Three Comrades

by Erich Maria Remarque

  "L'Heure Bleue doesn't sound bad to me," said I, "ten marks on L'Heure Bleue then."

  "Are you cracked?" asked Gustav.

  "No," said I.

  "Ten of the best on that crock? She ought to have been sausage meat long ago."

  Slippery Liz, whom Gustav himself had just been calling a poor sap, chimed in, talking big: "What's that? Backing Laura Blaue is he? That's a cow, not a horse, sir. May Dream could beat him on two legs if he wants to. Compris?"

  Bieling looked at me imploringly, making signs. "Compris," said I,

  "Ach, man." Gustav looked at me as if I had turned into a Hottentot. "Gipsy II, any babe unborn knows that."

  "I'm sticking to L'Heure Bleue," I announced. It would have been against all the mystic laws of gambling to change now.

  The man with the lavender shirt handed me a slip. Gustav and Slippery Liz eyed me as if I had the plague. They moved off from me and elbowed to the counter, there with mutually scornful laughter, in which lurked nevertheless the respect of professionals for one another, to back Gipsy II and May Dream.

  At that moment someone keeled over. It was one of the two thin fellows who a while ago had been standing by the tables. He slithered along the wall and crashed hard on the floor. The two postmen "picked him up and put him on a chair. His face was greyish white. His mouth was open.

  "Good Lord!" said a prostitute, a full, dark woman with smooth hair and a low forehead. "Fetch a glass of water, somebody."

  It struck me how few people took any notice of the fainting man. The majority just gave a fleeting glance and then turned again to the betting.

  "Happens all the time," said Gustav. "Unemployed. Bet away every bean. Always at long odds, hundred to one."

  The coachman came out of the cigar department with a glass of water. The dark prositute dipped her handkerchief into it and wiped it over the man's forehead and temples. He sighed and suddenly opened his eyes. There was something uncanny about the way they were suddenly there again, without a sound, in the completely extinguished face—as if some other, unknown being peered, curious and inquisitive, through the slits of a rigid, grey-white mask.

  The girl took the glass of water and gave the man a drink. As she did so she held him like a child in her arm. Then she reached a sandwich from the table of the unconcerned eater with the bristling hairs. "Come now, eat—but slowly, slowly. Don't bite my finger off—there, and now drink again."

  The man at the table followed the sandwich with his eyes, but he said nothing. The other slowly regained colour. He ate a while longer, then staggered up. The girl supported him and pushed him toward the door. Then, with a swift glance behind, she undipped her handbag. "There— now hop it, and eat instead of betting."

  One of the hangers-on who had kept his back turned all this time, turned around. He had the face of a bird of prey, with stand-off ears, and wore patent leather shoes and a sports cap.

  "What did you give him?" he asked.

  "Groschen."

  He dug her in the chest with his elbow. "It was more than that. Ask me next time."

  "Go easy, Ede," said another. The prostitute took out her powder box and rouged her lips. "It's true though," said Ede. The prostitute did not answer.

  The telephone rang. I looked at Ede and could not make him out. "That's what is called a swine," I heard Gustav suddenly burst out. "That's more than a swine, ladies and gentlemen, that's a great, fat mother sow with twenty porkers." He clapped me on the shoulder. "A hundred and eighty marks you've rattled, my boy. Your camel with the funny name has done it."

  "What, really?" I asked.

  The chap with the chewed cigar and the brilliantly coloured shirt nodded sourly and took my ticket. "Who gave you the tip?"

  "I did," said Bieling with a dreadfully cringing, expectant smile, coming forward with a bow. "I did, if I may venture—my connections—"

  "Ach, man—" The fellow did not so much as look at him and paid me the money. For a moment there was complete silence in the room. Everybody watched. Even the imperturbable eater lifted his head.

  I pocketed the notes. "Stop now," whispered Bieling. "No more." He had red spots on his cheeks. I pushed ten marks into his hand.

  Gustav grinned and punched me in the ribs. "You see, what did I tell you? You've only to listen to Gustav to shovel up money."

  I refrained from reminding the ex-Sergeant Stretcher-Bearer of Gipsy II. He appeared to have made his own reflections on that matter. "Let's go," said he. "To-day's not a good day for artists."

  At the door someone plucked me by the sleeve. It was Slippery Liz. "What's your tip for the Maslowski Benefit race?" he asked, with covetous respect.

  "O Tannenbaum," said I, and went with Gustav to the nearest pub to drink a glass to the health of L'Heure Bleue.

  An hour later I had lost thirty marks again. I could not leave well alone. But then I did stop. As I went Bieling thrust a card into my hand. "If you ever want anything . . . Or your friends. I'm the representative." It was an advertisement for home cinemas. "I also negotiate the sale of left-off clothing," he called after me. "Cash."

  About seven o'clock I returned to the workshop. Karl was standing in the yard roaring.

  "Lucky you came, Bob," called Köster. "We're just going to run him in. Come."

  The entire firm was standing by. Otto had changed and improved several details about Karl, because he wanted to enter him for a mountain climb in a fortnight's time. The first trial run was about to take place.

  We climbed in. Jupp sat beside Köster, his immense goggles in front of his face. It would have broken his heart not to come. Lenz and I got in behind.

  Karl darted off. We reached the long by-pass and opened out to a hundred and forty kilometres. Lenz and I huddled close under the back rests of the seats in front; it was a wind to blow your head off. The poplars on either side bolted past and the wonderful sound of the engine thrilled in us like the wild cry of freedom.

  A quarter of an hour later we sighted ahead a black point which rapidly grew larger. It was a fairly heavy car travelling at a speed of between eighty and a hundred kilometres. It was not holding the road particularly well, but swayed to and fro. The track was rather narrow. Köster accordingly slackened speed. When we were about a hundred metres distant and about to hoot, we suddenly saw a motorcyclist approaching from the right on a side road; immediately he vanished behind a haystack just before the crossing. "God! That's done it," called Lenz.

  At the same moment a motorcyclist appeared on the road, twenty metres in front of the car. He had apparently underestimated the car's speed and was now trying to get past by sweeping round in front of it. The car pulled sharply to the left to get out of the way, but the motorcycle also now lurched to the left. The car was again jerked to the right, and the mudguard brushed the cycle, which flung round. The cyclist shot head over heels onto the road. The car skidded, failed to right itself, tore down the signpost, smashed a lamp standard and finally crashed into a tree.

  It all happened in a couple of seconds. The next moment we, at our high speed, had already caught up with it; the tyres snarled, Köster steered Karl through like a horse among the cyclists, the bicycle, and the puffing car, now standing crosswise on the road; on the left he just missed the cyclist's hand, and on the right the carrier of the car; then the engine roared, Karl pulled again into the straight, the brakes shrieked, and all was still. "Well done, Otto," said Lenz.

  We ran back and pulled open the doors of the car. The engine was still running. Köster reached for the switchboard and pulled out the key. The coughing of the engine died away and we heard someone groaning.

  Every window of the heavy limousine was shattered. In the semidarkness of the interior we saw the face of a woman streaming with blood. Beside her was a man jammed between steering wheel and seat. We first lifted out the woman and laid her on the road. Her face was full of cuts, a few splinters were still sticking in it, but the blood flowed steadily. It was worse with her right arm. The sleeve of
her white blouse was bright red and dripping fast. Lenz slit it up. A surge of blood flowed out, then went on pulsing. The artery was severed. Lenz twisted his handkerchief to a tourniquet. "Get the man out, I'll be done here in a minute," said he. "We must get to the nearest hospital quickly."

  To extricate the man we had to unscrew the back of the seat. Fortunately we had enough tools with us and it went pretty quickly. The man was bleeding likewise and apparently had some ribs broken. When we helped him out he dropped wfth a cry. There was something up with his knee too. But we could do nothing for it at the moment.

  Köster drove Karl in reverse close up to the place of the accident. The woman screamed hysterically from fear, when she saw him coming so near, though he drove only at a walk. We put down the back of one of the front seats and so were able to let the man lie down. The woman we placed in the back seat. I took up a position beside her on the running board while Lenz held the man on the other side.

  "You stay here and look after the car, Jupp," said Lenz.

  "By the way, what's become of the cyclist?" I asked.

  "Hopped it while we were busy," announced Jupp.

  We drove off slowly. Not far from the next village was a small sanatorium. We had often seen it when passing. It lay white and low on a hillside. So far as we knew it was a sort of private asylum for mild, well-to-do patients—but there was sure to be a doctor there and some sort of dressing station.

  We drove up the hill and rang. A very pretty nurse came out. She turned pale at the sight of the blood and ran back. Immediately a second, decidedly older one came.

  "Sorry," said she at once, "we are not equipped for accidents. You must go to the Virchow Hospital. It's not far." "It's a good hour from here," replied Köster. The nurse looked her refusal. "We aren't equipped for this kind of thing. Besides, there's no doctor—"

  "Then you're infringing the law," declared Lenz. "Private institutions of this kind must have a resident doctor. Would you allow me to use your telephone? I should like to speak to the police and one of the newspapers."

  The nurse began to weaken. "I don't think you need worry," said Köster coldly. "Anything you do will certainly be well repaid. What we need is a stretcher. I expect you can get hold of a doctor all right."

  She still hesitated. "A stretcher," explained Lenz, "is also statutory, and first aid material likewise—"

  "Yes, yes," she replied hastily, evidently floored by so much information. "I'll send someone at once."

  She vanished.

  "A bit tough," said I.

  "Meet the same sort of thing in public hospitals," replied Lenz mildly. "First comes money, then red tape, then help."

  We went back to the car and helped the woman out. She did not say anything, merely looked at her hands. We took her in to a small consulting room off the entrance. Then the stretcher arrived for the man. We lifted him on to it.

  He groaned. "A moment—"

  We looked at him. He closed his eyes.

  "I don't want any trouble," said he, with difficulty.

  "It wasn't your fault," replied Köster. "We witnessed the accident and will willingly give evidence for you."

  "It's not that," said the man. "For other reasons, I don't want it known. You understand—" He glanced toward the door through which the woman had gone.

  "Then you're in the right place here," explained Lenz. "This is a private show. All it wants now is for your car to disappear before the police spot it."

  The man propped himself up. "Could you do that for me? Ring up some garage. And please let me have your address—I'd like—I'm very much obliged to you—"

  Köster made a gesture of refusal.

  "But yes," said the man, "I'd like to."

  "Quite simple," replied Lenz. "We have a repair shop ourselves, and specialize in cars like yours. We'll take it along, if you agree, and put it in order again. That'll help you and us at the same time."

  "Good," said the man. "Do you want my address—then I'll come myself and get the car. Or send somebody."

  Köster put the visiting card in his pocket and we carried him in. The doctor, a young chap, had arrived in the meantime. He had washed the blood from the woman's face and the deep cuts were now visible. The woman lifted herself on her sound arm and stared into the shining nickel of a bowl on the dressing trolley. "Oh," said she softly and dropped back with horror-stricken eyes.

  We drove to the village and enquired for a garage. It was a smithy and from the blacksmith we borrowed a breakdown outfit and a hawser, promising him twenty marks for the loan. But he was suspicious and wanted to see the car. We took him with us and drove back.

  Jupp was standing in the middle of the road and waving. But without that, we saw already what was the trouble. An old, top-heavy Mercedes was standing by the roadside and four people were in the act of getting away with the Stutz.

  "We've arrived in nice time," said Köster.

  "That's the brothers Vogt," replied the blacksmith. "Dangerous crew. Live over there. They don't give up what they once get their fingers on."

  "We'll see about that," said Köster.

  "I've explained it all to them already, Herr Köster," whispered Jupp. "Dirty rivals. Want to have the car for their own shop."

  "Very good, Jupp. You stay here for the time being."

  Köster went up to the biggest of the four and addressed him. He explained that the car belonged to us.

  "Have you got anything hard on you?" I asked Lenz.

  "Only a bunch of keys, and I want that myself. Get a small spanner."

  "Better not," said I, "might do real damage. Pity I have such light shoes. Otherwise kicking might be best."

  "Coming in?" Lenz asked the blacksmith. "Then we'll be four against four."

  "I'm keeping out. Don't want my show smashed up to-morrow. I'm strictly neutral."

  "Quite right," said Lenz.

  "I'm with you," announced Jupp.

  "Don't you be rash," said I. "See that nobody comes, that's enough."

  The blacksmith retired from us a space farther to emphasize his strict neutrality.

  "Don't you talk tripe," I suddenly heard the biggest of the brothers Vogt growl at Köster. "First in, first served. Finish. Now you shove off."

  Köster explained once more that the car belonged to us. He offered to drive Vogt to the sanatorium to find out for himself. Vogt grinned contemptuously. Lenz and I came nearer. "Perhaps you'd like to go to the hospital yourself?" asked Vogt.

  Köster did not answer, but walked up to the car. The other three Vogts straightened up. They were now standing close together.

  "Give that trolley here," said Köster to us.

  "Man—" replied the eldest Vogt. He was a head taller than Köster.

  "Sorry," said Köster, "but we're going to take the car."

  Lenz and I sauntered still nearer, hands in our pockets. Köster bent down to the car. At the same moment Vogt rooted him aside with a kick. Otto had reckoned with that; the same instant he had seized the leg and flung Vogt down. Then he leapt up and hit the next of the brothers, who had just raised the starting handle, in the belly so that he reeled and fell likewise. The next moment Lenz and I jumped for the other two. I stopped one in the face at once. It was not bad but my nose started to bleed, my next punch missed its mark and glanced off the other's greasy chin, then I got a second wipe in the eye and guarded so ill that with a belly punch the Vogt brought me down. He pressed me upon the asphalt and gripped my throat. I tensed the muscles so that he should not choke me and tried to bend and roll over in order to shove him off with my feet or to kick him in the guts. But Lenz and his Vogt were struggling on top of my legs and I could not get free. Despite the taut neck muscles I had difficulty in breathing; I could not get air because of my bleeding nose. Gradually everything turned glassy around me. Vogt's face quivered before my face like jelly, and I felt black shadows in the back of my brain. With a last glance I saw Jupp suddenly beside me—he was kneeling in the gutter by the roadside,
calmly and attentively watching my struggles, and when the final pause seemed to have made all ready for him, struck Vogt's wrist with a hammer. At the second blow Vogt let go and from the ground made a fierce grab at Jupp, who slipped back a foot or so and in all calmness landed him a third on the fingers and then one on the head. I came up, rolled on top of Vogt, and in my turn set about strangling him.

  At that moment there was a wild animal bellow and then a whimpering: "Let go—let go!"

  It was the eldest Vogt. Köster had twisted his arm and forced it up his back. Vogt had gone down with his head to the ground and Köster was now kneeling on him and twisting the arm farther. Vogt yelled, but Köster knew that he must finish him properly if we were to be left in peace. With a sudden jerk he wrenched his arm and then let him go. Vogt remained awhile lying on the ground. I looked up. One of the brothers was still standing, but his brother's cries had taken the fight out of him. "You clear out, or I'll start over again," said Köster to him.