Albert Camus
THE RENEGADE
What a jumble! What a jumble!
I
must tidy up my
mind. Since they cut out my tongue, another tongue, it seems, has
been constantly wagging somewhere in my skull, something has been
talking, or someone, that suddenly falls silent and then it all begins
again-oh,
I
hear too many things
I
never utter, what a jumble,
and if
I
open my mouth it's like pebbles rattling together. Order and
method, the tongue says, and then goes on talking of other matters
simultaneously-yes,
I
always longed for order. At least one thing
is certain,
I
am waiting for the missionary who is to come and take
my place. Here
I
am on the trail, an hour away from Taghasa, hid–
den in a pile of rocks, sitting on myoId rifle. Day is breaking over
the desert, it's still very cold, soon it will be too hot, this country
drives men mad and I've been here
I
don't know how many years....
No, just a little longer. The missionary is to come this morning, or
this evening. I've heard he'll come with a guide, perhaps they'll have
but one camel between them.
I'll
wait,
I
am waiting, it's only the
cold making me shiver. Just be patient a little longer, lousy slave!
But
I
have been patient for so long. When
I
was home on that
high plateau of the Massif Central, my coarse father, my boorish
mother, the wine, the pork soup every day, the wine above all, sour
and cold, and the long winter, the frigid wind, the snowdrifts, the
revolting braken--Dh,
I
wanted to get away, leave them all at once
and begin to live at last, in the sunlight, with fresh water.
I
believed
the priest, he spoke to me of the seminary, he tutored me daily, he
had plenty of time in that Protestant region where he used to hug
the walls as he crossed the village. He told me of the future and of
the sun, Catholicism is the sun, he used to say, and he would get
me to read, he beat Latin into my hard head ('The kid's bright but
