The Plague by Albert Camus. Part 4 Chapter 3

Towards the close of October Castel's anti-plague serum was tried for the first time. Practically speaking it was Rio's last card. If it failed the doctor was convinced the whole town would be at the mercy of the epidemic which would either continue its ravages for an unpredictable period or perhaps die out abruptly of its own accord. The day before Castel called on Rio, Monsieur Auton's son had fallen ill and all the family had to go into quarantine. Thus the mother, who had only recently come out of it, found herself isolated once again. In deference to the official regulations the magistrate had promptly sent for Dr. Rio the moment he saw symptoms of the disease in his little boy. Mother and father were standing at the bedside when Rio entered the room. The boy was in the phase of extreme prostration and submitted without a whimper to the doctor's examination. When Rio raised his eyes he saw the magistrate's gaze intent on him and behind the mother's pale face. She was holding a handkerchief to her mouth and her big dilated eyes followed each of the doctor's movements. He has it I suppose, the magistrate asked in a toneless voice. Yes. Rio gazed down at the child again. The mother's eyes widened yet more but still she said nothing. Monsieur Auton too kept silent for a while before saying in an ever lower voice, well doctor we must do as we are told to do. Rio avoided looking at Madame Auton who was still holding a handkerchief to her mouth. It needn't take long, he said rather awkwardly, if you'll let me use your phone. The magistrate said he would take him to the telephone but before going the doctor turned towards Madame Auton. I regret very much indeed but I'm afraid you'll have to get your things ready. You know how it is. Madame Auton seemed disconcerted. She was staring at the floor. Then. I understand, she murmured slowly nodding her head. I'll set about it at once. Before leaving Rio on a sudden impulse asked the Autons if there wasn't anything they'd like him to do for them. The mother gazed at him in silence and now the magistrate averted his eyes. No, he said, then swallowed hard. But save my son. In the early days of mere formality quarantine had now been reorganized by Rio and Rambert in very strict lines. In particular they insisted on having members of the family of a patient kept apart. If unawares one of them had been infected the risks of an extension of the infection must not be multiplied. Rio explained this to the magistrate who signified his approval of the procedure. Nevertheless he and his wife exchanged a glance that made it clear to Rio how keenly they both felt the separation thus imposed on them. Madame Auton and her little girl could be given rooms in the quarantine hospital under Rambert's charge. For the magistrate however no accommodation was available except in an isolation camp the authorities were now installing in the municipal stadium using tents supplied by the highway department. When Rio apologized for the poor accommodation Monsieur Auton replied that there was one rule for all alike and it was only proper to abide by it. The boy was taken to the auxiliary hospital and put in a ward of ten beds which had formerly been a classroom. After some 20 hours Rio became convinced that the case was hopeless. The infection was steadily spreading and the boy's body putting up no resistance. Tiny, half-formed but acutely painful buboes were clogging the joints of the child's puny limbs. Obviously it was a losing fight. Under the circumstances Rio had no qualms about testing Castel's serum on the boy. That night after dinner they performed the inoculation. A lengthy process without getting the slightest reaction. At daybreak on the following day they gathered around the bed to observe the effects of this test inoculation on which so much hung. The child had come out of his extreme frustration and was tossing about convulsively on the bed. From four in the morning Dr. Castel and Tarou had been keeping watch and noting stage by stage the progress and remission of the malady. Tarou's bulky form was slightly drooping at the head of the bed while at its foot with Rio standing beside him Castel was seated reading with every appearance of calm an old leather-bound book. One by one as the light increased in the former classroom the others arrived. Panolou, the first to come, leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the bed to Tarou. His face was drawn with grief and the accumulated weariness of many weeks during which he had never spared himself had deeply seamed his somewhat prominent forehead. Grand came next it was seven o'clock and he apologized for being out of breath. He could only stay a moment but wanted to know if any definite results had been observed. Without speaking Rio pointed to the child. His eyes shut, his teeth clenched, his features frozen in an agonized grimace. He was rolling his head from side to side on the bolster. When there was just light enough to make out the half obliterated figures of an equation chalked on a blackboard that was still hung on the wall at the far end of the room, Rambert entered. Posting himself at the foot of the next bed he took a package of cigarettes from his pocket but after his first glance at the child's face he put them back. From his chair Castel looked at Rio over his spectacles. Any news of his father? No, said Rio. He's in the isolation camp. The doctor's hands were gripping the rail of the bed, his eyes fixed on the small tortured body. Suddenly it stiffened and seemed to give a little at the waist as slowly the arms and legs spread out crosswise. From the body, naked under an army blanket, rose a smell of damp wool and stale sweat. The boy had gritted his teeth again. Then very gradually he relaxed bringing his arms and legs back towards the centre of the bed. Still without speaking or opening his eyes and his breathing seemed to quicken. Rio looked at Taro who hastily lowered his eyes. They had already seen children die. For many months now death had shown no favouritism but they had never yet watched a child's agony minute by minute as they had now been doing since daybreak. Needless to say the pain inflicted on these innocent victims had always seemed to them to be what in fact it was, an abominable thing. But hitherto they had felt its abomination in so to speak an abstract way. They had never had to witness over so long a period the death throes of an innocent child. And just then the boy had a sudden spasm as if something had bitten him in the stomach and uttered a long shrill wail. For moments that seemed endless he stayed in a queer contorted position, his body racked by convulsive tremors. It was as if his frail frame were bending before the fierce breath of the plague, breaking under the reiterated gusts of fever. Then the storm went past. There came a lull and he relaxed a little. The fever seemed to recede leaving him gasping for breath on a dank pestilential shore lost in a languor that already looked like death. When for the third time the fiery wave broke on him, lifting him a little, the child curled himself up and shrank away to the edge of the bed as if in terror of the flames advancing on him, licking his limbs. A moment later after tossing his head wildly to and fro he flung off the blanket. From between the inflamed eyelids big tears welled up and trickled down the sunken lead and hewed cheeks. When the spasms had passed, utterly exhausted, tensing his thin legs and arms on which within 48 hours the flesh had wasted to the bone, the child lay flat, racked on the tumbled bed in a grotesque parody of crucifixion. Bending, Taru gently stroked with his big paw the small face stained with tears and sweat. Castell had closed his book a few minutes before and his eyes were now fixed on the child. He began to speak but had to give a cough before continuing because his voice rang out so harshly. There wasn't any remission this morning was there Ria? Ria shook his head adding however that the child was putting up more resistance than one would have expected. Panolu, who was slumped against the wall, said in a low voice, so if he is to die he will have suffered longer. Light was increasing in the ward, the occupants of the other nine beds were tossing about and groaning but in tones that seemed deliberately subdued. Only one at the far end of the ward was screaming or rather uttering little exclamations at regular intervals which seemed to convey surprise more than pain. Indeed one had the impression that even for the sufferers the frantic terror of the early phase had passed and there was a sort of mournful resignation in their present attitude toward the disease. Only the child went on fighting with all his little might. Now and then Ria took his pulse, less because this served any purpose than as an escape from his utter helplessness. And when he closed his eyes he seemed to feel its tumult mingling with the fever of his own blood. And then at one with the tortured child he struggled to sustain him with all the remaining strength in his own body but linked for a few moments the rhythms of the heartbeats soon fell apart. The child escaped him and again he knew his impotence. Then he released the small thin wrist and moved back to his place. The light on the whitewashed walls was changing from pink to yellow. The first waves of another day of heat were beating on the windows. They hardly heard Gran saying he would come back as he turned to go. All were waiting. The child, his eyes still closed, seemed to grow a little calmer. His claw-like fingers were feebly plucking at the side of the bed. Then they rose, scratched at the blanket over his knees and suddenly he doubled up his limbs bringing his thighs above his stomach and remaining quite still. For the first time he opened his eyes and gazed at Ria who was standing immediately in front of him. In the small face, rigid as a mask of greyish clay, slowly the lips parted and from them rose a long incessant scream. Hardly bearing with his respiration and filling the ward with a fierce indignant protest. So little churlish that it seemed like a collective voice issuing from all the sufferers there. Ria clenched his jaws. Taru looked away. Rambha went and stood beside Kastel who closed the book lying on his knees. Panalu gazed down at the small mouth fouled with the sores of the plague and pouring out the angry death cry that has sounded through the ages of mankind. He sank on his knees and all present found it natural to hear him say in a voice hoarse but clearly audible across that nameless never-ending wail. My God! Spare this child! But the wail continued without cease and the other sufferers began to grow restless. The patient at the far end of the ward whose little broken cries had gone on without a break now quickened their tempo so that they flowed together in one unbroken cry while the others groans grew louder. A gust of sobs swept through the room drowning Panalu's prayer and Ria who was still tightly gripping the rail of the bed shut his eyes dazed with exhaustion and disgust. When he opened them again Taru was at his side. I must go, Ria said, I can't bear to hear them any longer. But then suddenly the other sufferers fell silent and now the doctor grew aware that the child's wail after weakening more and more had fluttered out into silence. Around him the groans began again but more faintly like a far echo of the fight that was now over. For it was over. Castel had moved round to the other side of the bed and said the end had come. His mouth still gaping but silent now the child was lying among the tumbled blankets a small shrunken form with a tear still wet on his cheeks. Panalu went up to the bed and made the sign of the benediction then gathering up his cassock he walked out by the passage between the beds. Will you have to start it all over again Taru asked Castel. The old doctor nodded slowly with a twisted smile. Perhaps. After all he put up a surprisingly long resistance. Ria was already on his way out walking so quickly and with such a strange look on his face that Panalu put out an arm to check him when he was about to pass him in the doorway. Come doctor he began. Ria swung at him fiercely. Ah that child anyway was innocent and you know it as well as I do. He strode on brushing past Panalu and walked across the school playground. Sitting on a wooden bench under the dingy stunted trees he wiped off the sweat that was beginning to run into his eyes. He felt like shouting, imprecations, anything to loosen the stranglehold lashing his heart with steel. Heat was flooding down between the branches of the fig trees. A white haze spreading rapidly over the blue of the morning sky made the air yet more stifling. Ria lay back wearily on the bench gazing up at the ragged branches, the shimmering sky. He slowly got back his breath and fought down his fatigue. He heard a voice behind him. Why was there anger in your voice just now? What we'd been seeing was as unbearable to me as it was to you. Ria turned towards Panalu. I know I'm sorry but weariness is a kind of madness and there are times when the only feeling I have is one of mad revolt. I understand, Panalu said in a low voice. That sort of thing is revolting because it passes our human understanding but perhaps we should love what we cannot understand. Ria straightened up slowly he gazed at Panalu summoning to his gaze all the strength and fervour he could muster against his weariness. Then he shook his head. No father I've a very different idea of love and until my dying day I shall refuse to love a scheme of things in which children are put to torture. A shade of disquietude crossed the priest faced. Ah doctor, he said sadly, I've just realised what is meant by grace. Ria had sunk back again on the bench. His lassitude had returned and from its depths he spoke more gently. It's something I haven't got, that I know, but I'd rather not discuss that with you. We're working side by side for something that unites us beyond blasphemy and prayers and it's the only thing that matters. Panalu sat down beside Ria. It was obvious that he was deeply moved. Yes, yes, he said. You too are working for man's salvation. Ria tried to smile. Salvation's much too big a word for me. I don't aim so high. I'm concerned with a man's health and for me his health comes first. Panalu seemed to hesitate. Doctor? He began, then fell silent. Down his face too sweat was trickling. Murmuring goodbye for the present. He rose. His eyes were moist. Where do you turn to go? Ria, who had seemed lost in thought, suddenly rose and took a step towards him. Again, please forgive me. I can promise there won't be another outburst of that kind. Panalu held out his hand saying regretfully, and yet I haven't convinced you. Well what does it matter? What I hate is death and disease as you well know and whether you wish it or not we're allies facing them and fighting them together. Ria was still holding Panalu's hand. So you see. But he refrained from meeting the priest's eyes. God himself can't part us now.