We went out and Raymond bought me a brandy. Then he wanted to shoot a game of pool, and I just
barely lost. Afterwards he wanted to go to a whorehouse,
but I said no, because I don’t like that. So we took our
time getting back, him telling me how glad he was that
he’d been able to give the woman what she deserved. I
found him very friendly with me and I thought it was a
nice moment.
From a distance I noticed old Salarnano standing on
the doorstep. He looked flustered. When we got closer,
I saw that he didn’t have his dog. He was looking all
over the place, turning around, peering into the darkness
of the entryway, muttering incoherently, and then he
started searching the street again with his little red eyes.
When Raymond asked him what was wrong,, he didn’t
answer right away. I barely heard him mumble “Stinking bastard,” and he went on fidgeting around. I asked
him where his dog was. He snapped at me and said he
was gone. And then all of a sudden the words carne
pouring out : “I took him to the Parade Ground, like
always. There were lots of people around the booths
at the fair. I stopped to watch The King of the Escape
Artists.’ And when I was ready to go, he wasn’t there.
Sure, I’ve been meaning to get him a smaller collar for
a long time. But I never thought the bastard would take
off like that.”
Then Raymond pointed out to him that the dog
might have gotten lost and that he would come back.
He gave examples of dogs that had walked dozens of
kilometers to get back to their masters. Nevertheless, the old man looked even more flustered. “But they’ll take
him away from me, don’t you see? If only somebody
would take him in. But that’s impossible-everybody’s
disgusted by his scabs. The police’ll get him for sure.”
So I told him he should go to the pound and they’d give
the dog back to him after he paid a fee. He asked me if
it was a big fee. I didn’t know. Then he got mad : “Pay
money for that bastard-hal He can damn well die!”
And he started cursing the dog. Raymond laughed and
went inside. I followed him and we parted upstairs on
the landing. A minute later I heard the old man’s footsteps and he knocked on my door. When I opened it, he
stood in the doorway for a minute and said, “Excuse me,
excuse me.” I asked him to come in, but he refused. He
was looking down at the tips of his shoes and his scabby
hands were trembling. Without looking up at me he
asked, “They’re not going to take him away from me,
are they, Monsieur Meursault? They’ll give him back
to me. Otherwise, what’s going to happen to me?” I
told him that the pound kept dogs for three days so that
their owners could come and claim them and that after
that they did with them as they saw fit. He looked at
me in silence. Then he said, “Good night.” He shut his
door and I heard him pacing back and forth. His bed
creaked. And from the peculiar little noise coming
through the partition, I realized he was crying. For
some reason I thought of Maman. But I had to get up
early the next morning. I wasn’t hungry, and I went
to bed without any dinner.