“It’s been done. The response was poor.”
“It was done through official channels, and half-heartedly.
What they’re short on is imagination.
Officialdom can never cope with something really catastrophic.
And the remedial measures they think up are hardly adequate for a common cold.
If we let them carry on like this they’ll soon be dead, and so shall we.”
“That’s more than likely,” Rieux said. “I should tell you, however, that they’re thinking of using the prisoners in the jails for what we call the ‘heavy work.’ ”
“I’d rather free men were employed.”
“So would I.
But might I ask why you feel like that?”
“I loathe men’s being condemned to death.”
Rieux looked Tarrou in the eyes.
“So—what?” he asked.
“It’s this I have to say. I’ve drawn up a plan for voluntary groups of helpers.
Get me empowered to try out my plan, and then let’s sidetrack officialdom.
In any case the authorities have their hands more than full already.
I have friends in many walks of life; they’ll form a nucleus to start from.
And, of course, I’ll take part in it myself.”
“I need hardly tell you,” Rieux replied, “that I accept your suggestion most gladly. One can’t have too many helpers, especially in a job like mine under present conditions.
I undertake to get your plan approved by the authorities.
Anyhow, they’ve no choice.
But—” Rieux pondered.
“But I take it you know that work of this kind may prove fatal to the worker.
And I feel I should ask you this; have you weighed the dangers?”
Tarrou’s gray eyes met the doctor’s gaze serenely.
“What did you think of Paneloux’s sermon, Doctor?”
The question was asked in a quite ordinary tone, and Rieux answered in the same tone.
“I’ve seen too much of hospitals to relish any idea of collective punishment.
But, as you know, Christians sometimes say that sort of thing without really thinking it.
They’re better than they seem.”
“However, you think, like Paneloux, that the plague has its good side; it opens men’s eyes and forces them to take thought?”
The doctor tossed his head impatiently.
“So does every ill that flesh is heir to.
What’s true of all the evils in the world is true of plague as well.
It helps men to rise above themselves.
All the same, when you see the misery it brings, you’d need to be a madman, or a coward, or stone blind, to give in tamely to the plague.”
Rieux had hardly raised his voice at all; but Tarrou made a slight gesture as if to calm him.
He was smiling.
“Yes.” Rieux shrugged his shoulders. “But you haven’t answered my question yet.
Have you weighed the consequences?”
Tarrou squared his shoulders against the back of the chair, then moved his head forward into the light.
“Do you believe in God, Doctor?”
Again the question was put in an ordinary tone.
But this time Rieux took longer to find his answer.
“No—but what does that really mean?
I’m fumbling in the dark, struggling to make something out.
But I’ve long ceased finding that original.”
“Isn’t that it—the gulf between Paneloux and you?”
“I doubt it.
Paneloux is a man of learning, a scholar.