The Washington times., 1931-11-05

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He filings open the door, a great
sigh, and then in Marie"
Now he sees her. With his
very glance he embraces her. It
overwhelms him with joy
home, the dim light, the clock
ticking, the table, the big arm
chair, and there, his wife! He
makes toward her. But she re-
treats before him, staring at
him as if he were a ghost.
He suspects nothing. 'Did I
frighten you?" he asks, laugh
ing.
eyes," she says nervously.
"That will soon PISS, Marie"
he answers, trembling in his ex-
citement. Now at last that he
is here again in the room, his
whole being is trembling. He
has been away from it so long,
too long!
Il didn't know you were COM
ing so soon, Adolf" says his
wife. She is standing with her
back to the cupboard and gaz-
ing at him with great wide
eyes. For an instant something
cold suddenly grips him; it
takes his breath away. Aren't
you even D little bit glad,
them" he asks awkwardly.
Eyes, Adolf, of course"
HAS something happened?"
he goes on, still holding all his
traps in his hand.
Then the trouble begins. She
puts her head down on the
table and starts to blub. He
might as well know it at once
the others would tell him
anyway. She had an affair with
a man! It just came over her;
she didn't mean any harm, she
had never thought Of any one
but him. Now let him kill her
if he will.
Adolf stands tn ere and
stands. At last he notices that
he still has his sack perched
like a monkey on his shoulders.
He looses it and starts to un-
pack; he is trembling; he keeps
thinking to himself: ''It can't
be true, though, it can't be-" He
goes on unpacking, merely to do
something, not to have to be
still. The silk crackles in his
hand, he holds it out. II wanted
to bring this for you," he says,
and is still thinking: 'It can't
be, it can't be true" HelplesSly
he holds out the red silk, and
still nothing Of what has hap
pened sinks into his skull.
But she is weeping and will
hear nothing. He sits down to
think and suddenly is conscious
of a terrible hunger. On the
table are some apples from the
trees in the garden, good russets
they are; he takes them and
eats, he must do something.
Then his hands become limp
and he has understood it. A
raging fury rises in him. He
must murder some one. He
runs out in search Of the man.
At the AIehOuse
But he does not find him.
Then he goes to the alehouse.
There the men greet him, but
there is an air Of constraint;
they talk Warily, looking past
him, choosing their words. So
they know it. Bethke behaves
as if nothing were wrong-out
no man can keep that up. He
drinks off his pint and goes
just as somebody asks, Been
home yet? And when he has
left the barroom there is silence
behind him. He, ranges hither
and thither until it is late, and
at last he is standing again be-
fore his own house. What
should he do?, He goes in. The
lamp is burning; there is coffee
on the table and fried potatoes
in a pan on the hearth. "Ah,
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weren't true!" he thinks miser-
ably. even a white cloth on
the table! But now it only
makes it the harder"
His wife is there and she is
crying no longer.
He looks at her. She is pale
and thin. It all surges up once
again, in utter meaningless mis-
cry. He wants to know no
more: he wants only to lock
himself in, to lie down, to turn
into stone. The coffee is steam
ing. He pushes it away, the
pan, too. The woman shrinks
back. She knows what is COM
ing.
(TO Be COntinued.)
Copyright, Erich Maria Remraque.
1881; distributed by United
Feature Syndicate Incl