The Big Book of Classic Fantasy

by The Big Book of Classic Fantasy (retail) (epub)

  Gregor’s father groped his way tottering to his chair and let himself fall into it. It looked as if he were stretching out for his usual evening snooze, but the heavy nodding of his head, which appeared as if it had no support, showed that he was not sleeping at all. Gregor had lain motionless the entire time in the spot where the lodgers had caught him out. Disappointment with the collapse of his plan and perhaps also weakness brought on by his severe hunger made it impossible for him to move. He was afraid and reasonably certain that they might launch a combined attack against him at any moment, and he waited. He was not even startled when the violin fell from his mother’s lap, out from under her trembling fingers, and gave off a reverberating tone.

  “My dear parents,” said his sister, banging her hand on the table by way of an introduction, “things cannot go on any longer in this way. If you don’t understand that, well, I do. I will not utter my brother’s name in front of this monster, and thus I say only that we must try to get rid of it. We have tried what is humanly possible to take care of it and to be patient. I believe that no one can criticize us in the slightest.”

  “She is right in a thousand ways,” said his father to himself. His mother, who was still incapable of breathing properly, began to cough numbly with her hand held up over her mouth and a manic expression in her eyes.

  His sister hurried over to her mother and held her forehead. His sister’s words seemed to have led his father to certain reflections. He sat upright, played with his service hat among the plates, which still lay on the table from the lodgers’ evening meal, and looked now and then at the motionless Gregor.

  “We must try to get rid of it,” his sister now said decisively to his father, for his mother, in her coughing fit, was not listening to anything. “It is killing you both. I see it coming. When people have to work as hard as we all do, they can’t also tolerate this endless torment at home. I just can’t go on any more.” And she broke out into such a crying fit that her tears flowed down onto her mother’s face. She wiped them off her mother with mechanical motions of her hands.

  “Child,” said her father sympathetically and with obvious appreciation, “then what should we do?”

  Gregor’s sister only shrugged her shoulders as a sign of the perplexity which, in contrast to her previous confidence, had now come over her while she was crying.

  “If he understood us,” said his father in a half-questioning tone. His sister, in the midst of her sobbing, shook her hand energetically as a sign that there was no point thinking of that.

  “If he understood us,” repeated his father and by shutting his eyes he absorbed the sister’s conviction of the impossibility of this point, “then perhaps some compromise would be possible with him. But as it is…”

  “It has to go,” cried his sister. “That is the only way, Father. You must try to get rid of the idea that this is Gregor. The fact that we have believed this for so long, that is our real misfortune. But how can it be Gregor? If it were Gregor, he would have long ago realized that a life among human beings is not possible for such a creature and would have gone away voluntarily. Then we would not have a brother, but we could go on living and honor his memory. But this animal plagues us. It drives away the lodgers and obviously wants to take over the entire apartment and leave us to spend the night in the alley. Just look, Father,” she suddenly cried out, “he’s already starting up again.” With a fright which was totally incomprehensible to Gregor, his sister left his mother, literally pushed herself away from her chair, as if she would sooner sacrifice her mother than remain in Gregor’s vicinity, and rushed behind her father who, excited merely by her behavior, also stood up and half raised his arms in front of Gregor’s sister as though to protect her.

  But Gregor did not have any notion of wishing to create problems for anyone and certainly not for his sister. He had just started to turn himself around in order to creep back into his room, quite a startling sight, since, as a result of his ailing condition, he had to guide himself through the difficulty of turning around with his head, in this process lifting and striking it against the floor several times. He paused and looked around. His good intentions seemed to have been recognized. The fright had lasted only for a moment. Now they looked at him in silence and sorrow. His mother lay in her chair, with her legs stretched out and pressed together, her eyes almost shut from weariness. His father and sister sat next to one another. His sister had laid her hand around her father’s neck.

  “Now perhaps I can actually turn myself around,” thought Gregor and began the task again. He couldn’t stop puffing at the effort and had to rest now and then. No one was urging him on; it was all left to him on his own. When he had finished turning around, he immediately began to head straight back toward his room. He was astonished at the great distance which separated him from his room and did not understand in the least how in his weakness he had covered the same distance a short time before, almost without noticing it. Always intent only on creeping along quickly, he hardly paid any attention to the fact that no word or cry from his family interrupted him. Only when he was already in the doorway did he turn his head, not completely, because he felt his neck growing stiff. At any rate, he still saw that behind him nothing had changed. Only his sister was standing up. His last glimpse brushed over his mother, who was now completely asleep.

  He was only just inside his room when the door was pushed shut very quickly, bolted fast, and barred. Gregor was startled by the sudden commotion behind him, so much so that his little limbs bent double under him. It was his sister who had been in such a hurry. She was already standing up, had waited, and then had sprung forward nimbly. Gregor had not heard anything of her approach. She cried out “Finally!” to her parents, as she turned the key in the lock.

  “What now?” Gregor asked himself and looked around him in the darkness. He soon made the discovery that he could no longer move at all. He was not surprised at that. On the contrary, it struck him as unnatural that up to this point he had actually been able to move around with these thin little legs. Despite everything he felt relatively content. True, he had pains throughout his entire body, but it seemed to him that they were gradually becoming weaker and weaker and would finally go away completely. He hardly noticed the rotten apple in his back and the inflamed surrounding area, which were now entirely covered with soft dust. He remembered his family with deep feelings of love. In this whole business, his own conviction that he had to disappear was, if possible, even more firmly held than his sister’s. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful reflection until the tower clock struck three in the morning. He lived long enough to see everything outside the window beginning to grow brighter. Then without his willing it, his head sank all the way down, and from his nostrils his last breath flowed weakly out.

  Early in the morning the cleaning woman came. In her sheer energy and haste she banged all the doors—in precisely the way people had already frequently asked her not to do—so much so that once she arrived a quiet sleep was no longer possible anywhere in the entire apartment. In her customary brief visit to Gregor she at first found nothing unusual. She thought he lay so immobile there on purpose and was playing the offended party. She gave him credit for as complete an understanding as possible. Since she happened to be holding the long broom in her hand, she tried to tickle Gregor with it from the door. When that was quite unsuccessful, she became irritated and poked Gregor a little, and only when she had shoved him from his place without any resistance did she take notice. When she realized the true state of affairs, her eyes grew large and she whistled to herself. However, she didn’t restrain herself for long. She pulled open the door of the bedroom and yelled in a loud voice into the darkness, “Come and look. It’s kicked the bucket. It’s lying there. It’s completely snuffed it!”

  The Samsas sat upright in their double bed and had to get over their fright at the cleaning woman before they managed to grasp he
r message. But then Mr. and Mrs. Samsa climbed very quickly out of bed, one on either side. Mr. Samsa threw the bedspread over his shoulders, Mrs. Samsa came out only in her nightshirt, and like this they stepped into Gregor’s room. Meanwhile, the door of the living room, where Grete had been sleeping since the lodgers had arrived on the scene, had also opened. She was fully clothed, as if she had not slept at all; her white face also seemed to indicate that. “Dead?” said Mrs. Samsa and looked questioningly at the cleaning woman, although she could have checked everything on her own—and indeed it was all clear enough even without checking anything. “I should say so,” said the cleaning woman and, by way of proof, poked Gregor’s body with the broom a considerable distance more to the side. Mrs. Samsa made a movement as if she wished to restrain the broom but did not do it. “Well,” said Mr. Samsa, “now we can give thanks to God.” He crossed himself, and the three women followed his example. Grete, who did not take her eyes off the corpse, said, “Just look how thin he was. He has eaten nothing for such a long time. The meals which came in here came out again exactly the same.” In fact, Gregor’s body was completely flat and dry. That was apparent really for the first time, now that he was no longer raised on his small limbs and nothing else distracted one from looking.

  “Grete, come and join us for a moment,” said Mrs. Samsa with a melancholy smile, and Grete went, not without looking back at the corpse, following her parents into the bedroom. The cleaning woman shut the door and opened the window wide. In spite of the early morning, the fresh air was partly tinged with warmth. It was already almost the end of March.

  The three lodgers stepped out of their room and looked around for their breakfast, astonished that they had been forgotten. The middle one of the gentlemen asked the cleaning woman grumpily, “Where is the breakfast?” However, she laid her finger to her lips and then quickly and silently indicated to the lodgers that they could come into Gregor’s room. So they came and stood in the room, which was already quite bright, around Gregor’s corpse, their hands in the pockets of their somewhat worn jackets.

  Then the door of the bedroom opened, and Mr. Samsa appeared in his uniform, with his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other. All were a little tear stained. Now and then Grete pressed her face into her father’s arm.

  “Get out of my apartment immediately,” said Mr. Samsa and pointed to the door, without letting go of the women. “What do you mean?” said the middle lodger, somewhat dismayed and with a sugary smile. The two others kept their hands behind them and constantly rubbed them against each other, as if in joyful anticipation of a great squabble which must end up in their favor. “I mean exactly what I say,” replied Mr. Samsa, and, with his two female companions, went directly up to the lodger. The latter at first stood there motionless and looked at the floor, as if matters were arranging themselves in a new way in his head. “All right, then we’ll go,” he said and looked up at Mr. Samsa as if, suddenly overcome by humility, he was even asking fresh permission for this decision. Mr. Samsa merely nodded briefly and repeatedly to him with his eyes open wide. Following that, with long strides the lodger did actually go out into the hall. His two friends had already been listening for a while with their hands quite still, and now they hopped smartly after him, as if afraid that Mr. Samsa could step into the hall ahead of them and disturb their reunion with their leader. In the hall all three of them took their hats from the coat rack, pulled their canes from the umbrella stand, bowed silently, and left the apartment. In what turned out to be an entirely groundless mistrust, Mr. Samsa stepped with the two women out onto the landing, leaned against the railing, and looked over as the three lodgers slowly but steadily made their way down the long staircase, disappeared on each floor in a certain turn of the stairwell, and in a few seconds reappeared again. The further down they went, the more the Samsa family lost interest in them, and when a butcher’s assistant with a tray on his head came up to meet them and then with a proud bearing ascended the stairs high above them, Mr. Samsa, together with the women, soon left the banister, and they all returned, as if relieved, back into their apartment.

  They decided to pass that day resting and going for a stroll. Not only had they earned this break from work, but there was no question that they really needed it. And so they sat down at the table and wrote three letters of apology: Mr. Samsa to his supervisor, Mrs. Samsa to her client, and Grete to her proprietor. During the writing the cleaning woman came in to say that she was going off, for her morning work was finished. The three people writing at first merely nodded, without glancing up. Only when the cleaning woman was still unwilling to depart, did they look up annoyed. “Well?” asked Mr. Samsa. The cleaning woman stood smiling in the doorway, as if she had a great stroke of luck to report to the family but would only do it if she was questioned thoroughly. The almost upright small ostrich feather in her hat, which had irritated Mr. Samsa during her entire service with them, swayed lightly in all directions. “All right then, what do you really want?” asked Mrs. Samsa, whom the cleaning lady respected more than the others. “Well,” answered the cleaning woman, smiling so happily she couldn’t go on speaking right away, “you mustn’t worry about throwing out that rubbish from the next room. It’s all taken care of.” Mrs. Samsa and Grete bent down to their letters, as though they wanted to go on writing. Mr. Samsa, who saw that the cleaning woman would now want to describe everything in detail, decisively prevented her with an outstretched hand. Since she was not allowed to explain, she remembered the great hurry she was in, and called out, clearly insulted, “Bye bye, everyone,” then turned around furiously and left the apartment with a fearful slamming of the door.

  “This evening she’ll be given notice,” said Mr. Samsa, but he got no answer from either his wife or from his daughter, because the cleaning woman seemed to have once again upset the tranquility they had just attained. The women got up, went to the window, and remained there, with their arms about each other. Mr. Samsa turned around in his chair in their direction and observed them quietly for a while. Then he called out, “All right, come here then. Let’s set aside these old matters once and for all. And have a little consideration for me.” The women attended to him at once. They rushed to him, caressed him, and quickly ended their letters.

  Then all three left the apartment together, something they had not done for months now, and took the electric tram into the open air outside the city. The car in which they were sitting by themselves was wholly flooded by the warm sun. Leaning back comfortably in their seats, they talked to each other about future prospects, and they discovered that on closer observation these were not at all bad, for the three of them had not really questioned each other about their employment at all. Each of their positions was extremely favorable and offered especially promising future prospects. The greatest improvement in their situation at this point, of course, would have to come from a change of dwelling. They would now like to rent a smaller and cheaper apartment but better situated and generally more practical than the present one, which Gregor had chosen. While they amused themselves chatting in this way, it struck Mr. and Mrs. Samsa, almost at the same moment, as they looked at their daughter, who was getting more animated all the time, how she had blossomed recently, in spite of all the troubles which had made her cheeks pale, into a beautiful and voluptuous young woman. Growing more silent and almost unconsciously understanding each other in their glances, they thought that the time was now at hand to seek out a good honest man for her. And it was something of a confirmation of their new dreams and good intentions when at the end of their journey their daughter stood up first and stretched her young body.

  Lord Dunsany (1878–1957) was born Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, the eighteenth baron of Dunsany. Known for his fantasy, Lord Dunsany was a master wordsmith who could create entire universes in his novels and short stories. Not content with working in one genre, Dunsany also wrote stage and radio plays. Most of his tales were published
between 1905 and 1919. Because he influenced such writers as J. R. R. Tolkien, Ursula K. Le Guin, and H. P. Lovecraft, it would be accurate to say that his work was as influential to fantasy fiction as Edgar Allan Poe’s work was to horror and detective fiction. The Book of Wonder (1916), from which this tale is taken, was Dunsany’s fifth collection of short stories and is a vital part of any fantasy enthusiast’s collection.