Three Comrades

by Erich Maria Remarque

"Young man," said he, "I haven't much time. Last I saw, your price was mere wish-fulfillment. Now, hand on heart, what does the car cost?"

  "Seven thousand marks," I replied.

  He turned away sharply. "Then there's nothing doing."

  "Herr Blumenthal," said I, "just you look at the car once more—"

  "Quite unnecessary," he interrupted. "I saw all I want to see last time."

  "There is seeing and seeing," I explained. "You should see the details. The lacquer, first class, from Voll and Ruhrbeck, cost price two hundred and fifty marks, the springs—new, catalogue price six hundred marks—makes eight hundred and fifty already. The upholstery, finest corduroy—"

  He dismissed it. I started again. I invited him to inspect the luxurious fittings, the magnificent coach-leather hood, the chromium radiator, the modern buffers, sixty marks the pair. Like a mother struggling to get back to her child I tried to persuade Bluementhal to come down to the Cadillac. I knew, like Antaeus, that if I could once get in touch with the earth again I should find new strength. Prices lose much of their abstract terror when one can show something for them.

  But Blumenthal also knew that his strength lay behind his writing desk. He removed his glasses and now went for me properly. We fought like tiger and python. Blumenthal was the python. Before I could turn round he had already reduced me fifteen hundred marks.

  I began to get alarmed and nervous. I felt in my pocket and held Gottfried's amulet tight in my hand.

  "Herr Blumenthal," said I, pretty exhausted, "it is one o'clock; you will be wanting to go to lunch." At all costs I wanted to get out of this office where prices melted like snow.

  "I don't lunch till two," explained Blumenthal unperturbed, "but I'll tell you what. We might make a trial run now." I breathed again.

  We drove to his house. To my surprise once in the car he was a changed man. Good-humouredly he told me the joke about the Emperor Franz Josef, which I knew long ago. I told him the one about the tram driver; then he told me the one about the Saxon who.lost his way; I followed immediately with the one about the Scotch lovers. Not until we were outside his house did we become serious again. He asked me to wait while he fetched his wife.

  "Dear fat friend," said I to the Cadillac, patting the radiator, "there's sure some new devilry behind all that joking. But don't you worry, we'll find a home for you yet. He'll buy you all right—when a Jew comes back he buys. When a Christian comes back he's still got a long way to go. He makes half a dozen trial runs, to save himself taxi fares, and then it suddenly occurs to him he wants to buy' a kitchen range instead. No, no, Jews are all right, they know what they want. But my good friend, if I come down another hundred marks to this direct descendant of the pugnacious Judas Maccabaeus, may I never drink another schnapps in all my life."

  Frau Blumenthal appeared. I remembered a counsel of Lenz's and changed from a warrior into a cavalier. Blumenthal greeted the change with a villainous grin. The man was of iron. He ought to have been selling locomotives, not woollens.

  I saw to it that he sat in the back, and Frau Blumenthal beside me.

  "Where would you like me to drive you, madam?" I asked meltingly.

  "Anywhere you like," said she with a motherly smile.

  I began to talk. It was a pleasure to have a harmless human being to deal with. I spoke quietly, so that Blumenthal could not catch much. I talked more easily so. It was bad enough to have him sitting behind me.

  We pulled up. I got out and looked at my enemy steadily. "You must admit anyway that the car runs like butter, Herr Blumenthal."

  "Why talk of butter, young man," he countered with a curious friendliness, "when the tax eats it all? The car costs too much in tax. You told me as much."

  "Herr Blumenthal," said I in an effort to fix the tone, "you are a businessman, I can speak plainly to you. That isn't a tax, it's an investment. Tell me, what is it a business most wants to-day? You know very well—not capital, as in the old days: it wants credit. And how does one get it? By putting a good face on it. A Cadillac now is solid and smart, comfortable but not old-fashioned—healthy middle class—it's a living advertisement for any business."

  Blumenthal turned with amusement to his wife. "He has a Jewish head, eh? Young man," said he then, still in a familiar tone, "the best advertisement for solidity to-day is a shabby suit and a bus ticket. If we two had the money that is still unpaid for all the smart cars there are flitting about, we could sit down and rest quietly. Take it from me. In confidence."

  I looked at him suspiciously. What was he up to now, with his friendliness? Or had the presence of his wife damped his fighting spirit? I decided to fire a big gun.

  "A Cadillac like this is a very different proposition from an Essex, for example, isn't it so, Frau Blumenthal? Young Meyer of Meyer and Son drives one, but I would not take as a gift any of these loud red sleighs—"

  I heard Blumenthal snort, and went on quickly: "Besides the colour here suits you so well, madam—soft cobalt blue with blond—"

  I saw Blumenthal suddenly grinning like a cageful of monkeys. "Meyer and Son; shrewd, shrewd—" he groaned. "And now flattery—flattery—"

  I glanced at him. I could not believe my eyes; it was right.

  At once I struck again in the same vein: "Herr Blumenthal, you stop me if I go wrong. To a woman flattery is not flattery. It is a compliment, which unfortunately in these miserable days has become all too rare. A woman is not a piece of steel furniture; she is a flower—she does not ask for reality; she wants the warm, gay sun of flattery. It is better to say something pretty to her every day, than to slave grimly for her all your life. Take it from me. Also in confidence. And anyway what I said was not flattery, but plain scientific fact. Blue does go with blond."

  "Well roared, lion," said Blumenthal, beaming. "Look here, Herr Lohkamp! I know I can easily knock you down another thousand marks—"

  I stepped back a pace. Wily devil, thought I; now for the expected blow. I saw myself already wandering through life a total abstainer, and cast the look of a martyred young deer at Frau Blumenthal.

  "But, Father—" said she.

  "Now, Mother," he replied. "What I say is, I could—but I won't. It has given me pleasure as a businessman, the way you have worked. A trifle too fanciful perhaps, but all the same, that about Meyer and Son was very good. Is your mother Jewish?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever been in ready-mades?"

  "Yes."

  "You see, hence the style. In what branch?"

  "Souls," I replied. "I was meant for a schoolteacher."

  "Herr Lohkamp," said Blumenthal. "Respects! If you are ever out of a job, look me up."

  He wrote out a cheque and gave it to me. I could hardly believe my eyes. Prepayment! A miracle!

  "Herr Blumenthal," said I, overcome, "allow me to include free with the car two cut-glass ash-trays and a first class rubber mat."

  "Grand," he remarked. "Even old Blumenthal gets'something given him." Then he invited me to supper the next evening.

  Frau Blumenthal smiled motherly approval. "There will be stuffed pike," said she gently.

  "A delicacy," said I. "Then I'll bring the car along. We'll put in the final touches first thing in the morning."

  I flew back to the workshop like a swallow. But Lenz and Otto had gone out to lunch. I should have to moderate my triumph. Only Jupp was there.

  "Sold?" he asked.

  "You'd like to know that, wouldn't you?" said I. "Here's a dollar. Go and build yourself an aeroplane."

  "It is sold, then," grinned Jupp.

  "I'm going out now to eat," said I; "but woe betide you if you say anything to the others before I get back."

  "Herr Lohkamp," he assured me, spinning the dollar in the air, "I'm a grave."

  "You look like it," said I and stepped on the gas.

  As I entered the yard again Jupp made me a sign. "What's the matter?" I asked. "Have you opened your trap?"

  "Herr Lohkamp! Like iron!" He grinned. "O
nly, the Ford bloke is inside."

  I left the Cadillac in the yard and went into the workshop. The baker was there, just bending over a book of colour samples. He had on a checked overcoat with a broad mourning band. Beside him was standing a pretty creature with quick black eyes, an open cloak with rabbit-fur trimmings, and patent leather shoes too small for her. They were entertaining themselves with the colour of the varnish. The dark person was for brilliant cinnobar; but the baker had it against red, as he was still in mourning. He suggested a pale yellow-grey.

  "Ach, what," pouted the dark one; "a Ford has to be strikingly varnished. Otherwise it looks like nothing at all."

  She shot imploring glances at us, shrugged her shoulders when the baker resisted, grimaced and winked at us. A gay spark! Finally they compromised on mignonette green. The girl wanted a bright hood to go with it. But there the baker was firm—the mourning must come out somewhere. He held out for a black leather hood—and incidentally did a good stroke of business, in that not only was he getting the hood for nothing, but leather was dearer than fabric.

  The two left. But in the yard was yet another delay. The dark one no sooner spotted the Cadillac than she shot up to it. "Oh, look, Puppi, there is a car! Marvellous! That's the sort I like."

  The next moment she had the door open and was sitting inside, beaming with pleasure. "These are seats! Superb! Like club armchairs. A different matter from the Ford!"

  "Now, come along," said Puppi ill-humouredly.

  Lenz gave me a dig—I should go into action and try to unload the car on the baker. I looked at Gottfried condescendingly and said nothing. He prodded me harder. I prodded him in return and turned my back on him.

  With difficulty the baker at last got his black jewel out of the car, and, rather sulky and decidedly annoyed, made off.

  We watched the couple go. "A man of snap decisions," said I. "Repaired car—new wife—hats off!"

  "Well," said Köster, "he'll have his joy of her yet."

  They had barely turned the corner when Gottfried broke loose. "Are you quite Godforsaken, Bob, missing an opportunity like that? Why, that was a textbook example of when to hoe in!"

  "Lance-corporal Lenz," I replied, "put your heels together when you speak to a superior officer. Do you think I'm a bigamist to marry off the car twice?"

  It was a great moment to see Gottfried then. His eyes were like plates. "Don't jest with holy things," he stammered.

  I ignored him altogether and turned to Köster. "Say farewell, Otto, to our little Cadillac. She belongs to us no more. From now on she will lend lustre to the underpants trade. Let's hope she has a good life there. Not so heroic as with us, perhaps—but safer."

  I pulled out the cheque. Lenz almost fell to pieces. "No! What? You mean—paid?" he said in a hoarse whisper.

  "How much do you think, then, you beginners?" I asked, waving the cheque to and fro. "Guess."

  "Four," shouted Lenz with closed eyes.

  "Four five," said Köster.

  "Five," shouted Jupp from the pump.

  "Five five," I crashed in.

  Lenz tore the cheque from my hand. "Impossible. Then it won't be covered."

  "Herr Lenz," said I with dignity, "that cheque is as sound as you are unsound. My friend Blumenthal is good for twenty times the amount. My friend, you understand, with whom I shall be eating stuffed pike to-morrow night. Let that be an example. Cement a friendship, get paid in advance, and be invited to supper—that's what's called salesmanship. Now you can stand easy."

  Gottfried gathered himself together with difficulty. He tried a last shot. "My advertisement, and the amulet."

  I passed him over the medallion. "Here's your dog license. Forgot I had it."

  "You've sold like a past master, Bob," said Köster. "Thank God we're rid of the sleigh. We can damned well do with the cash."

  "Will you give me an advance of fifty marks?" I asked.

  "A hundred. You've earned it."

  "You wouldn't like an advance of my grey overcoat as well, I suppose?" asked Gottfried with half-shut eyes.

  "Do you want to go into hospital, you miserable, indiscreet bastard?" I retorted.

  "Well, boys, I think we close for to-day," proposed Köster. "We've made enough for one day, and one should not tempt God. What about taking Karl out and training for the race?" Jupp had long since abandoned the petrol pump. He was now wiping his hands excitedly. "I suppose I take command here again, then, Herr Köster, eh?"

  "No, Jupp," said Otto, laughing. "You're coming too." We drove first to the bank and paid in the cheque. Lenz did not rest until he was sure it was in order. Then we set off, blowing sparks from the exhaust.

  Chapter VIII

  I stood confronting my landlady. "Now what is it?" demanded Frau Zalewski.

  "Nothing," I replied. "I only want to pay my rent."

  It was still three days before it was due and Frau Zalewski almost fell over with astonishment.

  "There's something behind it," she remarked.

  "Not a thing," said I. "May I have the two brocade armchairs out of your sitting room for to-morrow evening?"

  She put her arms on her fat hips ready for battle. "Now we have it! Don't you like your room?"

  "Oh yes, but I like the brocade armchairs better."

  I explained that I was expecting perhaps a visit from a cousin and would like to have the room look nice. She laughed so that her bosom simply quaked.

  "Cousin?" she repeated scornfully. "And when does the cousin arrive?"

  "It's not quite certain yet," said I, "but, if she does come, early of course; early in the evening, to supper. And anyway why shouldn't there be cousins, Frau Zalewski?"

  "There are such things," she replied; "but one doesn't borrow armchairs for them."

  "Well, I do," I contested. "I've a very strong family sense."

  "You look like it. Rum drinkers that you all are. You can have the brocade armchairs. Put the red plush in the parlour for the time being."

  "Thank you very much. I'll put them all back to-morrow. The carpet as well."

  "Carpet?" She turned round. "Who said a word about a carpet?"

  "I did. And you did yourself, just now."

  She looked at me indignantly.

  "But they belong together," said I. "The armchairs stand on it, you see."

  "Herr Lohkamp," declared Frau Zalewski majestically, "don't push it too far. Moderation in all things, as Zalewski, rest his soul, used to say. You might take that to heart too."

  I knew that the late Zalewski, rest his soul, despite ,his motto, literally drank himself to death. His wife had on other occasions told me so often enough. But that didn't worry her. She used her husband as other folk do the Bible—for quotations. And the longer he was dead the harder she worked him. He now had something for all occasions—just like the Bible.

  I was busy preparing my room. I had rung up Patricia Hollmann during the afternoon. She had been sick and I had not seen her for almost a week. Now we had a date for eight o'clock and I had suggested we should have supper at my place and afterwaTds go to the cinema.

  The brocade armchairs and the carpet looked superb; but the lighting was dreadful. So I knocked next door at the Hasses' to borrow a table lamp.

  Frau Hasse was sitting wearily by the window. Her husband was not in yet. He worked voluntarily two hours overtime every day merely not to get dismissed. The woman reminded one of a sick bird. In her spongy, ageing features was still discernible the small face of a child—a disappointed sad child.

  I made my request. She brightened at once and got me the lamp. "Ach, yes," said she with a sigh. "When I think now . . ."

  I knew the history. It was about the prospects she might have had, had she not accepted Hasse. I knew the same story, but from Hasse's angle. There it was of the prospects he might have had, had he stayed a bachelor. It was probably the commonest story in the world. And the most futile.

  I listened awhile, uttered a few platitudes, and went on to Erna Bö
nig to get her gramophone.

  Frau Hasse referred to Erna only as "the person next door." She despised her because she envied her. I quite liked her. She made no complaints against life and knew that one must make the best of it if one is to get even a little bit of what is called happiness. She knew too that one must pay for it twice and three times over. Happiness is the most uncertain thing in the world and has the highest price.

  Erna knelt down in front of her box and picked out for me a number of records. "Do you want any foxtrots?"

  "No," I replied. "I can't dance."

  She looked up in amazement. "You can't dance? Whatever do you do then, when you go out?"