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

garden.”
    The garden was Neubauer’s pride. It was a large plot of land on the outskirts of the town. Most of it was under vegetables and fruit; there was also a flower garden and a shed for livestock. A number of Russian slave laborers from the camp kept everything in order. They cost nothing and in fact should have paid Neubauer. Instead of working hard from twelve to fifteen hours in the copper foundry, with him they had fresh air and light work.
    Dusk lay over the garden. On this side the sky was clear and the moon hung in the crowns of the apple trees. The freshly broken earth smelled strong. In the furrows sprouted the first vegetables and the fruit trees had sticky swelling buds. A small Japanese cherry tree which had spent the winter in the greenhouse was alreadysprayed over with a hue of white and pink—shy blossoms just opening.
    The Russians were working in the section opposite to the plot. Neubauer saw their dark bent backs and the silhouette of the guard with his rifle, its fixed bayonet seemingly piercing the sky. The guard was there only because of regulations; the Russians didn’t run away. Where could they have run to, anyhow, in their uniforms, without knowing the language? They had with them a large paper bag filled with ashes from the crematorium which they were strewing along the furrows. They were working in the beds of asparagus and strawberries for which Neubauer had a special predilection. He couldn’t eat enough of them. The paper bag contained the ashes of sixty people, among them twelve children.
    The first primroses and narcissus shimmered pale through the early, plum-colored dusk. They were planted along the south wall and covered with glass. Neubauer opened one of the horizontal windows and bent down. The narcissus did not smell. Instead, there was a scent of violets, invisible violets in the dusk.
    He took a deep breath. This was his garden. He had paid for it himself and properly. Old-fashioned and honest. The full price. He hadn’t taken it away from anyone. This was his place. The place where one became a human being after hard service for the Fatherland and concern for the family. He looked around, filled with satisfaction. He saw the arbor overgrown with honeysuckle and rambler roses, he saw the box hedge, he saw the artificial grotto of tufa stone, he saw the lilac bushes, he smelled the acrid air in which there was already a touch of spring, he felt with tender hand the straw-covered trunks of the peach and pear trees on the trellis work against the wall, and then he opened the door to the shed.
    He didn’t go to the chickens which were squatting like old women on the perch—nor did he go to the two young pigs which slept in the shed—he went to the rabbits.
    They were white and gray Angora rabbits with long silky hair. They were asleep when he turned the light on and then they began slowly to move. He stuck a finger through the wire mesh and scratched their fur. They were softer than anything he knew. He took cabbage leaves and pieces of turnip from a basket and pushed them into the cages. The rabbits came over and began to nibble with pink snouts, gently and slowly. “Mucki!” he crooned. “Come here, Mucki—”
    The warmth of the shed made him drowsy. It was like a faraway sleep. The smell of the animals brought with it a forgotten innocence. It was a small world in itself of almost vegetative life, far away from bombs and intrigues and the struggle for existence—cabbage leaves and turnips and furry mating and being shorn and giving birth. Neubauer sold the wool; but he never allowed an animal to be slaughtered. “Mucki!” he crooned again.
    With gentle lips a great white buck took the leaf out of his hand. The red eyes gleamed like bright rubies. Neubauer stroked its neck. His boots creaked as he bent down. What did Selma say? Safe? There in the camp you are safe? Who was safe anyway? When had he ever really been?
    He pushed more cabbage leaves through the wire mesh.