Albert Camus's "The Guest": a new look at the prisoner

Interpretations of Albert Camus's short story "The Guest" so far have had a tendency to make rather little of the prisoner, typically treating him as a primitive, brutalized, somewhat dull or even dim-witted character. In an influential early reading, Laurence Perrine helped establish this view, claiming that "his incomprehension . . . is emphasized" ("Camus' |The Guest'" 57). His comments in the Instructor's Manual accompanying his widely used textbook Story and Structure reinforce the view: "From the beginning the Arab is pictured as passive, uncomprehending, a little stupid" (24). Nor does John K. Simon's reply to the original article in SSF contradict this general view when he states, for example, "Having always lived under French law and authority, with no education or independence, the Arab can follow only the negative dictate of inertia and passivity" (290). More recently, Elwyn F. Sterling, while allowing the Arab some measure of moral awareness ("aware that the act of murder has set him apart from men" [528]), again endorses the view that he doesn't know very clearly why he committed the murder: "As a reason for killing his cousin, he can only answer, 'il s'est sauve. J'ai couru derriere lui'" (526). And again, as recently as 1988, Diana Festa-McCormick repeats the claim that the Arab "hardly knows why he had killed (|He ran away, I ran after him')" (112).(1)

A close study of the way in which the story deals with the Arab's act of killing his cousin will throw a different light on his character. The question of his motives arises twice. First, in the course of the discussion between Daru and Balducci, the policeman offers this information: "A family squabble, I think. One owed grain to the other, it seems. It's not at all clear" (Camus 190). What is remarkable here is Balducci's great uncertainty, emphasized in each of the three short successive sentences. Obviously his is not a very definitive version of the story; the reader is alerted to watch out for further clues. For the time being, Daru's response is not very helpful in that it merely expresses strong feelings against a barbaric deed: "Daru felt a sudden wrath against the man, against all men with their rotten spite, their tireless hates, their blood lust" (190). He generalizes and is clearly not aware of a need to investigate further and to penetrate Balducci's uncertainties.

The question comes up again when Daru and the prisoner are alone and have shared a meal, i.e., Daru's kindness has earned him the Arab's deep respect. Struggling with his own feelings of hostility, possibly in the hope of finding the prisoner a contrite sinner, Daru asks him: "Why did you kill him?" (193), only to elicit the response that so many critics have construed as being less than clear or plausible: "He ran away. I ran after him." But what can we make of this reply if we try to take it seriously? Could it be that the cousin's act of running away, instead of taking full responsibility in the family squabble over a debt of grain, constitutes the complete loss of his honor, and a severe injury to the family honor as well, in his own indigenous culture? And could it be that the prisoner, in running after him (possibly because he was the first to notice, or the one with the best starting position as pursuer), and then killing him, was merely acting in accordance with his own tribal custom?(2)

The assumption that the prisoner's own cultural norms play a crucial part in the matter has a number of interesting ramifications. It certainly helps to explain his body language in the passage in question. The fact that he "looked away" in giving his reply may well indicate some doubt as to whether Daru the French colonist will be able to appreciate what he says. His wordless response to Daru's next question, "Are you afraid?," is to stiffen, which strongly suggests a proud rejection of such an insinuation; at the same time he repeats the gesture of "turning his eyes away," as if once again appealing to those who could appreciate him better. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, when Daru asks, "Are you sorry?," the prisoner "stared at him openmouthed. Obviously he did not understand." Surely he is not being stupid; rather, he does not see the relevance of the question. Why, indeed, should he feel sorry about the killing if it was the honorable thing to do? To him, under the circumstances, regret is a perfectly incongruous, meaningless kind of response.

Yet, in spite of such signals of Daru's limited understanding of his plight, the Arab has developed an almost compulsive trust in Daru, in response, no doubt, to Daru's earlier kindness, the significance of which lies not merely in Daru's humane and compassionate behavior, but in his acceptance of the Arab as an honorable man who deserves all the privileges of a guest. That is not easy for the Arab to grasp, so that he asks, "Why do you eat with me?" Encouraged by such honorable treatment, he hopefully asks next, "Are you the judge?" And upon hearing the negative reply, he still urges Daru twice to come with him to Tinguit, presumably in the hope that Daru will secure him a fair and honorable trial.