Free Flotsam by Erich Maria Remarque

you.”
    The eye disappeared from the peephole. A chain rattled. This is a regular fortress, Kern thought. He was pretty surenow that his father still lived here; otherwise the woman wouldn’t have questioned him.
    The door opened. A powerful Czech woman, with a broad face and red cheeks, stood there examining Kern from head to toe.
    “I want to speak to Herr Kern.”
    “Kern? Don’t know him. He doesn’t live here.”
    “Herr Siegmund Kern. I am Ludwig Kern.”
    “Ah?” The woman eyed him suspiciously. “Anyone could say that.”
    Kern took his permit out of his pocket. “Here—please look at this paper. The first name has been purposely changed; but you can see the other one.”
    The woman read the whole document through slowly. It took a long while. Then she gave it back. “Relative?”
    “Yes.” Something kept him from saying more. He was now practically certain that this was where his father lived.
    The woman had made up her mind. “Doesn’t live here,” she declared curtly.
    “All right,” Kern said; “then I shall tell you where I live. In the Hotel Bristol. I shall only be here for a couple of days; I should like to see Herr Siegmund Kern before I go. I am not going to be a burden to him. I have something to give him,” he added, glancing at the woman.
    “Really?”
    “Yes. The Hotel Bristol. Ludwig Kern. Good day.”
    He went down the stairs. Good heavens, he thought, a pretty Cerberus he has guarding him! However—it’s better to be guarded than betrayed.
    He went back to the drugstore. The owner rushed up to him. “Did you find your father?” His face was full of the curiosity of a man whose life is completely lacking in excitement.
    “Not yet,” Kern said, suddenly displeased. “But he lives there. He wasn’t at home.”
    “Think of that! That’s a real piece of luck, isn’t it?”
    The man folded his arms on the counter and launched into a discourse on strange coincidents in life.
    “That’s not the way it is with us,” Kern said. “With us it’s a strange coincidence when anything goes normally. And how about the toilet water? I can only take six bottles right now. I haven’t money for any more. What discount will you give me?”
    The owner reflected for a moment. Then he announced magnanimously, “Thirty-five per cent. Something like this doesn’t happen every day.”
    “All right.”
    Kern paid and the druggist wrapped up the bottles. The woman named Bertha had meanwhile come out from the back of the shop in order to look at the young man who had found his father. She was excitedly munching something.
    “Look here,” said the owner. “There’s something I wanted to say—the toilet water is very good. Really very good.”
    “Thanks!” Kern took the package. “In that case I’ll hope to be back soon to get the rest.”
    Kern returned to the hotel. He planned to fetch some cakes of soap and bottles of perfume and try peddling them in town. The man from the concentration camp who lived in the same room had loaned him money with which to lay in a stock.
    As he stepped into the hall he saw someone come out of the room next to his. It was a girl of medium height, wearing a bright dress and carrying a couple of books under her arm. At first Kern paid no attention to her. He was busy figuring outthe prices for his toilet water. But suddenly he realized that the girl had come out of the room into which he had blundered the night before, and he stopped short. He had a feeling that she might even now recognize him.
    The girl went quickly down the stairs without looking around. Kern still waited for a while, then he went quickly down the corridor after her. He had suddenly become very curious to know what she looked like.
    He went down the stairs and looked about, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. He went to the door and looked up and down the street. It lay empty in the afternoon sunlight. There were only a couple of police dogs romping on the sidewalk. Kern went back