that the hearse was waiting out in the road and at the same time I could hear

the priest beginning his prayers. From then on everything happened very quickly.

The men moved toward the casket with a pall. The priest, his acolytes, the

director and I all went outside. A woman I didn't know was standing by the door.

"Monsieur Meursault," the director said. I didn't catch the woman's name; I just

understood that she was the nurse assigned by the home. Without smiling she

lowered her long, gaunt face. Then we stepped aside to make way for the body. We

fol­ lowed the pall bearers and left the horne. Outside the gate stood the

hearse. Varnished, glossy, and oblong, it reminded me of a pencil box. Next to

it was the funeral director, a little man in a ridiculous getup, and an awk­

ward, embarrassed-looking old man. I realized that it was Monsieur Perez. He was

wearing a soft felt hat with a round crown and a wide brim (he took it off as

the casket was coming through the gate), a suit with trousersthat were

corkscrewed down around his ankles, and a black tie with a knot that was too

small for the big white collar of his shirt. His lips were trembling below a

nose dotted with blackheads. Strange, floppy, thick-rimmed ears stuck out

through his fine, white hair, and I was struck by their blood-red color next to

the pallor of his face. The funeral director assigned us our places. First came

the priest, then the hearse. Flanking it, the four men. Behind it, the director

and myself and, bringing up the rear, the nurse and Monsieur Perez.

 

The sky was already filled with light. The sun was beginning to bear down on the

earth and it was getting hotter by the minute. I don't know why we waited so

long before getting under way. I was hot in my dark clothes. The little old man,

who had put his hat back on, took it off again. I turned a little in his