Libro El Extranjero De Albert Camus Direct
“Would you say you loved your mother?” asked the prosecutor, a man with a velvet voice and a steel soul.
The director of the home testified: Meursault drank coffee, smoked, did not weep. The caretaker confirmed: He did not want to see the body. Marie testified: “He was kind. But when I asked if he loved me, he said it didn’t matter.” libro el extranjero de albert camus
He returned to Algiers. Went to the beach. Saw a film with Marie, a former typist who laughed at his silences. She asked if he loved her. He said the words had no meaning, but probably not. She asked if he would marry her. He said yes, if she wanted. It made no difference. “Would you say you loved your mother
He thought of Marie, who would soon find another yes. Of Salamano, who lost his dog. Of the Arab, whose name he never learned. Marie testified: “He was kind
One Sunday, the sun was a blade. Raymond’s Arab mistress’s brother followed them to a spring by the beach. He drew a knife. It glittered. Meursault held Raymond’s revolver. The heat pressed down—a silent, heavy lid. The sea gasped. The sand burned through his soles.
The chaplain came three times. Each time, Meursault refused. He did not believe in God. Not with rebellion. Not with anguish. Simply: the idea never touched him. Like believing in a fifth season.
