by Franz Kafka
Next day Karl insisted on taking up his duties at once, even though the head cook had wanted to let him take the day off to visit Ramses. But Karl responded frankly that there would be more such opportunities, and that his most important task now was to start work, for at a younger age in Europe he had fruitlessly broken off work that was directed toward a different goal, and now here he was starting off as a lift boy at an age when in the natural sequence of events the more assiduous youths at least were about to take on higher-level positions. It was, he said, very fitting that he should start as a lift boy but equally fitting that he should do so with special haste. Under these circumstances a visit to the city would give him no pleasure whatsoever. He could not even decide to take a short route suggested by Therese. And he kept thinking that if he was not diligent, he might end up like Delamarche and Robinson.
At the hotel tailor’s he was fitted out in the uniform of a lift boy, which was very splendidly adorned with gold buttons and gold ribbons but made Karl shiver a little as he put it on, for the coat was cold, especially in the armpits, and so drenched with the sweat of the lift boys who had previously worn it that it could not be dried. The uniform had to be especially loosened for Karl, particularly above the chest, since none of the ten ready-made uniforms on hand would fit him. Despite these necessary alterations, and although the master tailor seemed quite meticulous—the uniform that had been duly delivered was on two occasions flung back into the workshop—in barely five minutes everything was finished, and Karl left the studio looking like a lift boy, in close-fitting trousers and a little jacket that was, in spite of the master tailor’s categorical assurances to the contrary, very constricting and continually tempted one to do breathing exercises to see whether it was still possible to breathe.
Then he reported to the head waiter, under whose command he was supposed to serve, a thin handsome man with a large nose who was probably already in his forties. He had no time to engage in even the briefest conversation and simply rang for a lift boy, who happened to be the very one that Karl had seen the previous day. The head waiter addressed him only by his first name, Giacomo, as Karl discovered only later, for the way his name was pronounced in English made it unrecognizable. This youth was now instructed to show Karl what he needed to know about the lift service, yet he was so timid and hasty that Karl couldn’t even grasp the little that needed to be shown. Besides, Giacomo was probably annoyed, for he had had to leave the lift service on account of Karl and had been given the task of assisting the chambermaids, which, after certain experiences that he would not divulge, he considered dishonorable. Karl was especially disappointed to learn that the only contact a lift boy had with the elevator machinery was when he pushed a button to set it in motion, and that the hotel’s machinists were always called whenever the engine needed to be repaired; for instance, although Giacomo had served at the lift for six months, he had never set eyes on the engine in the cellar, or on the machinery inside the elevator, even though, as he explicitly said, he would have greatly enjoyed doing so. Besides, the work itself was monotonous and, because of the twelve-hour shift and the alternating day and night shifts, so exhausting that, from what Giacomo said, it would have been intolerable if it had not been possible to catch a few minutes’ sleep as one stood there. Though Karl said nothing, he was well aware that this very trick had cost Giacomo his job.
Karl was very pleased that the elevator he had to look after was reserved solely for the top floors and that he would therefore not have to deal with the extremely demanding rich guests. Still, it would not be possible to learn as much there as one could elsewhere, so it was useful only at the beginning.
Already after his first week Karl realized that he was very much a match for the service. The brass on his elevator was always exceedingly well polished; none of the thirty other elevators came close, and it would have glistened even more brightly had the youth serving alongside in the same elevator been even half so diligent as Karl and not felt that he could be all the more nonchalant thanks to Karl’s diligence. He was a native-born American called Rennel, a vain youth with dark eyes and smooth, if rather sunken, cheeks. He had an elegant personal suit and on his free evenings would rush off into the city lightly perfumed; now and then he would ask Karl to substitute for him in the evenings, for family reasons, he said, and was not in the least concerned that his elegant appearance belied all such excuses. Still, Karl was very fond of him and was pleased whenever Rennel stopped by at his elevator downstairs, dressed in his own suit, offered a few more excuses while pulling his gloves over his fingers, and then went off down the corridor. In filling in for him Karl simply wanted to do him a favor, as at first seemed only natural with an older colleague, but this ought not to become a lasting arrangement. For this everlasting riding up and down in the lift was certainly tiring enough, especially in the evening hours, when there were almost no lulls.
Karl soon learned how to give the short low bows expected of lift boys and always caught the tip in midair. Then it disappeared into the pocket of his waistcoat, and from the expression on his face one could not tell if it was a big or a small tip. For the ladies he opened the door with a touch of gallantry, easing himself slowly into the elevator in their wake, for they usually entered more hesitantly than the men on account of their skirts, hats, and accessories. While the elevator was in operation, he stood by the door as inconspicuously as possible, with his back to the passengers, and held the handle of the elevator door so that he could quickly push it aside on arrival without startling anyone. Only rarely during the ride would a person tap him on the shoulder with a request for information, and then he would spin around, as though he had expected such a question, and answer in a loud voice. In spite of the number of elevators available, there was often such a bustle, especially after the theaters had closed or a certain express train had arrived, that no sooner had he deposited the guests upstairs than he was obliged to race back down to collect those still waiting below. He also had the option of increasing the usual speed by pulling on a cable that ran through the elevator; but the elevator regulations stated that this was prohibited and even dangerous. Karl never did so while riding with passengers, yet whenever he dropped them off upstairs and there were others waiting below, he became reckless and worked on the cable with strong rhythmical tugs, like a sailor. Besides, he knew that the other lift boys were doing likewise and did not wish to lose his passengers to those other youths. Some guests who lived at the hotel for longer periods, which was incidentally fairly common, would occasionally indicate with a smile that they recognized Karl as their lift boy; Karl gladly acknowledged their friendliness, though he did so with a serious face. Every now and then, when the traffic had eased off a little, he could take on special little errands, such as fetching some small item forgotten by a hotel guest who wished to avoid having to go up to his room, and then he would race up alone in the elevator, which at such moments felt especially familiar to him, enter the stranger’s room, where there were usually curious objects that he had never previously encountered lying about or hanging on the clothes racks, sense the characteristic aroma of a stranger’s soap, perfume, or mouthwash, and without even halting for a moment, rush back with the item that—for all the vague instructions he had been given—he mostly succeeded in finding. He often regretted not being able to take on bigger errands, for those were the preserve of special servants and messengers who went about on bicycles and even motor bicycles, whereas Karl was at best used only to carry messages between the guest rooms and the dining or gaming rooms.
When he returned from his twelve-hour shift, for three days at six o’clock in the evening and for the next three at six o’clock in the morning, he was so weary that he ignored everybody else and went straight to his bed. It was in the lift boys’ shared dormitory; the head cook, who may not have had so much influence as he had imagined that first evening, had tried to procure him a little room of his own and would no doubt have succeeded in doing so; Karl, however, on seeing
the difficulties to which this gave rise and the number of calls the head cook had to make to his boss, that ever-so-busy head waiter, turned down the offer and persuaded the head cook he was serious by explaining that he did not want to be envied by the other youths for an advantage he had not actually earned.
One certainly couldn’t call this dormitory a quiet bedroom. For since each of them divided his twelve hours of free time differently between eating, sleeping, diversions, and side jobs, there was always a great commotion in the dormitory. Some boys slept with the blankets pulled up over their ears so that they would not hear anything; whenever one of them was awakened, he would yell so furiously over the yelling of the others that even the sound sleepers could no longer hold out against the noise. Nearly every youth had a pipe; they were considered a luxury; Karl had acquired one too and soon took pleasure in it. But smoking was not allowed on duty, and as a result everyone in the dormitory smoked, unless one happened to be fast asleep. Consequently, each bed was enveloped in its own cloud of smoke, and all was lost in a general haze. Although approved by the majority, the suggestion that only one light should be left burning at the far end of the dormitory proved impossible to implement. Had it been possible to adopt that suggestion, those who wished to sleep could easily have done so in the dark half of the dormitory—it was a large room with forty beds—whereas the others in the illuminated part of the room could have played dice or cards and carried out any other activities for which light was required. If anyone whose bed lay in the illuminated section had wanted to sleep, he could have lain down in the dark on one of the empty beds, for there were always sufficient empty beds and nobody objected to someone else making such short-term use of his bed. But this arrangement was never put into effect, not even for one night. Again and again there were some, let’s say two, who, after taking advantage of the dark to catch some sleep, felt like playing cards on a board they had spread out between them and switched on an electric lamp, and its piercing light would startle the boys opposite. You could certainly go on tossing and turning for another little while, but in the end your only recourse was to start a game with your neighbor, who had also been awakened in the glow of yet another lamp. By then, of course, all of their pipes were glowing again. But there were certainly others—Karl was usually among them—who, determined to sleep at all costs, rather than put the pillow underneath their head, covered their head with it or wrapped it around their head, but how could you go on sleeping when the occupant of the adjacent bed rose in the middle of the night so that he could enjoy a little diversion in the city before reporting for duty, washed himself noisily, splashed water in the basin affixed to the head of his bed, pulled on his boots noisily, stamping his feet on the floor to force them up higher—they were mostly too tight even though they were American-style boots—and then finally, on discovering that some little item in his clothing was missing, lifted up the pillow, where you lay in wait, long since roused from your sleep, eager to let fly at him. They were all athletic and young, mostly sturdy fellows who did not want to pass up any opportunity for sports. And whenever you were awakened in the middle of the night by some great noise and jumped up, you inevitably encountered two boxers on the floor by your bed and, under glaring lights, numerous experts standing on all of the surrounding beds in their shirts and underpants. Once, during one such nighttime boxing match, one of the combatants fell upon the sleeping Karl, and the first thing he saw on opening his eyes was the blood running from the youth’s nose, and before he could do a thing, the blood poured down all over his bedclothes. Frequently Karl spent almost all of his twelve hours off duty trying to get a few hours’ sleep, although he too was greatly tempted to take part in the other boys’ pastimes; but again and again he was struck by the thought that all of the others had an advantage over him in life, for which he would have to compensate by working more diligently and by making certain sacrifices. Although he was very determined to get his sleep, mostly for the sake of his work, he never complained to the head cook or to Therese about the conditions in the dormitory since, first of all, every youth in there had a hard time as well and never seriously complained about it, and secondly, all that bother in the dormitory was inevitably part of his task as a lift boy, which he had after all gratefully accepted from the hands of the head cook.
Once a week, on changing shift, he had twenty-four hours off, which he used partly to pay a visit or two to the head cook and to have a few brief exchanges with Therese—usually in some corridor and only rarely in her room—during one of the miserably infrequent moments when she was off duty. Sometimes he accompanied her on her errands to the city, which needed to be carried out most expeditiously. Then they would almost run to the closest subway station, with Karl carrying her bag; the journey passed by in a flash, as if the train were being pulled along without meeting the slightest resistance; now they had already descended from it, and instead of waiting for the elevator, which they found too slow, they clattered up the steps; there then appeared great squares, with streets that radiated out like a star, causing turmoil in the traffic, which came streaming in straight lines from every direction; yet staying close together, Karl and Therese rushed into various offices, laundries, warehouses, and stores in which they had to convey some orders and complaints, which by the way were not so weighty that they could not have been easily dealt with by telephone. Therese soon noticed that Karl’s help was not insignificant, for it certainly helped expedite matters. Whenever he went along, she never had to wait as she usually did until the exceedingly busy merchants stopped to listen to her. He went to the counter and rapped on it with his knuckles until he received an answer; he shouted through walls of people in an English that still sounded too emphatic and could easily be distinguished even amid a hundred voices, and he approached those people unhesitatingly, even if they had withdrawn disdainfully into the recesses of the deepest business chambers. He did so not out of exuberance, for he could understand their resistance, but because he believed he had a secure position, one that afforded him certain rights since the Occidental Hotel was a customer that could not exactly be scoffed at, and also since Therese, for all her business experience, needed some help. “You should always come,” she would say at times, laughing happily, as they returned from an especially well-executed enterprise.