The Black Obelisk by Erich Maria Remarque Read Free Book Online Page A

narcissuses lie in the full sun. "You must put your hat on, Isabelle," I say. "The doctor wants you to."
    She throws her hat among the flowers. "The doctor! What doesn't he want! He wants to marry me, but his heart is starved. He's a sweating owl."
    I don't think that owls can sweat, but the image is convincing nevertheless. Isabelle steps among the tulips like a dancer and crouches there. "Can you hear them?"
    "Of course," I reply in relief. "Anyone can hear them. They're bells. In F sharp."
    "What is F sharp?"
    "A musical note. The sweetest of all."
    She throws her wide skirt over the flowers. "Are they ringing in me now?"
    I nod, looking at her slender neck. Everything rings in you, I think. She breaks off a tulip and looks at the open blossom and the fleshy stem from which sap is oozing. "They are not sweet."
    "All right—then they're bells in C sharp."
    "Must it be sharp?"
    "It could be flat."
    "Can't it be both at the same time?"
    "Not in music. There are certain rules. It can be only one or the other. Or one after the other."
    "One after the other!" Isabelle looks at me with mild contempt. "You always use these pretexts, Rolf. Why?"
    "I don't know either. I wish things were otherwise."
    Suddenly she straightens up and throws away the tulip she has picked. With a leap she is out of the bed and is vigorously shaking her dress. Then she pulls it up and looks at her legs. Her face is twisted with disgust. "What happened?" I ask in alarm.
    She points at the bed. "Snakes—"
    I glance at the beds. "There aren't any snakes there, Isabelle."
    "Yes there are! Those there!" She points at the tulips. "Don't you see what they want?"
    "They don't want anything. They are flowers," I say un-comprehendingly.
    "They touched me!" She is trembling with disgust and staring at the tulips.
    I take her by the arm and turn her around so that she can no longer see the bed. "Now you're turned around," I say. "Now they're not there any more, Isabelle."
    She is breathing heavily. "Don't permit it! Stamp on them, Rudolf."
    "They're not there any more. You have turned around and now they're gone. Like the grass at night and the things."
    She leans against me. Suddenly I am no longer Rolf. She presses her face against my shoulder. She doesn't have to explain anything more to me. I am Rudolf and must know. "Are you sure?" she asks, and I feel her heart beating against my hand.
    "Perfectly sure. They're gone. Like servants on Sunday."
    "Don't permit it, Rudolf."
    "I won't permit it," I say, not knowing what she means. But that's unimportant. She is already growing calmer.
    We walk back slowly. Almost without transition she becomes tired. A nurse marches up on flat heels. "You must come and eat, Mademoiselle."
    "Eat," Isabelle says. "Why must one eat all the time, Rudolf?"
    "So that you won't die."
    "You're lying again," she says wearily, like a helpless child.
    "Not this time. This time it's true."
    "Really? Do stones eat?"
    "Are stones alive?"
    "Of course. More intensely than anything. So intensely that they are eternal. Don't you know what a crystal is?"
    "Only from my physics lessons. That's sure to be wrong.*'
    "Pure ecstasy," Isabelle whispers. "Not like those over there—" She makes a gesture back toward the flower bed.
    The attendant takes her arm. "Where is your hat, Mademoiselle?" she asks after a few steps, looking around. "Wait a moment, I'll get it."
    She goes to retrieve the hat from among the flowers. Behind her Isabelle comes over to me hastily, her expression distraught. "Don't abandon me, Rudolf!" she whispers.
    "I won't abandon you."
    "And don't go away! I have to leave. They are taking me! But don't you go away!"
    "I won't go away, Isabelle."
    The attendant has rescued the hat and now marches up to us like fate on broad soles. Isabelle stands there looking at me. It is as though it were farewell forever. It's always as though it were a farewell forever. Who knows how she will be when she returns?
    "Put your hat on, Mademoiselle,"