by Franz Kafka
Klara approached him again and bent down to catch his eye, and if he had not restrained himself, he would have had to look at her. “I’m leaving now,” she said. “You may feel like coming over later. My room is the fourth on this side of the corridor, beginning with this door here. So you pass three more doors, and then it’s the next. I’m not going back down to the dining room and shall stay in my room. You’ve really tired me out. I cannot promise I’ll wait up for you, but if you want to come, then do so. Remember that you promised to play something on the piano for me. But perhaps I have so unnerved you that you cannot move; then stay here and have a good sleep. I won’t tell Father about our scuffle for now; I’m just saying this in case you’re worried.” And in spite of her ostensible weariness she rushed out of the room in two bounds.
Karl immediately sat up straight; all that lying around had become quite intolerable. In order to move about a little, he went to the door and looked into the corridor. How dark it was out there! He was glad when he had shut and locked the door and could be at his table in the candlelight again. He resolved not to stay in this house any longer and to go downstairs to Mr. Pollunder and tell him openly how Klara had treated him—having to confess his defeat did not in the least disturb him—and, armed with this surely adequate explanation, ask for permission to drive or walk home. If Mr. Pollunder raised some objection to his going back at once, Karl would request that the servant at least take him to the nearest hotel. Although one did not generally treat amiable hosts as Karl intended to do, it was even rarer to treat a guest as Klara had done. She had even thought she was being kind in promising not to mention their scuffle to Mr. Pollunder for the time being, but that in itself was truly outrageous. Had Karl been asked to enter a wrestling contest in which it was shameful to be thrown about by a girl who had probably been learning wrestling tricks for most of her life? And besides, she had even been instructed by Mack. Well, she could go and tell him everything; he was certainly quite understanding, as Karl knew, although he had never really had a chance to experience this in person. Karl knew too that if Mack were to instruct him, he would make better progress than Klara; one day he would come back, probably without actually being invited, and after checking the layout first, of course, so as to acquire the precise knowledge that had given Klara such an advantage, use her to dust off the settee onto which she had just thrown him.
Now it was simply a matter of finding one’s way back to the dining room, where in the initial confusion he had probably misplaced his hat. Of course, he intended to take along the candle, but even with a little light it was not easy to find one’s way about. For instance, he could not tell whether this room was on the same floor as the dining room. On the way over Klara had dragged him, so that he hadn’t been able to look around; Mr. Green and the servants carrying the candelabras had also kept him busy, and indeed he wasn’t even able to say how many staircases they had passed, one, two, or perhaps even none. If the view from here was any indication, the room was fairly high up, and so he tried to imagine them taking the stairs, but even at the entrance they had had to go up several stairs; so why couldn’t this side of the house be elevated also? If only there had been a glimmer of light from a door somewhere along the corridor or one could have heard a voice from afar, however faintly!
His pocket watch, a present from his uncle, indicated eleven; he took the candle and went into the corridor. In case the search should prove futile he left his door open, for he could then find his room again and also, in case of dire emergency, the door to Klara’s room. For safety’s sake, he blocked the door with a chair to prevent its blowing shut. In the corridor there was a most unfortunate draft blowing against him—he turned left, of course, away from Klara’s door—and although it was actually a very weak draft, it could easily have blown out the candle, so Karl had to shield the flame with his hand and often halt for a moment to let the battered flame recover. Progress was slow, so the route seemed twice as long. Karl had already passed lengthy stretches of walls without any doors; one couldn’t even picture what lay behind them. Then came one door after the other; he tried to open several, but they were locked, the rooms evidently uninhabited. This was an unbelievable waste of space, and Karl recalled the eastern neighborhoods of New York that his uncle had promised to show him, where several families apparently lived together in one little room, and a family home amounted to no more than one corner, where children flocked about their parents. And so many of these rooms stood empty, their only purpose being to make a hollow sound whenever anyone knocked. Mr. Pollunder seemed to Karl to be misled by his false friends, infatuated with his daughter, and thereby corrupted. Uncle Jakob’s judgment about Pollunder had no doubt been correct, and it was merely his principle of not influencing Karl’s judgments of other people that was responsible for this visit and all this wandering about through the corridors. Karl wanted to say so to his uncle first thing the following day, for in accordance with his own principle his uncle would be happy to listen patiently to his nephew’s judgment of him. Besides, his uncle’s principle was perhaps the only thing Karl disliked in him and even then not absolutely.
Suddenly the wall on one side of the corridor ended and gave way to an ice-cold marble balustrade. Karl put down the candle and leaned over cautiously. A dark void wafted toward him. If this was the main hall in the house—in the glimmer from the candle one could now distinguish part of the vaultlike ceiling—why hadn’t they entered through this hall? What purpose could be served by this large, deep space? One stood as if in the gallery of a church. Karl almost regretted not being able to stay until the following day; he would have liked to be led around by Pollunder and have him explain everything to him in the daylight.
Besides, the balustrade did not go on for long, and Karl soon found himself enveloped by the enclosed corridor again. At a sudden bend in the corridor Karl banged into the wall with his full weight, and only by clutching the candle with unflagging concentration did he fortunately prevent it from falling and becoming extinguished. Since this corridor would not end, and there was no window anywhere through which he could take a look, nor any sign of life above or below, Karl was beginning to think he had been going in a circle the entire time, and he even hoped he might come upon the open door to his room, but neither it nor the balustrade came around again. Hitherto Karl had refrained from shouting out loud, for at such a late hour he did not want to make any noise in this unfamiliar house, but he now realized that the noise wouldn’t do any harm in this unlit house and he was about to send a loud hello echoing up and down the corridor when he noticed a small light approaching, actually from the direction he had come from himself. But now he could at last gauge the length of this straight corridor; the house was not so much a villa as a fortress. Such was Karl’s joy on noticing this saving light that he abandoned all caution and ran toward it; after a few strides his candle went out. He ignored this, for he no longer needed the candle, and the old servant who was approaching with the lantern would, of course, show him the right way.
“Who are you?” asked the servant, raising the lantern to Karl’s face and thereby illuminating his own. His face seemed rather stiff on account of his large white full beard, which reached down to his chest, where it tapered off in silky ringlets. He must be a faithful servant if he’s allowed to wear a beard like that, thought Karl, continually gazing up and down the length of the beard without feeling hampered by the scrutiny that he himself was undergoing. Besides, he responded at once, saying he was a guest of Mr. Pollunder’s and simply wanted to go from his room to the dining room but had not succeeded in finding it. “I see,” said the servant, “we still haven’t installed electric lighting.” “I know,” said Karl. “Don’t you want to use my lamp to light your candle,” the servant asked. “Yes, please,” said Karl, and did so. “It’s so drafty out here in the corridors,” said the servant, “the candle can easily get blown out, and that’s why I have a lantern.” “Yes, a lantern is much more practical,” said Karl. “Yo
u’re covered in candle drippings,” said the servant, illuminating Karl’s suit with the candle. “I hadn’t even noticed,” cried Karl, much to his regret, for it was a black outfit that, according to his uncle, suited him best. The scuffle with Klara could scarcely have done the suit any good, it occurred to him. The servant was kind enough to clean off the suit as best he could in his haste; Karl turned around in front of him to show him scattered stains, which the servant obediently removed. “Why is there such a draft,” asked Karl once they had started moving again. “There’s still a great deal of construction left to be done,” said the servant, “they’ve started work on the renovations, but it’s going very slowly. And besides all that, the construction workers have now gone on strike, as you may know. There’s always trouble with that kind of construction. There are several large gaps that haven’t been walled up, and the draft blows right through the house. I couldn’t survive it here if I didn’t have my ears stuffed with cotton.” “Then I should probably raise my voice?” asked Karl. “Your voice is perfectly clear,” said the servant. “But to return to the construction, the draft out here is quite intolerable, especially near the chapel, which will eventually have to be closed off from the rest of the house.” “So the balustrade along this corridor opens out into a chapel?” “Yes.” “Just as I thought,” said Karl. “It’s well worth seeing,” said the servant, “if it weren’t for the chapel, Mr. Mack probably wouldn’t have bought the house.” “Mr. Mack?” asked Karl, “I thought the house belonged to Mr. Pollunder.” “Yes, of course,” said the servant, “but Mr. Mack played the decisive role in purchasing it. You don’t know Mr. Mack?” “Oh yes,” said Karl. “But what’s the connection between him and Mr. Pollunder?” “He’s Miss Klara’s fiancé,” said the servant. “That I didn’t know,” said Karl, and he stopped. “Is that so surprising to you?” “I just want to let it sink in. One can make the greatest mistakes if one isn’t aware of such relationships,” replied Karl. “I’m just surprised they didn’t let you know,” said the servant. “Well, yes,” said Karl, sounding embarrassed. “They probably thought you already knew,” said the servant, “after all, it’s not exactly news. Besides, here we are,” and he opened a door, exposing stairs that led directly up to the back door of the dining room, which was as brightly illuminated as it had been upon Karl’s arrival. Before entering the dining room, from which the voices of Mr. Pollunder and Mr. Green still emanated just as they had some two hours previously, the servant said: “If you like, I shall wait for you here, and then I shall take you to your room. On one’s first evening here, it’s always difficult to find one’s way about.” “I shall not be going back to my room,” said Karl, without quite knowing why it made him sad to say so. “It won’t be that bad,” said the servant, patting him on the arm and smiling somewhat condescendingly. He had probably thought that Karl meant he wanted to spend all night in the dining room, talking and drinking with these gentlemen. Karl had no desire to make any confession just now; besides, he thought that this servant, whom he preferred to the other servants here, could show him how to get to New York, and he therefore said: “If you’re willing to wait, that would be most kind of you, and I gratefully accept your offer. I certainly shall come out again in a little while and tell you what I intend to do. I’m quite sure I’ll still need your help.” “Fine,” said the servant, placing the lantern on the floor and seating himself on a low pedestal, which was empty probably on account of the renovations, “so I’ll wait here. By the way, you may leave the candle with me,” added the servant as Karl was about to enter the room with the lighted candle. “I’m so distracted,” said Karl, handing the candle to the servant, who merely nodded to him, though one could not tell whether this was deliberate or whether it came from the way he shook his head.
Karl opened the door, which rattled loudly, though not through any fault of his own, for it consisted of a single glass pane that almost bent when it was pushed open with the door handle. Startled, Karl released the door, for he had wanted to enter especially quietly. Although he did not turn around again, he clearly sensed that the servant behind him must have climbed down from his pedestal and shut the door carefully, without making the slightest sound. “Pardon me for disturbing you,” he said to the two gentlemen, whose large, astonished faces turned toward him. Meanwhile he surveyed the room with a quick glance to see whether he might not be able to find his hat somewhere. But there was no sign of it; the dining room table had been cleared; how unpleasant it would be if someone had carried his hat into the kitchen. “But where did you leave Klara?” asked Mr. Pollunder, who incidentally did not seem to mind being disturbed, for he had turned around in his armchair and now sat squarely facing Karl. Feigning indifference, Mr. Green pulled out a briefcase the size and thickness of which made it a monster of its kind, and he appeared to search through its many pockets for a certain piece of paper while also reading others that he came across. “I do have a request to make, and it’s important you don’t misunderstand it,” said Karl, and hurrying over to Mr. Pollunder, he put his hand on the armrest of his chair so as to get very close to him. “What kind of request?” asked Mr. Pollunder, gazing at Karl with a completely open expression. “It is, of course, already granted.” And he put his arm around Karl and drew him between his legs. Karl endured this gladly, although he did in general feel too grown-up for such treatment. But, of course, it now became even more difficult to come out with the request. “So how do you like it here?” asked Mr. Pollunder. “Isn’t it liberating to leave the city and be out here in the county? Most evenings”—and at this point he gave Mr. Green an unmistakable side glance, which was partly blocked by Karl—“most evenings this is how I feel.” He talks, Karl thought, as if he were unaware of the size of this house, of the endless corridors, the chapel, the empty rooms, and the darkness everywhere. “Well!” said Mr. Pollunder, “now let’s hear your request!” and he gave Karl, who stood there silently, a friendly shake. “Please,” said Karl, but no matter how hard he tried to lower his voice, it was impossible to prevent Green, who sat nearby, from overhearing everything, and Karl would have been happy to forgo that request, which could be regarded as an insult to Pollunder— “Please let me go home right away, tonight.” And now that the worst had been said, everything else tumbled out all the more quickly; without even resorting to the tiniest lie, he said things that he had never even thought of before. “What I’d most like to do is go home. I’ll be delighted to come back, for I like being wherever you are, Mr. Pollunder. Only I cannot stay today. As you know, my uncle only reluctantly gave me permission to visit you. No doubt he had his own good reasons for that, as he certainly has for everything he does, and I chose to force him to give me permission against his own better judgment. I simply abused his love for me. Whatever doubts he may have had about this visit are certainly beside the point now. I’m absolutely certain, Mr. Pollunder, that those doubts contain nothing that could possibly hurt your feelings, those of a man who’s my uncle’s best, his very best, friend. Nobody else even comes close to your friendship with my uncle. That is really the only excuse I have for being disobedient, and it’s not good enough. You may not have a precise understanding of my relationship with my uncle, so I shall touch only on what is most essential. Until I complete my English studies and have become reasonably well acquainted with local business practices, I shall have to depend entirely on my uncle’s goodness, of which as a blood relative I can of course avail myself freely. You mustn’t think that I could already manage to make a decent living—and God preserve me from the other sort. Unfortunately, my education has been too impractical for that. I spent four years as an average student in a European Latin high school, and in terms of earning a living that means less than nothing, since the curriculum in our Latin high schools is rather backward. You would laugh if I told you what I was learning there. If you continue your studies, finish high school, and go on to university, all this probably sorts itself out, and you end up with a decent education that all
ows you to do something and gives you the resolve to go out and earn money. Unfortunately, I got pulled out of that integrated program of study; sometimes I think I don’t know anything; besides, even with everything I would have learned, it still wouldn’t be sufficient for America. In my home country they’re now setting up a number of reformed high schools, where you can also study modern languages and possibly even commerce; when I left primary school, there were no such schools yet. My father wanted me to take English lessons, but first of all, I couldn’t possibly have imagined the misfortune that would befall me and the great need I would have for English, and besides I had to study a lot in high school, so there was not much time left for other things. I’m saying all this to show you how much I depend on my uncle and thus the extent of my obligation to him. You’ll surely agree that under these circumstances I cannot allow myself to do anything against even his merely presumed will. And so as to make at least partial amends for the mistake I made in his regard I must go home at once.” During Karl’s long speech Mr. Pollunder had listened attentively, often pressing him against his body, quite inconspicuously, especially whenever mention was made of Karl’s uncle, and several times he glanced earnestly, and as if expectantly, at Green, who was still occupied with his briefcase. Yet as he spoke, Karl became clearly conscious of his position in relation to his uncle; he became increasingly uneasy and unwittingly tried to extricate himself from Pollunder’s arm, for everything here was hemming him in, whereas the path to his uncle, through the glass door, across the steps, down the drive, along the roads, and through the suburbs to the main thoroughfare, finally turning in at his uncle’s house, seemed to him a coherent whole lying before him, empty, smooth, prepared just for him, and beckoning him with a strong voice. Mr. Pollunder’s kindness and Mr. Green’s awfulness merged, and all he wanted to procure from this smoky room was permission to leave. Although feeling closed off from Mr. Pollunder and ready to battle Mr. Green, he was filled from all sides with a fear which was indistinct but nonetheless gave him jolts that dulled his eyes.