The Plague by Albert Camus Part 2 chapter 9 and another bit

Some minutes later Rumber and Cotta saw Garcia approaching. Without making any sign of recognition he came straight up to them and by way of greeting said you'll have to wait a bit. There was complete silence in the crowd around them, most of whom were women. Nearly all were carrying parcels. They had the vain hope of somehow smuggling these into their sick relatives and the even crazier idea that the latter could eat the food they'd brought. The gate was guarded by armed sentries and now and then an eerie cry resounded in the courtyard between the barrack rooms and the entrance. Whenever this happened anxious eyes turned towards the sick wards. The three men were watching the scene when a brisk good morning from behind them made them swing around. In spite of the heat Raoul was wearing a well-cut dark suit and a felt hat with rolled up brim. He was tall and strongly built, his face rather pale. Hardly moving his lips he said quickly and cleanly let's walk down to the centre. You, Garcia, needn't come. Garcia lit a cigarette and remained there while they walked away. Placing himself between Rumber and Cotta, Raoul set the pace, a fast one. Garcia's explained the situation he said. We can fix it but I must warn you it'll cost you a cool 10,000. Rumber said he agreed to these terms. Lunch with me tomorrow at the Spanish restaurant near the docks. Rumber said right and Raoul shook his hand, smiling for the first time. After he'd gone Cotta said he wouldn't be able to come to lunch next day as he had an engagement but anyway Rumber didn't need him anymore. When next day Rumber entered the Spanish restaurant everyone turned and stared at him. The dark cellar-like room below the level of the small yellow street was patronised only by men, mostly Spaniards judging by their looks. Raoul was sitting at a table at the back of the room. Once he had beckoned to the journalist and Rumber started to go towards him. The curiosity left the faces of others and they bent over their plates again. Raoul had beside him a tall thin ill-shaven man with enormously wide shoulders, an equine face and thinning hair. His shirt sleeves were rolled up displaying long skinny arms covered with black hair. When Rumber was introduced he gave three slow nods. His own name however was not announced and Raoul when referring to him always said our friend. Our friend here thinks he may be able to help you. He's going... Raoul broke off as the waitress had just come to take Rumber's order. He's going to put you in touch with two of our friends who will introduce you to some sentries whom we've squared. But that doesn't mean you can start right away. You'll have to leave it to the sentries to decide the best moment. The simplest thing will be for you to stay some nights with one of them. His home is quite near the gate. The first thing is for our friend here to give you the contacts needed. Then when everything's set you'll settle with him for the expenses. Again the friend slowly moved his equine head up and down without ceasing to munch the tomato and pimento salad he was shoveling into his mouth. After which he began to speak with a slight Spanish accent. He asked Rumber to meet him the next day but one at eight in the morning in the cathedral porch. Another two days wait Rumber observed. It ain't so easy as all that you see Raoul said. Then boys take some finding. Horseface nodded slow approval once more. Some time was spent looking for a subject of conversation. The problem was solved easily enough when Rumber discovered that Horseface was an ardent football player. He too had been very keen on soccer. They discussed the French championship, the merits of professional English teams and the technique of passing. By the end of the meal Horseface was in high good humor, was calling Rumber old boy and trying to convince him that the most sporting position by far on the football field with it was that of centre-half. You see old boy it's the centre-half that does the placing and that's the whole art of the game isn't it? Rumber was inclined to agree though he personally had always played centre-forward. The discussion proceeded peacefully until the radio was turned on and after first emitting a series of sentimental songs broke into the announcement that there had been 137 plagued deaths on the previous day. No one present betrayed the least emotion. Horseface merely shrugged and stood up. Raoul and Rumber followed his example. As they were going out the centre-half shook Rumber's hand vigorously. My name's Gonzales he said. To Rumber the next two days seemed endless. He looked up rear and described to him the latest developments, then accompanied the doctor on one of his calls. He took leave of him on the doorstep of a house where a patient suspected to have plague was awaiting him. There was the sound of footsteps and voices in the hall. The family were being warned of the doctor's visit. I hope Taro will be on time, Rio murmured. He looked worn out. Is this epidemic getting out of hand? Rumber asked. Rio said it wasn't that. Indeed the death graph was rising less steeply. Only they lacked adequate means of coping with the disease. We're short of equipment. In all the armies of the world the shortage of equipment is usually compensated for by manpower, but we're short of manpower too. Well haven't doctors and trained assistants been sent from other towns? Yes, Rio said. Ten doctors and a hundred helpers. That sounds like a lot no doubt, but it's barely enough to cope with the present state of affairs. It would be quite inadequate if things get worse. Rumber, who had been listening to the sounds within the house, turned to Rio with a friendly smile. Yes, he said. You'd better make haste to win your battle. Then a shadow crossed his face. You know, he added in a low tone, it's not because of that that I'm leaving. Rio replied that he knew it very well, but Rumber went on to say, I don't think I'm a coward. Not as a rule anyhow, and I've had opportunities of putting it to the test. Only there are some thoughts I simply cannot endure. The doctor looked him in the eyes. You'll see her again, he said. Maybe, but I just can't stomach the thought that it may last on and on, and all the time she'll be growing older. At thirty one's beginning to age, and one's got to squeeze all one can out of life. But I doubt if you can understand. Rio was replying that he thought he could, when Taru came up obviously much excited. I've asked Panolu to join us. Well, asked the doctor. He thought it over and then said yes. That's good, the doctor said. I'm glad to know he's better than his sermon. Most people are like that, Taru replied. It's only a matter of giving them the chance. He smiled and winked at Rio. That's my job in life, giving people chances. Excuse me, Rumber said, I've got to be off. On Thursday, the day of the appointment, Rumber entered the cathedral porch at five minutes to eight. The air was still relatively cool, small fleecy clouds which presently the Sun would swallow at a gulp, were drifting across the sky. A faint smell of moisture rose from the lawns, parched though they were, still masked by the Eastwood houses. The Sun was warming up Joan of Arc's helmet only, and it made a solitary patch of brightness in the cathedral square. A clock struck eight. Rumber took some steps in the empty porch. From inside came a low sound of intoning voices, together with stale wafts of incense, and dank air. Then the voices ceased. Ten small black forms came out of the building and hastened away towards the centre of the town. Rumber grew impatient. Other black forms climbed the steps and entered the porch. He was about to light a cigarette when it struck him that smoking might be frowned on here. At 8.15 the organ began to play, very softly. Rumber entered. At first he could see nothing in the dim light of the aisle. After a moment he made out in the nave the small black forms that had preceded him. They were all grouped in a corner, in front of a makeshift altar, on which stood a statue of St. Roch, carved in haste by one of our local sculptors. Kneeling they looked even smaller than before. Blobs of clotted darkness, hardly more opaque than the grey smoky haze in which they seemed to float. Above them the organ was playing endless variations. When Rumber stepped out of the cathedral he saw Gonzales already going down the steps on his way back to the town. I thought you'd cleared off old boy, he said to the journalist, considering how late it is. He proceeded to explain that he'd gone to meet his friends at the place agreed on, which was quite nearby, at ten to eight, the time they'd fixed and waited 20 minutes without seeing them. Something must have held them up. There's lots of snags, you know, it's a line of business. He suggested another meeting at the same time on the following day, beside the war memorial. Rumber sighed and pushed his hat back on his head. Don't take it so hard, Gonzales laughed. Why, think of all the swerves and runs and passes you've got to make to score a goal. Quite so, Rumber agreed, but the game lasts only an hour and a half. The war memorial stands at the one place where one has a glimpse of the sea, a sort of esplanade following for a short distance the brow of the cliff overlooking the harbour. Next day, being again the first to arrive at the meeting place, Rumber whiled away the time reading the list of names of those who had died for their country. Some minutes later two men strolled up, gave him a casual glance, then, resting their elbows on the parapet of the esplanade, gazed down intently at the empty lifeless harbour. Both wore short-sleeved jerseys and blue trousers and were of much the same height. The journalists moved away and seated on the stone bench studied their appearance at leisure. They were obviously youngsters, not more than 20. Just then he saw Gonzales coming up. Those are our friends, he said, after apologising for being late. Then he led Rumber to the two youths who he introduced as Marcel and Louis. They looked so much alike that Rumber had no doubt they were brothers. Right, said Gonzales, now you know each other, you can get down to business. Marcel or Louis said that their turn of guard duty began in two days and lasted a week. They'd have to watch out for the night when there was the best chance of bringing it off. The trouble was that there were two other sentries, regular soldiers, besides themselves at the West Gate. These two men had better be kept out of the business. One couldn't depend on them and anyhow it would pile up expenses unnecessarily. Some evenings however these two sentries spent several hours in the back room of a nearby bar. Marcel or Louis said that the best thing Rumber could do would be to stay at their place which was only a few minutes walk from the gate and wait until one of them came to tell him the coast was clear. It should then be quite easy for him to make his getaway. But there was no time to lose. There had been talk about setting up duplicate sentry posts a little further out. Rumber agreed and handed some of his few remaining cigarettes to the young men. The one who had not spoken yet asked Gonzales if the question of expenses had been settled and whether an advance would be given. No, Gonzales said, and you needn't bother about that. He's a pal of mine. He'll pay when he leaves. Another meeting was arranged. Gonzales suggested their dining together on the next day but one at the Spanish restaurant. It was an easy walking distance from where the young men lived. For the first night, he added, I'll keep you company old boy. Next day on his way to his bedroom Rumber met Tarou coming down the stairs at the hotel. Like to come with me? he asked. I'm just off to see Rio. Rumber hesitated. Well I'd never feel sure if I'm not disturbing him. I don't think you need to worry about that. He's talked about you quite a lot. The journalist pondered then. Look here, he said, if you've any time to spare after dinner, never mind how late, why don't you come to the hotel, both of you, and have a drink with me. Well that will depend on Rio, Tarou sounded doubtful. And on the plague, said Tarou. At 11 o'clock that night however Rio and Tarou entered the small narrow bar of the hotel. Some 30 people were crowded into it, all talking at the top of their voices. Coming from the silence of the plague-bound town, the two newcomers were startled by the sudden burst of noise and halted in the doorway. They understood the reason for it when they saw that liquor was still to be had here. Rumber, who was perched on a stool at a corner of the bar, beckoned to them. With complete coolness he elbowed away a noisy customer beside him to make room for his friends. You've no objection to a spot of something strong? No, Tarou replied, quite the contrary. Rio sniffed the pungency of bitter herbs in the drink that Rumber handed him. It was hard to make oneself heard in the din of voices, but Rumber seemed chiefly concerned with drinking. The doctor couldn't make up his mind whether he was drunk yet. At one point the two tables that occupied all the remaining space beyond the half circle around the bar, a naval officer with a girl on each side of him, was describing to a fat red-faced man a typhus epidemic at Cairo. They had camps, you know, he was saying, for the natives, with tents for sick ones and a ring of sentries all around. If a member of the family came along and tried to smuggle in one of those damnful native remedies, they fired at sight. A bit tough I grant you, but it was the only thing to do. At the other table, round which sat a bevy of bright young people, the talk was incomprehensible, half drowned by the stridence of St. James Infirmary, coming from a loud speaker just above their heads. Any luck? Rear had to raise his voice. I'm getting on, Rumber replied, in the course of the week perhaps. A pity, Tarou shouted. Why? Oh, Rear put in, Tarou said that because he thinks you might be useful to us. But personally I understand your wish to get away only too well. Tarou stood the next round of drinks. Rumber got off his stool and looked him in the eyes for the first time. How could I be useful? Why, of course, Tarou replied, slowly reaching towards his glass, in one of our sanitary squads. The look of brooding obstinacy that Rumber so often had came back to his face and he climbed again onto his stool. Don't you think these squads of ours do any good? asked Tarou, who had just taken a sip of his glass and was gazing hard at Rumber. I'm sure they do, the journalist replied, and drank off his glass. Rear noticed that his hand was shaking and he decided definitely that the man was far gone in drink.