Spark of Life by Erich Maria Remarque Read Free Book Online Page A

officially certified.
    A flame shot up from the railroad station. Explosions followed. Probably ammunition wagons. Red reflections fluttered above the building—as if it were suddenly sweating blood. Ridiculous, thought Neubauer. I’m actually nervous. The Jewish lawyers who had been dragged out from up there at the time had been long ago forgotten. He got back into his car. Too close to the station—perfect place for business but damn dangerous in bombardments; no wonder it made one nervous.
    “To the Grosse Strasse, Alfred.”
    The Mellern newspaper building was completely undamaged. Neubauer had already heard about it by telephone. They were just bringing out an extra edition. Copies were being snatched from the sellers’ hands. Neubauer watched the white stacks disappear. One pfennig in every paper was his. New sellers arrived with new stacks.They dashed away on their bicycles. Extra editions meant extra income. Each seller had with him at least two hundred. Neubauer counted seventeen sellers. That meant thirty-four extra marks. At least something good to come out of it all. He could pay for some of the cracked show windows out of it. Nonsense—they were insured. That is, if the insurance paid. Could pay, with all the damage. They would pay! At least him. The thirty-four marks were net earnings.
    He bought one of the extra papers. A short appeal by Dietz was already in it. Quick work. With it came a report that two flyers had been shot down over the town, half of the others over Minden, Osnabrueck and Hanover. An article by Goebbels about the inhuman barbarism of bombing peaceful German towns. A few pithy words from the Führer. A report that the Hitler Youth was in search of flyers who had dropped by parachute. Neubauer threw away the paper and entered the cigar store on the corner. “Three Deutsche Wacht,” he said.
    The salesman produced the box. Neubauer chose without interest. The cigars were bad. Pure beech leaves. He had better ones at home, imports from Paris and Holland. He asked for the Deutsche Wacht simply because the shop belonged to him. Before the Rising, it had belonged to Lesser & Sacht, a firm of Jewish exploiters. Then Storm Leader Freiberg had snapped it up. Had owned it until 1936. A gold mine. Neubauer bit the end off a Deutsche Wacht. What could he have done about the fact that Freiberg, in his cups, had made treasonable remarks against the Führer? It had been his duty as an upright Party member to notify the authorities. Shortly afterwards Freiberg had disappeared and Neubauer had bought the shop from the widow. He had advised her urgently to sell. He had let her know that he had information, that Freiberg’s possessions were about to be confiscated. Money would be easier to hide than a shop. She had been grateful. Had sold the shop. For a quarter of its value,of course. Neubauer had pointed out that he wasn’t flush and it had to be done fast. She had seen the point. The confiscation had never taken place. Neubauer had explained that to her, too. He had used his influence on her behalf. In this way she could keep the money. He had acted decently. Duty was duty—and the shop might really have been confiscated. Besides, the widow would have been unable to run it. She would have been squeezed out for less money.
    Neubauer took the cigar from his mouth. It didn’t draw. Filthy stuff. But the people paid for it. Were crazy about anything that could be smoked. Pity it was rationed. The turnover would have been ten times as much. He glanced once more at the shop. Damn lucky. Nothing had happened. He spat. He suddenly had a bad taste in his mouth. It must be the cigar. Or what else? After all, nothing had happened. Nerves? Why was he suddenly thinking of all these old stories? That old business from way back! He threw away the cigar as he got into the car again and gave the other two to the chauffeur. “Here, Alfred. Something special for tonight. And now let’s be off—to the