The Outsider

by Albert Camus

The burning sun struck my cheeks and I could feel drops of sweat gathering above my eyebrows. It was the same sun as the day I’d buried Mama, and like then it was my forehead that hurt the most and I could feel every vein throbbing beneath my skin. I was being burned alive; I couldn’t stand it any more so I took a step forward. I knew it was stupid; I knew I couldn’t shake off the sun simply by taking one step. But I took that step, one single step forward. And this time, without getting up, the Arab pulled out his knife and raised it towards me in the sun. The light flashed off the steel and it was as if a long gleaming blade was thrust deep into my forehead. At that very moment, the sweat that had gathered on my eyebrows suddenly rushed down into my eyes, blinding me with a warm, heavy veil of salt and tears. All I could feel was the sun crashing like cymbals against my forehead, and the knife, a burning sword hovering above me. Its red-hot blade tore through my eyelashes to pierce my aching eyes. It was then that everything started to sway. The sea heaved a heavy, scorching sigh. The sky seemed to split apart from end to end to pour its fire down upon me. My whole body tensed as I gripped the gun more tightly. It set off the trigger. I could feel the smooth barrel in my hand and it was then, with that sharp, deafening sound, that it all began. I shook off the sweat and the sun. I realized that I had destroyed the natural balance of the day, the exceptional silence of a ...

Then I explained that one of the characteristics of my personality was that physical sensations often got in the way of my emotions. The day of Mama’s funeral, I was very tired and sleepy. So much so that I wasn’t really aware of what was happening. Though I could definitely say that I would have preferred it if Mama hadn’t died.

as I waited for the new day to dawn, I found myself back in my cell. It was as if the familiar paths etched in the summer skies could just as easily lead to prison as to innocent sleep.

Of course, I had to admit he was right. I didn’t really regret what I had done that much. But such viciousness astounded me. I would have liked to explain to him, politely, almost with a hint of emotion, that I have never truly been able to regret anything. I was always preoccupied by what was about to happen, either today or tomorrow. But given the position I was in, I couldn’t actually speak to anyone that way. I didn’t have the right to show I had feelings or good intentions.

The presiding judge coughed a little and very quietly asked me if I had anything to add. I stood up and since I wanted to say something, I said, rather confusedly, that I hadn’t intended to kill the Arab. The presiding judge replied that I had always made that claim but that, up until now, he had found it difficult to understand my defence and that he would be happy, before hearing my lawyer, to have me explain in detail what had motivated me to commit my crime. I said rather quickly, muddling up my words a bit and completely aware of how ridiculous I sounded, that it was because of the sun. Laughter rang out in the courtroom.

Mama often said that no one is ever really entirely unhappy. I agreed with her here in my prison, when the sky took on so many colours and the light of a new day gradually flowed into my cell.

Although, if I discovered that was the case, I would become indifferent to the memory of Marie. She would no longer interest me once she was dead. I found that idea normal, just as I completely understood why people would forget me after I died. They would no longer have anything to do with me. I couldn’t even say that such an idea was difficult to accept.