Чума
Part I
Yetitwasonthatsameday,attwelve,thatDrRieux,pullingupinhiscarinfrontofhisblockofflats,sawtheconciergeattheendofthestreet,walkingalongpainfully,hisheadbentforward,hisarmsandlegsakimbo,likeapuppet.Theoldmanwasholdingontothearmofapriestwhomthedoctorrecognized.ThiswasFatherPaneloux,alearned,militantJesuitwhowasveryhighlyregardedinourtown,evenamongthosewhocaredlittleforanythingtodowithreligion.Hewaitedforthemtojoinhim.OldMichel’seyeswereshiningandhewhistledashebreathed.Hehadnotbeenfeelingverywellanddecidedtogetsomefreshair,butsharppainsinhisneck,hisarmpitsandhisgroinobligedhimtoturnbackandaskforFatherPaneloux’shelp.
"Thereareswellings,"hesaid."Itwasastruggleforme."
LeaningoutofthecarwindowthedoctorranhisfingeroverthebaseoftheneckthatMichelofferedhim:asortofwoodenknothadappearedthere.
"Gotobed,takeyourtemperatureandI’llcometoseeyouthisafternoon."
WhentheconciergehadgoneRieuxaskedFatherPanelouxwhathethoughtaboutthebusinessoftherats.
"Oh,itmustbeanepidemic,"thepriestsaid;andhiseyesweresmilingbehindhisglasses.
AfterlunchRieuxwasre-readingthetelegramfromthesanatoriumannouncinghiswife’sarrival,whenthetelephonerang.Itwasacallfromoneofhisformerpatients,whowasonthestaffoftheHôteldeVille.
