Penguin Modern Classics
Penguin Modem Classics America
Franz Kafka was born in Prague in 1883, the son of a rich Jewish Czech merchant. After studying literature and medicine for a short time, he turned to law, which he believed was the profession that would give him the greatest amount of free time for his private life and for his writing. He took his doctorate in law at Prague University, got a job with an insurance company, and later became a clerk in the semi-governmental Workers’ Insurance Office.
In later years the necessity of earning his living by routine office work became an intolerable burden, and he broke away altogether, settling down in a Berlin suburb to devote himself to writing. In 1914 he became engaged, but broke it off, feeling unable to face marriage. He made one more attempt to marry, but it was discovered that he was suffering from tuberculosis and he went to a sanatorium. His unsatisfactory love affairs, his relationship with his father, a self-made man who cared nothing for his son’s literary aspirations, and his own inflexible intellectual honesty and almost psychopathic sensitivity finally broke down his health and the ‘hunger years’ of post-1918 Berlin added the finishing touches. He died in 1924. Although a Czech, Kafka’s books were all written in German. Seven of them were published during his lifetime. The Trial first appeared after the author’s death in 1925, The Castle in 1926, America in 1927, and The Great Wall of China in 1931.
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Franz Kafka
America
with an introduction by Edwin Muir and a postscript by Max Brod
Penguin Books
in association
with Martin Seeker & Warburg
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Penguin Books Ltd, Harmondsworth,
Middlesex, England
Penguin Books, 625 Madison Avenue,
New York, New York 10022, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood,
Victoria, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 2801 John Street, Markham, Ontario, Canada L3R 1B4 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand
Amerika first published in Germany 1927
Translated by Willa and Edwin Muir and
first published in Great Britain by
George Routledge 1938
Definitive edition published by
Martin Seeker & Warburg 1949
Pubbshed in Penguin Books 1967
Reprinted 1970, 1971, 1972, 1974, 1975, 1976, 1978, 1981
Made and printed in Great Britain by Hazell Watson 8c Viney Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks Set in Lintotype Jubana
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
Contents
Introductory Note 7
1 The Stoker 1 3
2 Uncle Jacob 44
3 A Country House near New York 59
4 The Road to Raineses 95
5 The Hotel Occidental 123
6 The Case of Robinson 149
7 A Refuge 196
8 The Nature Theatre of Oklahoma 246 Postscript 269
Introductory Note
America stands somewhat apart from Kafka’s two other long stories, The Castle and The Trial. On the surface, at least, it has little trace of allegory; it contains no inaccessible castles and no mysterious courts of justice. It deals with ordinary people, stokers, vagabonds, bankers, hotel employees; and they are not intended to have a symbolical meaning or to stand for anything but themselves. Yet America reads very like the. other two books; the quality of the imagination is the same, and it takes us into a strange world which becomes stranger the more realistically, the more circumstantially, it is described. In the other two stories Kafka’s allegory is superb, taken as mere allegory; but the essence of his genius lies in those turns of his imagination which are quite unpre¬ dictable and cannot be given an allegorical meaning; in an obstinate strangeness which is the expression of his sense of the ambiguity of everything: ships and offices and hotels, as in the present book, or good and evil; justice and mercy, as in all his books; He sees everything solidly and ambigu¬ ously at the same time; and the more visually exact he succeeds in making things, the more questionable they become. The circumstantial description in the present story of the hotel where Karl Rossmann works as a lift-boy may be taken either as painstaking realism or as pure comic fantasy. It is really a description of the endless complication and imperfection of all human action which, in spite of both, most surprisingly works in practice. Every story of Kafka comes back eventually to that. So that it may be said of him
1
that it hardly matters what he writes about; for any starting point will bring him to his subject.
America is one of the happiest of Kafka’s stories. In his other two long stories the fantasy is never far from night¬ mare; but here, except in the description of the country house and of Delamarche’s quarters with Brunelda, it is pure enjoyment, free improvisation without any or without much serious afterthought. The passages on the American desk, the American buffet, the American traffic regulations, are obviously comic variations on the sort of information which is provided by travel books. The description of the lift-boy’s sleeping arrangements, on the other hand, is pure invention bordering on farce; one feels here that Kafka is working everything out as he did in his two allegorical novels; given the conditions of the boy’s life, this, he seems to say, is what was bound to happen. He leaves nothing out of account; he exaggerates and extenuates nothing; with the most pain¬ staking logic he arrives at broad farce. The Head Porter’s office is another comic masterpiece. This, too, is ‘worked out’; indeed one may say that in this book America itself, as Kafka knew it, that is from reading, is worked out, with very sur¬ prising results. It is exactly the same method as he used in the two allegorical novels, where he worked out the implica¬ tions of divine justice and divine grace.
America is not allegorical; yet there is something semi- allegorical, or at least representative, about the hero, Karl Rossmann. All Kafka’s main figures have this quality; they are not mere individuals; they are images of man in conflict with fate. There are various points, or stations, in that con¬ flict. Joseph Kafka in The Trial first defies, then tries to discover, then is overtaken by divine justice. Kafka in The Castle tries to be accepted by divine grace, which first eludes him, but is ironically granted him when, on his death-bed, he gives up the struggle. The boy Karl Rossmann in the present book stands for natural goodness and innocence; he is en¬ tangled without guilt in questionable situations, involved
8
with bad companions (the infamous Delamarche and Robin¬ son), falsely accused and in danger of arrest; but his natural innocence saves him from every danger. His story is the story of innocence, as that of the heroes of the other two books is the story of experience. Karl is still unfallen, though his life is spent among fallen creatures; the undercurrent of the story is therefore happy, in spite of the sordid circumstances in which it takes place; these only make Karl’s goodness shine out more clearly. The last chapter shows that the ending, too, was intended to be a happy one. The book was never finished, nor were the other two; for a writer who sets himself to work out the human situation embarks on a task which can be prolonged indefinitely, and to which there is no given term. In one of his aphorisms Kafka said : There is an end, but no way; what we call the way is shilly-shallying/ We know the end he had in mind for all his stories; but the road to it could have gone on forever, for life as he saw it was endlessly ambiguous; so that there seems to be a necessity in the gaps which are left’ in his three stories; if he had filled up these gaps, others would have appeared. Actually the gaps do not matter, for he found his subject everywhere.
Kafka’s imagination was unusually objective, in spite of its fantastic strangeness; in the work of no other modem writer is there a more circumstantial and just description of the human situation. But a biography recently published by his intimate friend, Dr Max Brod, throws a i great deal of light on the actual material from which he constructed his picture of life. Kafka was an ailing and sensitive boy with a robust and domineering father. The Kafkas had always been re¬ nowned for their physical strength and their powers of endurance. Franz took after his mother, who came of a family of scholars given to religious contemplation. He felt from his childhood that his father was disappointed with him and never really accepted him. At the same time he wanted to be accepted, but on his own terms. The resulting conflict lasted until he was thirty-six, when he wrote his father an
9
extraordinary letter, the size of a short volume, in which he analysed their relations from the start, doing impartial justice to both, and showing clearly how the tangle had arisen. But it did not get him nearer to his father, nor did it get him away from his father. The break did not come until a few years later, when he went to live in Berlin with Dora Dymant, a young Jewess belonging to the Chassid family. The few months from then to his death were the happiest in his life. He died in 1924, in his forty-first year, of tuberculosis.
The connexion between the actual story of Kafka’s relations with his father and the three chief stories he wrote is clear enough in itself; but he also expressly admitted it in the letter which he wrote when he was thirty-six. 'My writings are about you/ he told his father. ‘I merely poured out in them what I could not pour out on your breast. They were a deliberately prolonged farewell, imposed by you, certainly, but given a direction determined by myself.’ The Trial is the story of a man unjustly and yet legitimately persecuted for a fault of which he is unaware. The Castle is the story of a man who spends all his strength in trying to be accepted by an inaccessible authority which always eludes him. The harder he tries, the more ironical becomes the response of the in¬ accessible authority. In America the hero is cast off by his father for no fault of his own, but because 'a servant girl bad seduced him and got herself with child by him’; the note is struck in the very first sentence. It is Karl’s separation that gives the book its atmosphere of freedom as compared with the other two books, where the tie is unbroken and father and son remain confronted, though invisible to each other, from beginning to end. Karl’s freedom is a fortuitous and wild freedom, filled with traps; but, away from his father, he eventually finds a place for himself where, as Dr Brod says, he regains 'even his old home and his parents, as if by some celestial witchery.' The permanent preoccupation of Kafka’s mind, after being banished for most of the story.
10
comes back again at the end, which is just as allegorical as The T rial and The Castle.
No imaginative writer chooses his theme; it is chosen for him by the experience which has most deeply affected him. To trace back the inspiration of Kafka’s stories to his rela¬ tions with his father is not to belittle them or to give them a merely subjective validity. The extraordinary thing in Kafka was the profundity with which he grasped that experience and worked it out in universal terms, until it became a description of human destiny in general, into which count¬ less meanings, at once ambiguous and clear, could be read. There is a less intense pressure behind the scenes in America than in the other books, and that is one of the things which make it perhaps the most purely delightful of Kafka’s books. But the father has not entirely disappeared; Karl acquires, one after another, a whole series of delusive fathers: his uncle Jacob, Mr Pollunder, amiable but unreliable, Mr Green, malicious and true to his word, and finally the pitiless ruffian Delamarche. The account of his life in Delamarche’s flat is one of the most wonderful episodes that Kafka ever wrote. There are countless fortuitous beauties in the book; perhaps the finest of them is Therese’s story of her mother’s death. The construction is far easier than that of The Castle and The Trial, and the ease comes from Karl's ostensible freedom, which gave Kafka’s imagination, too, a licensed liberty.
EDWIN MUIR
%
11
i. The Stoker
As Karl Rossm^nn, a poor boy of sixteen who had been packed off to America by his parents because a servant girl had seduced him and got herself with child by him, stood on the liner slowly entering the harbour of New York, a sudden burst of sunshine seemed to illumine the Statue of Liberty, so that he saw it in a new light, although he had sighted it long before. The arm with the sword rose up as if newly stretched aloft, and round the figure blew the free winds of heayen.
‘So high F he said to himself, and was gradually edged to the very rail by the swelling throng of porters pushing past him, since he was not thinking at all of getting off the ship.
A young man with whom he had struck up a slight acquaintance on the voyage called out in passing : ‘Not very anxious to. go ashore, are you?’ ‘Oh, Fm quite ready/ said Karl with a laugh, and being both strong and in high spirits he heaved his box on to his shoulder. But as his eye followed his acquaintance, who was already moving on among the others, lightly swinging a walking-stick, he realized with dis¬ may that he had forgotten his umbrella down below. He hast- ily begged his acquaintance, who did not seem particularly gratified, to oblige him by waiting beside the box for a minute,* took another survey of the situation to get his bear¬ ings for the return journey, and harried away. Below decks he found to his disappointment that a gangway which made a handy short-cut had been barred for the first time in his experience, probably in connexion with the disembarkation of so many passengers, and he had painfully to find his way
13
down endlessly recurring stairs, through corridors with countless turnings, through an empty room with a deserted writing-table, until in the end, since he had taken this route no more than once or twice and always among a crowd of other people, he lost himself completely. In his bewilderment, meeting no one and hearing nothing but the ceaseless shuffling of thousands of feet above him, and in the distance, like faint breathing, the last throbbings of the engines, which had already been shut off, he began unthinkingly to hammer on a little door by which he had chanced to stop in his wanderings.
It isn't locked/ a voice shouted from inside, and Karl opened the door with genuine relief. ‘What are you hammer¬ ing at the door for, like a madman?' asked a huge man, scarcely even glancing at Karl. Through an opening of some kind a feeble glimmer of daylight, all that was left after the top decks had used it up, fell into the wretched cubby-hole in which a bunk, a cupboard, a chair and the man were packed together, as if they had been stored there. Tve lost my way/ said Karl. ‘I never noticed it during the voyage, but this is a terribly big ship/ ‘Yes, you’re right there/ said the man with a certain pride, fiddling all the time with the lock of a little sea-chest, which he kept pressing with both hands in the hope of hearing the wards snap home. ‘But come inside/ he went on, ‘you don’t want to stand out there ! ’ ‘I’m not dis¬ turbing you?’ asked Karl. ‘Why, how should you disturb me?’ ‘Are you a German?’ Karl asked to reassure himself further, for he had heard a great deal about the perils which threatened newcomers to America, particularly from the Irish. ‘That’s what I am, yes/ said the man. Karl still hesi¬ tated. Then the man suddenly seized the door handle and pulling the door shut with a hasty movement swept Karl into the cabin.
‘I can’t stand being stared at from the passage/ he said, beginning to fiddle with his chest again, ‘people keep passing and staring in, it’s more than a man can bear.’ ‘But the
14
passage is quite empty/ said Karl, who was standing squeezed uncomfortably against the end of the bunk. ‘Yes, now/ said the man. ‘But it’s now we were speaking about/ thought Karl, ‘it’s hard work talking to this man/ ‘Lie down on the bunk, you’ll have more room there/ said the man. Karl scrambled in as well as he could, and laughed aloud at his first unsuccessful attempt to swing himself over. But scarcely was he in the bunk when he cried: ‘Good Lord, I’ve quite forgotten my box !’ ‘Why, where is it?’ ‘Up on deck, a man I know is looking after it. What’s his name again?’ And he fished a visiting-card from a pocket which his mother had made in the lining of his coat for the voyage. ‘Butterbaum, Franz Butterbaum.’ ‘Can’t you do without your box?’ ‘Of course not.’ ‘Well, then, why did you leave it in a stranger’s hands?’ 'I forgot my umbrella down below and rushed off to get it; I didn’t want to drag my box with me. Then on top of that I got lost.’ ‘You’re all alone? Without anyone to look after you?’ ‘Yes, all alone.’ ‘Perhaps I should join up with this man/ the thought came into Karl’s head, ‘where am I likely to find a better friend?’ ‘And now you’ve lost the box as well. Not to mention the umbrella/ And the man sat down on the chair as if Karl’s business had at last acquired some interest for him. ‘But I think my box can’t be lost yet.’ ‘You can think *what you like,’ said the man, vigorously scratching his dark, short, thick hair. ‘But morals change every time you come to a new port. In Hamburg your Butterbaum might maybe have looked after your box; while 'here it’s most likely that they’ye both disappeared.’ ‘But then I must go up and see about it at once,’ said Karl, looking round for the way out. ‘You just stay where you are/ said the man, giving him a push with one hand on the chest, quite roughly, so that he fell bade on the bunk again. ‘But why?’ asked Karl in exas¬ peration. ‘Because there’s no pointMn it/ said the man, ‘I’m leaving too very soon, and we can go together. Either the box is stolen and then there’s no help for it, or the man has left it standing where it was, and then we’ll find it all the
15
more easily when the ship is empty. And the same with your umbrella.' ‘Do you know your way about the ship?’ asked Karl suspiciously, and it seemed to him that the idea, other¬ wise plausible, that his things would be easier to find when the ship was empty must have a catch in it somewhere. ‘Why, I’m a stoker,’ said the man. ‘You’re a stoker 1' cried Karl delightedly, as if this surpassed all his expectations, and he rose up on his elbow to look at the man more closely. ‘Just outside the room where I slept with the Slovaks there was a little window through which we could see into the engine- room.' ‘Yes, that’s where I’ve been working,’ said the stoker. ‘I have always had a passion for machinery,’ said Karl, follow¬ ing his own train of thought, ‘and I would have become an engineer in time, that’s certain, if I hadn’t had to go to America.’ ‘Why did you have to go?’ ‘Oh, that !’ said Karl, dismissing the whole business with a wave of the hand. He looked with a smile at the stoker, as if begging his indulgence for not telling. ‘There was some reason for it, I suppose,’ said the stoker, and it was hard to tell whether in saying that he wanted to encourage or discourage Karl to tell. ‘I could be a stoker now too,’ said Karl, ‘it’s all one now to my father and mother what becomes of me.’ ‘My job’s going to be free,’ said the stoker, and to point his full consciousness of it, he stuck his hands into his trouser pockets and flung his legs in their baggy, leather-like trousers on the bunk to stretch them. Karl had to shift nearer to the wall. ‘Are you leaving the ship?’ ‘Yes, we’re paid off today.’ ‘But why? Don’t you like it?’ ‘Oh, that’s the way things are run; it doesn’t always depend on whether a man likes it or not. But you’re quite right, I don’t like it. I don’t suppose you’re thinking seriously of being a stoker, but that’s just the time when you’re most likely to turn into one. So I advise you strongly against it. If you wanted to study engineering in Europe, why shouldn’t you study it here? The American universities are ever so much better than the European ones.’ ‘That’s possible,’ said Karl, ‘but I have hardly any money to study on. I’ve read of
16
someone who worked all day in a shop and studied at night until he became a doctor, and a mayor, too, I think, but that needs a lot of perseverance, doesn't it? I'm afraid I haven't got that. Besides, I wasn't a particularly good scholar; it was no great wrench for me to leave school. And maybe the schools here are more difficult. I can hardly speak any English at all. Anyhow, people here have a prejudice against foreigners, I think.' ‘So you’ve come up against that kind of thing too, have you? Well, that's all to the good. You're the man for me. See here, this is a German ship we’re on, it belongs to the Hamburg- American Line; so why aren’t the crew all Germans, I ask you? Why is the Chief Engineer a Roumanian? A man called Schubal. It's hard to believe it. A measly hound like that slave-driving us Germans on a Ger¬ man ship ! You mustn’t think' - here his voice failed him and he gesticulated with his hands - ‘that I’m complaining for the sake of complaining. I know you have no influence and that you’re a poor lad yourself. But it's too much !’ And he brought his fist several times down on the table, never taking his eyes from it while he flourished it. ‘I’ve signed on in ever so many ships' - and he reeled off twenty names one after the other as if they were one word, which quite con¬ fused Karl - ‘and I've done good work in all of them, been praised, pleased every captain I ever had, actually stuck to the same cargo boat for several years, I did’ - he rose to his feet as if that had been the greatest achievement of his life - ‘and here on this tub, where everything’s done by rule and you don’t need any wits at all, here I’m no good, here I’m just in Schubal’s way, here I’m a slacker who should be kicked out and doesn't begin to earn his pay. Can you understand that? I can’t.' ‘Don’t you put up with it !' said Karl excitedly. He had almost lost the feeling that he was on the uncertain boards of a ship, beside the coast of an unknown continent, so much at home did he feel here in the stoker’s bunk. ‘Have you seen the Captain about it? Have you asked him to give you your rights?’ ‘Oh, get away with you, out you get, I
17
don’t want you here. You don’t listen to what I say, and then you give me advice. How could I go to the Captain?’ Wearily the stoker sat down again and hid his face in his hands.
‘I can’t give him any better advice/ Karl told himself. And it occurred to him that he would have done better to go and get his box instead of handing out advice that was merely regarded as stupid. When his father had given him the box for good he had said in jest: ‘How long will you keep it?’ and now that faithful box had perhaps been lost in earnest. His sole remaining consolation was that his father could hardly learn of his present situation, even if he were to inquire. All that the shipping company could say was that he had safely reached New York. But Karl felt sorry to think that he had hardly used the things in the box yet, although, to take an instance, he should long since have changed his shirt. So his economies had started at the wrong point, it seemed; now, at the very beginning of his career, when it was essential to show himself in clean clothes, he would have to appear in a dirty shirt. Otherwise the loss of the box would not have been so serious, for the suit which he was wearing was actually better than the one in the box, which in reality was merely an emergency suit that his mother had hastily mended just before he left. Then he remembered that in the box there was a piece of Veronese salami which his mother had packed as an extra tit-bit, only he had not been able to eat more than a scrap of it, for during the voyage he had been quite without any appetite, and the soup which was served in the steerage had been more than sufficient for him. But now he would have liked to have the salami at hand, so as to present it to the stoker. For such people were easily won over by the gift of some trifle or other; Karl had learned that from his father, who deposited cigars in the pockets of the subordinate officials with whom he did business, and so won them over. Yet all that Karl now possessed in the way of gifts was his money, and he did not want to touch that
18
for the time being, in case he should have lost his box. Again his thoughts turned back to the box, and he simply could not understand why he should have watched it during the voyage so vigilantly that he had almost lost his sleep over it, only to let that same box be filched from him so easily now. He remembered the five nights during which he had kept a suspicious eye on a little Slovak whose bunk was two places away from him on the left, and who had designs, he was sure, on the box. This Slovak was merely waiting for Karl to be overcome by sleep and doze off for a minute, so that he might manoeuvre the box away with a long, pointed stick which he was always playing or practising with during the day. By day the Slovak looked innocent enough, but hardly did night come on than he kept rising up from his bunk to cast melancholy glances, at Karl’s box. Karl had seen this quite clearly, for every now and then someone would light a little candle, although it was forbidden by the ship’s regula¬ tions, and with the anxiety of the emigrant would peer into some incomprehensible prospectus of an emigration agency. If one of these candles was burning near him, Karl could doze off for a little, but if it was farther away or if the place was quite dark, he had to keep his eyes open. The strain of this task had quite exhausted him, and now perhaps it had all been in vain. Oh, that Butterbaum, if ever he met him again !
At that moment, in the distance, the unbroken silence was disturbed by a series of small, short taps) like the tapping of children’s feet; they came nearer, growing louder, until they sounded like the tread of quietly marching men. Men in single file, as was natural in the narrow passage, and a clashing as of arms could be heard. Karl, who had been on the point of relaxing himself in a sleep free of all worries about boxes and Slovaks, started up and nudged the stoker to draw his attention, for the head of the procession seemed just to have reached the door. ‘That’s the ship’s band,’ said the stoker, ‘they’ve been playing up above and have come back to pack
' *9
up. All’s clear now, and we can go. Come V He took Karl by the hand, snatched at the last moment a framed picture of the Madonna from the wall above the bed, stuck it into his breast pocket, seized his chest, and with Karl hastily left the cubby-hole.
Tm going to the office now to give them a piece of my mind. All the passengers are gone; I don’t need to care what I do.’ The stoker kept repeating this theme with variations, and as he walked on kicked out his foot sideways at a rat which crossed his way, but merely drove it more quickly into its hole, which it reached just in time. He was slow in all his movements, for though his legs were long they were mas¬ sive as well.
They went through part of the kitchen, where some girls in dirty white aprons - which they splashed deliberately - were washing dishes in great tubs. The stoker hailed a girl called Lina, put his arm round her waist, and since she coquettishly resisted the embrace dragged her a part of the way with him. ‘It’s pay-day; aren’t you coming along?’ he asked. ‘Why take the trouble; you can bring me the money here,’ she replied, squirming under his arm and running away. ‘Where did you pick up that good-looking boy?’ she cried after him, but without waiting for an answer. They could hear the laughter of the other girls, who had all stopped their work.
But they went on and came to a door above which there was a little pediment, supported by tiny, gilded caryatides. For a ship’s fitting it looked extravagantly sumptuous. Karl realized that he had never been in this part of the ship, which during the voyage had probably been reserved for passengers of the first and second class; but the doors that cut it off had now been thrown open to prepare for the cleaning down of the ship. Indeed, they had already met some men with brooms on their shoulders, who had greeted the stoker. Karl was amazed at the extent of the ship’s organization; as a steerage passenger he had seen very little of it. Along the
20
corridors ran wires of electric installations, and a little bell kept sounding every now and then.
The stoker knocked respectfully at the door, and when someone cried ‘Come in!’ urged Karl with a wave of the hand to enter boldly. Karl stepped in, but remained stand¬ ing beside the door. The three windows of this room framed a view of the sea, and gazing at the cheerful motion of the waves his heart beat faster, as if he had not been looking at the sea without interruption for five long days. Great ships crossed each other’s courses in either direction, yielding to the assault of the waves oniy as far as their ponderous weight permitted them. If one almost shut one’s eyes, these ships seemed to be staggering under their own weight. From their masts flew long, narrow pennants which, though kept taut by the speed of their going, at the same time fluttered a little. Probably from some battleship there could be heard salvoes, fired in salute, and a warship of some kind passed at no great distance; the muzzles of its guns, gleaming with the reflec¬ tion of sunlight on steel, seemed to be nursed along by the sure, smooth motion, although not on an even keel. Only a distant view of the smaller ships and boats could be had, at least from the door, as they darted about in swarms through the gaps between the great ships. And behind them all rose New York, and its skyscrapers stared at Karl with their hundred thousand eyes. Yes, in this room one realized where one was.
At a round table three gentlemen were sitting, one a ship’s officer in the blue ship’s uniform, the two others harbour officials in black American uniforms. On the table lay piles of various papers, which the officer first glanced over, pen in hand, and then handed to the two others, who read them, made excerpts, and filed them away in portfolios, except when 'they were not actually engaged in taking down some kind of protocol which one of them dictated to his colleagues, making clicking noises with his teeth all the time.
By the first window a little man was sitting at a desk with his back to the door; he was busy with some huge ledgers
21
ranked on a stout book-shelf on a level with his head. Beside him stood an open safe which, at first glance at least, seemed empty.
The second window was vacant and gave the better view. But near the third two gentlemen were standing conversing in low tones. One of them was leaning against the window; he was wearing the ship's uniform and playing with the hilt of his sword. The man to whom he was speaking faced the window, and now and then a movement of his disclosed part of a row of decorations on the breast of his interlocutor. He was in civilian clothes and carried a thin bamboo cane which, as both his hands were resting on his hips, also stood out like a sword.
Karl did not have much time to see all this, for almost at once an attendant came up to them and asked the stoker, with a glance which seemed to indicate that he had no busi¬ ness here, what he wanted. The stoker replied as softly as he had been asked that he wished to speak to the Head Purser. The attendant made a gesture of refusal with his hand, but all the same tiptoed towards the man with the ledgers, avoid¬ ing the round table by a wide detour. The ledger official - this could clearly be seen - stiffened all over at the words of the attendant, but at last turned round towards this man who wished to speak to him and waved him away violently, repudiating the attendant too, to make quite certain. The attendant then sidled back to the stoker and said in the voice of one imparting a confidence : ‘Clear out of here at once ! ’
At this reply the stoker turned his eyes on Karl, as if Karl were his heart, to whom he was silently bewailing his grief. Without stopping to think, Karl launched himself straight across the room, actually brushing against one of the officers' chairs, while the attendant chased after him, swooping with widespread arms as if to catch an insect; but Karl was the first to reach the Head Purser's desk; which he gripped firmly in case the attendant should try to drag him away.
The whole room naturally sprang to life at once. The ship's
22
officer at the table leapt to his feet; the harbour officials looked on calmly but attentively; the two gentlemen by the window moved closer to each other; the attendant, who thought it was no longer his place to interfere, since his masters were now involved, stepped back. The stoker waited tensely by the door for the moment when his intervention should be required. And the Head Purser at last made a com¬ plete rightabout turn in his chair.
From his secret pocket, which he did not mind showing to these people, Karl hauled out his passport/ which he opened and laid on the desk in lieu of further introduction. The Head Purser seemed to consider the passport irrelevant, for he flicked it aside with two fingers, whereupon Karl, as if that formality were satisfactorily settled, put it back in his pocket again. *
‘May I be allowed to say/ he then began, ‘that in my opin¬ ion an injustice has been done to my friend the stoker? There’s a certain man Schubal aboard who bullies him. He has a long record of satisfactory service on many ships, whose names he can give you, he is diligent, takes an interest in his work, and it’s really hard to see why on this particular ship, where the work, isn’t so heavy as on cargo boats, for instance, he should get so little credit. It must be sheer slander that keeps him back and robs him of the recognition that should certainly be his. I have confined myself, as you can see, to generalities; he can lay his specific complaints before you him¬ self.’ In saying this Karl had addressed • all the gentlemen present, because in fact they were all listening to him, and because it seemed much more likely that among so many at least one just man might be found, than that the one just man should be the Head Purser. Karl also guilefully con¬ cealed the fact that he had known the stoker for such a short time. But he would have made a rrujch better speech had he not been distracted by the red face of the man with the bam¬ boo cane, which was now in his line of vision for the first time.
*3
‘It's all true, every word of it/ said the stoker before any¬ one even asked him, indeed before anyone so much as looked at him. This over-eagerness on his part might have proved a great mistake if the man with the decorations who, it now dawned on Karl, was of course the Captain, had not clearly made up his mind to hear the case. For he stretched out his hand and called to the stoker: ‘Come here!’ in a voice as firm as a rock. Everything now depended on the stoker’s be¬ haviour, for about the justice of his case Karl had no doubt whatever.
Luckily it appeared at this point that the stoker was a man of some worldly experience. With exemplary composure he drew out of his sea-chest, at the first attempt, a little bundle of papers and a notebook, walked over with them to the Captain as if that were a matter of course, entirely ignor¬ ing the Head Purser, and spread out his evidence on the window-ledge. There was nothing for the Head Purser to do but also to come forward. ‘The man is a notorious grumbler/ he said in explanation, ‘he spends more time in the pay-room than in the engine-room. He has driven Schubal, who’s a quiet fellow, to absolute desperation. Listen to me !’ here he turned to the stoker. ‘You’re a great deal too persistent in pushing yourself forward. How often have you been flung out of the pay-room already, and serve you right too, for your impudence in demanding things to which you have no right whatever? How often have you gone running from the pay-room to the Purser’s office? How often has it been patiently explained to you that Schubal is your immediate superior, and that it’s him you have to deal with, and him alone? And now you actually come here, when the Captain himself is present, to pester him with your impu¬ dence, and as if that weren’t enough you bring a mouth¬ piece with you to reel off the absurd grievances you’ve drilled into him, a boy I’ve never even seen on the ship before 1 ’
Karl forcibly restrained himself from springing forward.
24
But the Captain had already intervened with the remark: ‘Better hear what the man has to say for himself. Schubal's getting a good deal too big for his boots these days, but that doesn't mean I think you’re right.' The last words were addressed to the stoker; it was only natural that the Captain should not take his part at once, yet everything seemed to be going the right way. The stoker began to state his case and controlled himself so far at the very beginning as to call Schubal ‘Mr Schubal'. Standing beside the Head Purser’s vacant desk, Karl felt so pleased that in his delight he kept pressing the letter-scales down with his finger. Mr Schubal was unfair ! Mr Schubal gave the preference to foreigners 1 Mr Schubal ordered the stoker out of the engine-room and made him clean water-closets, which was not a stoker’s job at all ! At one point even the capability of Mr Schubal was called in question, as being more apparent than real. At this point Karl fixed his eyes on the Captain and stared at him with earnest deference, as if they had been colleagues, to keep him from being influenced against the stoker by the man’s awkward way of expressing himself. All the same, nothing definite emerged from the stoker’s outpourings, and although the Captain still listened thoughtfully, his eyes expressing a resolution to hear the stoker this time to the end, the other gentlemen were growing impatient and the stoker’s 'voice no longer dominated the room, which was a bad sign. The gentleman in civilian clothes was the first to show his impatience by bringing his bamboo stick into play and tapping, though only softly, on the floor. The others still looked up now and then; but the two harbour officials, who were clearly pressed for time, snatched up their papers again and began, though somewhat absently, to glance over them; the ship’s officer turned to his desk, and the Head Purser, who now thought he had won the day, heaved a loud ironical sigh. From the general dispeftion of interest the only one who seemed to be exempt was the attendant, who sym¬ pathized to some extent with this poor man confronting the
great, and gravely nodded to Karl as though trying to explain something.
Meanwhile, outside the windows, the life of the harbour went on; a flat barge laden with a mountain of barrels, which must have been wonderfully well packed, since they did not roll off, went past, almost completely obscuring the daylight; little motor-boats, which Karl would have liked to examine thoroughly if he had had time, shot straight past in obed¬ ience to the slightest touch of the man standing erect at the wheel. Here and there curious objects bobbed independently out of the restless water, were immediately submerged again and sank before his astonished eyes; boats belonging to the ocean liners were rowed past by sweating sailors; they were filled with passengers sitting silent and expectant as if they had been stowed there, except that some of them could not refrain from turning their heads to gaze at the changing scene. A movement without end, a restlessness transmitted from the restless element to helpless human beings and their works !
But everything demanded haste, clarity, exact statement; and what was the stoker doing? Certainly he was talking himself into a sweat; his hands were trembling so much that he could no longer hold the papers he had laid on the window- ledge; from all points of the compass complaints about Schubal streamed into his head, each of which, it seemed to him, should have been sufficient to dispose of Schubal for good; but all he could produce for the Captain was a wretched far¬ rago in which everything was lumped together. For a long time the man with the bamboo cane had been staring at the ceiling and whistling to himself; the harbour officials now detained the ship’s officer at their table and showed no sign of ever letting him go again; the Head Purser was clearly re¬ strained from letting fly only by the Captain’s composure; the attendant stood at attention, waiting every moment for the Captain to give an order concerning the stoker.
At that Karl could no longer remain inactive. So he ad-
26
vanced slowly towards the group, running over in his mind the more rapidly all the ways in which he could most adroitly handle the affair. It was certainly high time; a little longer, and they might quite well both of them be kicked out of the office. The Captain might be a good man and might also, or so it seemed to Karl, have some particular reason at the moment to show that he was a just master; but after all he wasn't a mere instrument to be recklessly played on, and that was exactly how the stoker was treating him in the boundless indignation of his heart.
Accordingly Karl said to the stoker : Tou must put things more simply, more clearly; the Captain can't do justice to what you are telling him. How can he know all the mech¬ anics and ship’s boys by name, far less by their first names, so that when you mention So-and-so he can tell at once who is meant? Take your grievances in order, tell the most impor¬ tant ones first and the lesser ones afterwards; perhaps you’ll find that it won’t be necessary even to mention most of them. You always explained them clearly enough to me !’ If boxes could be stolen in America, one could surely tell a he now and then as well, he thought in self -excuse.
But was his advice of any use? Might it not already be too late? The stoker certainly stopped speaking at once when he heard the familiar voice, but his eyes were so blinded with tears of wounded dignity, of dreadful memory, of extreme present grief, that he could hardly even recognize Karl. How could he at this stage - Karl silently realized this, facing the now silent stoker - how could he at this stage suddenly change his style of argument, when it seemed plain to him that he had already said all there was to say without evoking the slightest sympathy, and at the same time that he had said nothing at all, and could not expect these gentlemen to listen to the whole rigmarole over again? And at such a moment Karl, his sole supporter, had to break in with so- called good advice which merely made it clear that every¬ thing was lost, everything.
n
‘If I had only spoken sooner, instead of looking out of the window/ Karl told himself, dropping his eyes before the stoker and letting his hands fall to his sides as a sign that all hope was ended.
But the stoker mistook the action, feeling, no doubt, that Karl was nursing some secret reproach against him, and, in the honest desire to disabuse him, crowned all his other offences by starting to wrangle at this moment with Karl At this very moment, when the men at the round table were completely exasperated by the senseless babble that disturbed their important labours, when the Head Purser was gradually beginning to find the Captain’s patience incomprehensible and was just on the point of exploding, when the attendant, once more entirely translated to his masters’ sphere, was measuring the stoker with savage eyes, and when, finally, the gentleman with the bamboo cane, whom even the Captain eyed now and then in a friendly manner, already quite bored by the stoker, indeed disgusted at him, had pulled out a little notebook and was obviously preoccupied with quite different thoughts, glancing first at the notebook and then at Karl.
‘I know,’ said Karl, who had difficulty in turning aside the torrent which the stoker now directed at him, but yet could summon up a friendly smile for him in spite of all dissension, ‘that you’re right, you’re right, I have never doubted it.’ In his fear of being struck by the stoker’s gesticulating hands he would have liked to catch hold of them, and still better to force the man into a comer so as to whisper a few soothing, reassuring words to him which no one else could hear. But the stoker was past all bounds. Karl now began actually to take a sort of comfort in the thought that in case of need the stoker could overwhelm the seven men in the room with the very strength of his desperation. But on the desk, as he could see at a glance, there was a bell-arrangement with far too many buttons; the mere pressure of one hand on them would raise the whole ship and call up all the hostile men that filled its passage-ways.
28
But here, in spite of his air of bored detachment, the gentle¬ man with the bamboo cane came over to Karl and asked, not very loudly yet clearly enough to be heard above the stoker’s ravings: ‘By the way, what’s your name?’ At that moment, as if someone behind the door had been waiting to hear this remark, there was a knock. The attendant looked across at the Captain; the Captain nodded. Thereupon the attendant went to the door and Opened it. Outside was standing a middle-sized man in an old military coat, not looking at all like the kind of person who would attend to machinery - and yet he was Schubal. If Karl had not guessed this from the expression of satisfaction which lit up all eyes, even the Captain’s, he must have recognized it with horror from the demeanour of the stoker, who clenched his fists at the end of his outstretched arms with a vehemence that made the clenching of them seem the most important thing about him, to which he was prepared to sacrifice everything else in life. All his strength was concentrated in his fists, including the very strength that held him upright.
And so here was the enemy, fresh and gay in his shore- going clothes, a ledger under his arm, probably containing a statement of the hours worked and the wages due to the stoker, and he was openly scanning the faces of everyone present, a frank admission that his first concern was to dis¬ cover on which side they stood. All seven of them were already his friends, for even though the Captain had raised some objections to him earlier, or had pretended to do so be¬ cause he felt sorry for the stoker, it was now apparent that he had not the slightest fault to find with Schubal. A man like the stoker could not be too severely repressed, and if Schubal were to be reproached for anything, it was for not having subdued the stoker’s recalcitrance sufficiently, since the fellow had dared to face the Captain after all.
Yet it might still be assumed that the confrontation of Schubal and the stoker would achieve, even before a human tribunal, the result which would have been awarded by divine
29
justice, since Schubal, even if he were good at making a show of virtue, might easily give himself away in the long run. A brief flare-up of his evil nature would suffice to reveal it to those gentlemen, and Karl would arrange for that. He already had a rough and ready knowledge of the shrewd¬ ness, the weaknesses, the temper of the various individuals in the room, and in this respect the time he had spent there had not been wasted. It was a pity that the stoker was not more competent; he seemed quite incapable of decisive action. If one were to thrust Schubal at him, he would probably split the man's hated skull with his fists. But it was beyond his power to take the couple of steps needed to bring Schubal within reach. Why had Karl not foreseen what so easily could have been foreseen: that Schubal would inevitably put in an appearance, if not of his own accord, then by order of the Captain? Why had he not outlined an exact plan of cam¬ paign with the stoker when they were on their way here, instead of simply walking in, hopelessly unprepared, as soon as they found a door, which was what they had done? Was the stoker even capable of saying a word by this time, of answering yes and no, as he must do if he were now to be cross-examined, although, to be sure, a cross-examination was almost too much to hope for? There he stood, his legs a-sprawl, his knees uncertain, his head thrown back, and the air flowed in and out of his open mouth as if the man had no lungs to control its motion.
But Karl himself felt more strong and clear-headed than perhaps he had ever been at home. If only his father and mother could see him now, fighting for justice in a strange land before men of authority, and, though not yet triumph¬ ant, dauntlessly resolved to win the final victory ! Would they revise their opinion of him? Set him between them and praise him? Look into his eyes at last, at last, those eyes so filled with devotion to them ? Ambiguous questions, and this the most unsuitable moment to ask them !
1 have come here because I believe this stoker is accusing
30
me of dishonesty or something. A maid in the kitchen told me she saw him making in this direction. Captain, and all you other gentlemen, I am prepared to show papers to dis¬ prove any such accusation, and, if you like, to adduce the evidence of unprejudiced and incorruptible witnesses, who are waiting outside the door now.’ Thus spake Schuhal. It was, to be sure, a clear and manly statement, and from the altered expression of the listeners one might have thought they were hearing a human voice for the first time after a long interval. They certainly did not notice the holes that could be picked in that fine speech. Why, for instance, had the first relevant word that occurred to him been ‘dis¬ honesty’? Should he have been accused of that, perhaps instead of nationalistic prejudice? A maid in the kitchen had seen the stoker on his way to the office, and Schubal had immediately divined what that meant? Wasn’t it his con¬ sciousness of guilt that had sharpened his apprehension ? And he had immediately collected witnesses, had he, and then called them unprejudiced and incorruptible to boot? Impos¬ ture, nothing but imposture ! And these gentlemen were not only taken in by it, but regarded it with approval? Why had he allowed so much time to elapse between the kitchen- maid’s report and his arrival here? Simply in order to let the stoker weary the gentlemen, until they began to lose their powers of clear judgement, which Schubal feared most of all. Standing for a long time behind the door, as he must have done, had he deliberately refrained from knocking until he heard the casual question of the gentletnan with the bam¬ boo cane, which gave him grounds to hope that the stoker was already despatched?
Everything was clear enough now and Schubal’s very be¬ haviour involuntarily corroborated it, but it would have to be proved to those gentlemen by other and still more pal¬ pable means. They must be shaken up. Now then, Karl, quick, make the best of every minute you have, before the witnesses come in and confuse everything I
31
At that very moment, however, the Captain waved Schubal away, and at once - seeing that his case seemed to be provisionaliy postponed - he stepped aside and was joined by the attendant, with whom he began a whispered con¬ versation involving many side glances at the stoker and Karl, as well as the most impressive gestures. It was as if Schubal were rehearsing his next fine speech.
‘Didn’t you want to ask this youngster something, Mr Jacob ? ' the Captain said in the general silence to the gentle¬ man with the bamboo cane.
‘Why, yes,’ replied the other, with a slight bow in acknow. ledgement of the Captain’s courtesy. And he asked Karl again: ‘What is your name?’
Karl, who thought that his main business would be best served by satisfying his stubborn questioner as quickly as possible, replied briefly, without, as was his custom, intro¬ ducing himself by means of his passport, which he would have had to tug out of his pocket : ‘Karl Rossmann.’
‘But really!’ said the gentleman who had been addressed as Jacob, recoiling with an almost incredulous smile. The Captain too, the Head Purser, the ship’s officer, even the attendant, all showed an excessive astonishment on hearing Karl’s name. Only the Harbour Officials and Schubal re¬ mained indifferent.
‘But really!’ repeated Mr Jacob, walking a little stiffly up to Karl, ‘then I’m your Uncle Jacob and you’re my own dear nephew. I suspected it all the time ! ’ he said to the Captain before embracing and kissing Karl, who dumbly submitted to everything.
‘And what may your name be?’ asked Karl when he felt himself released again, very courteously, but quite coolly, trying hard to estimate the consequences which this new development might have for the stoker. At the moment, there was nothing to indicate that Schubal could extract any advantage out of it.
‘But don’t you understand your good fortune, young 3*
man?’ said the Captain, who thought that Mr Jacob was wounded in his dignity by Karl’s question, for he had re¬ tired to the window, obviously to conceal from the others the agitation on his face, which he also kept dabbing with a handkerchief. ‘It is Senator Edward Jacob who has just declared himself to be, your uncle. You have now a brilliant career in front of you, against all your previous expectations, I dare say. Try to realize this, as far as you can in the first shock of the moment, and pull yourself together ! ’
‘I certainly have an Uncle Jacob in America/ said Karl, turning to the Captain, ‘but if I understand rightly, Jacob is only the surname of this gentleman.’
‘That is so/.said the Captain, encouragingly.
‘Well, my Uncle Jacob, who is my mother’s brother, had Jacob for a Christian name, but his surname must of course be the same as my mother’s, whose maiden name was Ben- delmayer/
‘Gentlemen!’ cried the Senator, coming forward in re¬ sponse to Karl’s explanation, quite cheerful now after his recuperative retreat to the window. Everyone except the Harbour Officials laughed a little, some as if really touched, others for no visible reason.
‘Yet what I said wasn’t so ridiculous as all that/ thought Karl.
‘Gentlemen/ repeated the Senator, ‘you are involved against my will and your own in a little family scene, and so I can’t but give you an explanation, since, I fancy, no one but the Captain here’ - this reference was followed by a reciprocal bow - ‘is fully informed of the circumstances.’
‘Now I must really attend to every word/ Karl told himself, and glancing over his shoulder he was delighted to see that life was beginning to return to the figure of the stoker.
‘For the many years of my sojourn in America - though sojourn is hardly the right word to* use of an American citi¬ zen, and I am an American citizen from my very heart - for all these many years, then, I have lived completely cut
33
off from my relatives in Europe, for reasons which, in the first place, do not concern us here, and in the second, would really give me too much pain to relate. I actually dread the moment when I may be forced to explain them to my dear nephew, for some frank criticisms of his parents and their friends will be unavoidable. I’m afraid/
‘It is my uncle, no doubt about it/ Karl told himself, listening eagerly, ‘he must have had his name changed/
‘Now, my dear nephew has simply been turned out - we may as well call a spade a spade - has simply been turned out by his parents, just as you turn a cat out of the house when it annoys you. I have no intention of extenuating what my nephew did to merit that punishment, yet his trans¬ gression was of a kind that merely needs to be named to find indulgence/
‘That's not too bad/ thought Karl, ‘but I hope he won’t tell the whole story. Anyhow, he can’t know much about it. Who would tell him V
‘For he was/ Uncle Jacob went on, rocking himself a little on the bamboo cane which was braced in front of him, a gesture that actually succeeded in deprecating any unneces¬ sary solemnity which otherwise must have characterized his statement, ‘for he was seduced by a maidservant, Johanna Brummer, a person of round about thirty-five. It is far from my wishes to offend my nephew by using the word “seduced”, but it is difficult to find another and equally suit¬ able word.’
Karl, who had moved up quite close to his uncle, turned round to read from the gentlemen’s faces, the impression the story had made. None of them laughed, all were listening patiently and seriously. After all, one did not laugh at the nephew of a Senator on the first possible opportunity. It was rather the stoker who now smiled at Karl, though very faintly, but that was satisfactory in the first place, as a sign of reviving life, and excusable in the second place, since in the stoker’s bunk Karl had tried to make an impenetrable
34
mystery of this very story which was now being made so public.
‘Now this Brummer/ Uncle Jacob went on, ‘had a child by my nephew, a healthy boy, who was given the baptismal name of Jacob, evidently in memory of my unworthy self, since my nephew's doubtless quite casual references to me had managed to make a deep impression on the woman. Fortun¬ ately, let me add. For the boy’s parents, to avoid alimony or being personally involved in any scandal - I must insist that I know neither how the law stands in their district nor their general circumstances - to avoid the scandal, then, and the payment of alimony, they packed off their son, my dear nephew, to America, shamefully unprovided-for, as you can see, and the poor lad, but for the signs and wonders which still happen in America if nowhere else, would have come to a wretched end in New York, being thrown entirely on his own resources, if this servant girl hadn’t written a letter to me, which after long delays reached me the day before yes¬ terday, giving me the whole story, along with a description of my nephew and, very wisely, the name of the ship as well. If I were setting out to entertain you, gentlemen, I could read a few passages to you from this letter’ - he pulled out and flourished before them two huge, closely written sheets of letter-paper. ‘You would certainly be interested, for the letter is written with somewhat simple but well-meant cun¬ ning and with much loving care for the father of the child. But I have no intention either of entertaining you for longer than my explanation needs, or of wounding at the very start the perhaps still sensitive feelings of my nephew, who if he likes can read the letter for his own instruction in the seclu¬ sion of the room already waiting for him/
But Karl had no feelings for Johanna Brummer. Hemmed in by a vanishing past, she sat in her kitchen beside the kitchen dresser, resting her elbows %on top of it. She looked at him whenever he came to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for his father or do some errand for his mother.
35
Sometimes, awkwardly sitting sideways at the dresser, she would write a letter, drawing her inspiration from Karl’s face. Sometimes she would sit with her hand over her eyes, heed¬ ing nothing that was said to her. Sometimes she would kneel in her tiny room next the kitchen and pray to a wooden crucifix; then Karl would feel shy if he passed by and caught a glimpse of her through the crack of the slightly open door. Sometimes she would bustle about her kitchen and recoil, laughing like a witch, if Karl came near her. Sometimes she would shut the kitchen door after Karl entered, and keep hold of the door-handle until he had to beg to be let out. Sometimes she would bring him things which he did not want and press them silently into his hand. And once she called him ‘Karl’ and, while he was still dumbfounded at this unusual familiarity, led him into her room, sighing and grimacing, and locked the door. Then she flung her arms round his neck, almost choking him, and while urging him to take off her clothes, she really took off his and laid him on her bed, as if she would never give him up to anyone and would tend and cherish him to the end of time. ‘Oh Karl, my Karl ! ’ she cried; it was as if her eyes were de¬ vouring him, while his eyes saw nothing at all and he felt un¬ comfortable in all the warm bedclothes which she seemed to have piled up for him alone. Then she lay down by him and wanted some secret from him, but he could tell her none, and she showed anger, either in jest or in earnest, shook him, listened to his heart, offered her breast that he might listen to hers in turn, but could not bring him to do it, pressed her naked belly against his body, felt with her hand between his legs, so disgustingly that his head and neck started up from the pillows, then thrust her body several times against him - it was as if she were part of himself, and for that reason, perhaps, he was seized with a terrible feeling of yearning. With the tears running down his cheeks he reached his own bed at last, after many entreaties from her to come again. That was all that had happened, and yet
36
his uncle had managed to make a great song out of it. And it seemed the cook had also been thinking about him and had informed his uncle of his arrival. That had been very good of her and he would make some return for it later, if he could.
‘And now/ cried, the Senator, T want you to tell me can¬ didly whether I am your uncle or not ? ’
Tou are my uncle/ said Karl, kissing his hand and receiv¬ ing a kiss on the brow. Tm very glad to have found you, but you’re mistaken if you think my father and mother never speak kindly of you. In any case, you’ve got some points quite wrong in your story; I mean that it didn’t all happen like that in reality. But you can’t really be expected to un¬ derstand things at such a distance, and I fancy it won’t do any great harm if these gentlemen are somewhat incorrectly informed about the details of an affair which can’t have much interest for them/
‘Well spoken/ said the Senator, leading Karl up to the Captain, who was visibly sympathetic, and asking : ‘Haven’t I a splendid nephew?’
‘I am delighted/ said the Captain, making a bow which showed his military training, ‘to have met your nephew, Mr Senator. My ship is highly honoured in providing the scene for such a reunion. But the voyage in the steerage must have been very unpleasant, for we have, of course, all kinds of people travelling steerage. We do everything possible to make conditions tolerable, far more, for instance, than the American lines do, but to turn such a passage into pleasure is more than we’ve been. able to manage yet/
‘It did me no harm/ said Karl.
‘It did him no harm!’ repeated the Senator, laughing loudly.
‘Except that I’m afraid I’ve lost my box and with that he remembered all that, had happened and all that remained to be done, and he looked round him and saw the others still in the same places, silent with respect and surprise, their
32
eyes fixed upon him. Only the Harbour Officials, in so far as their severe, self-satisfied faces were legible, betrayed some regret at having come at such an unpropitious time, and the watch which they had laid on the table before them was probably more important to them than everything that had happened in the room or might still happen there.
The first to express his sympathy, after the Captain, was curiously enough the stoker. T congratulate you heartily/ he said, and shook Karl's hand, making the gesture a token of something like gratitude. Yet when he turned to the Senator with the same words the Senator drew back, as if the stoker were exceeding his rights; and the stoker im¬ mediately retreated.
But the others now saw what should be done and at once pressed in a confused throng round Karl and the Senator. So it happened that Karl actually received Schubal's con¬ gratulations, accepted them and thanked him for them. The last to advance in the ensuing lull were the Harbour Offi¬ cials, who said two words in English, which made a ludi¬ crous impression.
The Senator now felt moved to extract the last ounce of enjoyment from the situation by refreshing his own and the other’s minds with the less important details, and this was not merely tolerated but of course welcomed with interest by everyone. So he told them that he had entered in his note¬ book, for consultation in a possible emergency, his nephew’s most distinctive characteristics as enumerated by the cook in her letter. Bored by the stoker’s ravings, he had pulled out the notebook simply to distract himself, and had begun for his own amusement to compare the cook’s descriptions, which were not so exact as a detective might wish, with Karl’s appearance. ‘And that’s how to find a nephew ! ’ he concluded proudly, as if he wanted to be congratulated all over again.
‘What will happen to the stoker now?’ asked Karl, ignoring his uncle’s last remarks. In his new circumstances
38
he thought he was entitled to say whatever came into his mind.
/The stoker will get what he deserves/ said the Senator, 'and what the Captain considers to be right. I think we have had enough and more than enough of the stoker, a view in which every gentleman here will certainly concur/
‘But that's not the point in a question of justice/ said Karl. He was standing between his uncle and the Captain, and, perhaps influenced by his position, thought that he was holding the balance between them.
And yet the stoker seemed to have abandoned hope. His hands were half stuck into the belt of his trousers, which together with a strip of checked shirt had come prominently into view during his excited tirade. That did not worry him in the least; he had displayed the misery of his heart, now they might as well see the rags that covered his body, and then they could thrust him out. He had decided that the attendant and Schubal, as the two least important men in the room, should do him that last kindness. Schubal would have peace then and no longer be driven to desperation, as the Head Purser had put it. The Captain could take on crowds of Roumanians; Roumanian would be spoken all over the ship; and then perhaps things would really be all right. There would be no stoker pestering the head office any more with his ravings, yet his last effort would be held in almost friendly memory, since, as the Senator expressly declared, it had been the direct cause of his recognizing his nephew. The nephew himself had several times tried to help him already and so had more than repaid him beforehand for his services in the recognition scene; it did not even occur to the stoker to ask anything else from him now. Besides, even if he were the nephew of a senator, he was far from being a captain yet, and* it was from the mouth of the Captain that the stern verdict would fall. And thinking ^11 this, the stoker did his best not to look at Karl, though unfortunately in that room¬ ful of enemies there was no other resting-place for his eyes.
39
‘Don’t mistake the situation/ said the Senator to Karl, ‘this may be a question of justice, but at the same time it’s a question of discipline. On this ship both of these, and most especially the latter, are entirely within the discretion of the Captain/
‘That’s right/ muttered the stoker. Those who heard him and understood smiled uneasily.
‘But we have already obstructed the Captain far too long in his official duties, which must be piling up considerably now that he has reached New York, and it’s high time we left the ship, instead of adding to our sins by interfering quite unnecessarily in this petty quarrel between two mechanics and so making it a matter of importance. I under¬ stand your attitude perfectly, my dear nephew, but that very fact justifies me in hurrying you away from here immediately/
‘I shall have a boat lowered for you at once/ said the Captain, without deprecating in the least the Senator’s words, to Karl’s great surprise, since his uncle could be said to have humbled himself. The Head Purser rushed hastily to his desk and telephoned the Captain’s order to the bos’un. ‘There’s hardly any time left,’ Karl told himself, ‘but I can’t do any¬ thing without offending everybody. I really can’t desert my uncle now, just when he’s found me. The Captain is certainly polite, but that’s all. In matters of discipline his politeness fades out. And my uncle certainly meant what he said. I don’t want to speak to Schubal; I’m sorry that I even shook hands with him. And the other people here are of no consequence/
Thinking these things he slowly went over to the stoker, pulled the man’s right hand out of his belt and held it gently in his.
‘Why don’t you say something?’ he asked. ‘Why do you put up with everything?’
The stoker merely knitted his brows, as if he were seeking some formula for what he had to say. While doing this he looked down at his own hand and Karl's.
40
'You’ve been unjustly treated, more than anyone else on this ship; I know that well enough.’ And Karl drew his fingers backwards and forwards between the stoker’s, while the stoker gazed round him with shining eyes, as if blessed by a great happiness that no one could grudge him.
‘Now you must get ready to defend yourself, answer yes and no, or else these people won’t have any idea of the truth. You must promise me to do what I tell you, for I’m afraid, and I’ve good reason for it, that I won’t be able to help you any more.’ And then Karl burst out crying and kissed the stoker’s hand, taking that seamed, almost nerveless hand and pressing it to his cheek like a treasure which he would soon have to give up. But now his uncle the Senator was at his side and very gently yet firmly led him away.
The stoker seems to have bewitched you,’ he said, ex¬ changing an understanding look with the Captain over Karl’s head. ‘You felt lonely, then you found the stoker, and you’re grateful to him now; that’s all to your credit, I’m sure. But if only for my sake, don’t push things too far, learn to understand your position.’
Outside the door a hubbub had arisen, shouts could be heard; it sounded even as if someone were being brutally banged against the door. A sailor entered in a somewhat dishevelled state with a girl's apron tied round his waist. ‘There’s a mob outside,’ he cried, thrusting out his elbows as if he were still pushing his way through a crowd. He came to himself with a start and made to salute the Captain, but at that moment he noticed the apron, tore it off, threw it on the floor and shouted: ‘This is a bit too much; they’ve tied a girl’s apron on me.’ Then he clicked his heels together and saluted. Someone began to laugh, but the Captain said severely: ‘This is a fine state of things. Who is outside?’
‘It’s my witnesses,' said Schubal, stepping forward. ‘I hum¬ bly beg your pardon, sir, for their%bad behaviour. The men sometimes go a bit wild when they’ve finished a voyage.’
‘Bring them in here at once!’ the Captain ordered, then
4i
immediately turning to the Senator said, politely but hastily: 'Have the goodness now, Mr Senator, to take your nephew and follow this man, who will conduct you to your boat. I need hardly say what a pleasure and an honour it has been to me to make your personal acquaintance. I only wish, Mr Senator, that I may have an early opportunity to resume our interrupted talk about the state of the American fleet, and that it may be again interrupted in as pleasant a manner/
'One nephew is quite enough for me, I assure you/ said Karl's uncle, laughing. ‘And now accept my best thanks for your kindness and good-bye. Besides it isn't altogether impos¬ sible that we' - he put his arm warmly round Karl - 'might see quite a lot of you on our next voyage to Europe/
'That would give me great pleasure/ said the Captain. The two gentlemen shook hands with each other, Karl barely touched the Captain's hand in silent haste, for the latter's attention was already engrossed by the fifteen men who were now being shepherded into the room by Schubal, somewhat chastened but still noisy enough. The sailor begged the Senator to let him lead the way and opened a path through the crowd for him and Karl, so that they passed with ease through ranks of bowing men. It seemed that these good- natured fellows regarded the quarrel between Schubal and the stoker as a joke, and not even the Captain's presence could make them take it seriously. Karl noticed among them the kitchen-maid Lina, who with a sly wink at him was now tying round her waist the apron which the sailor had flung away, for it was hers.
Still following the sailor, they left the office and turned into a small passage which brought them in a couple of steps to a little door, from which a short ladder led down to the boat that was waiting for them. Their conductor leapt down into the boat with a single bound, and the sailors in the boat rose and saluted. The Senator was just warning Karl to be careful how he came down, when Karl, as he stood on the top rung, burst into violent sobs. The Senator put his right
42
hand under Karl's chin, drew him close to him and caressed him with his left hand. In this posture they slowly descended step by step and, still clinging together, entered the boat, where the Senator found a comfortable place for Karl, imme¬ diately facing him. At a sign from the Senator the sailors pushed off from the ship and at once began rowing at full speed. They were scarcely a few yards from the ship when Karl made the unexpected discovery that they were on the side of the ship towards which the windows of the office looked out. All three windows were filled with Schubal’s witnesses, who saluted and waved in the most friendly way; Uncle Jacob actually waved back and one of the sailors showed his skill by flinging a kiss towards the ship without interrupting the regular rhythm of his rowing. It was now as if there were really no stoker at all. Karl took a more careful look at his uncle, whose knees were almost touching his own, and doubts came into his mind whether this man would ever be able to take the stoker’s place. And his uncle evaded his eye and stared at the waves on which their boat was tossing.
2. Uncle Jacob
In his uncle's house Karl soon became used to his new circum¬ stances. But, indeed, his uncle indulged his slightest wishes and Karl had never to learn by hard experience, which so much embitters one's first acquaintance with foreign countries.
Karl's room was on the sixth floor of a house whose five other floors, along with three more in the basement, were taken up by his uncle's business. It was so light, what with its two windows and a door opening on a balcony, that Karl was filled with fresh astonishment every morning on coming into it out of his tiny bedroom. Where might he not have had to stay, if he had landed in this country as a destitute little emigrant? Indeed, as his uncle, with his knowledge of the emigration laws, thought highly probable, Karl might not have been admitted into the United States at all and might have been sent home again without regard to the fact that he no longer had a home. In this country sympathy was something you could not hope for; in that respect America resembled what Karl had read about it; except that those who were fortunate seemed really to enjoy their good fortune here, sunning themselves among their carefree friends.
A narrow outside balcony ran along the whole length of Karl’s room. But what would have been at home the highest vantage point in the town allowed him here little more than a view of one street, which ran perfectly straight between two rows of squarely chopped buildings and therefore seemed to be fleeing into the distance, where the outlines of a cathe¬ dral loomed enormous in a dense haze. From morning to
' 44
evening and far into the dreaming night that street was the channel for a constant stream of traffic which, seen from above, looked like an inextricable confusion, for ever newly improvised, of foreshortened human figures and the roofs of all kinds of vehicles, sending into the upper air another con¬ fusion, more riotous and complicated, of noises, dust and smells, all of it enveloped and penetrated by a flood of light which the multitudinous objects in the street scattered, car¬ ried off and again busily brought back, with an effect as palpable to the dazzled eye as if a glass roof stretched over the street were, being violently smashed into fragments at every moment.
Cautious in all things, Uncle Jacob advised Karl for the time being to take up nothing seriously. He should certainly examine and consider everything, but without committing himself. The first days of a European in America might be likened to a re-birth, and though Karl was not to worry about it unduly, since one got used to things here more quickly than an infant coming into the world from the other side, yet he must keep in mind that first judgements were always unreliable and that one should not let them prejudice the future judgements which would eventually shape one’s life in America. He himself had known new-comers, for example, who, instead of following these wise precepts had stood all day on their balconies gaping down at the street like lost sheep. That was bound to lead to bewilderment ! The solitary indulgence of idly gazing at the busy life of New York was permissible in anyone travelling for pleasure, perhaps even advisable within limits; but for one who intended to remain in the States it was sheer ruination, a term by no means too emphatic, although it might be exaggerated. And, indeed, Uncle Jacob frowned with annoyance if ever he found Karl out on the balcony when he paid one of his visits, which always occurred once daily and a^ the most diverse hours. Karl soon noticed this and in consequence denied himself as much as possible the pleasure of lingering on the balcony.
45
However, it was by no means the sole pleasure that he had. In his room stood an American writing-desk of superior con¬ struction, such as his father had coveted for years and tried to pick up cheaply at all kinds of auction sales without ever succeeding, his resources being much too small. This desk, of course, was beyond all comparison with the so-called American writing-desk which turned up at auction sales in Europe. For example, it had a hundred compartments of different sizes, in which the President of the Union himself could have found a fitting place for each of his state docu¬ ments; there was also a regulator at one side and by turning a handle you could produce the most complicated combina¬ tions and permutations of the compartments to please your¬ self and suit your requirements. Thin panels sank slowly and formed the bottom of a new series or the top of existing drawers promoted from below; even after one turn of the handle the disposition of the whole was quite changed and the transformation took place slowly or at delirious speed according to the rate at which you wound the thing round. It was a very modem invention, yet it reminded Karl vividly of the traditional Christmas panorama which was shown to gaping children in the market-place at home, where he too, well wrapped in his winter clothes, had often stood en¬ thralled, closely comparing the movement of the handle, which was turned by an old man, with the changes in the scene, the jerky advance of the Three Holy Kings, the shin¬ ing out of the Star and the humble life of the Holy Manger. And it had always seemed to him that his mother, as she ' stood behind him, did not follow every detail with sufficient attention. He would draw her close to him, until he could feel her pressing against his back, and shouting art the top of his voice would keep pointing out to her the less noticeable occurrences, perhaps a little hare among the grass in the foreground, sitting up on its hind legs and then crouching as if to dart off again, until his mother would cover his mouth with her hand and very likely relapse into her former inatten-
46
tion. The desk was certainly not made merely to remind him of such things, yet in the history of its invention there probably existed some vague connexion similar to that in Karl’s memory. Unlike Karl, Uncle Jacob by no means approved of this particular desk; he had merely wanted to buy a well-appointed writing-desk for Karl, but nowadays these were all furnished with this new apparatus, which had also the advantage that it could be fitted to more old-fashioned desks without great expense. At any rate, Karl’s uncle never omitted to advise him against using the regulator at all, if possible, and reinforced his advice by pointing out that the mechanism was very sensitive, could easily be put out of order and was very expensive to repair again. It was ''not hard to guess that these remarks were merely pretexts, though on the other hand it would have been quite easy to lock the regulator and yet Uncle Jacob refrained from doing so.
In the first few days, during which Karl and his uncle naturally had a good number of talks together, Karl men¬ tioned that at home he had been fond of playing the piano, though he had not played it much, having had no teaching except his mother’s rudimentary instructions. Karl was quite well aware that to volunteer this information was virtually to ask for a piano, but he had already used his eyes sufficiently to know that his uncle could afford to be lavish. Yet this sug¬ gestion was not acted upon at once; but some eight days later his uncle said, almost as if making a reluctant admission, that the piano had just arrived and Karl, if he liked, could supervise its transport. That was an easy enough task, yet not much easier than the transport itself, for the building had a furniture lift in which, without any difficulty, a whole furniture van could have been accommodated, and in this lift the piano soared up to Karl’s room. Karl could have gone up himself in the same lift as the piano and the workmen, but just beside it there was an ordinary lift free, so he went up in that instead, keeping himself at the same elevation as
47
the other by meaus of a lever and staring fixedly through the glass panels at the beautiful instrument which was now his property. When he had it safely in his room and struck the first notes on it, he was filled with such foolish joy that instead of going on playing he jumped up and with his hands on his hips gazed rapturously at the piano from a little distance. The acoustics of the room were excellent and they had the effect of quite dispelling his first slight discomfort at living in a steel house. True, in the room itself, despite the external appearance of the building, one could see not the slightest sign of steel, nor could one have discovered in the furnishings even the smallest detail which did not har¬ monize with the comfort of the whole. At first Karl set great hopes on his piano-playing and sometimes unashamedly dreamed, at least before falling asleep, of the possibility that it might exert a direct influence upon his life in America. When he opened his windows and the street noises came in, it certainly sounded strange to hear on the piano an old army song of his native country which soldiers, sprawling of an evening at barrack windows and gazing into the darkness of some square outside, sang to each other from window to window - but the street, if he looked down it afterwards, remained unchanged, only one small section of a great wheel which afforded no hand-hold unless one knew all the forces controlling its full orbit. Uncle Jacob tolerated the piano¬ playing and said not a word against it, especially as Karl indulged very seldom in it; indeed, he actually brought Karl the scores of some American marches, among them the national anthem, but pure love of music could hardly explain the fact that he asked Karl one day, quite seriously, whether he would not like to learn the violin or the French horn as well.
The learning of English was naturally Karl's first and most important task. A young teacher from a neighbouring com¬ mercial college appeared in his room every morning at seven and found him already over his exercise books at the desk,
48
or walking up and down the room committing words to memory. Karl saw clearly that if he were to acquire English there was no time to be lost and that this was also his best chance of giving his uncle especial pleasure by making rapid progress. And indeed, though he had to confine himself at first to the simplest greetings, he was soon able to carry on in English an increasingly large part of his conversation with his uncle, whereupon more intimate topics simultaneously came up for discussion. The first American poem - a descrip¬ tion of a fire - which Karl managed to recite to his uncle one evening, made that gentleman quite solemn with satisfaction. They were both standing at a window in Karl’s room. Uncle Jacob was looking out at the sky, from which all brightness had already faded, bringing his hands together slowly and regularly in time with the verses, while Karl stood erect beside him and with eyes fixed on vacancy delivered himself of the difficult lines. *
The better Karl’s English became, the greater inclination
his uncle showed to introduce him to his friends, arranging
only that on such occasions the English teacher should
always be at his elbow. The first person to whom Karl was
introduced one morning was a slender, incredibly supple
young man, whom Uncle Jacob brought into the room with
a string of fulsome compliments. He was obviously one of
these many millionaires’ sons who are regarded as failures by
their parents’ standards and who lead strenuous lives which
an ordinary man could scarcely endure for a single average
day without breaking down. And as if he knew or divined
this and faced it as best he could, there was always about his
lips and eyes an unchanging smile of happiness, which seemed
to embrace himself, anyone he was speaking to and the
whole world.
*
With the unconditional approval of Uncle Jacob, it was arranged that this young man, whose name was Mr Mack, should take Karl out riding every morning at half-past five, either in the riding-school or in the open air. Karl hesitated
A.-3
49
at first before consenting, since he had never sat on a horse and wished first to learn a little about riding, but as his uncle and Mack insisted so much, arguing that riding was simply a pleasure and a healthy exercise and not at all an art, he finally agreed. Of course, that meant that he had now to leave his bed at half -past four every morning, which was often a great hardship to him, since he suffered from an actual longing for sleep, probably in consequence of the unremitting attention which he had to exercise all day long; but as soon as he came into his bathroom he ceased to be sorry for himself. Over the full length and breadth of the bath stretched the spray - which of his schoolmates at home, no matter how rich, had anything equal to it and for his own use alone? - and there Karl could lie outstretched — this bath was wide enough to let him spread out his arms - and let the stream of lukewarm, hot, and again lukewarm and finally ice-cold water pour over any part of him at pleasure, or over his whole body at once. He lay there as if in a still faintly surviving enjoyment of sleep and loved to catch with his closed eyelids the last separately falling drops which, as they broke, flowed down over his face.
At the riding-school, where his uncle’s towering motor car deposited him, the English teacher would be already waiting, while Mack invariably arrived later. But Mack could be late with an easy mind, for the actual life of the riding-school did not begin until he came. The horses started out of their semi-slumber when he entered, the whips cracked more loudly through the room, and on the gallery running round it single figures suddenly appeared, spectators, grooms, riding-pupils, or whatever they were. Karl employed the time before Mack’s arrival in practising riding a little, though only the most rudimentary first exercises. There was a tall man who could reach the backs of the biggest horses almost without raising his arm, and he invariably gave Karl his scanty quarter-of-an-hour’s instruction. The results which Karl achieved were not impressive and he learned by heart
50
many exclamations of pain in English, gasping them out to . his English teacher, who always leant against the door, usually in a very sleepy condition. But almost all his dis¬ satisfaction with riding ceased once Mack appeared. The tall man was sent away and soon nothing could be heard in the hall, which was still half in darkness, but the hoofs of galloping horses and hardly anything seen but Mack's up¬ lifted arm, as he signalled his orders to Karl. After half an hour of this pleasure, fleeting as a dream, a halt was called. Mack was then always in a great hurry, said good-bye to Karl, patted him a few times on the cheek if he was particu¬ larly pleased with his riding and vanished, too pressed for time even to accompany Karl through the door. Then Karl and the English teacher climbed into the car and drove to their le$son, generally round byways, for if they had plunged into the traffic of the great street which led directly from the riding-school to his uncle's house it would have meant too great a loss of time. In any case, the English teacher soon ceased to act as escort, since Karl, who blamed himself for needlessly forcing the tired man to go with him to the riding- school, especially since the English required in his intercourse with Mack was very simple, begged his uncle to absolve the man from that duty. And after some reflection his uncle acceded to his wish.
It took a relatively long time before Uncle Jacob would consent to allow Karl even the slightest insight into his business, although Karl often begged him to do so. It was a sort of commission and despatch agency such as, to the best of Karl's knowledge, was probably not to be found in Europe. For the business did not consist in the transference of wares from the producer to the consumer or to the dealer, but in the handling of all the necessary goods and raw materials going to and between the great manufacturing trusts. It was conse¬ quently a . business which embraced simultaneously the pur¬ chasing, storing, transport and sale of immense quantities of goods and had to maintain the most exact, unintermittent
5*
telephonic and telegraphic communication with its various clients. The telegraphists' hall was not smaller but larger than the telegraphic office of Karl’s native town, through which he had once been shown by one of his schoolmates, who was known there. In the telephone hall, wherever one looked, the doors of the telephone boxes could be seen opening and shutting, and the noise was maddening. His uncle opened the first of these doors and in the glaring elec¬ tric light Karl saw an operator, quite oblivious to any sound from the door, his head bound in a steel band which pressed the receivers against his ears. His right arm was lying on a little table as if it were strangely heavy and only the fingers holding the pencil kept twitching with inhuman regularity and speed. In the words which he spoke into the mouthpiece he was very sparing and often one noticed that though he had some objection to raise or wished to obtain more exact information, the next phrase that he heard compelled him to lower his eyes and go on writing before he could carry out his intention. Besides he did not need to say anything, as Uncle Jacob explained to Karl in a subdued voice, for the same conversation which this man was taking down was being taken down at the same time by two other operators and would then be compared with the other versions, so that errors might as far as possible be eliminated. At the moment when Uncle Jacob and Karl emerged from the box a messen¬ ger slipped into it and came out with the notes which the operator had just written. Through the hall there was a perpetual tumult of people rushing hither and thither. Nobody said good-day, greetings were omitted, each man fell into step behind anyone who was going the same way, keep¬ ing his eyes on the floor, over which he was set on advancing as quickly as he could, or giving a hurried glance at a word or figure here and there on the papers he held in his hand, which fluttered with the wind of his progress.
Tou have really gone far,’ Karl once said on one of these journeys through the building, which took several days to
52
traverse in its entirety, even if one did nothing more than have a look at each department.
‘And let me tell you I started it all myself thirty years ago. I had a little business at that time near the docks and if five crates came up for unloading in one day I thought it a great day and went home swelling with pride. Today my ware¬ houses cover the third largest area in the port and my old store is the restaurant and storeroom for my sixty-fifth group of porters/
‘It's really wonderful/ said Karl.
‘Developments in this country are always rapid/ said his uncle, breaking off the conversation.
One day his uncle appeared just before dinner, which Karl had expected to take alone as usual, and asked him to put on his black suit at once and join him for dinner, together with two of his business friends. While Karl was changing in the next room, his uncle sat down at the desk and looked through the English exercise which Karl had just finished, then brought down his hand on the desk and exclaimed aloud : ‘Really first rate ! 9
Doubtless Karl’s changing went all the more smoothly on hearing these words of praise, but in any case he was now pretty certain of his English.
In his uncle’s dining-room, which he could still remember from the evening of his arrival, two tall, stout gentlemen rose to their feet, one of them called Green, the other Pollunder, as appeared during the subsequent conversation. For Uncle Jacob hardly ever dropped a word about any of his acquaintances and always left it to Karl to discover by his own observation whatever was important or interesting about them. During the dinner itself only intimate business matters were discussed, which meant for Karl an excellent lesson in commercial English, and Karl was left silently to occupy himself with his food, as if 'he were a child who had merely to sit up straight and empty his plate; but Mr Green leaned across to him and asked him in English, unmistakably
53
exerting himself to pronounce every word with the utmost distinctness, what in general were his first impressions of America? With a few side glances at his uncle, Karl replied fairly fully in the dead silence that followed and in his grati¬ tude and his desire to please used several characteristic New York expressions. At one of his phrases all three gentlemen burst out laughing together and Karl was afraid that he had made a gross mistake; but no, Mr Pollunder explained to him that he had actually said something very smart. Mr Pollunder, indeed, seemed to have taken a particular fancy to Karl, and while Uncle Jacob and Mr Green returned once more to their business consultations Mr Pollunder asked Karl to bring his chair nearer, asked him countless questions about his name, his family and his voyage and at last, to give him a reprieve, began hastily, laughing and coughing, to tell about himself and his daughter, with whom he lived in a little country house in the neighbourhood of New York, where, however, he was only able to pass the evenings, for he was a banker and his profession kept him in New York the whole day. Karl was warmly invited to come out to the country house; an American so new and untried as Karl must be in need of occasional recuperation from New York. Karl at once asked his uncle’s leave to accept the invitation and his uncle gave it with apparent pleasure, yet without naming any stated time or even letting it come into consideration, as Karl and Mr Pollunder had expected.
But the very next day Karl was summoned to one of his uncle’s offices (his uncle had ten different offices in that building alone), where he found his uncle and Mr Pollunder reclining somewhat monosyllabically in two easy-chairs.
‘Mr Pollunder,’ said Uncle Jacob, who could scarcely be distinguished in the evening dusk of the room, ‘Mr Pollunder has come to take you with him to his country house, as was mentioned yesterday.’
‘I didn’t know it was to be today,’ replied Karl, ‘or else I’d have got ready/
54
'If you're not ready, then perhaps we'd better postpone the visit to some other time/ remarked his uncle.
'What do you need to get ready?' cried Mr Pollunder. 'A young man is always ready for anything.'
‘It isn't on his account/ said Uncle Jacob, turning to his guest, ‘but he would have to go up to his room again, and that would delay you.'
‘There's plenty of time for that/ said Mr Pollunder. ‘I allowed for a delay and left my office earlier.'
‘You see/ said Uncle Jacob, ‘what a lot of trouble this visit of yours has caused already.'
‘I’m very sorry/ said Karl, ‘but I'll be back again in a minute/ and he made to rush away.
‘Don't hurry yourself/ said Mr Pollunder, 'you aren't causing me the slightest trouble; on the contrary, it's a pleasure to have you visiting me.'
'You’ll miss your riding lesson tomorrow. Have you called it off?' |
‘No/ said Karl; this visit to which he had been looking forward so much was beginning to be burdensome. ‘I didn’t know -'
‘And you mean to go in spite of that?' asked his uncle.
Mr Pollunder, that kind man, came to Karl's help.
'We'll stop at the riding-school on the way and put everything right.'
‘There's something in that/ said Uncle Jacob. ‘But Mack will be expecting you.'
‘He won't be expecting me/ said Karl, ‘but he'll turn up anyhow/ .
‘Well then?' said Uncle Jacob, as if Karl's answer had not been the slightest excuse.
Once more Mr Pollunder solved the problem : ‘But Clara' - she was Mr Pollunder’s daughter - ‘expects him too, and this very evening, and surely she* has the preference over Mack?'
Certainly/ said Uncle Jacob. 'Well then, run away to
I . 55
your room/ and as if involuntarily, he drummed on the arm of his chair several times. Karl was already at the door when his uncle detained him once more with the question: ‘Of course you'll be back here again tomorrow morning for your English lesson?'
‘But my dear sir ! ' cried Mr Pollunder, turning round in his chair with astonishment, as far as his stoutness would permit him. ‘Can't he stay with us at least over tomorrow? Couldn't I bring him back early in the morning the day after?'
‘That's quite out of the question,' retorted Uncle Jacob. ‘I can’t have his studies broken up like this. Later on, when he has taken up a regular profession of some kind, I’ll be very glad to let him accept such a kind and flattering invita¬ tion even for a long time.'
‘What a contradiction ! ' thought Karl.
Mr Pollunder looked quite melancholy. ‘But for one evening and one night it’s really hardly worth while.'
‘That's what I think too,' said Uncle Jacob.
‘One must take what one can get,’ said Mr Pollunder, and now he was laughing again. ‘All right, I'll wait for you,’ he shouted to Karl, who, since his uncle said nothing more, was hurrying away.
When he returned in a little while, ready for the journey, he found only Mr Pollunder in the office; his uncle had gone. Mr Pollunder shook Karl quite gaily by both hands, as if he wished to assure himself as strongly as possible that Karl was coming after all. Karl, still flushed with haste, for his part wrung Mr Pollunder’s hands in return; he was elated at the thought of the visit.
‘My uncle wasn’t annoyed at my going?'
‘Not at all ! He didn't mean all that very seriously. He has
your education so much at heart.’
‘Did he tell you himself that he didn't mean it seriously?'
‘Oh yes/ said Mr Pollunder, drawling the words, and thus proving that he could not tell a lie.
56
It's strange how unwilling he was to give me leave to visit you, although you are a friend of his/
Mr Pollunder too, although he did not admit it, could find no explanation for the problem, and both of them, as they drove through the warm evening in Mr Pollunder’s car, kept turning it over in their minds for a long time, although they spoke of other things.
They sat close together and Mr Pollunder held KarPs hand in his while he talked. Karl was eager to hear as much as he could about Miss Clara, as if his impatience with the long journey could he assuaged by listening to stories that made the time appear shorter. He had never driven through the streets of New York in the evening, but though the pave¬ ments and roadways were thronged with traffic changing its direction every minute, as if caught up in a whirlwind and roaring like some strange element quite unconnected with humanity, Karl, as he strained his attention to catch Mr Pollunder’s words, had no eye for anything but Mr Pollun¬ der’s dark waistcoat, which was peacefully spanned by a gold chain. Out of the central streets where the theatre-goers, urged by extreme and unconcealed fear of being late, hurried along with flying steps or drove in vehicles at the utmost possible speed, they came by intermediate stages to the sub¬ urbs, where their car was repeatedly diverted by mounted police .into side alleys, as the main roadway was occupied by a demonstration of metal-workers on strike and only the most necessary traffic could be permitted to use the cross¬ roads. When the car, emerging out of dark, dully echoing narrow lanes, crossed one of these great thoroughfares which were as wide as squares, there opened out on both sides an endless perspective of pavements filled with a moving mass of people, slowly shuffling forward, whose singing was more homogeneous than any single human voice. But in the road¬ way, which was kept free, mounted policemen could be seen here and there sitting on motionless horses, or banner-bearers, or inscribed streamers stretching across the street, or a labour
B * 57
leader surrounded by colleagues and stewards, or an electric tram which had not escaped quickly enough and now stood dark and empty while the driver and the conductor lounged on the platform. Small groups of curious spectators stood at a distance watching the actual demonstrators, rooted to their places although they had no clear idea of what was really happening. But Karl merely leaned back happily on the arm which Mr Pollunder had put round him; the know¬ ledge that he would soon be a welcome guest in a well-lighted country house surrounded by high walls and guarded by watch-dogs filled him with extravagant well-being, and although he was now beginning to feel sleepy and could no longer catch perfectly all that Mr Pollunder was saying, or at least only intermittently, he pulled himself together from time to time and rubbed his eyes to discover whether Mr Pollunder had noticed his drowsiness, for that was something he wished to avoid at any price.
3. A Country House near New York
'Well, here we are/ said Mr Pollunder in one of Karl's most absent moments; The car was standing before a house which, like the country houses of most rich people in the neighbour¬ hood of New York, was larger and taller than a country house designed for only one family has any need to be. Since there were no lights except in the lower part of the house, it was quite impossible to estimate how high the building was. In front of it rustled chestnut trees and between them - the gate was already open - a short path led to the front¬ door steps. Karl felt so tired on getting out that he began to suspect the journey must have been fairly long after all. In the darkness of the chestnut avenue he heard a girl’s voice saying beside him : ‘So this is Mr Jacob at last/
‘My name is Rossmann/ said Karl, taking the hand held out to him by a girl whose silhouette he could now perceive.
‘He is only Jacob’s nephew/ said Mr Pollunder in explan¬ ation, ‘his own name is Karl Rossmann/
‘That doesn’t make us any the less glad to see him/ said the girl, who did not bother much about names.
All the same Karl insisted on asking, while he walked towards the house between Mr Pollunder and the girl : ‘Are you Miss Clara?’
‘Yes/ she said, and now a little light from the house picked out her face, which was inclined towards him, ‘but I didn’t want to introduce myself. here in the darkness/
‘Why, has she been waiting for us at the gate?’ thought Karl, gradually wakening up as he walked along.
59
‘By the way, we have another guest this evening/ said Clara.
‘Impossible ! ’ cried Pollunder irritably.
‘Mr Green/ said Clara.
‘When did he come?’ asked Karl, as if seized by a pre¬ monition.
‘Just a minute ago. Didn’t you hear his car in front of yours?’
Karl looked up at Mr Pollunder to discover what he thought of the situation, but his hands were thrust into his trouser pockets and he merely stamped his feet a little on the path.
‘It’s no good living just outside New York; it doesn’t save you from being disturbed. We’ll simply have to get a house farther away; even if I have to spend half the night driving before I get home/
They remained standing by the steps.
‘But it’s a long time since Mr Green was here last/ said Clara, who obviously agreed with her father yet wanted to soothe him and take him out of himself.
‘Why should he come just this evening?’ said Pollunder, and the words rolled furiously over his sagging lower lip, which like all loose, heavy flesh was easily agitated.
‘Why indeed ! ’ said Clara.
‘Perhaps he’ll soon go away again/ remarked Karl himself astonished at the sympathy uniting him to these people who had been complete strangers to him a day ago.
‘Oh no/ said Clara, ‘he has some great business or other with Papa which will probably take a long time to settle, for he has already threatened me in fun that I’ll have to sit up till morning if I’m going to play the polite hostess.’
‘That’s the last straw. So he’s going to stay all night!’ cried Pollunder, as if nothing could be worse. ‘I really feel half inclined/ he said, and the idea restored some of his good humour, ‘I really feel half inclined Mr Rossmann, to put you in the car again and drive you straight back to your uncle.
60
This evening’s spoilt beforehand, and who knows when your uncle will trust you here again. But if I bring you back tonight he won’t be able to refuse us your company next time.’
And he took hold of Karl’s hand, to carry out his plan on the instant. But Karl made no move and Clara begged her father to let him stay, since she and Karl at least need not let Mr Green disturb them at all, and finally Pollunder him¬ self grew aware that his resolution was not of the firmest. Besides - and that was perhaps the decisive thing - they suddenly heard Mr Green shouting from the top of the steps down into the garden : ‘Where on earth are you?’
‘Coming,’ said Pollunder and he began to climb the steps. Behind him came Karl and Clara, who now studied each other in the light.
‘What red Bps she has,' Karl said to himself, and he thought of Mr Pollunder’s lips and how beautifully they had been metamorphosed in his daughter.
‘After dinner,’ she said, ‘we’ll go straight to my room, if you would like that, so that we at least can be rid of Mr Green, even if Papa has to put up with him. And then per¬ haps you’ll be so kind as to play the piano for me, for Papa has told me how well you can play; I’m sorry to say I’m quite incapable of practising and never touch my piano, much as I really love music.’
Karl was quite prepared to fall in with Clara’s suggestion, though he would have liked to have Mr Pollunder join them as well. But the sight of Green’s gigantic figure - he had already got used to Pollunder’s bulk - which gradually loomed above them as they climbed the steps, dispelled all Karl’s hopes of luring Mr Pollunder away from the man that evening.
Mr Green hailed them in a great hurry, as if much time had already been lost, took Mr Pollunder’s arm, and pushed Karl and Clara before him into the dining-room which, chiefly because of the flowers on the table rising from sprays
61
of green foliage, looked very festive and so made the presence of the importunate Mr Green doubly regrettable. Karl was just consoling himself, as he waited beside the table until the others were seated, with the thought that the great glass doors leading to the garden would remain open, for a strong fragrance was wafted in as if one sat in an arbour, when Mr Green snorted and rushed to close these very glass doors, bending down to the bolts at the bottom, stretching up to the ones at the top, and all with such youthful agility that the servant, when he hurried across, found nothing left to do. Mr Green's first words when he returned to the table expres¬ sed his astonishment that Karl had obtained his uncle’s per¬ mission to make this visit. He raised one spoonful of soup after another to his mouth and explained to Clara on his right and to Mr Pollunder on his left why he was so aston¬ ished, and how solicitously Uncle Jacob watched over Karl, so that his affection for Karl was too great to be called the mere affection of an uncle.
'Not content with his uncalled-for interference here, he insists on interfering between me and my uncle, too,’ thought Karl, and he could not swallow a drop of the golden-coloured soup. But then, not wishing to show how upset he felt, he began silently to pour the soup down his throat. The meal went on with torturing slowness. Mr Green alone, assisted by Clara, showed any liveliness and found occasion for a short burst of laughter now and then. Mr Pollunder let him¬ self be drawn into the conversation once or twice, when Mr Green started to talk about business. But he soon withdrew even from such discussions and Mr Green had to surprise him into speech by bringing them up again unexpectedly. Moreover, Mr Green kept insisting on the fact (and at this point Karl, who was listening as intently as if something were threatening him, had to be told by Clara that the roast was at his elbow and that he was at a dinner party) that he had had no intention beforehand of paying this unexpected visit. For though the business he came to discuss was of
62 ’ SM
special urgency, yet the most important part of it at least could have been settled in town that day, leaving the minor details to be tackled next day or later. And so, long before closing hours, he had actually called at Mr Pollunder’s office, but had not found him there, and so he had had to telephone home that he would not be back that night and to drive out here.
Then I must ask your pardon/ said Karl loudly, before anyone else had time to answer, 'for I am to blame that Mr Pollunder left his office early today, and I am very sorry/ Mr Pollunder tried to cover his face with his table napkin, while Clara, though she smiled at Karl, smiled less out of sympathy than out of a desire to influence him in some way.
'No apology is required/ said Mr Green, carving a pigeon with incisive strokes of the knife, 'quite the contrary, I am delighted to pass the evening in such pleasant company instead of dining alone at home, where I have only an old housekeeper to wait on me, and she's so old that it's as much as she can do to get from the door to the table, and I can lean right back in my chair for minutes at a time to watch her making the journey. It wasn’t until recently that I managed to persuade her to let my man carry the dishes as far as the door of the dining-room; but the journey from the door to the table is her perquisite, so far as I can make out/ 'Heavens/ cried Clara, 'what fidelity ! 9 'Yes, there’s still fidelity in the world/ said Mr Green, putting a slice of pigeon into his mouth, where his tongue, as Karl chanced to notice, took it in charge with a flourish. Karl felt nearly sick and got up. Almost simultaneously Mr Pollunder and Clara caught him by the hands.
‘It’s not time to get up yet/ said Clara. And when he had sat down again she whispered to him : 'We’ll escape together in a'little while. Have patience/
Meanwhile, Mr Green had calmly gone on eating, as if it were Mr Pollunder’s and Clara’s natural duty to comfort Karl after he had made him sick.
63
The dinner was lingered out particularly by the exhaus¬ tiveness with which Mr Green dissected each course, which did not keep him however from attacking each new course with fresh energy; it really looked as if he were resolved radically to recuperate from the offices of his old housekeeper. Now and again he bestowed praise on Miss Clara’s expertness in housekeeping, which visibly flattered her, while Karl on the contrary felt tempted to ward it off, as if it were an assault. Mr Green, however, was not content with attack¬ ing Clara, but deplored frequently, without looking up from his plate, Karl’s extraordinary lack of appetite. Mr Pollunder defended Karl’s lack of appetite, although as the host he should have encouraged him to eat. And because of the con¬ straint under which he had suffered during the whole din¬ ner, Karl grew so touchy that against his better knowledge he actually construed Mr Pollunder’s words as an unkind¬ ness. And it was another symptom of his condition that all at once he would eat far too much with indecorous speed, only to sit drooping for a long time afterwards, letting his knife and fork rest on the table, quite silent and motionless, so that the man who served the dishes often did not know what to do with them.
Til have to tell your uncle the Senator tomorrow how you offended Miss Clara by not eating your dinner,’ said Mr Green, and he betrayed the facetious intention of his words only by the way in which he plied his knife and fork.
‘just look at the girl, how downcast she is,’ he went on, chucking Clara under the chin. She let him do it and closed her eyes.
'Poor little thing ! ’ he cried, leaning back, purple in the face, and laughing with the vigour of a full-fed man. Karl vainly sought to account for Mr Pollunder’s behaviour. He was sitting looking at his plate, as if the really important event were happening there. He did not pull Karl’s chair closer to him and, when he did speak, he spoke to the whole table, while to Karl he had nothing particular to say. On the
64
other hand he suffered Green, that disreputable old New York roue deliberately to fondle Clara, to insult himself, Karl, Pollunder’s guest, or at least to treat him like a child, and to go on from strength to strength, working himself up to who knew what dreadful deeds.
After rising from the table - when Green noticed the general intention he was the first to get up and as it were drew all the others with him - Karl turned aside to one of the great windows set in narrow white sashes which opened on to the terrace, and which in fact, as he saw on going nearer, were really doors. What had become of the dislike which Mr Pollunder and his daughter had felt in the begin¬ ning for Green, and which had seemed at that time some¬ what incomprehensible to Karl? Now they were standing side by side with the man and nodding at him. The smoke
' from Mr Green’s cigar, a present from Pollunder - a cigar of a thickness which Karl’s father in Austria had some¬ times mentioned as an actual fact but had probably never seen with his own eyes - spread through the room and bore Green’s influence even into nooks and corners where he would never set -foot in person. Far off as he was, Karl could feel his nose prickling with the smoke, and Mr Green's de¬ meanour, wliich he merely glanced at from the window with a hasty turn of the head, seemed infamous to him. He began to think it not at all inconceivable that his uncle had demur¬ red for so long against giving permission for this visit simply because he knew Mr Poliunder’s weak character and accord¬ ingly envisaged as a possibility, even if1 he did not exactly foresee, that Karl might be exposed to insult. As for the American girl, Karl did not like her either, although she was very nearly as beautiful as he had pictured her. Ever since Mr Green’s gallantries began he had been actually surprised by the' beauty of which her face was capable, and especially by the brilliance of her lively eyes. A dress which fitted so closely to its wearer’s body he had never seen before; small wrinkles in the soft, closely-woven, yellowish material, betrayed the
k 65
force of the tension. And yet Karl cared nothing for her and would gladly have given up all thought of going to her room, if instead he could only open the door beside him - and he had laid his hands on the latch just in case - and climb into the car or, if the chauffeur were already asleep, walk by him¬ self back to New York. The clear night with its benevolent full moon was free to everyone and to be afraid of anything out there, in the open, seemed senseless to Karl. He pictured to himself - and for the first time he began to feel happy in that room - how in the morning - he could hardly get back on foot sooner than that - he would surprise his uncle. True, he had never yet been in his uncle's bedroom, nor did he even know where it was, but he would soon find that out. Then he would knock at the door and at the formal 'come in' rush into the room and surprise his dear uncle, whom until now he had known only fully dressed and buttoned to the chin, sitting up in bed in his nightshirt, his astonished eyes fixed on the door. In itself that might not perhaps be very much, but one had only to consider what consequences it might lead to. Perhaps he might breakfast with his uncle for the first time, his uncle in bed, he himself sitting on a chair, the breakfast on a little table between them; perhaps that breakfast together would become a standing arrange¬ ment; perhaps as a result of such informal breakfasting, as was almost inevitable, they would meet oftener than simply once a day and so of course be able to speak more frankly to each other. After all, it was merely the lack of a frank interchange of confidences that had made him a little refrac¬ tory/or better still, mulish, towards his uncle today. And even if he had to spend the night here on this occasion - and unfortunately it looked very like that, although they left him to stand by the window and amuse himself - perhaps this unlucky visit would become the turning- point in his relations with his uncle; perhaps his uncle was lying in bed and thinking the very same things at that moment.
66
A little comforted, he turned round. Clara was standing beside him saying: ‘Don’t you like being with us at all? Won’t you try to make yourself a little more at home here? Come on, I’ll make a last attempt.’
She led him across the room towards the door. At a side table the two gentlemen were sitting, drinking out of tall glasses a light effervescent liquid which was unknown to Karl and which he would have liked to taste. Mr Green had his elbows on the table and his face was pushed as close to Mr Pollunder as he could get it; if one had\not known Mr Pollunder, one might quite easily have suspected that some criminal plan was being discussed here and no legitimate business. While Mr Pollunder’s eyes followed Karl to the door with a friendly look, Mr Green, though as a rule one’s eyes involuntarily follow those of the man one is talking to, did not once glance round at Karl; and it seemed to Karl that in behaving like this Green was pointing his conviction that each of them, Karl on his part and Green on his, must fight for his own hand and that any obligatory social connexion between them would be determined in time by the victory or destruction of one of them.
‘If that’s what he thinks,’ Karl told himself, ‘he's a fool. I really don’t want anything from him and he should leave me in peace.’
Hardly had he set foot in the corridor when it occurred to him that he had probably been discourteous, for his eyes had been so firmly fixed on Green that Clara had had almost to drag him from the room. He went all* the more willingly with her ijow. As they passed along the corridors he could scarcely credit his eyes at first, when at every twenty paces he saw a servant in rich livery holding a huge candelabrum with a shaft so thick that both the man’s hands were re¬ quired to grasp it.
‘The new electric wiring has been laid on only in the dining-room so far,’ explained Clara. ‘We’ve just newly bought this house and we’re having it completely reconstructed, that
67
is so far as an old house with all its odd peculiarities can be reconstructed.’
’So you have actually old houses in America too/ said Karl.
’Of course/ said Clara with a laugh, pulling him along. ’You have some queer ideas about America/
’You shouldn’t laugh at me/ he said in vexation. After all he knew both Europe and America, while she knew only America.
In passing, Clara flung a door open with a light push of her hand and said without stopping: ‘That’s where you’re going to sleep/
Karl of course wanted to look at the room straight away, but Clara exclaimed with impatience, raising her voice almost to shouting pitch, that there was plenty of time for that later and that he must come with her first. They had a kind of tug-of-war in the corridor until it came into Karl’s mind that he need not do everything Clara told him, and he wrested himself free and stepped into the room. The sur¬ prising darkness outside the window was explained by the spreading branches of a large tree swaying there. He could hear the twitter of birds. To be sure, in the room itself, which the moonlight had not yet reached, one could distinguish hardly anything. Karl felt sorry that he had not brought the electric torch which his uncle had given him. In this house an electric torch was absolutely indispensable; given a couple of torches, the servants could have been sent to their beds. He sat down on the window-ledge and stared out into the darkness, listening. A bird which he had disturbed seemed to be fluttering through the leafage of the old tree. The whistle of a suburban train sounded somewhere across the fields. Otherwise all was still.
But not for long, for Clara came rushing in. Visibly furious, she cried: ’What’s the meaning of this?’ and beat her hand against her skirt. Karl decided not to answer her until she should show more politeness. But she advanced upon him
68
with long strides, exclaiming: 'Well, are you coming with me or are you not?' and either intentionally or in sheer agi¬ tation struck him so hard on the chest that he would have fallen out of the window if at the very last minute he had not launched himself from the window-ledge so that his feet touched the floor.
‘I might have fallen out of the window/ he said reproach¬ fully. - '
'It’s a pity you didn’t. Why are you so uncivil? I’ll push you right out next time.’
And she actually seized him and carried him in her athletic arms almost as far as the window, since he was too sur¬ prised to remember to brace himself. But then he came to his senses, freed himself with a twist of the hips and caught hold of her instead.
‘Oh, you’re hurting me ! ’ she said at once.
But now Karl felt that it was not safe to let her go. He gave her freedom to take any steps she liked, but followed her close, keeping hold of her. It was easy enough to grip her in her tight dress.
‘Let me go,’ she whispered, her flushed face so close to his that he had to strain to see her. ‘Let me go; I’ll give you something you don’t expect.’ - ‘Why is she sighing like that?’ thought Karl. 'It can’t hurt her, I’m not squeezing her/ and he still did not let her go. But suddenly, after a moment of unguarded, silent immobility, he again felt her strength straining against his body and she had broken away from him, locked him in a well-applied wrestling hold, knocked his legs from under him by some foot-work in a technique strange to him and thrust him before her with amazing control, panting a little, to the wall. But there was a sofa by the wall on which she laid him down, keeping at a safe ’distance from him, and said : ‘Now move if you can.’
‘Cat, wild gat !’ was all that Karl could shout in the con¬ fusion of rage and shame which he felt within him. 'You must be crazy, you wild cat ! ’
69
Take care what you say,’ she said and she slipped one hand to his throat, on which she began to press so strongly that Karl could only gasp for breath, while she swung the other fist against his cheek, touching it as if experimentally, and then again and again drew it back, farther and farther, ready to give him a buffet at any moment.
'What would you say/ she asked, 'if I punished you for your rudeness to a lady by sending you home with your ears well boxed? It might do you good for the rest of your life, although you wouldn't care to remember it. I'm really sorry about you, you’re a passably good-looking boy, and if you'd learned ju-jutsu you'd probably have beaten me. All the same, all the same - I feel enormously tempted to box your ears for you now that you're lying there. I’d probably regret it; but if I should do it, let me tell you that it'll be because I can’t help it. And of course it won't be only one box on the ear I’ll give you, but I’ll let fly right and left till you’re black and blue. And perhaps you’re one of these men of honour - I could easily believe it - and couldn’t survive the disgrace of having your ears boxed, and would have to do away with yourself. But why were you so horrid to me? Don't you like me ? Isn’t it worth while to come to my room ? Ah, look out ! I very nearly let fly at you by accident just now. And if I let you off tonight, see that you behave better next time. I’m not your uncle to put up with your tantrums. Anyhow, let me point out that if I let you off now, you needn’t think that the disgrace is all the same whether your ears are boxed or not. I’d rather box your ears soundly for you than have you thinking that. I wonder what Mack will say when I tell him about all this?'
At the thought of Mack she loosened her grip; in his muzzy confusion Karl saw Mack as a deliverer. For a little while he could still feel Clara's hand on his throat, and so he squirmed for a few minutes before lying still.
She urged him to get up; he neither answered nor stirred. She lit a candle somewhere, the room grew light, a blue
70
zig-zag pattern appeared on the ceiling, but Karl lay with his head on the sofa cushion exactly as Clara had placed it and did not move a finger's breadth. Clara walked round the room, her skirt rustling about her legs; she seemed to pause for a long time by the window.
‘Got over your tantrums?' he heard her asking at last. Karl thought it hard that in this room which Mr Poll under had assigned him- for the night he could find no peace. The girl kept wandering about, stopping and talking now and then, and he was heartily sick of her. All he wanted to do was to fall asleep at once and get out of the place later. He did not even want to go to bed, he merely wanted to stay where he was on the sofa. He was only waiting for the girl to leave, so that he could spring to the door after her, bolt it, and then fling himself back on the sofa again. He felt an intense need to stretch and yawn, but he did not want to do that before Clara. And so he lay staring at the ceiling, feeling his face becoming more and more rigid, and a fly which was hovering about flitted before his eyes without his quite knowing what it was.
Clara stepped over to him again and leaned across his line of vision; and if he had not made an effort he would have had to look at her.
‘I'm going now,' she said. ‘Perhaps later on you'll feel like coming to see me. The door is the fourth from this one on the same side of the corridor. You pass the three next doors, that's to say, and the one after that is the right one. I’m not going downstairs again; I shall just stay in my room. You've made me thoroughly tired too. I shan’t exactly expect you, but if you want to come, then come. Remember that you promised to play the piano for me. But perhaps you’re feel¬ ing quite prostrate and can’t move; well then, stay here and have a good sleep. I shan’t tell my father anything about our little scuffle, not for the present; I* mention that merely in case you start worrying about it.’ And in spite of her osten¬ sible tiredness she ran lightly out of the room.
71
Karl at once sat up; this lying down had already become unendurable. For the sake of using his limbs he went to the door and looked out into the corridor. But how dark it was ! He felt glad when he had shut the door and bolted it and stood again by his table in the light of the candle. He made up his mind to stay no longer in this house, but to go down to Mr Pollunder, tell him frankly how Clara had treated him - admitting his defeat did not matter a straw to him - and with that abundant justification ask leave to drive or to walk home. If Mr Pollunder had any objection to his im¬ mediate return, then Karl would at least ask him to instruct a servant to conduct him to the nearest hotel. As a rule, hosts were not treated in the way which Karl planned, but still more seldom were guests treated as Clara had treated him. She had actually regarded as a kindness her promise to say nothing to Mr Pollunder about their scuffle, and that was really too outrageous. Had he been invited to a wrestling match, then, that he should be ashamed of being thrown by a girl who had apparently spent the greater part of her life in learning wrestling holds ? After all, she had probably been taking lessons from Mack. She could tell him everything if she liked; he was certainly intelligent, Karl felt sure of that, although he had never had occasion to prove it in any single instance. But Karl knew also that if he were to have lessons from Mack he would make much greater progress than Clara had done; then he could come here again one day, most likely without any invitation, would begin by studying the scene of action, an exact knowledge of which had been a great advantage to Clara, and then he would seize that same Clara and fling her down on the very sofa where she had flung him tonight.
Now he had merely to find his way back to the dining¬ room, where in his first embarrassment he had probably laid down his hat in some unsuitable place. Of course he would take the candle with him, but even with a light it was not easy to find one's bearings. For instance, he did not even
72
know whether this room was on the same floor as the dining¬ room. On the way here Clara had kept pulling him, so that he had no chance to look around him. Mr Green and the servants with the great candlesticks had also given him something to think about; in short, he actually could not remember whether they had climbed one or two flights of stairs or none at all. To judge from the view, the room was fairly high up, and so he tried to convince himself that they must have climbed stairs; yet at the front door there had been steps to climb, so why should not this side of the house be raised above ground-level too? If only there were a ray of light to be seen from some door in the corridor or a voice to be heard in the distance, no matter how faintly !
His watch, a present from his uncle, pointed to eleven; he took the candle and went out into the corridor. The door he left open, so that if his search should prove unsuccessful he might at least find his room again and in case of dire need the door of Clara's room. For safety he fixed the door open with a chair, so that it might not shut of itself. In the corridor he made the unwelcome discovery - naturally he turned to the left, away from Clara's room - that there was a draught blowing against his face, which though quite feeble might nevertheless easily blow out the candle, so that he had to guard the flame with his hand and often stop altogether to let the dying flame recover. It was a slow method of progress and it made the way seem doubly long. Karl had already passed great stretches of blank wall completely devoid of doors; one could not imagine what lay behind them. And then he came to one door after another; he tried to open several of them; they were locked and the rooms obviously unoccupied. It was an incredible squandering of space and Karl thought of the east end of New York which his uncle had promised to show him, where it was said that several families lived in one little room an$l the home of a whole family consisted of one comer where the children clustered round their parents. And here so many rooms stood empty
and seemed to exist merely to make a hollow sound when you knocked on the door. Mr Pollunder seemed to Karl to be misled by false friends and infatuated with his daughter, which was his ruin. Uncle Jacob had certainly judged him rightly, and only his axiom that it was not his business to influence Karl's judgement of other people was responsible for this visit and all this wandering through corridors. To¬ morrow Karl would tell his uncle that quite frankly, for if he followed his own axiom his uncle should be glad to hear a nephew's judgement even on himself. Besides, that axiom was probably the only thing in his uncle which displeased Karl, and even that displeasure was not unqualified.
Suddenly the wall on one side of the corridor came to an end and an ice-cold, marble balustrade appeared in its place. Karl set the candle beside him and cautiously leaned over. A breath of dark emptiness met him. If this was the main hall of the house - in the glimmer of the candle a piece of vault¬ like ceiling could be seen - why had they not come in through it? What purpose could be served by this great, deep cham¬ ber? One stood here as if in the gallery of a church. Karl almost regretted that he could not stay in the house till morning; he would have liked Mr Pollunder to show him all round it by daylight and explain everything to him.
The balustrade was quite short and soon Karl was once more groping along a closed corridor. At a sudden turning he ran full tilt into the wall, and only the unswerving care with which he convulsively held the candle saved it from falling and going out. As the corridor seemed to have no end - no window appeared through which he could see where he was, nothing stirred either above him or below him - Karl began to think that he was going round in a circle and had a faint hope that he would come to the door of his room again; but neither it nor the balustrade reappeared. Until now he had refrained from shouting, for he did not want to raise a noise in a strange house at such a late hour; but now he realized that it would not matter in this unlighted house.
74
and he was just preparing to send a loud Tialoo' echoing along the corridor in both directions when he noticed a little light approaching from behind him, the way that he had come. Now at last he could realize the length of that straight corridor. This house was a fortress, not a mansion. His joy on seeing that saving light was so great that he forgot all caution and ran towards it. At the first few steps he took, his candle blew out. But he paid no attention, for he did not need it any longer; here was an old servant with a lantern coming towards him and he would soon show him the right way.
‘Who are you?' asked the servant, holding the lantern up to Karl's face and illumining his own as well. His face had a somewhat formal look because of a great white beard which ended on his breast in silken ringlets. ‘He must be a faithful servant if they let him wear a beard like that,' thought Karl, gazing fixedly at the beard in all its length and breadth, without feeling any constraint because he himself was being observed in turn. He replied at once that he was a guest of Mr Pollunder's, that he had left his room to go to the dining¬ room, but could not find it.
‘Oh yes/ said the servant, ‘we haven't had the electric light laid on yet.' ' \
‘I know,' said Karl.
‘Won’t you light your candle at my lantern?' asked the servant.
‘If you please,' said Karl, doing so.
‘There's such a draught here in the corridors,' said the servant. ‘Candles easily get blown out; that’s why I have a lantern.'
‘Yes, a lantern is much more practical/ said Karl.
‘Why, you're all covered with candle-drippings/ said the servant, holding up the candle to Karl's suit.
I never even noticed it !’ cried Karl, feeling distressed, for it was his black suit, which his uncle said looked best of all upon him. His wrestling match with Clara could not have
75
been very good for the suit either, it now occurred to him. The servant was obliging enough to clean the suit as well as could be done on the spot: Karl kept turning round and showing him another mark here and there, which the man obediently removed.
‘But why should there be such a draught here?’ asked Karl , as they went on again.
Well, there's a great deal of building still to be done/ said the servant. ‘The reconstruction work has been started, of course, but it's getting on very slowly. And now the builders' workmen have gone on strike, as perhaps you know. Building up a house like this gives lots of trouble. Several large breaches have been made in the walls, which nobody has filled in, and the draught blows through the whole house. If I didn't stuff my ears with cotton-wool I couldn't stand it/
‘Then shouldn't I speak louder?' asked Karl.
‘No, you have a clear voice,' said the servant. ‘But to come back to this building; especially in this part, near the chapel, which will certainly have to be shut off from the rest of the house later, the draught is simply unendurable.'
‘So the balustrade along this corridor gives on to a chapel?'
‘Yes.'
‘I thought that at the time,' said Karl.
‘It is well worth seeing,' said the servant. ‘If it hadn't been for that, Mr Mack probably wouldn’t have bought the house.'
‘Mr Mack?' asked Karl. ‘I thought the house belonged to Mr Pollunder.'
‘Yes, certainly,' said the servant, ‘but it was Mr Mack who decided the purchase. Don't you know Mr Mack?'
‘Oh yes,' said Karl. ‘But what connexion does he have with Mr Pollunder?'
‘He is the young lady's fiance,' said the servant.
‘I certainly didn’t know that,' said Karl, stopping short.
‘Do you find that so surprising?' asked the servant.
‘I’m only thinking it over. If you don’t know about such
connexions, you can easily make the worst kind of mistakes/ replied Karl.
Tm only surprised that they haven’t told you about it/ said the servant.
‘Yes, that’s true/ said Karl, feeling abashed.
‘Probably they thought you knew/ said the servant, ‘it’s old news by this time. But here we are,’ and he opened a door behind which appeared a stair that led straight down to the back door of the dining-room which was still as brightly illumined as at Karl’s arrival.
Before Karl went down to the dining-room, from which the voices of Mr Pollunder and Mr Green could be heard still talking as they had talked two hours before, the servant said: ‘If you like, I’ll wait for you here and take you back to your room. It’s always difficult to find one’s way about here on the first evening/
‘My room will never see me again/ said Karl, without knowing why he felt sad as he gave this information.
‘It won’t be so bad as all that/ said the servant, smiling in a slightly superior way and patting him on the arm. Prob¬ ably he construed Karl’s words as meaning that Karl intended to stay up all night in the dining-room, talking and drinking with the two gentlemen. Karl did not want to make any confessions just then, also he reflected that this servant, whom 'he liked better than the other servants in the house, would be able to direct him on his way to New York, and so he said: ‘If you would wait here, it would certainly be a great kindness and I gratefully accept it. I’ll come up in a little while, in any case, and tell you what I’m going to do. I think that I may need your help yet.’ ‘Good/ said the servant, setting his lantern on the floor and seating himself on a low pedestal, which was probably vacant on account of the reconstruction work. ‘I’ll wait here, then. You can leave the candle with me too/ he added, as Karl made to go downstairs with the lighted candle in his hand.
‘I’m not noticing what I’m doing/ said Karl, and he handed
11
the candle to the servant, who merely nodded to him, though it was impossible to say whether the nod was deliberate or whether it was caused by his stroking his beard with his hand.
Karl opened the door, which through no fault of his rattled noisily, for it consisted of a single glass panel that almost jumped from the frame if the door were opened quickly and held fast only by the handle. Karl let the door swing back again in alarm, for he had wanted to enter the room as quietly as possible. Without turning round he was aware that behind him the servant, who had apparently descended from his pedestal, was now shutting the door carefully and without the slightest sound.
'Forgive me for disturbing you/ he said to the two gentle¬ men, who stared at him with round, astonished faces. At the same time he flung a hasty glance round the room, to see if he could discover his hat somewhere. But it was nowhere to be seen; the dishes on the dining-table had all been cleared away; perhaps, he thought uncomfortably, the hat had been carried off to the kitchen along with them.
'But where have you left Clara?' asked Mr Pollunder, to whom the intrusion, however, did not seem to be unwelcome, for he at once changed his position in the chair and turned his face full upon Karl. Mr Green put on an air of indifference, pulled out a pocket-book, in size and thickness a giant of its kind, seemed to be searching in its many compartments for some particular paper, but during the search kept reading other papers which chanced to come his way.
'I have a request to make which you must not misunder¬ stand,' said Karl, walking up hastily to Mr Pollunder and putting his hand on the arm of his chair, to get as near to him as he could.
'And what request can that be?’ asked Mr Pollunder, giving Karl a frank open look. ‘It is granted already.’ And he put his arm round Karl and drew him between his knees. Karl submitted willingly, though as a rule he felt much too
78
grown up for such treatment. But of course it made the utterance of his request all the more difficult.
'And how do you really like being here?' asked Mr Pollunder. 'Don’t you find that one gets a kind of free feeling on coming out of the town into the country? Usually’ - and he looked askance at Mr Green, a glance of unmistakable meaning, which was partly screened by Karl - 'usually I get that feeling every evening.’
'He talks/ thought Karl, 'as if he knew nothing about this huge house, the endless corridors, the chapel, the empty rooms, the darkness everywhere.’
'Well/ said Mr Pollunder, 'out with your request!’ And he gave Karl, who stood silent, a friendly shake.
'Please/ said Karl, and much as he lowered his voice he could not keep Green, sitting there, from hearing everything, though he would gladly have concealed from him this re¬ quest, which might easily be construed as an insult to Pollunder - 'Please let me go home now, late as it is.’
And once he had put the worst into words, all the rest came pouring out after it, and he said without the slightest insincerity things of which he had never even thought before. 'I want above all to get home. I’ll be glad to come again, for wherever you are, Mr Pollunder, I’ll always be glad to stay. Only tonight I can’t stay here. You know that my uncle was unwilling to give me permission for this visit. He must have had good reasons for that, as for everything that he does, and I had the presumption literally to force permission from him against his better judgement. I simply exploited his affection for me. It doesn’t matter at all what his objections were; all that I know with absolute certainty is that there was nothing in these objections which could offend you, Mr Pollunder, for you’re the best, the very best friend that my uncle has. Nobody else can even remotely be compared with you among my uncle’s friends. And that is the only excuse for my disobedience, though an insufficient one. You probably have no first-hand knowledge of the relations between my
79
uncle and me, so I’ll mention only the main points. Until my English studies are finished and while I am still insufficiently versed in practical things, I am entirely dependent on my uncle’s kindness, which I can accept, of course, being a relation. You mustn’t think that I’m in a position yet to earn my living decently - and God forbid that I should do it in any other way. I’m afraid my education has been too im¬ practical for that. I managed to scrape through four classes of a European High School with moderate success, and for earning a livelihood that means less than nothing, for our schools are very much behind the times in their teaching methods. You would laugh if I were to tell you the kind of things I learned. If a boy can go on studying, finish his school course and enter the University, then, probably, it all straightens out in the long run and he finishes up with a proper education that lets him do something and gives him the confidence to set about earning a living. But unluckily I was tom right out of that systematic course of study. Sometimes I think I know nothing, and in any case the best of my knowledge wouldn’t be adequate for America. Some of the high schools in my country have been reformed recently, teaching modem languages and perhaps even com¬ mercial subjects, but when I left my primary school there were none of these. My father certainly wanted me to learn English, but in the first place I couldn’t foresee then that I would have such bad luck and that I would actually need English, and in the second place I had to learn a great deal of other things at school, so that I didn’t have much time to spare - I mention all this to show you how dependent I am on my uncle, and how deeply I am bound to him in conse¬ quence. You must admit that in these circumstances I am not in a position to offend in the slightest against even his unexpressed wishes. And so if I am to make good even half of the offence which I have committed against him, I must go home at once.’
During this long speech of Karl’s, Mr Pollunder had
80 j
listened attentively, now and then tightening his arm round Karl, though imperceptibly, particularly when Uncle Jacob was mentioned, and several times gazing seriously and as if expectantly at Green, who was still occupied with his pocket- book. But Karl had felt more and more restless the more clearly he became aware of his relation to his uncle during his speech, and involuntarily he struggled to free himself from Pollunder’s arm. Everything cramped him here; the road leading to his uncle through that glass door, down the steps, through the avenue, along the country roads, through the suburbs to the great main street where his uncle’s house was, seemed to him a strictly ordered whole, which lay there empty, smooth, and prepared for him, and called to him with a strong voice. Mr Pollunder’s kindness and Mr Green’s loathsomeness ran into a blur together, and all that he asked from that smoky room was permission to leave. He felt cut off from Mr Poll under, prepared to do battle against Mr Green, and yet all round him was a vague fear, whose impact troubled his sight.
He took a step back and now stood equally distant from Mr Pollunder and Mr Green.
‘Hadn’t you something to say to him ?’ asked Mr Pollunder, turning to Mr Green and seizing the man’s hand imploringly.
‘I don’t know what I could have to say to him/ said Mr Green, who had taken a letter from his pocket-book at last and laid it before him on the table. ‘It is to his credit that he wants to go back to his uncle, and one might naturally assume that that would give his uncle great pleasure. Unless he has angered his uncle already too deeply by his dis¬ obedience, which is only too possible. In that case it would certainly be better for him to stay here. It’s difficult to say anything definite; we’re both friends of his uncle and it would be hard to say whether Mr Pollunder’s or my friend¬ ship ranks highest; but we can’t see into his uncle’s mind, especially at so many miles’ distance from New York.’
Please, Mr Green/ said Karl, overcoming his distaste and
81
approaching Mr Green, ‘I can tell from what you say that you too think it would be best for me to go back at once/
‘I said nothing of the kind/ replied Mr Green, and he once more returned to his contemplation of the letter, running his fingers over the edges of it. Apparently he wished to indicate that he had been asked a question by Mr Pollunder and had answered it, while Karl was no concern of his at all.
Meanwhile Mr Pollunder stepped over to Karl and gently led him away from Mr Green to the big window.
‘Dear Mr Rossmann/ he said, bending down to Karl’s ear and as a preparation for what he had to say passing his handkerchief over his face until it encountered his nose, which he blew, ‘you must not think that I wish to keep you here against your will. There is no question of that. I can’t put the car at your disposal, I admit, for it’s parked in a public garage a good distance from here, since I haven’t had the time yet to build a garage for myself here, where everything is still under construction. The chauffeur again doesn’t sleep here but somewhere near the garage; I really don’t know where, myself. Besides, he isn’t supposed to be on duty just now; he’s merely expected to appear at the right time in the morning. But all this would be no obstacle to your returning at once, for if you insist upon it I’ll accompany you at once to the nearest railway station, though it’s so far away that you wouldn’t get home much sooner than if you came with me in my car tomorrow morning - we start at seven.’
‘Then, Mr Pollunder, I would rather go by train all the same,’ said Karl. ‘I never thought of the train. You say yourself that I would arrive sooner by train than if I left tomorrow in your car/
‘But it would make only a very little difference/
‘All the same, all the same, Mr Pollunder,’ said Karl, ‘I’ll always be glad to come here again, remembering your kind¬ ness, that is, of course, if after my behaviour tonight you ever invite me again; and perhaps next time I’ll be able to explain more clearly why every minute that keeps me away
82
from my uncle now is so important to me/ And as if he had already received permission to go away, he added : ‘But you mustn’t come with me on any account. It’s really quite unnecessary. There’s a servant outside who’ll be glad to show me the way to the station. Now, I have only to find my hat.’ And with these words he walked across the room to take a last hasty look, in case his hat were lying somewhere.
‘Perhaps I could help you out with a cap?’ said Mr Green, drawing a cap from his pocket. ‘Maybe it will serve you for the time being?’
Karl stopped in amazement and said : ‘But I can’t deprive you of your cap. I can go quite well with my head bare. I don't need anything.’
‘It isn’t my cap. You just take it ! ’
‘In that case, -thanks,’ said Karl, so as not to delay any longer, taking the cap. He put it on and could not help laughing, for it fitted him perfectly; then he took it off again and examined it, but could not find the particular thing that he was looking for; it seemed a perfectly new cap. ‘It fits so well ! ’ he said.
‘So the cap fits ! ’ cried Mr Green, thumping the table.
Karl was already on his way to the door to fetch the servant, when Mr Green got up, stretched himself after his ample meal and his long rest, struck himself resoundingly on the chest, and said in a voice between advice and command : ‘Before you go, you must say good-bye to Miss Clara.’
‘Yes, you must do that,’ agreed Mr Pollunder, who had also got up. From the way in which he spoke one could tell that the words did not come from his heart; he kept flapping his hands feebly against the side of his trousers and buttoning and re-buttoning his jacket, which after the fashion of the moment was quite short and scarcely reached his hips, an unbecoming garment for such a stout man as Mr Pollunder. One also had the definite feeling asjie stood there beside Mr Green that Mr Pollunder^ fatness was not a healthy fatness. His massive back was somewhat bent, his paunch looked soft
i 83
and flabby, an actual burden, and his face was pallid and worried. Mr Green, on the other hand, was perhaps even fatter than Mr Pollunder, but it was a homogeneous, balanced fatness; he stood with his heels together like a soldier, he bore his head with a jaunty erectness. He looked like a great athlete, a captain of athletes.
Tou are to go first then/ Mr Green continued, ‘to Miss Clara. That is bound to be pleasant for you and it suits my tune-table excellently as well. For before you leave here I have as a matter of fact something of interest to tell you, which will probably also decide whether you are to go back or not. But I am unfortunately bound by my orders to divulge nothing to you before midnight. You can imagine that Fm sorry for that myself, since it upsets my night's rest, but I shall stick to my instructions. It is a quarter-past eleven now, so that I can finish discussing my business with Mr Pollunder, which you would only interrupt; besides, you can have a very pleasant time with Miss Clara. Then at twelve punctually you will report here, where you will learn what is necessary/
Could Karl reject this request, which demanded from him only the minimum of politeness and gratitude towards Mr Pollunder and which, moreover, had been put by a man customarily rude and indifferent, while Mr Pollunder, whom it really concerned, intervened neither by word nor glance? And what was the interesting news which he was not to learn until midnight? If it did not hasten his return by at least the forty-five minutes that it now made him waste, it would have little interest for him. But his greatest scruple was whether he dared visit Clara at all, seeing that she was his enemy. If only he had the stone-chisel with him which his uncle had given him as a letter weight ! Clara’s room might prove a really dangerous den. Yet it was quite im¬ possible to say anything against Clara here, for she was Pollunder’s daughter and, as he had just heard, Mack’s fiancee as well. If she had only behaved a very little differently
84
towards him, he would have frankly admired her for her connexions. He was still considering all this when he per¬ ceived that no reflection was expected from him, for Green opened the door and said to the servant, who jumped up from his pedestal : ‘Conduct this young man to Miss Clara/
‘This is how commands are executed/ thought Karl, as the servant, almost running, groaning with infirmity, led him by a remarkably short cut to Clara’s room. As Karl was passing his own room, whose door was still open, he asked leave to go in for a minute, hoping to compose himself. But the servant would not allow it.
‘No/ he said, ‘you must come along to Miss Clara. You heard that yourself/
‘I only want to stay there a minute/ said Karl, thinking what a relief it. would be to lie on the sofa for a little, to quicken up the time between now and midnight.
‘Don’t obstruct me in the execution of my duty/ said the servant.
‘He seems to imagine it’s a punishment to be taken to Miss Clara/ thought Karl, and he went on a few steps, but then defiantly stoppedagain.
‘Do come, young sir/ said the servant, ‘since you’re still here. I know, that you wanted to leave this very night, but we don’t always get what we want, and I told you already that it would hardly be possible.’
‘I do want to leave and I will leave too/ said Karl, ‘and I’m merely going to say good-bye to Miss Clara.’
Ts that so?’ said the servant, and Karl could see that he did not believe a word of it. ‘Why are you so unwilling to say good-bye then? Do come along/
‘Who is that in the corridor?’ said Clara’s voice, and they saw her leaning out of a door near by, a big red-shaded table- lamp in her hand. The servant hurried up to her and gave his message; Karl slowly followed him. ‘You’re late in coming/ said Clara.
Without , answering her for the moment, Karl said to the
85
servant softly, but in a tone of stem command, for he already knew the man’s character: ‘You’ll wait for me just outside this door ! *
I was just going to bed,’ said Clara, setting the lamp on the table. As he had done in the dining-room, the servant carefully shut this door too from the outside. ‘It’s after half¬ past eleven already.’
After half-past eleven?’ said Karl interrogatively, as if alarmed at these figures. ‘But in that case I must say good-bye at once,’ he went on, ‘for at twelve punctually I must be down in the dining-room.’
4 What urgent business you seem to have!’ said Clara, absently smoothing the folds of her loose nightdress. Her face was glowing and she kept on smiling. Karl decided that there was no danger of getting into another quarrel with Clara. ‘Couldn’t you play the piano for a little after all, as Papa promised yesterday and you yourself promised tonight?’
‘But isn’t it too late now?’ asked Karl. He would have liked to oblige her, for she was quite different now from what she had been before; it was as if she had somehow ascended into the Pollunder circle and into Mack’s as well.
‘Yes, it is late,’ she said, and her desire for music seemed already to have passed. ‘And every sound here echoes through the whole house; I’m afraid that if you play now it will waken up the very servants in the attics.’
‘Then I won’t bother to play; you see, I hope to come back again another day; besides, if it isn’t too great a bother, you might visit my uncle and have a look at my room while you are there. I have a marvellous piano. My uncle gave it to me. Then, if you like, I’ll play all my pieces to you; there aren’t many of them, unfortunately, and they don't suit such a fine instrument either, which needs a really great player to use it. But you may have the pleasure of hearing a good player if you tell me beforehand when you are coming, for my uncle means to engage a famous teacher for me - you can imagine how I look forward to it - and his playing would certainly
86
make it worth your while to pay me a visit during one of my lessons. To be quite frank, I'm glad that it's too late to play, for I can't really play yet, you would be surprised how badly I play. And now allow me to take my leave; after all it must be your bedtime.' And as Clara was looking at him with a kindly expression and seemed to bear him no ill-will because of the quarrel, he added with a smile, while he held out his hand: ‘In my country people say “Sleep well and sweet dreams".'
‘Wait/ she said, without taking his hand, ‘perhaps you might play after all.' And she disappeared through a little side door, beside which the piano stood.
‘What next?' thought Karl. ‘I can’t wait long, even if she is nice to me.’ There was a knock at the corridor door and the servant, without daring quite to open it, whispered through a little chink: ‘Excuse me; I’ve just been called away and can’t wait any longer.'
‘Then you can go,' said Karl, who now felt confident that he could find his way alone to the dining-room. ‘But leave the lantern for me at the door. How late is it?'
‘Almost a quarter to twelve,’ said the servant.
‘How slowly the time passes,’ said Karl to himself. The servant was shutting the door when Karl remembered that he had not given him a tip, took a shilling from his trouser pocket - in the American fashion he now always carried his loose coins jingling in his trouser pocket, his bank-notes, on the other hand, in his waistcoat pocket - and handed it to the servant with the words : ‘For your kindness.’
Clara had already come back, patting her trim hair with her fingers, when it occurred to Karl that he should not have let the servant go after all, for who would now show him the way to the railway station? Well, Mr Pollunder would sure]y manage to hunt up a servant somewhere, and perhaps the old servant had been summoned to the dining-room and so would be again at his disposal.
‘Won’t you really play a little for me? One hears music
§2
so seldom here that it's a pity to miss any opportunity of hearing it/
It s high time I began then/ said Karl without further consideration, sitting down at once at the piano.
'Do you want any special music?' asked Clara.
'No, thanks, I can’t even read music correctly/ replied Karl, and he began to play. It was a little air which, as he knew perfectly well, had to be played somewhat slowly to make it even comprehensible, especially to strangers; but he strummed it out in blatant march time. When he ended it the shattered silence of the house closed round them again, almost distressfully. They sat there as if frozen with embar¬ rassment and did not move.
'Quite good/ said Clara, but there was no formula of polite¬ ness which could have flattered Karl after that performance.
'How late is it?’ he asked.
'A quarter to twelve/
'Then I still have a little time/ he said and thought to himself: 'Which is it to be? I needn’t play through all the ten tunes I know, but I might play one at least as well as I can/ And he began to play his beloved soldier’s song. So slowly that the roused longing of his listener yearned for the next note, which Karl held back and yielded reluctantly. He had actually to pick out the keys first with his eyes as in playing all of his tunes, but he also felt rising within him a song which reached past the end of this song, seeking another end which it could not find. ‘I’m no good/ said Karl after he had finished, gazing at Clara with tears in his eyes.
Then from the next room came a sound of handclapping. 'Someone has been listening!’ cried Karl, taken aback. 'Mack/ said Clara softly. And already he heard Mack shout¬ ing : 'Karl Rossmann, Karl Rossmann ! ’
Karl swung both feet over the piano stool and opened the door. He saw Mack half sitting and half reclining in a huge double bed with the blankets loosely flung over his legs. A canopy of blue silk was the sole and somewhat school-girlish
88
ornament of the bed, which was otherwise quite plain and roughly fashioned out of heavy wood. On the bedside table only a candle was burning, but the sheets and Mack's night¬ shirt were so white that the candle-light falling upon them was thrown off in an almost dazzling reflection; even the canopy shone, at least at the edges, with its slightly billowing silk tent which was not stretched quite taut. But immediately behind Mack the bed and everything else sank into complete darkness. Clara leaned against the bed-post and had eyes now only for Mack.
'Hallo/ said Mack, reaching his hand to Karl. 'You play very well; up to now Fve only known your talent for riding/
Tm as bad at the one as at the other/ said Karl. ‘If I’d known you were listening, I certainly wouldn't have played. But your young lady - He stopped, he hesitated to say 'fiancee', since Mack and Clara obviously shared the same bed already.
'But I guessed it/ said Mack, 'and so Clara had to lure you out here from New York, or eke I would never have heard your playing. It’s certainly amateurish enough, and even in these two airs, which have been set very simply and which you have practised a good deal, you made one or two mis¬ takes; but all the same it pleased me greatly, quite apart from the fact that I never despise players of any kind. But won’t you sit down and stay for a little while with us ? Clara, give him a chair/
'Thanks/ said Karl awkwardly. 'I can't stay, glad as I would be to stay here. It's taken me too lpng to discover that there are such comfortable rooms in this house/
‘I'm having everything reconstructed in this style/ said Mack.
At that moment twelve strokes of a bell rang out in rapid succession, each breaking into the one before. Karl could feel on his cheeks the wind made by the swinging of that great bell. What sort of village could it be which had such bells !
89
It’s high time I was gone,’ said Karl, stretching out his hand to Mack and Clara without shaking theirs and rushing off into the corridor.
He found no lantern there and regretted having tipped the servant so soon.
He began to feel his way along the wall to his own room, but had hardly covered half the way when he saw Mr Green hurriedly bobbing towards him with an upraised candle. In the hand holding the candle he was also clutching a letter.
‘Rossmann, why didn’t you come? Why have you kept me waiting? What on earth has kept you so long with Miss Clara?’
‘How many questions!’ thought Karl, ‘and now he’s pushing me to the wall/ for indeed Green was standing quite close to Karl, who had to lean his back against the wall. In this corridor Green took on an almost absurd size, and Karl wondered in jest if he could have eaten up good Mr Pollunder.
‘You certainly aren’t a man of your word. You promised to come down at twelve and instead of that here you are prowling round Miss Clara’s door. But I promised you some interesting news at midnight, and here it is.’ And with that he handed Karl the letter. On the envelope was written : To Karl Rossmann, to be delivered personally at midnight, wherever he may be found.’
‘After all,’ said Mr Green, while Karl opened the letter, ‘I think I am due some thanks for driving out here from New York on your account, so that you shouldn’t expect me to chase after you through these corridors as well.’
‘From my uncle,’ said Karl, almost as soon as he glanced at the letter. ‘I have been expecting it,’ he said, turning to Mr Green.
‘Whether you were expecting it or not doesn’t matter to me in the least. You just read it,’ said Green, holding up the candle to Karl.
Karl read by its light :
90
DearNephew,
As you will already have realized during our much too brief companionship, I am essentially a man of principle. That is un¬ pleasant and depressing not only to those who come in contact with me, but also to myself as well. Yet it is my principles that have made me what I am, and no one can ask me to deny my fundamental -self. Not even you, my dear nephew. Though you would be my first choice, if it ever occurred to me to permit such a general assault upon me. Then I would pick you up, of all people, with these two arms that are now holding this paper and set you above my head. But as for the moment nothing indicates that this could ever happen, I must, after the incident of today, expressly send you away from me, and I urgently beg you neither to visit me in person, nor to try to get in touch with me either by writing or through intermediaries. Against my wishes you de¬ cided this evening to leave me; stick, then, to that decision all your life. Only then will it be a manly decision. As the bringer of this news I have chosen Mr Green, my best friend, who no doubt will find indulgent words for you which at the moment are certainly not at my disposal. He is an influential man and, if only for my sake, will give you his advice and help in the first inde¬ pendent steps which you take. To explain our separation, which now as I end this letter once more seems incomprehensible to me, I have to keep telling myself again and again, Karl, that nothing good comes out of your family. If Mr Green should forget to hand you your box and umbrella, remind him of them.
With best wishes for your further welfare,
Your faithful
Uncle Jacob
'Are you finished?' asked Green.
'Yes/ said Karl. 'Have you brought the box and the um¬ brella with you ? ’ he asked.
‘Here it is/ said Green, setting Karl’s old travelling box, which until now he had held in his left hand concealed behind his back, beside Karl on the floor.
‘And the umbrella ? Karl asked again.
‘Everything here/ said Green, bringing out the umbrella
91
too, which had been hanging from one of his trouser pockets. A man called Schuhal, an engineer in the Hamburg- American Line, brought the things; he maintained that he found them on the ship. You can find an opportunity to thank him sometime/
‘Now I have my old things back again at least/ said Karl, laying the umbrella on the box.
But you should take better care of them in future, the Senator asked me to tell you/ said Mr Green, and then asked, obviously out of private curiosity : ‘What queer kind of box is that?'
‘It's the kind of box that soldiers in my country take with them when they join the army/ replied Karl. ‘It’s my father's old army chest. It’s very useful too/ he added with a smile, ‘provided you don't leave it behind you somewhere/
‘After all, you’ve been taught your lesson/ said Mr Green, ‘and I bet you haven’t a second uncle in America. Here is something else for you, a third-class ticket to San Francisco. I’ve decided on sending you there because in the first place your chances of earning a living are much better in the West, and in the second your uncle has got a finger in everything here that might suit you and a meeting between you must be strictly avoided. In ’Frisco you can tackle anything you like; just begin at the bottom and trying gradually to work your way up/
Karl could not detect any malice in these words; the bad news which had lain sheathed in Green the whole evening was delivered, and now he seemed a harmless man with whom one could speak more frankly perhaps, than with anybody else. The best of men, chosen through no fault of his own to be the bearer of such a secret and painful message, must appear a suspicious character so long as he had to keep it to himself. ‘I shall leave this house at once/ said Karl, hoping that his resolution would be approved by Green’s experience, ‘for I was invited as my uncle’s nephew, while as a stranger I have no business here. Would you be so good as
92
to show me the way out and tell me how I can get to the nearest inn?'
‘As quick as you like/ said Green, ‘you're not afraid of giving me trouble, are you ? '
On seeing the huge strides which Green was taking, Karl at once came to a stop,* so much haste seemed highly sus¬ picious, and he seized Green by the coat-tail, suddenly realizing the true situation, and said: ‘There's one thing more you must explain : on the envelope you gave me it was merely stated that I was to receive it at midnight, wherever I might be found. Why, then, on the strength of that letter, did you keep me here when I wanted to leave at a quarter-past eleven ? In doing that you exceeded your instructions/
Green accompanied his reply with a wave of the hand which indicated with melodramatic exaggeration the silliness of Karl’s question, saying: ‘Was it stated on the envelope that I should run myself to death chasing about after you, and did the contents of the letter give any hint that the inscription was to be construed in such a way? If I had not kept you here, I should have had to hand you the letter precisely at midnight on the open road.'
‘No/ said Karl, quite unmoved, ‘it isn't quite so. It says on the envelope : “To be delivered at midnight/' You might have been too tired, perhaps, to follow me at all, or I might have reached my uncle's by midnight, though I grant you, Mr Pollunder thought not, or as a last resort it might have been your duty to take me back to my uncle in your own car, which you so conveniently forgot to mention, since I was insisting on going back. Does not the inscription quite plainly convey that midnight was to be the final term for me? And it is you who are to blame that I missed it/
Kar] looked at Green with shrewd eyes and clearly saw that shame over this exposure was conflicting in the man with joy at the success of his designs. At last he pulled him¬ self together and said sharply, as if breaking into Karl's accusations, although Karl had been silent for a long time:
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‘Not a word more P And pushed Karl, who had once more picked up his box and his umbrella, out through a little door which he flung open before him.
To his astonishment Karl found himself in the open air. An outside stair without railings led downwards before him. He had simply to descend it and then turn to the right to reach the avenue which led to the road. In the bright moon¬ light he could not miss his way. Below him in the garden he could hear the manifold barking of dogs who had been let loose and were rushing about in the shadow of the trees. In the stillness he could distinctly hear them thudding on the grass as they landed after making their great bounds.
Without being molested by the dogs Karl safely got out of the garden. He could not tell with certainty in which direc¬ tion New York lay. In coming here he had paid too little attention to details which might have been useful to him now. Finally he told himself that he need not of necessity go to New York, where nobody expected him and one man cer¬ tainly did not expect him. So he chose a chance direction and set out on his way.
4. The Road to Rameses
In the small inn which Karl reached after a short walk and which was merely a last little eating-house for New York car and lorry drivers and so very seldom used as a night lodging, he asked for the cheapest bed that could be had, since he thought he had better begin to save at once. In keeping with his request, the landlord waved him up a stair as if he were a menial, and at the top of the stair a dishevelled old hag, peevish at being roused from her sleep, received him almost without listening to him, warning him all the time to tread softly, and conducted him into a room whose door she shut on him, but not before giving him a whispered:
<Hstr ' ' H
Karl could not make out at first whether the window curtains had merely been drawn or whether there was no window in the room at all, it was so dark; but in the end he noticed a skylight, whose covering he drew aside, whereupon a little light came in. There were two beds in the room, both of them already occupied. He saw two young men lying there in a heavy sleep; they did not look very trustworthy, chiefly because without any understandable reason they were sleeping in their clothes; one of them actually had his boots on.
At the moment when Karl uncovered the skylight one of the sleepers raised his arms and legs a little way in the air, which was such a curious sight that in spite of his cares Karl laughed to himself.
He soon realized that, quite apart from the absence of anything to sleep on, there being neither a couch nor a sofa,
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he would not be able to get any sleep here, since be could not risk losing his newly recovered box and the money he was carrying on him. But he did not want to go away either, for he did not know how he was to get past the old woman and the landlord if he left the house so soon. After all, he was perhaps just as safe here as on the open road. It was certainly strange that no sign of luggage was to be seen in the whole room, so far as he could make out in the half light. But perhaps, indeed very probably, the two young men were servants who had to get up early because of the boarders and for that reason slept with their clothes on. In that case it was no great honour, certainly, to sleep in their room, but it was all the less risky. Yet he must not fall asleep on any account until he was certain of this beyond all doubt.
Under the bed a candle was standing, along with matches. Karl softly crept over and fetched them. He had no scruples about lighting the candle, for on the landlord’s authority the room belonged as much to him as to the other two men, who besides had already enjoyed half a night’s sleep and being in possession of the beds held an immeasurable advantage over him. However, by moving about as quietly as possible, he naturally took every care not to waken them.
First of all he wanted to examine his box, so as to survey his things, of which by this time he had only a vague memory, and the most precious of which might well have disappeared. For once Schubal got his hands on anything there was little hope that you would get it back unscathed. Of course, he might have been counting on a big tip from Uncle Jacob, but on the other hand if anything were missing, he could easily shift the blame on to the original guardian of the box, Mr Butterbaum.
Karl’s first glance inside the box horrified him. How many hours had he spent during the voyage in arranging and re¬ arranging the things in this box, and now everything was in such wild confusion that as soon as he turned the key the lid sprang up of itself.
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But soon he realized to his delight that the sole cause of the disorder was that someone had added the suit he had worn during the voyage, which the box, of course, was not intended to hold. Not the slightest thing was missing. In the secret pocket of his jacket he found not only his passport but also the money which his parents had given him, so that, including what he had upon him, he was amply furnished with money for the time being. Even the underclothes which he had worn on arriving were there, freshly washed and ironed. He at once put his watch and his money in the trusty secret pocket. The only regrettable thing was that the Veronese salami, which was still there too, had bestowed its smell upon everything else. If he could not find some way of eliminating that smell, he had every prospect of walking about for months enveloped in it.
As he was searching for some things at the very bottom - a pocket Bible, some letter paper and some photographs of his parents - the cap fell from his head into the box. In its old surroundings he recognized it at once; it was his own cap, the cap which his mother had given him to wear during the voyage. All the same, out of prudence he had not worn the cap on the boat, for he knew that in America everybody wore caps instead of hats, so that he did not want to wear his cap out before arriving. And Mr Green had used it simply to make a fool of him. Could Uncle Jacob have instructed him to do that as well? And with an involuntary wrathful movement he gripped the lid of the box, which shut with a bang.
Now there was no help for it; the two sleepers were aroused. First one of them stretched and yawned, and then the other immediately followed suit. Almost all the contents of the box were lying in a heap on the table; if these men were thieves, they merely had to walk across the room and take what they fancied. Both to forestall this possibility and to know where he stood, Karl went 'over with the candle in his hand to the beds and explained how he happened to be
a. -5
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there. They did not seem to have expected any explanation, for, still far too sleepy to talk, they merely gazed at him without any sign of surprise. They were both young men, but heavy work or poverty had prematurely sharpened the bones of their faces; unkempt beards hung from their chins; their hair, which had not been cut for a long time, lay matted on their heads; and they rubbed and knuckled their deep-set eyes, still heavy with sleep.
Karl resolved to take every advantage of their momentary weakness and so he said : ‘My name is Karl Rossmann and I am a German. Please tell me, as we are occupying the same room, what your names are and what country you came from. I may as well say that I don’t expect a share of your beds, for I was late in arriving and in any case I have no intention of sleeping. And you mustn’t draw the wrong conclusions from the good suit I have on; I am quite poor and without any prospects.’
The smaller of the two men - the one with his boots on - indicating by his arms, legs and general demeanour that he was not interested in all this and had no time for such re¬ marks, lay down again and immediately went to sleep; the other, a dark-skinned man, also lay down again, but before falling asleep said with a languid wave of the hand: That chap there is called Robinson, and he’s an Irishman, I’m called Delamarche and I’m a Frenchman, and now please be quiet.’ Scarcely had he said this when with a great puff he blew out Karl's candle and fell back on the pillow.
‘Well, that danger is averted for the moment,' Karl told himself, turning back to the table. If their sleepiness was not a pretext, everything was all right. The only disagreeable thing was that one of them was an Irishman. Karl could no longer remember in what book he had once read at home that if you went to America you must be on your guard against the Irish. While he was staying with his uncle he certainly had had an excellent opportunity to go thoroughly into the question of the Irish danger, but because he believed he was
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now well provided for to the end of his life he had completely neglected it. So he resolved that he would at least have a good look at this Irishman by the help of the candle, which he lit again, and found that the man really looked more bearable than the Frenchman. His cheeks had still a trace of roundness and he smiled in his sleep in quite a friendly way, so far as Karl could make out, standing at a distance on tiptoe.
Firmly resolved in spite of everything not to go to sleep, Karl sat down on the only chair in the room, postponed packing his box for the time being, since* the whole night still lay before him in which to do it, and turned the leaves of his Bible for a little while, without reading anything. Then he took up a photograph of his parents, in which his small father stood very erect behind his mother, who sat in an easy-chair slightly sunk into herself. One of his father’s hands lay on the back of the chair, the other, which was clenched to a fist, rested on a picture-book lying open on a fragile table beside him. There was another photograph in which Karl had been included together with his parents. In it his father and mother were eyeing him sharply, while he was staring at the camera, as the photographer bade him. But he had not taken this photograph with him on the voyage.
He gazed all the more attentively now at the one lying before him and tried to catch his father’s eye from various angles. But his father refused to come to life, no matter how much his expression was modified by shifting the candle into different positions; nor did his thick, horizontal moustache look in the least real; it was not a good photograph. His mother, however, had come out better; her mouth was twisted as if she had been hurt and were forcing herself to smile. It seemed to Karl that anyone who saw the photograph must be so forcibly struck with this that he would begin immediately to think it an exaggerated, not to say foolish, interpretation. How could a photograph convey with such
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complete certainty the secret feelings of the person shown in it? And he looked away from the photograph for a little while. When he glanced at it again he noticed his mother’s hand, which dropped from the arm of the chair in the fore¬ ground, near enough to kiss. He wondered if it might not be better to wnte to his parents, as both of them (and his father very strictly on leaving him at Hamburg) had enjoined him. On that terrible evening when his mother, standing by the window, had told him he was to go to America, he had made a fixed resolution never to write; but what did the resolve of an inexperienced boy matter here, in these new surround¬ ings? He might as well have vowed then that two months in America would see him commanding the American Militia, instead of which here he was in a garret beside two vagrants, in an eating-house outside New York, the right place for him, too, as he could not but admit. And with a smile he scrutinized his