ERICH MARIA REMARQUE ARCH OF TRIUMPH PDF

She walked quickly, but with a peculiar stagger. Ravic first noticed her when she was almost beside him. He saw a pale face, high cheekbones and wide-set eyes. The face was rigid and masklike; it looked hollowed out, and her eyes in the light from the street lamps had an expression of such glassy emptiness that they caught his attention. The woman passed so close she almost touched him. He reached out and seized her arm with one hand; the next moment she tottered and would have fallen, if he had not supported her.

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She walked quickly, but with a peculiar stagger. Ravic first noticed her when she was almost beside him. He saw a pale face, high cheekbones and wide-set eyes. The face was rigid and masklike; it looked hollowed out, and her eyes in the light from the street lamps had an expression of such glassy emptiness that they caught his attention.

The woman passed so close she almost touched him. He reached out and seized her arm with one hand; the next moment she tottered and would have fallen, if he had not supported her. He held her arm tight.

The woman stared at him. Ravic did not answer. He still held her arm tight. Ravic had the impression that she did not see him at all. She was looking through him, somewhere into the empty night. He was only something that had stopped her and toward which she spoke. Neither was she drunk.

He did not hold her arm so tight now. She could have freed herself easily, but it did not occur to her. Ravic waited awhile. The woman remained silent. But she did not walk on. Once stopped, she seemed unable to move again. Ravic leaned against the railing of the bridge. He could feel the damp porous stone under his hands. The woman did not answer. He saw there were only two left in the little box and he bent down cautiously in order to shelter the flame with his hands against the soft breeze from the river.

Ravic straightened up and held the package toward her. Black tobacco of the Foreign Legion. I have nothing else with me. Ravic held the burning match for her.

She smoked hastily, inhaling deeply. Ravic threw the match over the railing. It fell through the dark like a little shooting star and went out only when it reached the water.

A taxi drove slowly across the bridge. The driver stopped. He looked toward them and waited for a moment, then he stepped on the accelerator and drove along the wet dark-gleaming Avenue George V. Ravic felt suddenly tired. He had been working all day and had not been able to sleep. And so he had gone out again to drink. But now, unexpectedly, in the wet coolness of the late night, tiredness fell over him like a sack.

He looked at the woman. What had made him stop her? Something was wrong with her, that much was clear. But what did it matter to him? The woman looked at him as though she did not understand. Ravic shrugged his shoulders. My God! Ravic paused. Once more someone who does not know where to go, he thought. He could have foreseen it. It was always the same. At night they did not know where to go and the next morning they were gone before you were awake.

Then they knew where to go. The old cheap desperation that came with the dark and left with it. He threw his cigarette away. As if he himself did not know it and know it to the point of weariness! It was the simplest solution. Afterwards he could pay and leave and she could decide what to do. The woman made an uncertain movement and stumbled. Ravic caught hold of her arm. I guess so. Ravic felt the woman leaning on him.

She did not lean as if she were tired—she leaned as if she were about to fall and had to support herself. They crossed the Avenue Pierre Ierde Serbie. Behind the intersection of the Rue de Chaillot the street opened up and, floating and dark in the distance, the mass of the Arc de Triomphe emerged out of the rainy sky.

Ravic pointed to the narrow lighted entrance of a cellar drinking place. A few cabdrivers and two whores were sitting inside. The drivers were playing cards. The whores were drinking absinthe. With a quick glance they took stock of the woman.

Then they turned indifferently away. The older one yawned audibly; the other began lackadaisically making up her face. In the background a busboy, with the face of a weary rat, sprinkled sawdust around and began to sweep the floor. Ravic and the woman sat down at a table near the entrance. It was more convenient; he could then leave more easily. He did not remove his coat. Anything at all.

Only blue. The waiter, following his glance, clenched his fist and made his muscles jump. The woman on the clouds wiggled her belly lasciviously. The waiter grinned. He must have served in the Turkish navy. She did it as if she never wanted to lift them again. Her hands had been well cared for but that meant nothing.

Still they were not too well cared for. Ravic saw that the nail of the right middle finger was broken; it seemed to have been torn off without having been filed. In some places the polish was chipped. The waiter brought the glasses and a package of cigarettes. Found one after all. Were you in the navy?

Or would you like coffee? Ravic studied her. She had a colorless face, almost without expression. The mouth was full but pale, the contours appeared blurred.

Only the hair was very beautiful—of a lustrous natural blond. She wore a Basque beret and under her raincoat a blue tailored suit. The suit had been made by a good tailor, but the green stone in the ring on her hand was much too big to be real. She nodded. He beckoned the waiter. But bigger glasses.

More in them, too?

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Erich Maria Remarque: Biography & Works

Plot summary[ edit ] Set in , and, despite having no permission to perform surgery, Ravic, a very accomplished German surgeon and a stateless refugee living in Paris, has been ghost-operating on patients for two years on the behalf of two less skillful French physicians. Unwilling to return to Nazi Germany, which has stripped him of his citizenship, and unable to legally exist anywhere else in pre-war western Europe, Ravic manages to hang on. He is one of many displaced persons without passports or any other documents, who live under a constant threat of being captured and deported from one country to the next, and back again. Though Ravic has given up on the possibility of love, life has a curious way of taking a turn for the romantic, even during the worst of times, as he cautiously befriends an actress.

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Arch of Triumph: A Novel of a Man Without a Country

Plot summary Edit Set in , and, despite having no permission to perform surgery, Ravic, a very accomplished German surgeon and a stateless refugee living in Paris, has been ghost-operating on patients for two years on the behalf of two less skillful French physicians. Unwilling to return to Nazi Germany, which has stripped him of his citizenship, and unable to legally exist anywhere else in pre-war western Europe, Ravic manages to hang on. He is one of many displaced persons without passports or any other documents, who live under a constant threat of being captured and deported from one country to the next, and back again. Though Ravic has given up on the possibility of love, life has a curious way of taking a turn for the romantic, even during the worst of times, as he cautiously befriends an actress. Main characters Edit Ravic- a refugee surgeon from Germany who has no citizenship his real name is Ludwig Fresenburg ; Joan Madou - actress, singer. Her father is Romanian, her mother is Italian. She spent her childhood in Italy; Haake is a German Gestapo man who tortured Ravik and committed his beloved girl Sibylla to suicide.

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