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- Эрих Мария Ремарк
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- Три товарища
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- Стр. 5/18
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1921
.
.
.
.
I
pondered
awhile
.
No
,
I
couldn
’
t
remember
.
That
year
,
was
missing
.
1922
,
I
was
a
platelayer
in
Thuringia
;
1923
,
advertising
manager
for
a
rubber
goods
firm
.
That
was
during
the
inflation
.
At
one
time
I
was
earning
as
much
as
two
hundred
billion
marks
a
month
.
We
used
to
be
paid
twice
a
day
,
each
payment
followed
by
a
half
-
hour
’
s
leave
,
so
that
one
could
dash
out
to
the
shops
and
buy
something
before
next
publication
of
the
dollar
exchange
rate
—
for
by
that
time
the
money
would
be
again
worth
only
half
.
And
then
what
?
The
years
after
that
?
I
put
down
the
pencil
.
There
was
no
point
in
going
over
all
that
.
Anyway
,
I
could
not
remember
any
longer
;
it
had
been
all
too
confused
.
My
last
birthday
I
celebrated
as
pianist
at
the
Café
International
.
It
was
then
I
met
Köster
and
Lenz
once
more
.
And
now
here
I
was
in
the
Aurewo
—
Auto
-
Repair
-
Workshop
;
Köster
&
Co
.
12
/
529
Lenz
and
I
were
the
"
Co
.
,
"
but
the
shop
belonged
really
only
to
Köster
.
He
had
been
our
school
friend
,
and
in
the
Army
pur
company
commander
;
then
he
became
an
air
pilot
,
and
later
for
a
time
a
student
;
then
a
speedway
racer
.
.
.
.
And
finally
he
had
bought
this
show
.
Lenz
,
after
spending
some
years
drifting
around
South
America
,
had
been
first
to
join
him
—
then
I
.
I
fished
a
cigarette
from
my
pocket
.
After
all
,
I
had
every
reason
to
be
content
.
I
was
not
so
badly
off
really
;
I
had
work
,
I
was
strong
,
I
did
not
tire
easily
,
I
was
healthy
as
things
go
.
.
.
.
But
it
was
better
not
to
think
too
much
about
all
that
—
when
alone
,
at
any
rate
;
and
especially
at
night
.
For
every
now
and
then
things
had
a
way
of
rising
up
suddenly
out
of
the
past
and
staring
at
one
with
dead
eyes
.
It
was
against
such
times
that
one
kept
a
bottle
of
schnapps
.
The
gate
creaked
on
its
hinges
.
I
tore
up
the
slip
of
paper
with
the
dates
on
it
and
threw
it
into
the
wastepaper
basket
.
The
door
burst
open
,
and
Gottfried
Lenz
—
tall
,
thin
,
with
a
straw
-
coloured
mop
of
hair
and
a
nose
that
might
have
belonged
to
somebody
else
—
stood
framed
in
the
doorway
.
"
Bobby
,
"
he
bawled
,
"
you
lump
of
obesity
,
stand
up
!
Put
your
heels
together
!
Your
superior
officers
wish
to
speak
to
you
!
"
Herrgott
!
"
I
stood
up
.
"
I
hoped
you
wouldn
’
t
remember
.
.
.
.
Don
’
t
make
a
song
about
it
.
"
"
You
’
re
not
the
only
one
to
be
considered
,
"
said
Gottfried
,
putting
down
on
the
table
a
parcel
in
which
was
something
that
clinked
and
rattled
.
Köster
came
in
after
him
.
