The Washington times., 1931-11-28
A Story Of the Aftermath
or the World War

flock, I wonder? look at him
a long time. Then I wake him
and we 60 back.
It is Saturday. 60 over to
Willy and ask him If he will
come into town with me over
Sunday. But he dismisSes the
idea altogether. We're having
stuffed goose tomorrow" says
he. II can't possibly leave that
in the lurch. What do you want
to 60 away for?"
Il can't stick Sundays here"
say.
II do not understand that"
he objects; mot considering the
grub"
So I set off alone. In the eve
ming, vaguely hoping for some
thing. I go out to Waldman's.
Here is immense activity. I
stand about and look on for a
while. A mob of young fellows
who missed the way by a hair is
swirling about on the dance
floor. These are sure Of them
selves; they know what they
want. Their world has had a
clear beginning, it has a def
mite goal-succeSs. And though
younger than we, they are much
more accomplished.
The SeamStreSs
I discover among the dancers
the dainty little seamstress with
whom I won the prize for the
one-step. I ask her to dance,
and after that we remain to-
gether. I had my pay only a
few days ago, and on the
strength of it I now order a
couple of bottles of sweet, red
wine. We drink it slowly. but
the more drink, the more I
sink into a strange moodiness.-
What was it Albert said about
having somebody all to one
self?-I listen penSively to the
chatter of the girl, as she twit-
ters like a swallow of the other
seamstreSS, about new dances
and a thousand other nothings.
If only the pay for piece
work would 60 up by a couple
of pence a piece, she would
be able to lunch in a restau-
rant and then she would be
happy-I envy her simple ex-
istence and ask her more and
more questions. I should like
to ask everyone who is here,
so laughing and gay, how he
lives. Perhaps among them is
one who could tell me some
thing that would help me.
Afterwards / go home with
the Swallow. She lives in a
gray block Of tenements, high
up under the roof. We stand
while at the door. I feel
the warmth Of her hand in
mine. Her face glimmers un-
certain in the darkness. A
human face, a hand, wherein
is warmth and life-"Let me
go with you!" say hastily.
Let me come in
We climb up the creaking
stairs. I strike a match but
she blows it out Immediately
and. taking me by the hand,
leads me after her.
A little, narrow room. A
table, a brown sofa, a bed, a
few pictures on the wall: in
the corner a sewing machine,
a lay figure of bamboo, and a
white linen to be sewn.
A Honey Setting
The little girl promptly pro-
duces a primus and brews tea
of. apple peelings and tea leaves
that have been 10 times boiled
and dried out again. Two cups,
a laughing, slightly mischievous
face, a disturbing little blue
dress, the friendly poverty of
lodgings, and a little Swallow,
its youth it's only possession-1
sit down on the sofa. Is this
how love begins? So light and
playfully? Is that all it needs,
just to jump over oneself and
away?
The little Swallow chatters,
she whispers and mur1nurS and
sings. So slender and pale
half-starved she is, too. I look
at her. I look again and again.
I, too. would be so. Silently I
ask, Is this it? Is this it? And
the Swallow names me with all
kinds Of fair names and is en-
barrassed and tender and nes-
ties close to me. And as
leave her, I ask: Are you
happy, little Swallow" Then
she kisses me many times and
makes faces and waves and
mods and mods.
But I go down the stars
and am full Of wonder. She
is happy! How easily!-I can.
not understand. For is she not
still another being, a life unto
herself. wherein I can never
come? Would she not still be
so, though I came with all the
fires Of loves? Ach, love-it is
a torch falling into an abys.,
revealing nothing but only
how deep it is?
set off down the street
to the station. This is not it;
no, this is not it. either. One
is only more alone there than
ever.
(TO Be Continued Monday
Copyright, Erich Maria Remarque,
1871: distributed by United
Feature Syndicate Incl