Camus depicts a strange man (though inwardly not so far from us) for whom all the directions of life, even the most opposite, are in equivalence
Translation in English and Haitian Creole of the original French text of Albert Camus, Nobel Prize in Literature
MOTHER died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have been yesterday.
Jodi a, manman mouri. Ouswa yè, m pa konnen. Yo ban m kab lazil la : « Man mouri. Lantèman demen. Respè. » Sa pa vle di anyen. Kapab se te yè.
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When we had finished dressing, Marie looked hard at me. Her eyes were sparkling. I kissed her; after that neither of us spoke for quite a while. I pressed her to my side as we scrambled up the foreshore. Both of us were in a hurry to catch the bus, get back to my place, and tumble on to the bed. I’d left my window open, and it was pleasant to feel the cool night air flowing over our sunburned bodies.
Sou plaj la, lè n fin met rad sou nou, je Mari te klere ap gade m. Mwen bo l. Nou pa pale menm apre. Mwen kenbe l kole sere epi n prese pran bis rantre lakay. Nou lage kò n sou kabann mwen. M te kite fenèt mwen ouvè e, sa k te dous la, se te chalè lannwit ki t ap koule sou kò n solèy te fin dore.
The Stranger - Yon nèg apa (Roman) • 12 €
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