L'Hôte

“The Guest” by Albert Camus was nothing like I expected. First of all, the description of Daru calls to mind an image of a young bachelor beginning his life as a schoolteacher. The plain living of the “whitewashed walls, [Daru’s] narrow couch, his unpainted shelves, his well” and other meek provisions are all typical of young men. He must also be hardy to withstand the tough living conditions, and though his upbringing may have made him accustomed to the weather, even the old policeman Balducci find the cold painful. Furthermore, he reinforces the image of Daru’s youth by repeatedly calling him “son.” However, as the story progresses, the wisdom and calm that Daru brings forth is that of an experienced man. A common trait of youth is the want to be accepted and to be surrounded by people—to experience new things. Daru, on the other hand, enjoys his self-isolation, living in the small schoolhouse with his stock of wheat that he regularly distributes instead of hoarding.

Daru’s extension of hospitality (even in his isolation) shows maturity than let on by his initial exterior. When the unnamed Arab is brought to his home restrained by ropes and dragged behind Balducci, Daru immediately asks that the Arab be untied. The Arab is described as having a “restless and rebellious look,” that strikes Daru when he “look[s] him straight in the eyes.” Even so, Daru treats him as any other guest in his home. Balducci is the one who forces the Arab into submission, making him sit at his feet.

Daru, on the other hand, offers him tea. He allows him to sleep on his cot for guests. He does not even keep the revolver that Balducci left him by the bed. The coffee and cake they share is not common for a master and prisoner. Daru even gives the Arab food and money in the event that he does not go to Tinguit—the prison—and decides instead travels to the nomad’s land to begin his life anew.

Upon further investigation, the original name, “L'Hôte,” is translated into both “the Host” and “the Guest” from French. The ambiguous name cannot centralize the main character. It refers to both Daru and the Arab and their tenuous bond. They are certainly not friends, but they share a mutual respect for one another. Daru’s allowing the Arab to make his own decision—to go on to the prison or seek help elsewhere—is another acknowledgement that the Arab is not just a slave. He is a man who can make his own choices.

It is never clear whether or not the Arab truly killed his cousin—after all, he says that his cousin just “ran away…[and he] ran after him.” This may be a confession of guilt, but the ambiguity of the statement forces me to believe in the good of the Arab. Even though Daru believes that the Arab really committed the crime, his hesitation in handing him over to the authorities plants a seed of disbelief in my mind.

So what guilt lays on the Arab’s mind when he chooses his path? I present two choices: he was either truly guilty, or maybe Daru was on his mind. Not going to the prison would give Balducci reason to believe Daru is not on the side of the government. Maybe it’s a long reach, but the story is left so openly that I cannot help but think “what if?”

The “clumsily chalked-up words” left on the blackboard could also mean his family didn’t believe he killed his own cousin. Or maybe the really just did not like their extended family. Who knows?