Flotsam

by Erich Maria Remarque

  “That’s true.”

  Kern struck a match and lit the girl’s cigarette. The pale reddish light illuminated her narrow, tawny face with its well-defined dark eyebrows. Her eyes were clear and large and her mouth full and soft. Kern could not have said whether the girl was pretty or whether he liked her; but he had the strange feeling of a quiet and remote connection with her—his hand had rested on her breast before he knew her. He saw her breast rise and suddenly, although he knew it was silly, he hid his hand in his pocket.

  “Have you been abroad long?” he asked.

  “Two months.”

  “That’s not long.”

  “It’s an eternity.”

  Kern glanced up in surprise. “You’re right,” he said, “two years is not long. But two months is an eternity. There’s this advantage, though: the longer it lasts, the shorter the months become.”

  “Do you think it will last long?” the girl asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think about it any more.”

  “I do all the time.”

  “So did I when I had been away for two months.”

  The girl was silent. Her head was bowed in thought and she was smoking slowly with deep inhalations. Kern looked at the heavy, wavy black hair that framed her face. He would have liked to say something striking and brilliant but nothing occurred to him. He tried to remember how the worldly heroes of the many books he had read had behaved in similar situations, but his memory had dried up and probably, too, the heroes had never found themselves in a refugee’s hotel in Prague.

  “Isn’t it too dark to read?” he asked finally.

  The girl started as though her thoughts had been far away. Then she slammed shut the book that was lying in front of her. “No. But I’m not going to read any more anyway. There’s no point in it.”

  “Sometimes it’s a distraction,” Kern said. “When I can get hold of a detective story I read it through at one sitting.”

  The girl smiled wearily. “This is no detective story, it’s a textbook on inorganic chemistry.”

  “Really? Then you were in college?”

  “Yes. In Würzburg.”

  “I was at Leipzig. At first I took my textbooks with me too. I didn’t want to forget anything. But then later on I sold them. They were too heavy to carry around. And I bought toilet water and soap with the money so I would have something to peddle. That’s the way I make my living now.”

  The girl looked at him. “I don’t find you very encouraging.”

  “I certainly don’t want to discourage you,” Kern said quickly. “My case was entirely different. I had no papers at all. You probably have a passport.”

  The girl nodded. “I have a passport but it expires in six weeks.”

  “That’s nothing. You can surely get it extended.”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  The girl got up.

  “Won’t you have another cigarette?” Kern asked.

  “No thanks. I smoke a great deal too much.”

  “Someone said to me once that a cigarette at the right moment is better than all the ideals in the world.”

  “That’s right.” The girl smiled, and all at once she seemed very beautiful to Kern. He would have given a great deal to go on talking with her but he didn’t know what to do to make her stay.

  “If I can be helpful in any way,” he said hastily, “I should be glad. I know my way around here in Prague. I’ve been here twice before. My name is Ludwig Kern and I live in the room to the right beside yours.”

  The girl glanced at him quickly. Kern thought he had given himself away. But she casually extended her hand. He felt a firm pressure. “I shall gladly call on you if there’s anything I don’t know about,” she said. “Many thanks.”

  She took her books from the table and went up the stairs. Kern stayed for a while in the sitting room. Suddenly he knew all the things he should have said.

  * * *

  “Try it again, Steiner,” the cardsharp said. “Heaven knows I’m more nervous about your debut at that clip joint over there than if I were going to play at the Jockey Club.”

  They were sitting in the bar and Fred was giving Steiner a final rehearsal before turning him loose for the first time against a couple of minor cardsharps in a neighboring dive. This was the only way Steiner could see to get some money—aside, of course, from burglary and highway robbery.

  They practised the ace trick for about half an hour. Then the pickpocket was satisfied and got up. He was wearing a dinner coat. “I must be off now. To the opera. A big first-night crowd. Lotte Lehmann is singing. Really important art always makes good business for us. People get absent-minded, see?” He shook hands with Steiner. “One thing more that’s just occurred to me. How much money have you?”

  “Thirty-two schillings.”

  “That’s not enough. The boys will have to see more than that before they’ll bite.” He reached in his pocket and drew out a hundred-schilling note. “Here, pay for your coffee with this; then one of them will come up to you. Give the money back to the proprietor for me; he knows me. And now: play fast and look out when you get the four queens. They’re out for blood then!”

  Steiner took the bill. “If I lose this money I can’t pay you back.”

  The pickpocket shrugged his shoulders. “Then it’s gone and that’s all there is to it. Just artist’s luck. But you won’t lose it. I know those fellows. Just good enough to cheat hayseeds. No class to them. Are you nervous?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Even if you are you have a chance. The fellows over there don’t know that you understand their game. Before they find out they’ll be caught, and there’s not much they can do about it. Well, so long.”

  “So long.”

  Steiner went over to the dive. On the way he reflected that it was strange that there was no other human being who would have loaned him one quarter of the sum the cardsharp had unhesitatingly handed over. The comradeship of those who have lost their way, he thought. Always the same, thank God.

  In the front room of the dive a couple of games of tarots were in progress. Steiner seated himself by the window and ordered a brandy. He ostentatiously drew out his wallet, in which he had stuffed a sheaf of paper to make it look fat, and paid with the hundred-schilling note.

  A minute later an emaciated-looking man came up and invited him to join a small poker game. Steiner refused in bored tones. The man persisted.

  “I haven’t enough time,” Steiner explained. “Not more than half an hour, and that’s not enough for a game.”

  “Oh nonsense, nonsense,” the thin man said, showing a set of badly decayed teeth. “Many a man has won his fortune in a half-hour, neighbor.”

  Steiner saw the two others at a neighboring table. One had a fat face and a bald spot. The other was dark and hairy and his nose was too big. Both were watching him with studied casualness. “If it really is just for half an hour,” Steiner said in apparent hesitation, “I might try my luck.”

  “Of course, of course,” the thin man answered heartily.

  “And I can stop when I feel like it?”

  “Naturally, neighbor, when you feel like it.”

  “Even if I’m winning?”

  The fat man at the table twisted his lips and glanced over at the dark man: they seemed to have caught a real hayseed. “But that’s just the time to stop, the very time to stop,” the thin man bleated happily.

  “All right then.”

  Steiner seated himself at the table. The fat man shuffled and dealt. Steiner won a few schillings. When the deal came to him he felt along the edges of the cards, then he shuffled again, broke the pack where he had felt something, ordered a drink and took that opportunity to look at the marked card. He saw it was the kings that had been nicked. Then he shuffled again and dealt. At the end of a quarter of an hour he had won about thirty schillings. “Why, that’s fine!” bleated the thin man. “Shall we shove the bets up a bit?”

  Steiner n
odded. He won the next hands, too, in which the stakes were higher. Then the fat man dealt. His fat, pink hands were really too small to manipulate the cards. Steiner saw, however, that he was very adroit. Steiner lifted his hand. He had three queens.

  “How many?” asked the fat man, chewing on his cigar.

  “Four,” Steiner said. He noticed that the fat man was startled: Steiner should have drawn only two cards. The fat man pushed four toward him. Steiner saw that the first was the missing fourth queen. Naturally he had no hand now and threw his cards down exclaiming: “Damnation, a bust!” The three looked at each other and passed too.

  Steiner knew that he would have no chance to pull anything except when he himself dealt. And so his chances were one to three. The pickpocket had been right. He would have to act fast before the others caught on. He tried the ace trick in its simple form. The pig played against him and lost. Steiner looked at his watch. “I must be off; last round.”

  “Now, now, neighbor,” bleated the thin man. The two others said nothing.

  On the next deal Steiner had four queens in his original hand. He drew one card. A nine. The hairy dark man drew two cards. Steiner saw that the thin man dealt them to him from the bottom of the deck with a flick of the fingers. He knew what was up, but he went on raising to twenty schillings and then dropped out. The dark man shot him a glance and raked in the pot. “What kind of cards did you have?” barked the thin man, turning up Steiner’s hand. “Four queens! And you passed, you simpleton? Why, there was all the money in the world in that hand!… What did you have?” he asked the dark man.

  “Three kings,” the latter replied with a wry face.

  “There. You see, you see. You’d have won, neighbor!… How high would you have gone with three kings?”

  “With three kings I’d bid up to the moon,” the dark man replied sullenly.

  “I made a mistake,” Steiner said. “Thought I had only three queens. I mistook one of them for a jack.”

  “What a way to play!”

  The dark man dealt. Steiner got three kings and drew the fourth. He bet fifteen schillings and then passed. The pig drew his breath in audibly. Steiner had won about ninety schillings and there were only about two more hands to play.

  “What did you have that time, neighbor?” The thin man made a quick attempt to turn up Steiner’s cards. Steiner struck his hand away. “Is that the custom here?” he asked.

  “Oh, excuse me. But you get curious, you know.”

  On the next deal Steiner lost eight schillings. He would not bet any more. Then he took the cards and shuffled them. He had been paying close attention and placed the three kings under the deck so that he could deal them to the fat man. It worked. The dark man stayed in for appearances. The fat man drew one card. Steiner gave him the last king. The fat man gulped and exchanged a glance with the others. Steiner made use of this moment for the ace trick. He discarded three of his cards and dealt himself the two last aces that lay on the top of the deck.

  The fat man began to bet. Steiner laid down his cards and went with him, hesitantly. The dark man doubled. At a hundred schillings he dropped out. The fat man raised the bet to a hundred and fifty. Steiner called him. He was not entirely sure of his position. That the fat man had four kings he knew, but he didn’t know what the fifth card might be. If it was the joker, Steiner was lost. The thin man jiggled on his seat. “May I look?” he asked, reaching for Steiner’s cards.

  “No.” Steiner put his hand on the cards. He was amazed at this transparent impudence. The thin man would immediately have telegraphed Steiner’s hand to the fat man, with his foot.

  The fat man became unsure of himself. Steiner had been so cautious hitherto that he must have a strong hand. Steiner noticed the hesitation and increased his bets. At a hundred and eighty the fat man stopped. He laid four kings on the table. Steiner sighed with relief and turned up his four aces.

  The thin man whistled through his teeth. Then it became very quiet as Steiner pocketed the money.

  “We’ll play another round,” the dark man said suddenly in a harsh voice.

  “Sorry,” Steiner said.

  “We’ll play another round,” repeated the dark man, sticking out his chin.

  Steiner got up. “Next time.”

  He went to the counter and paid. Then he pushed a folded hundred-schilling note toward the proprietor. “Please give that to Fred.”

  The proprietor raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Fred?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” The proprietor grinned. “The boys fell for it! Went fishing for a mackerel and met a shark.”

  The three men were standing at the door. “We’ll play another round,” the dark man said, blocking the passage. Steiner looked at him.

  “You can’t get away with that, neighbor,” bleated the thin man. “Impossible, sir.”

  “Let’s not kid ourselves,” Steiner said, “war is war. Everyone has to lose sometime.”

  “Not us,” said the dark man. “We’ll play another round.”

  “Or you fork over what you’ve won,” the fat man added.

  Steiner shook his head. “It was an honest game,” he said with an ironic smile. “You knew what you wanted and I knew what I wanted. Good night.”

  He tried to push his way between the dark man and the thin man and in doing so felt the strength of the dark man’s muscles. At this moment the proprietor came up. “No rough stuff in my place, gentlemen!”

  “That’s what I’m trying to avoid,” Steiner said. “I want to leave.”

  “We’ll go with you,” the dark man said.

  The thin man and the dark man went ahead. Then came Steiner, and behind him the fat man. Steiner knew that only the dark man was dangerous. He had made a mistake in going in front. At the moment when he was passing through the door Steiner kicked out behind and caught the fat man in the stomach. At the same time he drove his fist like a hammer into the base of the dark man’s skull so that he went reeling down the steps and hit the thin man. With a leap Steiner got out and away and raced down the street before the others had recovered themselves. He knew it was his one chance, for on the street he would have had no show against three men. He heard shouting and looked around as he ran—but no one was following him. They had been too much surprised.

  He went slower and came gradually into more populated streets. He paused in front of a mirror in the window of a dress shop and looked at himself. Cardsharp and cheat, he thought. But—half a passport! He nodded to his reflection and walked on.

  Chapter Five

  KERN WAS SITTING on the wall of the old Jewish cemetery, counting his money in the shine of a street light. He had been peddling all day in the neighborhood of Holy Cross Mountain. It was a poor district, but Kern knew that poverty inclines people toward charity and not toward calling the police. He had earned thirty-eight crowns. It had been a good day.

  He put the money in his pocket and tried to decipher the names on the weather-beaten headstones beside him, leaning haphazardly against the wall. “Rabbi Israel Loew,” he said aloud, “dead long years ago, certainly a man of great learning in your time and now a handful of dust and bones down there, what do you think I should do now? Go home and be satisfied or go on working and try to raise my profits to fifty crowns?”

  He drew out a five-crown piece. “So it doesn’t matter much to you, old man? Well then, let’s put the question to the emigrees’ goddess—Chance. Heads we’ll be satisfied, tails we’ll go on peddling.”

  He spun the coin in the air and tried to catch it. It rolled out of his hand and fell on the grave. Kern climbed over the wall and carefully picked it up. “Tails! And on your grave! You’re giving me your personal advice, Rabbi! Off we go!”

  He approached the nearest house as though about to storm a fortress.

  On the ground floor no one answered. Kern waited a while and then went up the stairs. On the second floor a pretty maid came to the door. She caught sight of the brief case, made a wr
y face, and closed the door without saying a word.

  Kern went on up to the third floor. After he had rung twice a man came to the door wearing an unbuttoned vest. Kern had hardly begun to speak when the man indignantly interrupted him. “Toilet water? Perfume? What a nerve! Man, can’t you read? Trying to sell me, the district agent for Leo’s Toilet Preparations, me of all people, your rubbish! Get out!”

  He slammed the door. Kern struck a match and looked at the brass plate on the door. It was true; Josef Schimek was himself a wholesale dealer in perfume, toilet water, and soap.

  Kern shook his head. “Rabbi Israel Loew,” he murmured, “what’s the meaning of this? Is it possible we didn’t understand each other?”

  On the fourth floor he rang again. A friendly fat woman opened the door. “Come right in,” she said pleasantly when she saw him. “You’re a German, aren’t you? A refugee? Just come right in!”

  Kern followed her into the kitchen. “Sit down,” said the woman. “I’m sure you must be tired.”

  “Not very.”

  It was the first time since he had been in Prague that anyone had offered Kern a chair. He seized the rare opportunity and sat down. Excuse me, Rabbi, he thought, I was premature. Excuse me, Rabbi Israel, I am young. Then he unpacked his wares.

  The fat woman stood comfortably in front of him with her arms crossed over her stomach watching him. “Is that perfume?” she asked, pointing to a little bottle.

  “Yes.” Kern had really expected her to be interested in the soap. He lifted the bottle as though it were a precious jewel. “This is the famous Farr perfume. A product of the Kern Company. Something quite out of the ordinary! Not like that lye made by the Leo Company that Herr Schimek represents.”

  “Well, well—”

  Kern opened the bottle and gave it to the woman to smell. Then he took a little glass rod and rubbed some of it on her fat hand. “Try it yourself.”

  The woman sniffed at the back of her hand and nodded. “It smells good. But haven’t you anything but those little bottles?”

  “Here’s a larger one. And then I have one that is very big. This one. But it costs forty crowns.”