Chapter 2
Meursault awakens on Saturday, realizing his boss was irritated because taking two days off would give him a four‑day weekend that includes Sunday. He reflects that his mother was buried the day before, but the boss’s annoyance is understandable. After a sluggish start, he decides to go swimming. He catches a streetcar to the harbor, dives into the channel, and encounters Marie Cardona, a former office typist with whom he had a past attraction. He helps her onto a float, brushes against her breasts, and they relax together on the float, sharing jokes and conversation. When the sun grows hot they swim back to shore, arm‑in‑arm, laughing. On the dock Marie tells Meursault she is “darker than him.” He invites her to the movies; she mentions a Fernandel film she wants to see. Dressed in a black tie, Marie asks if he is in mourning; he tells her his mother died “yesterday.” She is startled but says nothing further. They watch the film, she presses her leg against him, he fondles her breasts, and near the end he gives her a weak kiss. After the film she returns to his apartment; the next morning she has left, saying she must visit her aunt. Meursault notes his dislike of Sundays, smokes cigarettes in bed until noon, and prepares eggs without bread. He wanders his now‑larger apartment, noting the moved dining‑room table, sagging chairs, yellowed mirror, and the few possessions he has kept. He cuts out a Kruschen Salts advertisement from a newspaper and sticks it in a notebook, washes his hands, and goes onto the balcony. From there he watches a wet, hurried street: families in sailor suits, a distinguished couple with a straw‑hat man, local boys in greased hair heading to the movies, then the street empties except for shopkeepers and cats. He observes a tobacconist setting a chair, a quiet café, and smokes while eating chocolate. The sky darkens briefly, then clears; he watches streetcars return with soccer fans shouting triumphs, some waving at him. Evening falls, the sky turns reddish, streetlamps ignite, and crowds spill from the neighbourhood theatres. Local girls walk arm‑in‑arm with boys who tease them; several familiar girls wave to Meursault. As the night quiets, a lone cat crosses the deserted street. Feeling a stiff neck, he goes downstairs, buys bread and spaghetti, cooks and eats standing, then closes his windows against the cold. He looks at his table with an alcohol lamp and bread, realizes another Sunday has passed, his mother is buried, he will return to work, and nothing has truly changed.