Where is the caretaker from his age

E first cousin once removed;. F second cousin;. G great-great niece; or. H great-great nephew. A step-father;. B step-mother;. C step-brother; or. D step-sister. The caretaker relative does not have to meet a minimum or a maximum age requirement.

The site is memorialized by a vacant shiny black plinth, somber as a tombstone, that occupies a darkened corner of the second-floor landing with a label affixed to its front identifying the particulars of that which is no longer there and never will be. Even now, the caretaker remains incapable of passing the spot without a small, but visible involuntary shudder, to which he has long since grown accustomed but not inured.

Blood had been spilled here upon the wide plank floor. Stitches had been required. Permanent scars had formed as a reminder. The culprit was a woman. She had been one among a group of possibly six or seven people he was leading through the house on a miserable, snowy afternoon during that first winter when, still very much a novice, he was feeling his way into the new role. His memory of her—for he had practiced remembering, hoping an accumulation of precise detail would help assuage his guilt—was that she had come late, arriving moments after he had locked the door to start the tour.

She had been forced to ring the bell to gain admittance, and he, torn between conflicting obligations, had halted the proceedings to answer the summons, and without even considering the alternative, let her in. Her face was flushed. Her wooly cap sparkled with melting snow. She was already fumbling with the buttons of her coat and apologizing before she was halfway through the door. She was obviously elated by the experience. A series of exaggerated gestures and facial expressions accompanied her monologue, as if this were a choreographed routine intended above all to entertain.

Whether she was habitually tardy by nature, or merely a frequent victim of circumstantial impediments, the situation she now found herself in was obviously not unprecedented. She managed it with the practiced gaiety and confidence of someone who had been obliged to excuse herself many times before and who had been reassured by past experience that she would inevitably, without much effort on her part, achieve forgiveness.

At last, having successfully exonerated herself, at least to her own satisfaction, she finished extricating her body from the complex wrappings of her coat and—refusing to entrust it to the unattended rack in the vestibule a temporary substitute for the as yet unrealized convenience of an official checkroom —draped the garment over her arm, gathered up the rest of her belongings, completed the obligatory transactions, and joined the other members of the tour who had been left waiting with undisguised impatience near the museum entrance.

The mohair fabric of his original early recollection currently exists in his mind, after several intermediate metamorphoses, as some kind of glossy imitation fur. Once the tour commenced, the woman continued, deliberately or not, to draw attention to herself. His style at the time was diffident rather than effusive, subject to hesitations, even the occasional stutter.

From time to time, in the course of a brief monologue on the theory behind a certain installation, one that relied heavily on quotations memorized from Stuff , the late Dr.

The little group climbed the stairs in his wake and assembled on the landing in front of the black plinth and its offering: a glittering, pale green, leafy cabbage-like affair some five inches in diameter, standing unprotected upon the smooth rectangular surface.

Instinctively, everyone kept their distance, intimidated by the intricate formation and obvious fragility of the object before them, apparently as hard and translucent as glass and as prone to shatter. From where each had chosen to stand, the label on the front of the plinth, with its careful, tight, handwritten lettering, proved all but impossible to read. The caretaker was obliged to intercede on behalf of his visitors, from memory. He knew the legend well. In spite of its symmetry and ornamental appearance, the object was believed to have been created without any human intervention solely by an act of Nature.

Use any of the following as proof:. Deprived child. Legal Authorities. His employer is annoyed, but his response is all, "Dude, my mom died, and it's not my fault. But really it's because as we know he's a stoic and cold kind of guy. He eats at Celeste's restaurant, his regular joint, where everyone is nice and sympathetic, unlike his jerkosaur employer.

He borrows a black tie and arm band from his friend Emmanuel, whose uncle died a few months back. Finally, he runs to catch the bus to take him to the funeral fifty miles away.

It is summer, and very hot. Check it out: within two pages of the start we've already got mention of weather. Keep an eye out for more of these; it'll be important. The ride is bumpy; it smells like gasoline; it is really bright out. He dozes off. Someone tries to make conversation, but our narrator, of course, is not interested in other warm-blooded creatures.

He walks the 1. At the home, the caretaker shows him to the director, who goes through "Madame Meursault's" three-year-old file. We can now call our narrator "Meursault.

Meursault agrees, but seems appears unconcerned and, quite possibly, detached. Meursault reminisces about the boredom and contempt his mother displayed back when she did stay with him.