The night in Lisbon

by Erich Maria Remarque

  "I stood in the little glass booth with the telephone book in front of me. My heart beat so hard as I turned the soiled and rumpled corners of the pages that I thought I could hear it; I even thought others could hear it, and bent low to avoid being recognized. Unthinking, I had opened up to the letter with which my former name began. I found my wife's name, the phone number was the same, but the address had changed. Rissmüller-Platz was now called Hitler-Platz.

  "The moment I saw the address it seemed to me that the dismal light bulb in the booth grew a hundred times stronger. I looked up, overcome by a feeling that it was black night outside and that I was standing in a brightly lighted glass box, or in the beam of a searchlight. Once again the madness of my undertaking struck me with full force.

  "I left the phone booth and passed through the half-darkened station. The blue skies and happy faces of 'Strength through Joy' posters looked down at me menacingly. A train or two must have arrived; a swarm of travelers was coming up the stairs. An SS man stepped out of the throng and headed in my direction.

  "I didn't run. Maybe he had someone else in mind. But he stopped right in front of me and looked me full in the face. 'Pardon me,' he said. 'Have you got a light?'

  " 'A light?' I repeated. And then quickly: 'Yes, of course! A match!'

  "I reached into my pocket and searched.

  " 'Why a match?' said the SS man, surprised. 'Your cigarette's burning.'

  "I hadn't even realized I was smoking. I held out my cigarette. He touched his to the incandescent tip and drew. 'What's that you're smoking?' he asked. 'Smells like a cigar.'

  "It was a Gauloise. I had bought a few packs before crossing the border. 'A present from a friend,' I said. 'French. Black tobacco. He brought them back from France. They're too strong for me, too.'

  "The SS man laughed. 'The best would be to stop smoking altogether. Like the Führer. But it's not easy, especially in times like this!' He saluted and left."

  Schwarz smiled feebly. "When I was still a human being

  with the right to go where I pleased, I used to have my doubts about the way writers describe terror—the victim's heart stands still, he can't move a limb, icy shivers run down his spine, his whole body breaks out in sweat; clichés and clumsy writing, I thought. Maybe so. But it's also the truth. It's exactly how I felt, though in my days of innocence such things had made me laugh."

  A waiter approached. "Wouldn't you gentlemen like soma company?"

  "No."

  He bent over me. "Before you say no, let me call your attention to the two ladies at the bar."

  I looked at them. One of them seemed very well built. Both had on close-fitting evening dresses. I couldn't make out their faces. "No," I said again.

  "They are ladies," said the waiter. "The one on the right is a German lady."

  "Did she send you?"

  "No, sir," the waiter replied with a disarmingly innocent smile. "It was my own idea."

  "Good. Bury it. Bring us something to eat instead."

  "What did he want?" Schwarz asked.

  "To tie us up with Mata Hari's granddaughter. You must have given him too much tip."

  "I haven't paid yet. You think they're spies?"

  "Possibly. But for the one real International in the world: Mammon."

  "Germans?"

  "One of them, the waiter said."

  "Do you think she's been sent to lure Germans back home?"

  "I doubt it. That's more in the Russian line nowadays."

  The waiter brought us a dish of canapes that I had ordered because the wine was going to my head. I was determined to keep my wits about me.

  "Aren't you going to eat?" I asked Schwarz.

  He shook his head absently. "It had never occurred to me

  that those cigarettes might give me away," he said. "Now I checked through all my belongings. My matches were from France, too. I threw them away with the rest of my cigarettes and bought German. Then I remembered that my passport had a French entry stamp and visa; in case of questioning, I'd have had no difficulty in accounting for the French cigarettes. Bathed in sweat and furious with myself for my fears, I went back to the telephone booth.

  "I had to wait. A woman with an enormous party badge called two numbers in succession and thundered commands. The third number didn't answer. The woman came out, self-important and furious.

  "I called my friend's number. A woman's voice answered. 'May I speak to Dr. Martens, please?' I noticed that my voice was hoarse.

  " 'Who is speaking?' the woman asked.

  " 'A friend of Dr. Martens.' I couldn't give my name. The voice might be either his wife's or the maid's, but it would be a mistake to trust either of them.

  " 'Your name please,' said the woman.

  "'lama friend of Dr. Martens,' I answered. 'Please tell him that. On urgent business.'

  " 'I'm sorry,' the woman's voice answered. 'If you won't tell me your name, I can't announce you.'

  " 'You'll have to make an exception,' I said. 'Dr. Martens is expecting my call.'

  " 'In that case, you can surely tell me your name. . . .'

  "I racked my brains in desperation. Then I heard the receiver being hung up.

  "I stood in the gray, windy station. My first move, which had seemed so simple, had gone wrong, and I had no idea what to do next. Maybe I'd have to call Helen directly and run the risk that a member of her family would recognize me by my voice. I could give a different name, but what name? Dr. Martens—I could think of no other at the moment. I hesitated. And then an idea dawned on me, so obvious that it would have come to me in a flash at the age of ten. Why not call Dr. Martens and give the name of my wife's brother? Martens knew him well and had taken an intense dislike to him ten years back.

  "The same woman's voice answered. 'Georg Jürgens speaking,' I said briskly. 'Dr. Martens, please.'

  " 'Are you the gentleman who called up before?'

  " 'This is Sturmbannführer Jürgens. I wish to speak to Dr. Martens. Immediately.'

  " 'Certainly,' said the woman. 'Just a moment.' "

  Schwarz looked at me. "Do you know that terrible soft buzzing in the receiver when you're waiting for your life on the telephone?"

  I nodded. "It doesn't even have to be life that you're waiting for. It can be the void that you're trying to exorcise."

  Schwarz went on with his story. " 'Dr. Martens speaking,' I heard at last. Again I was in one of those states that would once have made me laugh. My throat was parched.

  " 'Rudolf,' I whispered finally.

  " I beg your pardon?'

  " 'Rudolf,' I said. 'This is a relative of Helen Jürgens.'

  " I don't understand. Aren't you Sturmbannführer Jürgens?'

  " 'I'm calling for him, Rudolf. For Helen Jürgens. Don't you understand now?'

  " 'I don't understand a thing,' said the voice in the phone with irritation. 'I'm in the middle of a consultation. . . .'

  " 'Couldn't I come to your office, Rudolf? Are you very busy?'

  " 'What are you driving at? I don't even know you, and you . . .'

  " 'Old Shatterhand,' I said.

  "Suddenly I had remembered the names we had called each other by as boys playing Indians, names from the novels of Karl May that we had devoured at the age of twelve. For a moment I heard nothing. Then Martens said sofdy: 'What's that?'

  "'Winnetou,' I answered. 'Have you forgotten the old names? Why, those are the Führer's favorite books.'

  " 'That's true,' he said. It was generally known that the man who was starting the Second World War had by his bedside the thirty or more volumes of Karl May's collected works and that these books about Indians, trappers, and hunters, which strike any normal boy of fifteen as at least slightly ridiculous, were his favorite reading matter.

  " 'Winnetou?' Martens repeated in a tone of incredulity.

  " 'Yes. I've got to see you.'

  " 'I don't understand. Where are you?'

  " 'Here. In Osnabrück. Where can we meet?'

&
nbsp; " 'I'm having consultations,' said Martens mechanically.

  " 'I'm sick. Can I come and consult with you?'

  " 'What's the point in all this?' said Martens in a voice that showed he had decided what to do. 'If you're sick, just come and see me. Why bother to phone?'

  " 'When?'

  "The best time would be seven-thirty. Seven-thirty,' he repeated. 'Not before.'

  " 'Good. I'll see you at seven-thirty.'

  "I put down the phone. I was bathed in sweat. Slowly I made my way to the exit. A pale half-moon appeared for an instant between the clouds. In just a week, I thought, it will be the new moon. A good time to cross the border. I looked at the clock. I still had three-quarters of an hour's time. Better get away from the station. People who hang around stations always look suspicious. I took the street that was darkest and least frequented. It led to the old ramparts. One section had been leveled and topped with tall trees. Another, along the river, remained as it had been. I followed the ramparts, crossed a square, and passed the Church of the Sacred Heart.

  "From the upper ramparts you could look across the river at the roofs and towers of the city. The baroque dome of the cathedral glistened in the wavering moonlight. I knew this view; it was reproduced on a thousand postcards. I also knew the smell of the water and the smell of the linden trees on the avenue that skirted the ramparts.

  "I saw lovers sitting on the benches that had been set up between the trees, offering a view of the river and the city. I sat down on an empty bench to kill the half hour before I could go to see Martens.

  "The bells of the cathedral began to ring. I was so agitated that the vibrations literally shook me. It was like observing an invisible game of tennis. One of the players was my old self I knew so well, who trembled and was afraid and didn't dare to reflect on his situation. The other was my new self, who was bold and risked his life as if there were no other possible course—a strange schizophrenic contest, observed by a passive, objective arbiter, who for all his objectivity hoped in his heart that the new self would win out.

  "I remember that half hour in every detail. I even remember my amazement at taking such a clinical view of myself. It was as if I were standing in a room with facing mirrors; they cast my reflection back and forth in an infinity of empty space, and behind every reflection I discovered another, looking over the preceding one's shoulder. The mirrors seemed old and tarnished, and I couldn't make out whether the expression was questioning, sad, or hopeful. The images were blurred by the silvery darkness.

  "A woman sat down beside me. I didn't know what she wanted, and I had no idea whether the barbarian regime had by now reduced even these things to military exercises. So I stood up and left. I heard the woman laughing behind me, and I've never forgotten the soft, rather contemptuous, commiserating laugh of that unknown woman on the Herrenteichswall in Osnabrück.

  CHAPTER 4

  The waiting room was empty. Plants with long, leathery leaves stood on a shelf by the window. On the table lay magazines, the covers showing pictures of party bigwigs, soldiers, a detachment of Hitler Youth. I heard swift steps. Martens stood in the doorway. He stared at me, took off his glasses, and blinked. The light in the waiting room was dim. He did not recognize me at first, probably because of my mustache.

  " 'It's I, Rudolf,' I said. 'It's Josef.'

  "He motioned me to speak softly. 'Where have you come from?' he whispered.

  "I shrugged. What did that matter? 'I'm here,' I said. 'You've got to help me.'

  "He looked at me. His nearsighted eyes in the dim light seemed like the eyes of a fish in a bowl. 'Have you permission to be here?'

  " 'Only from myself.'

  " 'How did you cross the border?'

  " 'That doesn't matter. I've come to see Helen.'

  "He gaped at me. 'So that's what you've come for?'

  " 'Yes,' I said.

  "Suddenly I felt calm. I had been trembling as long as I was alone. Now all my agitation left me; my problem was to calm my perturbed friend.

  " 'To see Helen?' he asked.

  " 'Yes, to see Helen. And you've got to help me.'

  "'Good God!'he said.

  "'Is she dead?'I asked.

  " 'No, she is not dead.'

  " 'Is she in town?'

  " 'Yes. At least she was a week ago.'

  " 'Can we speak here?' I asked.

  "Martens nodded. 'I've sent my receptionist away. If any patients turn up, I can send them away, too. I can't ask you to my home. I've married. Two years ago. You understand. . . .'

  "I understood. Relatives were not to be trusted in the Thousand-Year Reich. Denunciation was looked upon as a national virtue by the saviors of Germany. Of that I had firsthand experience. It was my wife's brother who had denounced me.

  " 'My wife isn't in the party,' said Martens quickly. 'But we've never'—he looked at me with confusion—'discussed a case like this one. I'm not exactly sure what she would think. Come in here.'

  "He opened the door of his consultation room and locked it behind us. 'Leave it open,' I said. 'A locked room is more suspicious than if we were to be seen.'

  "He turned the key back in the lock and looked at me. 'Josef, for God's sake, what are you doing here? Have you come secretly?'

  " 'Yes. And you don't have to hide me. I'm staying at a hotel outside the city. I've come to you because you're the only one who could let Helen know I am here. I haven't heard from her in five years. I don't know what's become of her. I don't know even whether she has remarried. If she has . . .'

  " 'And that's why you've come?'

  " 'Yes,' I replied in astonishment. 'Why else would I come?'

  " 'We've got to hide you,' he said. 'You can spend the night here on the couch. I'll wake you before seven. At seven the maid comes in to clean up. After eight you can come back. There are no patients before eleven.'

  " 'Is she married?' I asked.

  " 'Helen?' He shook his head. 'I don't even think she's divorced from you.'

  " 'Where is she living? In the old apartment?'

  '"I think so.'

  " 'Is anyone living with her?'

  "'What do you mean?'

  " 'Her mother. Her sister. Her brother. Or some other relative.'

  " 'I'm not sure.'

  " 'You've got to find out,' I said. 'And you've got to tell her I'm here.'

  " 'Why don't you tell her yourself?' Martens asked. 'There's the phone.'

  " 'And suppose she's not alone? What if her brother is there? He has already denounced me once.'

  " 'That's true. She'd probably be just as flabbergasted as I was. That could give her away.'

  " 'I don't even know how she feels about me, Rudolf. It's been five years, and we were only married for four. Five years are more than four—and separation cuts more ice than a life together.'

  "He nodded. I don't understand you,' he said.

  " I can see that. I don't understand myself either. We lead different lives.'

  " 'Why didn't you write her?'

  " 'I can't explain all that now, Rudolf. Go to see Helen. Talk to her. Find out how she feels. If it seems like the right thing to do, tell her I'm here and ask her how we can meet.'

  " 'When do you want me to go?'

  " 'Right away," I said, startled. 'Why wait?'

  "He looked around. 'Where will you go in the meantime? It's not safe here. My wife is likely to send the maid down for me. I usually go upstairs after my office hours; she's used to it. I could lock you in, but that would look suspicious.'

  " 'I don't want to be locked in,* I said. 'Can't you tell your wife you have to visit a patient?'

  " 'I'll tell her that when I come back. It's simpler.'

  "I saw a twinkle in his eyes, and for a moment the left one seemed to wink ever so slightly. That reminded me of our childhood days. Til wait in die cathedral. Nowadays churches are almost as safe as in the Middle Ages. When should I call you up?'

  " 'In an hour. Say your name is Otto Sturm. How can I find you? W
ouldn't you rather go some place where there's a phone?'

  " 'Places with phones are dangerous.'

  " 'Yes, maybe so.' For a moment he stood hesitant. 'Yes, maybe you're right. If I'm not back, call again, or leave a message saying where you are.'