The Guest

Daru felt a sudden wrath against the man, against all men with their rotten spite, their tireless hates, their blood lust.

I'll see you off," Daru said. "No," said Balducci. "There's no use being polite. You insulted me.

Men who share the same rooms, soldiers or prisoners, develop a strange alliance as if, having cast off their armor with their clothing, they fraternized every evening, over and above their differences, in the ancient community of dream and fatigue.

No one in this desert, neither he nor his guest, mattered. And yet, outside this desert neither of them, Daru knew, could have really lived.