The Misunderstanding

In the reception area of a clean, well-lit inn in Bohemia, innkeepers Martha and her mother (who Camus simply calls “the Mother”) discuss their latest customer who—like their other solitary, rich guests—they intend to murder and rob. Unbeknownst to them, this man is Martha’s brother and the Mother’s son, Jan, concealing his identity. The reader later learns that Jan left home 20 years prior when he was a teenager and his sister was a child. Jan lives in northern Africa with his wife, Maria, and has returned to his hometown with her following the death of his father. Determined to be recognized without identifying himself, Jan goes to the inn alone, leaving Maria in a nearby hotel.

While the Mother has tired of her and Martha’s crimes and dreams only of the peaceful oblivion of sleep, Martha remains callous, driven by her desire to steal enough money to escape the shadowy, horizon-less land of Europe to “live in freedom by the sea” (150). As they discuss Jan, both Martha and her mother remark on how oddly the other speaks. The Mother balks at Martha’s frankness in discussing their incipient crime, while Martha bristles at her mother’s reticence in discussing it. The Mother reflects it is only out of habit, not malice, that she’s able to dehumanize Jan. Martha rationalizes that their method of killing—drugging their victims before drowning them in the nearby river—is less cruel than life itself. No longer inhibited by her scruples, the Mother concurs with her daughter.

Halfway through the scene, the Servant makes his first appearance. He sits behind the reception counter without speaking or moving for the rest of the scene as Martha and her mother discuss the possibility of finding a home in the world. Having always felt out of place in Central Europe, Martha hopes she will find a home by the sea, where the sun “eats straight to the soul, leaving the body radiant but empty on the inside” (153). The Mother reflects that after a certain age, such tranquil oblivion is impossible, and the most one can hope for is the comfort of memory.

Jan returns to the inn from his hotel and finds only the Old Servant. Jan asks whether anyone is there, and the servant exits wordlessly.

After the Old Servant leaves, Maria surprises Jan, having followed him to dissuade him from his plan. Maria can’t believe Jan’s mother hasn’t recognized him and doesn’t understand why Jan won’t abandon his masquerade and identify himself, as anyone would.

Before returning, Jan had hoped that his mother and sister would welcome him as enthusiastically as the Prodigal Son’s father welcomed him in the Biblical parable. Despite their inability to recognize him (though Jan was touched by the beer they gave him on credit), Jan insists on remaining a stranger until he can devise a way to be recognized.

Since arriving in Europe, Maria hasn’t seen a happy face. She questions whether Jan was also happy in their life there, “living together in a country we love, living out in front of the sea and sun” (157). He says he has been happy, but since his father’s death has felt a responsibility to return to his homeland to care for his mother and sister.

The Old Servant passes outside the window and Jan pushes Maria out of view.

Jan urges Maria to leave so she won’t betray his identity. Maria pleads with him, noting that in five years of marriage they haven’t spent a night apart. She laments he prefers to chase his dreams and duties than to remain happy with her. Jan chastises her childishness, explaining that he must keep his word to himself to support his mother. Maria argues he has another word to uphold: his marriage vow.

Maria philosophizes that, unlike women, men inevitably flee those they love. To her, Jan’s arguments that he would be nothing without his mother and Martha, that he must remain a stranger to them to test his hope for recognition, and that “a person can’t be happy in exile or oblivion” are nothing but words of solitude (163). Jan asks Maria to entrust him to his mother and sister for a single night. Maria blesses him with her love and departs.

The Old Servant admits Martha to reception, then leaves. Jan comments on the servant’s strangeness, and Martha replies that he says and does exactly what is required and no more.

Jan registers as 38-year-old Karl Hasek, an unemployed but financially stable man. He gives his home address as Bohemia but says he has come to the inn from across the sea in Africa. This detail sends Martha into a brief reverie about the sea.

Martha probes Jan to determine whether anyone will notice his disappearance. In his preoccupation with intimating his true identity, he remains oblivious to her nefarious purpose. When, at Martha’s request, Jan hesitantly hands her his passport (which would reveal his identity), the servant suddenly enters to distract her. Martha returns his passport unopened.

Jan attempts to establish a rapport with Martha; she bridles at his questions about her happiness and warns that if he continues to overstep his role as a customer, she’ll expel him from the inn. As a habit, Martha speaks bluntly to avoid confusion and maintain distance from others. She tells Jan that, just as with any other customer, her aloofness shouldn’t discourage him from talking about himself. Jan isn’t good at talking about himself and believes doing so would be useless: He states Martha will only get to know him if he spends a long time at the inn.

The Mother enters reception. She and Jan greet each other formally, and she asks the reason for his visit for the reception form. He explains he visited their town long ago and that it feels like home.

Jan’s mother declares her weariness. She bemoans that the years at the inn have made her forget her son, her husband, herself, and nearly her daughter Martha. Jan remarks on her disillusionment and asks whether she has also lost her love for her son—she says she has. When Jan replies that he knows her son still loves her, Martha intervenes, scolding Jan for harping on emotion. She says that if a son were to return, he would find nothing more than the “benevolent indifference” found by every other customer and hints that this indifference makes her crimes easier (177). Martha exits.

The Mother apologizes for Martha’s behavior. She rises from her chair, refusing Jan’s help, saying: “No need, my son, I’m not an invalid. You see these hands? They’re still strong. They could lift a man up by the legs” (178). Surprised, Jan hazards to ask why she called him son. She replies that it’s just an expression. After a moment of hesitation, Jan goes to his room.

The Mother soliloquizes that if only Jan had looked at her hands, he would’ve understood their intention. Since he didn’t, he must want to die. She vacillates, admitting she feels too weary to once again lug a drugged victim to the river. Nevertheless, she urges herself on: Jan is the perfect victim, so she’ll “have to give him the sleep [she’d] hoped to have for [herself] tonight” (180).

Interrupting her mother’s contemplation, Martha encourages her to “be positive” and think only of tomorrow (180). Martha borrows this philosophy from her father, who used it to dispel his fear of the gendarmes. The Mother notes that, unlike her father, Martha wields the motto to shield herself from her mother’s desire for honesty.

The Mother reflects that not only does Jan appear different from their other victims but also that she and Martha are behaving differently toward him: While before they were indifferent, Martha now feels irritated and impatient and the Mother sympathetic and reluctant. Martha argues murdering Jan isn’t a means to money but a means to escape the walled-off horizons of Europe for the seaside. She guilts her mother into complicity: “[Y]ou have to help me, you who brought me into the world in a country of clouds instead of a land of sunshine” (182). Her mother responds she would rather Martha forget her—as her son has—than be talked to so insolently. Martha asks forgiveness, declaring her dependence on and respect for her mother.

The Mother makes one final plea: To delay the murder to the following day so that she may find salvation in sleep that night. Martha responds that either they will find salvation now through their crime or never find it.