“At my age one’s got to be sincere.
Lying’s too much effort.”
“Excuse me, Tarrou,” the journalist said, “but I’d greatly like to see the doctor.”
“I know.
He’s more human than I.
All right, come along.”
“It’s not that.” Rambert stumbled over his words and broke off.
Tarrou stared at him; then, unexpectedly, his face broke into a smile.
They walked down a narrow passage; the walls were painted pale green, and the light was glaucous, like that in an aquarium.
Before they reached the glazed double door at the end of the passage, behind which shadowy forms could be seen moving, Tarrou took Rambert into a small room, all the wall space of which was occupied by cupboards.
Opening one of these, he took from a sterilizer two masks of cottonwool enclosed in muslin, handed one to Rambert, and told him to put it on.
The journalist asked if it was really any use. Tarrou said no, but it inspired confidence in others.
They opened the glazed door.
It led into a very large room, all the windows of which were shut, in spite of the great heat.
Electric fans buzzed near the ceiling, churning up the stagnant, overheated air above two long rows of gray beds.
Groans shrill or stifled rose on all sides, blending in a monotonous dirgelike refrain.
Men in white moved slowly from bed to bed under the garish light flooding in from high, barred windows.
The appalling heat in the ward made Rambert ill at ease, and he had difficulty in recognizing Rieux, who was bending over a groaning form.
The doctor was lancing the patient’s groin, while two nurses, one on each side, held his legs apart.
Presently Rieux straightened up, dropped his instruments into a tray that an attendant held out to him, and remained without moving for some moments, gazing down at the man, whose wound was now being dressed.
“Any news?” he asked Tarrou, who had come beside him.
“Paneloux is prepared to replace Rambert at the quarantine station.
He has put in a lot of useful work already.
All that remains is to reorganize group number three, now that Rambert’s going.”
Rieux nodded.
“Castel has his first lot of serum ready now,” Tarrou continued.
“He’s in favor of its being tried at once.”
“Good,” Rieux said. “That’s good news.”
“And Rambert’s come.”
Rieux looked around.
His eyes narrowed above the mask when he saw the journalist.
“Why have you come?” he asked. “Surely you should be elsewhere?”
Tarrou explained that it was fixed for midnight, to which Rambert added:
“That’s the idea, anyhow.”
Whenever any of them spoke through the mask, the muslin bulged and grew moist over the lips.
This gave a sort of unreality to the conversation; it was like a colloquy of statues.
“I’d like to have a word with you,” Rambert said.
“Right. I’m just going.
Wait for me in Tarrou’s office.”
A minute or so later Rambert and Rieux were sitting at the back of the doctor’s car.
Tarrou, who was at the wheel, looked round as he let in the gear. “Gas is running out,” he said. “We’ll have to foot-slog it tomorrow.”
“Doctor,” Rambert said, “I’m not going. I want to stay with you.”
Tarrou made no movement; he went on driving.
Rieux seemed unable to shake off his fatigue.
“And what about her?” His voice was hardly audible.
Rambert said he’d thought it over very carefully, and his views hadn’t changed, but if he went away, he would feel ashamed of himself, and that would embarrass his relations with the woman he loved.
Showing more animation, Rieux told him that was sheer nonsense; there was nothing shameful in preferring happiness.
“Certainly,” Rambert replied. “But it may be shameful to be happy by oneself.”
Tarrou, who had not spoken so far, now remarked, without turning his head, that if Rambert wished to take a share in other people’s unhappiness, he’d have no time left for happiness.
So the choice had to be made.