Maman died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don’t know.
I got a telegram from the home: “Mother deceased.
Funeral tomorrow. Faithfully yours.” That doesn’t mean
anything. Maybe it was yesterday.
The old people’s home is at Marengo, about eighty
kilometers from Algiers, I’ll take the two o’clock bus and
get there in the afternoon. That way I can be there for the
vigil and come back tomorrow night. I asked my boss for
two days off and there was no way he was going to refuse me with an excuse like that. But he wasn’t too
happy about it. I even said, “It’s not my fault.” He didn’t
say anything. Then I thought I shouldn’t have said that.
After all, I didn’t have anything to apologize for. He’s
the one who should have offered his condolences. But he
probably will day after tomorrow, when he sees I’m in
mourning. For now, it’s almost as if Maman weren’t dead.
After the funeral, though, the case will be closed, and
everything will have a more official feel to it.
I caught the two o’clock bus. It was very hot. I ate
at the restaurant, at Celeste’s, as usual. Everybody felt
very sorry for me, and Celeste said, “You only have one mother.” When I left, they walked me to the door. I
was a little distracted because I still had to go up to
Emmanuel’s place to borrow a black tie and an arm band.
He lost his uncle a few months back.
I ran so as not to miss the bus. It was probably because of all the rushing around, and on top of that the
bumpy ride, the smell of gasoline, and the glare of the
sky and the road, that I dozed off. I slept almost
the whole way. And when I woke up, I was slumped
against a soldier who smiled at me and asked if I’d been
traveling long. I said, “Yes,” just so I wouldn’t have to
say anything else.
The home is two kilometers from the village. I walked
them. I wanted to see Maman right away. But the caretaker told me I had to see the director first. He was busy,
so I waited awhile. The caretaker talked the whole time
and then I saw the director. I was shown into his office.
He was a little old man with the ribbon of the Legion
of Honor in his lapel. He looked at me with his clear
eyes. Then he shook my hand and held it so long I
didn’t know how to get it loose. He thumbed through
a file and said, “Madame Meursault came to us three
years ago. You were her sole support.” I thought he was
criticizing me for something and I started to explain.
But he cut me off. “You don’t have to justify yourself,
my dear boy. I’ve read your mother’s file. You weren’t
able to provide for her properly. She needed someone to
look after her. You earn only a modest salary. And the
truth of the matter is, she was happier here.” I said, “Yes, sir.” He added, “You see, she had friends here,
people her own age. She was able to share things from
the old days with them. You’re young, and it must have
been hard for her with you.”
It was true. When she was at home with me, Maman
used to spend her time following me with her eyes, not
saying a thing. For the first few days she was at the home
she cried a lot. But that was because she wasn’t used to
it. A few months later and she would have cried if she’d
been taken out. She was used to it. That’s partly why I
didn’t go there much this past year. And also because it
took up my Sunday-not to mention the trouble of
getting to the bus, buying tickets, and spending two hours
traveling.
The director spoke to me again. But I wasn’t really
listening anymore. Then he said, “I suppose you’d like
to see your mother.” I got up without saying anything
and he led the way to the door. On the way downstairs, he
explained, “We’ve moved her to our little mortuary. So
as not to upset the others. Whenever one of the residents
dies, the others are a bit on edge for the next two or
three days. And that makes it difficult to care for them.”
We crossed a courtyard where there were lots of old
people chatting in little groups. As we went by, the talking would stop. And then the conversation would start
up again behind us. The sound was like the muffied
jabber of parakeets. The director stopped at the door of
a small building. ”I’ll leave you now, Monsieur Meursault. If you need me for anything, I’ll be in my office.