Its significance and the earnestness behind it might escape the reader on a casual perusal.
For example, after describing how the discovery of a dead rat led the hotel cashier to make an error in his bill, Tarrou added:
“Query: How contrive not to waste one’s time?
Answer: By being fully aware of it all the while. Ways in which this can be done: By spending one’s days on an uneasy chair in a dentist’s waiting-room; by remaining on one’s balcony all of a Sunday afternoon; by listening to lectures in a language one doesn’t know; by traveling by the longest and least-convenient train routes, and of course standing all the way; by lining up at the box-office of theaters and then not buying a seat; and so forth.”
Then, immediately following these eccentricities of thought and expression, we come on a detailed description of the streetcar service in the town, the structure of the cars, their indeterminate color, their unvarying dirtiness—and he concludes his observations with a
“Very odd,” which explains nothing.
So much by the way of introduction to Tarrou’s comments on the phenomenon of the rats.
“The little old fellow opposite is quite disconsolate today.
There are no more cats.
The sight of all those dead rats strewn about the street may have excited their hunting instinct; anyhow, they all have vanished.
To my thinking, there’s no question of their eating the dead rats.
Mine, I remember, turned up their noses at dead things.
All the same, they’re probably busy hunting in the cellars—hence the old boy’s plight.
His hair isn’t as well brushed as usual, and he looks less alert, less military.
You can see he is worried.
After a few moments he went back into the room.
But first he spat once—on emptiness.
“In town today a streetcar was stopped because a dead rat had been found in it. (Query: How did it get there?) Two or three women promptly alighted.
The rat was thrown out.
The car went on.
“The night watchman at the hotel, a level-headed man, assured me that all these rats meant trouble coming.
‘When the rats leave a ship …’ I replied that this held good for ships, but for towns it hadn’t yet been demonstrated.
But he stuck to his point.
I asked what sort of ‘trouble’ we might expect.
That he couldn’t say; disasters always come out of the blue.
But he wouldn’t be surprised if there were an earthquake brewing.
I admitted that was possible, and then he asked if the prospect didn’t alarm me.
“ ‘The only thing I’m interested in,’ I told him, ‘is acquiring peace of mind.’
“He understood me perfectly.
“I find a family that has its meals in this hotel quite interesting.
The father is a tall, thin man, always dressed in black and wearing a starched collar.
The top of his head is bald, with two tufts of gray hair on each side.
His small, beady eyes, narrow nose, and hard, straight mouth make him look like a well-brought-up owl.
He is always first at the door of the restaurant, stands aside to let his wife—a tiny woman, like a black mouse—go in, and then comes in himself with a small boy and girl, dressed like performing poodles, at his heels.
When they are at the table he remains standing till his wife is seated and only then the two poodles can perch themselves on their chairs.
He uses no terms of endearment to his family, addresses politely spiteful remarks to his wife, and bluntly tells the kids what he thinks of them.
“ ‘Nicole, you’re behaving quite disgracefully.’
“The little girl is on the brink of tears—which is as it should be.
“This morning the small boy was all excitement about the rats, and started saying something on the subject.
“ ‘Philippe, one doesn’t talk of rats at table.
For the future I forbid you to use the word.’
“ ‘Your father’s right,’ approved the mouse.
“The two poodles buried their noses in their plates, and the owl acknowledged thanks by a curt, perfunctory nod.
“This excellent example notwithstanding, everybody in town is talking about the rats, and the local newspaper has taken a hand.
The town-topics column, usually very varied, is now devoted exclusively to a campaign against the local authorities.
‘Are our city fathers aware that the decaying bodies of these rodents constitute a grave danger to the population?’
The manager of the hotel can talk of nothing else.
But he has a personal grievance, too; that dead rats should be found in the elevator of a three-star hotel seems to him the end of all things.
To console him, I said:
‘But, you know, everybody’s in the same boat.’