Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know. The telegram said nothing. I drank my café au lait, watched the white blaze of Algiers, the terrace, the sand, the glare— the sun beating down, plain and implacable. The benign indifference of the universe— that is what I opened myself to! The benign indifference of the universe— it shines through, without pity, true! It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter! In the cell, the chaplain spoke of God. I told him I had only a little time left, and I didn’t want to waste it on Him. I wanted the night, the heat, the hard truth of the wall, to be alive, fully, before the final rush of the crowd. Since everyone is going to die, it is obvious that when and how don’t matter! They condemn me for the tears I didn't cry— another heat, another light on the stone sky! No soft lie for me, no borrowed prayer, I was ready to begin it all again, right there! The benign indifference of the universe— that is what I opened myself to! The benign indifference of the universe— it shines through, without pity, true! It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter! Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I don’t know. The sun went down. The world remained.
