “rightat the last minute” he’d spit in her face and throw herout. Yes, that would punish her, I thought. But Raymond told me he didn’t think he could write the kindof letter it would take and that he’d thought of askingme to write it for him. Since I didn’t say anything, heasked if I’d mind doing it right then and I said no.He downed a glass of wine and then stood up. Hepushed aside the plates and the little bit of cold sausagewe’d left. He carefully wiped the oilcloth covering thetable. Then from a drawer in his night table he took outa sheet of paper, a yellow envelope, a small red pen box,and a square bottle with purple ink in it. When he toldme the woman’s name I realized she was Moorish. Iwrote the letter. I did it just as it came to me, but Itried my best to please Raymond because I didn’t haveany reason not to please him. Then I read it out loud. Helistened, smoking and nodding his head; then he asked me to read it again. He was very pleased. He said, “I
could tell you knew about these things.” I didn’t notice
at first, but he had stopped calling me “monsieur.” It
was only when he announced “Now you’re a pal,
llleursault” and said it again that it struck me. He re·
peated his remark and I said, “Yes.” I didn’t mind being
his pal, and he seemed set on it. He sealed the letter
and we finished off the wine. Then we sat and smoked
for a while without saying anything. Outside, every·
thing was quiet; we heard the sound of a car passing. I
said, “It’s late.” Raymond thought so too. He remarked
how quickly the time passed, and in a way it was true.
I felt sleepy, but it was hard for me to get up. I must
have looked tired, because Raymond told me not to let
things get to me. At first I didn’t understand. Then he
explained that he’d heard about lllaman’s death but
that it was one of those things that was bound to happen
sooner or later. I thought so too.
I got up. Raymond gave me a very firm handshake
and said that men always understand each other. I left
his room, closing the door behind me, and paused for a
minute in the dark, on the landing. The house was
quiet, and a breath of dark, dank air wafted up from
deep in the stairwell. All I could hear was the blood
pounding in my ears. I stood there, motionless. And in
old Salamano’s room, the dog whimpered softly.