Read Online The Road Back by Erich Maria Remarque - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Erich Maria Remarque
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Historical, History, German, Literary Criticism, European, Military, War & Military, World War; 1914-1918, World War I
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three or four every day. Will you have one?"
He takes it, shaking his head meanwhile. "You used not to smoke at all, before."
"O yes, before——" I say, and cannot help smiling that he should make such a song about it. There are a lot of things I used not to do, before, that's a fact. But up the line there one soon lost any diffidence before one's elders. We were all alike there.
I steal a glance at the clock. I have only been here a couple of hours, yet it feels like a couple of weeks since I last saw Willy and Ludwig. I should like to get up and go to them at once. I am quite unable to realise that now I must stay here in the family for good. I still have the feeling that to-morrow, or maybe the next day, but surely some time we shall be marching again, side by side, cursing or resigned, but all together.
At last I get up and fetch my greatcoat from where it hangs in the passage.
"Aren't you going to stay with us this evening?" asks my mother.
"I have to go and report myself yet," I lie—I have not the heart to tell her the truth.
She comes with me to the stairs. "Wait a moment," she says, "it is very dark; I'll bring a light."
I stop in surprise. A light! For those few steps? Lord, and through how many shell-holes, along how many gloomy duckboard walks have I had to find my way at night all these years without light and under fire? And now a light for a few stairs! Ah, mother! But I wait patiently till she comes with the lamp and holds a light for me, and it is as if she stroked me in the darkness.
"Be careful, Ernst, that no harm comes to you out there," she calls after me.
"But what harm could come to me at home here, mother, in peace time?" I say smiling, and look up at her. She leans over the banister. Her small, timorous face has a golden light upon it from the lamp shade. The lights and shadows dance fantastically over the wall behind her. And suddenly a strange agitation takes hold on me, almost like pain—as if there were nothing like that face in all the world, as if I were a child again that must be lighted down the stairs, a youngster that may come to some harm out on the street—and as if all else that has been between were but phantasm and dream.
But the light of the lamp concentrates to a flashing point in the buckle of my belt. The moment has passed. I am no child, I am wearing a uniform. Quickly I run down the stairs, three steps at a time, I fling open the outer door and hurry out, eager to come to my comrades.
I call first on Albert Trosske. His mother's eyes are red from weeping; but that is merely because of today, it is not anything serious. But Albert is not his old self either, he is sitting there at the table like a wet hen. Beside him is his elder brother. It is an age since I saw him last; all I know is that he has been in hospital a long time. He has grown stout and has lovely, red cheeks.
"Hullo, Hans, fit again?" I say heartily. "How goes it? Nothing like being up on your pins again, eh?"
He mumbles something incomprehensible. Frau Trosske bursts into sobs and goes out. Albert makes me a sign with his eyes. I look around mystified. Then I notice a pair of crutches lying beside Hans's chair. "Not finished with yet?" I ask.
"Oh, yes," he replied. "Came out of hospital last week." He reaches for the crutches, lifts himself up and with two jerks swings across to the stove. Both feet are missing. He has an iron artificial foot on his right leg and on the left just a frame with a shoe attachment.
I feel ashamed at my stupid talk. "I didn't know, Hans," I say.
He nods. His feet were frost-bitten in the Carpathians, then gangrene set in, and in the end they both had to be amputated.
"It is only his feet, thank God," says Frau Trosske, bringing a cushion and settling it under the artificial limb. "Never mind, Hans, we will soon put it right, you'll soon learn to walk again." She sits down beside him and strokes his hands.
"Yes," I say, only to say something, "you still have your
He takes it, shaking his head meanwhile. "You used not to smoke at all, before."
"O yes, before——" I say, and cannot help smiling that he should make such a song about it. There are a lot of things I used not to do, before, that's a fact. But up the line there one soon lost any diffidence before one's elders. We were all alike there.
I steal a glance at the clock. I have only been here a couple of hours, yet it feels like a couple of weeks since I last saw Willy and Ludwig. I should like to get up and go to them at once. I am quite unable to realise that now I must stay here in the family for good. I still have the feeling that to-morrow, or maybe the next day, but surely some time we shall be marching again, side by side, cursing or resigned, but all together.
At last I get up and fetch my greatcoat from where it hangs in the passage.
"Aren't you going to stay with us this evening?" asks my mother.
"I have to go and report myself yet," I lie—I have not the heart to tell her the truth.
She comes with me to the stairs. "Wait a moment," she says, "it is very dark; I'll bring a light."
I stop in surprise. A light! For those few steps? Lord, and through how many shell-holes, along how many gloomy duckboard walks have I had to find my way at night all these years without light and under fire? And now a light for a few stairs! Ah, mother! But I wait patiently till she comes with the lamp and holds a light for me, and it is as if she stroked me in the darkness.
"Be careful, Ernst, that no harm comes to you out there," she calls after me.
"But what harm could come to me at home here, mother, in peace time?" I say smiling, and look up at her. She leans over the banister. Her small, timorous face has a golden light upon it from the lamp shade. The lights and shadows dance fantastically over the wall behind her. And suddenly a strange agitation takes hold on me, almost like pain—as if there were nothing like that face in all the world, as if I were a child again that must be lighted down the stairs, a youngster that may come to some harm out on the street—and as if all else that has been between were but phantasm and dream.
But the light of the lamp concentrates to a flashing point in the buckle of my belt. The moment has passed. I am no child, I am wearing a uniform. Quickly I run down the stairs, three steps at a time, I fling open the outer door and hurry out, eager to come to my comrades.
I call first on Albert Trosske. His mother's eyes are red from weeping; but that is merely because of today, it is not anything serious. But Albert is not his old self either, he is sitting there at the table like a wet hen. Beside him is his elder brother. It is an age since I saw him last; all I know is that he has been in hospital a long time. He has grown stout and has lovely, red cheeks.
"Hullo, Hans, fit again?" I say heartily. "How goes it? Nothing like being up on your pins again, eh?"
He mumbles something incomprehensible. Frau Trosske bursts into sobs and goes out. Albert makes me a sign with his eyes. I look around mystified. Then I notice a pair of crutches lying beside Hans's chair. "Not finished with yet?" I ask.
"Oh, yes," he replied. "Came out of hospital last week." He reaches for the crutches, lifts himself up and with two jerks swings across to the stove. Both feet are missing. He has an iron artificial foot on his right leg and on the left just a frame with a shoe attachment.
I feel ashamed at my stupid talk. "I didn't know, Hans," I say.
He nods. His feet were frost-bitten in the Carpathians, then gangrene set in, and in the end they both had to be amputated.
"It is only his feet, thank God," says Frau Trosske, bringing a cushion and settling it under the artificial limb. "Never mind, Hans, we will soon put it right, you'll soon learn to walk again." She sits down beside him and strokes his hands.
"Yes," I say, only to say something, "you still have your
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