Arch of Triumph by Erich Maria Remarque Read Free Book Online

you have to see the end of it?”
    “I could not. I could not leave before him. Don’t you understand that?”
    “Yes. Come. Have another drink.”
    “No.”
    Veber had turned on the light when the ambulance and police came. The room seemed bigger now that the body was gone. Bigger and strangely dead; as though the body had gone out and death alone was left.
    “Do you want to stay here in the hotel? I imagine not.”
    “No.”
    “Do you have any friends here?”
    “No, no one.”
    “Do you know a hotel where you’d like to live?”
    “No.”
    “There is a small hotel in the neighborhood, similar to this one. Clean and decent. The Hôtel de Milan. We might find something for you there.”
    “Couldn’t I go to the hotel where—to your hotel?”
    “The International?”
    “Yes. I—there is—I know it by now somehow—it is better than one entirely unknown—”
    “The International is not the right hotel for women,” Ravic said. That would be the finishing touch, he thought. In the same hotel. I am not a nurse. And besides—maybe she thinks I already have some sort of responsibility. That could be. “I can’t advise you to go there,” he said in a harsher voice than he intended. “It is always overcrowded. With refugees. Stay at the Hôtel de Milan. If you don’t like it there, you may move wherever you like.”
    The woman looked at him. He felt she knew what he was thinking and he was embarrassed. But it was better to be embarrassed for an instant and to be left alone later.
    “Good,” the woman said. “You are right.”
    Ravic ordered the suitcases carried down to a taxi. The Hôtel de Milan was only a few minutes’ ride. He rented a room and went upstairs with the woman. It was a room on the second floor, with wallpaper of rose-garlands, a bed, a wardrobe, and a table with two chairs. “Is this all right?” he asked.
    “Yes. Very good.”
    Ravic eyed the wallpaper. It was terrible. “At least it seems to be clean in here,” he said. “Bright and clean.”
    “Yes.”
    The suitcases were brought upstairs. “Now you have everything here.”
    “Yes, thanks. Many thanks.”
    She sat down on the bed. Her face was pale and expressionless. “You should go to bed. Do you think you will be able to sleep?”
    “I’ll try.”
    He took an aluminum tube out of his pocket and shook a few tablets out of it. “Here is something to make you sleep. With water. Do you want to take it now?”
    “No, later.”
    “All right. I’ll go now. I’ll look you up one of these days. Try to sleep as soon as possible. Here is the address of the funeral parlor in case something comes up. But don’t go there. Think of yourself. I’ll come around.” Ravic hesitated a moment. “What’s your name?” he asked.
    “Madou. Joan Madou.”
    “Joan Madou. All right. I’ll remember it.” He knew he would not remember it and he would not look her up. But because he knew it he wished to keep up appearances. “I’d better write it down,” he said and took a prescription pad out of his vest pocket. “Here—write it yourself. That’s simpler.”
    She took the pad and wrote down her name. He looked at it, tore the sheet off, and stuck it in a side pocket of his coat. “Go to bed right away,” he said. “Tomorrow everything will seem different. It sounds stupid and trite, but it is true: all you need now is sleep and a little time. A certain amount of time that you have to get through. Do you know that?”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “Take the tablets and sleep well.”
    “Yes, thank you. Thanks for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I really don’t know.”
    She offered her hand. It was cool to the touch and she had a firm clasp. Good, he thought. There is some determination here already.
    Ravic stepped into the street. He inhaled the moist, soft wind. Automobiles, people, a few early whores already at the corners, brasseries, bistros, the smell of tobacco, apéritifs, and