Arch of Triumph by Erich Maria Remarque Page A

think?”
    “Thank God, no.”
    “That’s what I thought. I am going now to the children of sin. To the Osiris. Just in case Doctor Veber should need me.”
    “I hardly think Doctor Veber will need you.”
    “Virginity does not quite bestow clairvoyance. He might need me. I’ll be there until about five. Then at my hotel.”
    “Nice hotel, that den of Jews!”
    Ravic turned around. “Eugénie, all refugees are not Jews. Not even all Jews are Jews. And many of whom you wouldn’t believe it are Jews. I even knew a Jewish Negro once. He was a terribly lonely man. The only thing he loved was Chinese food. That’s how life is.”
    The nurse did not answer. She was polishing a nickel plate that was completely spotless.
    Ravic was sitting in the bistro on the Rue Boissière, staring through the rainy windows when he saw the man. It was like a blow in the solar plexus. In the first moment he felt only the shock without realizing what it was—but in the next second he had pushed the table aside, jumped from his seat, and thrust himself ruthlessly toward the door through the crowded place.…
    Someone caught him by the arm and held onto him. He turned around. “What?” he asked uncomprehendingly. “What?”
    It was the waiter. “You did not pay, sir.”
    “What?—Oh yes—I’ll be back—” He pulled his arm free.
    The waiter flushed. “We don’t allow that here. You have to—”
    “Here—”
    Ravic pulled a bill out of his pocket, flung it at the waiter, and thrust the door open. He pushed past a group of people and ran around the corner to the right, along the Rue Boissière.
    Someone yelled behind him. He recollected himself, stopped running, and walked on as quickly as he could without being conspicuous. It is impossible, he thought, it is absolutely impossible, I must be mad, it is impossible! The face, that face, it must be a resemblance, some kind of damned devilish resemblance, an idiotic trick played by my nerves—it cannot be in Paris, that face, it is in Germany, it is in Berlin, the window was swept by rain, one couldn’t see through it clearly, I must have been mistaken, certainly …
    He pushed himself through the crowd letting out from a movie, hastily, searching every face he passed; he peered beneath hats, he met irritated and astonished looks, he went on, on, other faces,other hats, gray, black, blue, he passed them, he turned back, he stared at them—
    He stopped at the intersection of the Avenue Kléber. He suddenly remembered, a woman, a woman with a poodle—and immediately behind her he had seen that man.
    He had long since passed the woman with the poodle. Quickly he walked back. Seeing the woman with the dog from a distance, he stopped at the curb. He clenched his fists in his pockets, and he painstakingly watched every passer-by. The poodle stopped at a lamppost, sniffed, and lifted its hind leg with infinite deliberation. Then he ceremoniously scratched the pavement and ran on. Ravic suddenly felt his neck wet with perspiration. He waited another few minutes—the face did not appear. He looked into the parked cars. No one was in them. He turned back again and walked quickly to the subway at the Avenue Kléber. He ran down into the entrance, bought a ticket, and walked along the platform. There were a good many people there. Before he got through searching, a train thundered in, stopped, and disappeared in the tunnel. The platform was empty.
    Slowly he walked back to the bistro. He sat down at the table at which he had been sitting. The glass half full of calvados was still there. It seemed strange that it was still standing there.
    The waiter shuffled toward Ravic. “Excuse me, sir, I didn’t know—”
    “Never mind!” Ravic said. “Bring me another calvados.”
    “Another?” The waiter looked at the half-filled glass on the table. “Don’t you want to drink that first?”
    “No. Bring me another.”
    The waiter lifted the glass and smelled it. “Isn’t it