But next morning, when he woke up, it had dawned on him that, after all, there was absolutely no knowing how long this business was going to last.
So he’d decided to leave the town at once.
Being able, thanks to his professional status, to pull some strings, he had secured an interview with a high official in the Prefect’s office.
He had explained that his presence in Oran was purely accidental, he had no connection with the town and no reasons for staying in it; that being so, he surely was entitled to leave, even if, once outside the town, he had to undergo a spell of quarantine.
The official told him he quite appreciated his position, but no exceptions could be made. He would, however, see if anything could be done, though he could hold out little hope of a quick decision, as the authorities were taking a very serious view of the situation.
“But, confound it,” Rambert exclaimed, “I don’t belong here!”
“Quite so. Anyhow, let’s hope the epidemic will soon be over.”
Finally, he had tried to console Rambert by pointing out that, as a journalist, he had an excellent subject to his hand in Oran; indeed, when one came to think of it, no event, however disagreeable in some ways, but had its bright side.
Whereat Rambert had shrugged his shoulders petulantly and walked out.
They had come to the center of the town.
“It’s so damn silly, Doctor, isn’t it?
The truth is I wasn’t brought into the world to write newspaper articles. But it’s quite likely I was brought into the world to live with a woman.
That’s reasonable enough, isn’t it?”
Rieux replied cautiously that there might be something in what he said.
The central boulevards were not so crowded as usual.
The few people about were hurrying to distant homes.
Not a smile was to be seen on any face.
Rieux guessed that this was a result of the latest Ransdoc announcement.
After twenty-four hours our townspeople would begin to hope again.
But on the days when they were announced, the statistics were too fresh in everybody’s memory.
“The truth,” Rambert remarked abruptly, “is that she and I have been together only a short time, and we suit each other perfectly.”
When Rieux said nothing, he continued:
“I can see I’m boring you. Sorry. All I wanted to know was whether you couldn’t possibly give me a certificate stating that I haven’t got this damned disease.
It might make things easier, I think.”
Rieux nodded. A small boy had just run against his legs and fallen; he set him on his feet again.
Walking on, they came to the Place d’Armes.
Gray with dust, the palms and fig trees drooped despondently around a statue of the Republic, which too was coated with grime and dust.
They stopped beside the statue.
Rieux stamped his feet on the flagstones to shake off the coat of white dust that had gathered on them.
His hat pushed slightly back, his shirt-collar gaping under a loosely knotted tie, his cheeks ill-shaven, the journalist had the sulky, stubborn look of a young man who feels himself deeply injured.
“Please don’t doubt I understand you,” Rieux said, “but you must see your argument doesn’t hold water.
I can’t give you that certificate because I don’t know whether you have the disease or not, and even if I did, how could I certify that between the moment of leaving my consulting-room and your arrival at the Prefect’s office you wouldn’t be infected?
And even if I did—”
“And even if you did—?”
“Even if I gave you a certificate, it wouldn’t help.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are thousands of people placed as you are in this town, and there can’t be any question of allowing them to leave it.”
“Even supposing they haven’t got plague?”
“That’s not a sufficient reason.
Oh, I know it’s an absurd situation, but we’re all involved in it, and we’ve got to accept it as it is.”
“But I don’t belong here.”
“Unfortunately, from now on you’ll belong here, like everybody else.”
Rambert raised his voice a little.
“But, damn it, Doctor, can’t you see it’s a matter of common human feeling?
Or don’t you realize what this sort of separation means to people who are fond of each other?”
Rieux was silent for a moment, then said he understood it perfectly.
He wished nothing better than that Rambert should be allowed to return to his wife and that all who loved one another and were parted should come together again. Only the law was the law, plague had broken out, and he could only do what had to be done.
“No,” Rambert said bitterly, “you can’t understand.
You’re using the language of reason, not of the heart; you live in a world of abstractions.”
The doctor glanced up at the statue of the Republic, then said he did not know if he was using the language of reason, but he knew he was using the language of the facts as everybody could see them—which wasn’t necessarily the same thing.