The Stranger Read Free

would look at the casket, or their canes, or whatever else, but that was all they would look at. The woman kept on crying. It surprised me, because I didn’t know who she was. I wished I didn’t have to listen to her anymore. But I didn’t dare say anything. The caretaker leaned over and said something to her, but she shook her head, mumbled something, and went on crying as much as before. Then the caretaker came around to my side. He sat down next to me. After a long pause he explained, without looking atme, “She was very close to your mother. She says your mother was her only friend and now she hasn’t got anyone.”
    We just sat there like that for quite a while. The woman’s sighs and sobs were quieting down. She sniffled a lot. Then finally she shut up. I didn’t feel drowsy anymore, but I was tired and my back was hurting me. Now it was all these people not making a sound that was getting on my nerves. Except that every now and then I’d hear a strange noise and I couldn’t figure out what it was. Finally I realized that some of the old people were sucking at the insides of their cheeks and making these weird smacking noises. They were so lost in their thoughts that they weren’t even aware of it. I even had the impression that the dead woman lying in front of them didn’t mean anything to them. But I think now that that was a false impression.
    We all had some coffee, served by the caretaker. After that I don’t know any more. The night passed. I remember opening my eyes at one point and seeing that all the old people were slumped over asleep, except for one old man, with his chin resting on the back of his hands wrapped around his cane, who was staring at me as if he were just waiting for me to wake up. Then I dozed off again. I woke up because my back was hurting more and more. Dawn was creeping up over the skylight. Soon afterwards, one of the old men woke up and coughed a lot. He kept hacking into a large checkered handkerchief, and every cough was like a convulsion. He wokethe others up, and the caretaker told them that they ought to be going. They got up. The uncomfortable vigil had left their faces ashen looking. On their way out, and much to my surprise, they all shook my hand—as if that night during which we hadn’t exchanged as much as a single word had somehow brought us closer together.
    I was tired. The caretaker took me to his room and I was able to clean up a little. I had some more coffee and milk, which was very good. When I went outside, the sun was up. Above the hills that separate Marengo from the sea, the sky was streaked with red. And the wind coming over the hills brought the smell of salt with it. It was going to be a beautiful day. It had been a long time since I’d been out in the country, and I could feel how much I’d enjoy going for a walk if it hadn’t been for Maman.
    But I waited in the courtyard, under a plane tree. I breathed in the smell of fresh earth and I wasn’t sleepy anymore. I thought of the other guys at the office. They’d be getting up to go to work about this time: for me that was always the most difficult time of day. I thought about those things a little more, but I was distracted by the sound of a bell ringing inside the buildings. There was some commotion behind the windows, then everything quieted down again. The sun was now a little higher in the sky: it was starting to warm my feet. The caretaker came across the courtyard and told me that the director was asking for me. I went to his office. He had me signa number of documents. I noticed that he was dressed in black with pin-striped trousers. He picked up the telephone and turned to me. “The undertaker’s men arrived a few minutes ago. I’m going to ask them to seal the casket. Before I do, would you like to see your mother one last time?” I said no. He gave the order into the telephone, lowering his voice: “Figeac, tell the men they can go ahead.”
    After that he told me he would be