Thank you, my darling, for your good letter. It will enable me to endure this Sunday, always difficult. In addition, it is raining heavily and the weather forecast is for the same thing tomorrow. When it rains here, they are uninterrupted cataracts that flood the whole landscape. I'm stuck in my room, and in a bad mood, naturally. It's true that I have a physical need for sun. You have to know me in the sun. What I am in Paris is not me, it's a delegate that my real self sends to the foggy countries.
I am not doing very well at the moment. Yesterday afternoon Bloch-Michel and Dolo made me drink two glasses of champagne. It was enough for me to wake up at 6 o'clock this morning with a headache that still resists four aspirin pills. The times are long gone when I could eat and drink for days and nights. You have to resign yourself to be of a smaller nature. I will obey, as much as I can, the program that you trace for me - the most difficult is the work, for it is an enormous undertaking (I realize it now). And if I had been able to approach it with all the resources of health and happiness, it would have been better. Finally, I will fight as I can, once again.
My darling, as much as it bothers me to talk to you about this, I would like you to tell me when you have to pay your next installments. This will allow me to make arrangements. Please don't be stupid and just act with me. I would like you to get into the habit of confiding in me a little bit, in your daily life, too. As for the rest, you made me very happy when you told me that I was able to help you during all those awful days. That's what I wanted, what I tried to do, but I wasn't sure. Now you should think about your health, rest during the day, eat, relax. It is your body that you have to rely on, that will support you. Our love will do the rest. But I have less and less desire to put words to all this. To live close to you, to move forward with you, that's what I'm waiting for. Goodbye, my dearest love. The rain doubles against my windows. How far away you are, and I am tired of this separation! Soon, soon... Let the rain fall without stopping until then, let time stand still! I love you, my dear little girl, and I am waiting for you. See you tomorrow.
Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, February 25, 1950 [#213]
