Free The Road Back by Erich Maria Remarque Page B

being unloaded and distributed in front of the Town Hall. The people snatch them from the hands of the sailors and glance through them eagerly. Their eyes shine. A gust of wind swoops down upon the packages and sends the broadsheets whirling up into the air like a flock of pigeons. The sheets catch in the bare branches of the trees and hang there rustling. "Comrades," says an old chap in a field-grey overcoat, "things will be better now, comrades." His lips are quivering.
    "Hullo! Looks as if there's something doing here," I say.
    We set off at the double. The nearer we approach to the Cathedral Square, the denser is the throng. The square itself is crammed with people. A soldier is standing on the theatre steps and making a speech. The chalky light of a carbide lamp is flickering on his face. We cannot understand properly what he is saying, for the wind sweeps over the square in spasmodic, long-drawn gusts, each time bringing with it a wave of organ music in which the thin, halting voice almost drowns.
    A vague, tense excitement is hanging over the place. The crowd stands like a wall—almost all are soldiers, some of them with their wives. Their silent faces have the same grim expression as when they peered out across No Man's Land from under their steel helmets. But something more is in their look now—hope for a future—elusive expectancy of a new life.
    Shouts come from the direction of the theatre, and are answered by a subdued roar. "That's the stuff!" cries Willy joyfully. "Now for some fun!" Arms are raised. A sudden tremor passes over the crowd, the ranks begin to move. A procession forms itself. Shouts, cries: "Forward, comrades!" Like an immense deep sigh the sound of marching rustles over the pavement. We swing into line automatically. On our right is an artilleryman; ahead, an engineer. We form up squad by squad. Few of us are known to the other, yet at once we trust each other. They are our comrades, that is enough. "Come, Otto, join in!" shouts the engineer in front of us to one who as yet has not moved.
    He hesitates. His wife is with him. She slips her arm into his and looks at him. He smiles awkwardly: "Afterwards, Franz."
    Willy pulls a wry face. "When petticoats appear comradeship's finished, you take it from me!"
    "Ach, rot!" protests the engineer, giving him a cigarette. "Women are one half of life—But there's a time for everything, of course."
    Involuntarily we fall into step. But this is another kind of marching from that we have been used to. The pavement echoes, and like lightning a wild breathless hope sweeps over the column, as though the road would now lead us straight on into the new life of freedom and justice.
    But already, after only a few hundred yards, the procession stops. It has halted in front of the Mayor's house. Some workers rattle at the outer door. All remains quiet; but the pale face of a woman is seen a moment behind the shut windows. The rattling increases; a stone is thrown at the window. A second follows. Splintered glass falls clashing into the front garden.
    Then the Mayor shows himself on the balcony of the first floor. He is greeted with shouts, he tries to protest but none will hear him. "Come out! Come with us!" cries somebody.
    The Mayor shrugs his shoulders and nods assent. A few minutes later he is marching at the head of the procession.
    The next to be hauled out is the chief of the Food Control Office. Then a bewildered, bald-headed fellow who has been profiteering in butter. We missed nabbing a corn dealer—he shut himself up just in time when he heard us coming.
    The procession now marches to the Castle and piles up before the entrance to the District Headquarters. A soldier dashes up the steps and goes inside. We wait. The windows are all alight.
    At last the door opens again. We crane our necks. A man with a portfolio comes out. He turns out some sheets of paper from his case and in a monotonous voice begins reading a speech. We listen intently. Willy puts