Amerika: The Missing Person: A New Translation, Based on the Restored Text

by Franz Kafka

  Being so completely preoccupied with Delamarche, particularly since he could feel his resistance grow and the hostile body press every more wirily against him, he truly forgot that he and Delamarche were not alone. However, he was soon reminded of this fact, for all of a sudden his feet gave way, pressed apart by Robinson, who had thrown himself on the ground behind him and was now shouting too. Panting, Karl released Delamarche, who withdrew another step. Brunelda stood in the middle of the room, legs wide apart, knees bent, in her full expanse; she followed the incident with shining eyes. As if she were an actual participant in the fight, she inhaled deeply, took aim with her eyes, and slowly raised her fists. Delamarche turned down his collar, he could now see clearly again, so this could no longer be considered a fight, it was simply punishment. He grasped Karl by the front of his shirt, almost lifting him off the ground, and refusing to look at him out of contempt, he threw him with such force against a cabinet a few paces away that Karl initially thought that the stabbing pain in his back and head, caused by his striking the closet, had been dealt directly by Delamarche’s hand. “You scoundrel,” he could hear Delamarche exclaim in the darkness that rose before his trembling eyes. And in the first few moments of complete exhaustion after he had collapsed beside the chest, the sound of the words “Just wait” still reverberated weakly in his ears.

  When he regained consciousness, it was completely dark all around him; it must have been late at night; from the balcony a sliver of moonshine penetrated under the curtain into the room. One could hear the calm breathing of the three sleepers; Brunelda’s was by far the loudest, for she panted as she slept, just as she occasionally did as she spoke; still, it was not so easy to determine exactly where each of the sleepers lay, since the entire room was filled with the noise of her breathing. Only after taking a little look about could Karl think about himself, and he became very frightened, for even though he was completely crooked and stiff from the pain, he had never even considered the possibility that he might have suffered a severe, bloody injury. But now he had a load weighing down on his head; his entire face, his neck, and—underneath the shirt—his chest felt damp, as if there was some blood. He would have to move into the light so that he could determine his precise condition. Perhaps they had even crippled him, in which case Delamarche would surely be glad to let him go, but what should he do then, for he would be without prospects. He recalled the fellow with the wasted nose whom he had seen in the gateway, and for a moment buried his face in his hands.

  Quite involuntarily he turned to the door and groped toward it on all fours. Probing with his fingers, he soon felt a boot and then a leg. It was Robinson, who else slept in his boots? He had been given an order to lie down across the doorway so as to prevent Karl from fleeing. But didn’t they know about Karl’s condition? He did not want to flee just now, he simply wished to get into the light. And so if he could not go through the door, he would have to go to the balcony.

  The dining room table was evidently in a different position than the night before, and the settee, which Karl naturally approached with great caution, was surprisingly empty; but in the middle of the room he came across piled-up but tightly compressed clothes, blankets, curtains, cushions, and carpets. At first he thought that it was only a little heap, like the one he had come across at night on the settee, which must have toppled onto the floor, but as he crawled along he noticed to his astonishment that there was an entire cartload of such objects, which were probably removed at night from the chests in which they were stored by day. He crawled around the heap and soon saw that the whole thing was actually a kind of bed, at the summit of which, as he assured himself through careful groping, Delamarche and Brunelda were resting.

  So now he knew where everybody slept, and he hurried out onto the balcony. Beyond the curtain was an entirely different world; quickly he rose to his full height. In the fresh night air and the light from the full moon, he walked up and down the balcony several times. He glanced at the street, which was rather quiet; from the tavern music still rang out, but only in a muted fashion; by the front door a man was sweeping the pavement, and on this very street where only that evening it had been impossible amid the chaotic general din to distinguish the shouting of an election candidate from thousands of other voices, one could clearly hear a broom scratching the pavement.

  The sound of a table being pulled up on the adjacent balcony made Karl realize that somebody sat there, studying. It was a young man with a little pointed beard that he kept on twisting, moving his lips rapidly all the while. Seated at a small table covered with books, his face turned toward Karl, he had taken the electric lamp from the wall and clamped it between two large books and was now bathed in its harsh light.

  “Good evening,” said Karl, who thought he had noticed the young man glance over at him.

  But he must have been mistaken, since the young man did not seem to have noticed him and put his hand over his eyes so as to ward off the glare and find out who had greeted him all of a sudden, and then since he could not see a thing, he raised the lamp to cast some light on the adjacent balcony. “Good evening,” he said, and for a moment he looked over sharply, then added: “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m disturbing you?” asked Karl.

  “Yes, yes,” said the man, putting the lamp back.

  By responding in that fashion, the man had rejected all attempts to establish contact, yet Karl did not leave the corner of the balcony where he was closest to him. He watched silently as the man read in his book, turned the pages, and occasionally checked something in another book that he always picked up at lightning speed, often making entries in a notebook, his face always bent surprisingly low over it.

  Could this man be a student? He did seem to be studying. At home it hadn’t been so different—it was so long ago now—when Karl sat at his parents’ table writing his homework as Father read the newspaper, wrote ledger entries and correspondence for a club, and Mother occupied herself with a piece of sewing, continually pulling the thread high up over the fabric. So as to avoid disturbing Father, Karl had put only his copybook and writing materials on the table and arranged the other books he required on some chairs right and left. How quiet it had been! How seldom strangers had entered that room! Even as a little child Karl had always watched with pleasure as Mother locked the front door with the key. She had no inkling that Karl had now sunk so low that he even sought to break down strangers’ doors with knives.

  And what had he achieved through all that studying! He had certainly forgotten everything; if he had had to continue his studies here, it would have been very difficult. He remembered how he had been out sick for a month once at home—what an effort it had taken to resume his interrupted studies. And now, with the exception of that manual for English business correspondence, he had not read a book in such a long time.

  “You there, young man,” Karl heard a voice addressing him all of a sudden, “couldn’t you stand somewhere else? It’s terribly disturbing, how you keep staring over at me. At two o’clock at night one can surely expect to be able to work on the balcony without being disturbed. Do you want anything from me?”

  “You’re studying?” asked Karl.

  “Yes, yes,” said the man, using the few moments lost to his studies to rearrange his books.

  “Then I don’t want to disturb you,” said Karl, “and in any case I’m going back into the room. Good night.”

  The man did not even answer; once this disturbance had been removed, he suddenly resolved to resume his studies and sat with his forehead resting heavily on his right hand.

  Just before he reached the curtain, Karl remembered why he had come out here—he still had no idea about his condition. What was that weight on his head? He reached up and was astonished, there was no bloody injury, as he had feared in the darkness of that room; it was only a turbanlike bandage, which was still damp. To judge from the remnants of leftover lace still clinging to the bandage, it had been torn from an old piece o
f Brunelda’s underwear, which Robinson had most likely wrapped quickly around Karl’s head. Only he had forgotten to wring it out, and consequently, while Karl was unconscious, a great deal of water had run over his face and down under his shirt, giving him such a fright.

  “So you’re still there?” the man asked, blinking over at Karl.

  “But now I’m really going,” said Karl. “I simply wanted to take a look at something out here; it’s completely dark in the room.”

  “Well, who are you?” said the man, and after putting his fountain pen on his book, which lay open before him, he stepped over to the balustrade. “What’s your name? How do you come to be with those people? Have you been here long? Well, what do you want to look at? And do turn up your electric lamp so that I can see you.”

  Karl did so, but drew the curtain on the door so that nobody inside would be able to see anything. “Please,” he said in a whisper, “excuse me for speaking so softly. If the people inside hear me, there’ll be another row.”

  “Another row?” asked the man.

  “Yes,” said Karl, “just this evening I had a big fight with them. I probably still have a dreadful bruise.” And he felt the back of his head.

  “Well, what was the fight about?” asked the man, and since Karl did not answer at once, he added: “You can confide all your heartfelt grievances against those people. You see, I hate all three of them, especially their Madam. Besides, I’d be surprised if they haven’t already spoken maliciously of me. My name is Josef Mandel, and I’m a student.”

  “Yes,” said Karl, “they did tell me about you, nothing bad, though. They say you once treated Mrs. Brunelda, isn’t that so?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” said the student, laughing, “does the settee still reek of it?”

  “Oh yes,” said Karl. “Well, I’m glad about that,” said the student, running his hand through his hair, “and why do they give you such bruises?”

  “There was a fight,” said Karl, wondering how he should explain this to the student. However, he then broke off and said: “But am I not disturbing you?”

  “Well, first of all,” said the student, “you’ve already disturbed me, and unfortunately I’m so nervous, I need a long time to get started again. I haven’t accomplished anything since you started walking about on the balcony. And secondly, I always take a break at three o’clock. So take your time and tell me. I’m really very interested.”

  “It’s quite simple,” said Karl. “Delamarche wants me to become a servant at his place. But I don’t want to. I would rather have left yesterday evening right away. He wouldn’t let me and locked the door; I tried to break it down, and that’s when the scuffle broke out. I’m less than pleased to be still here.”

  “Do you have another job?” asked the student.

  “No,” said Karl, “but I don’t care, if only I could get away.”

  “Wait a minute, though,” said the student, “you don’t care?” And both were silent for a moment.

  “But why don’t you want to stay with those people,” asked the student.

  “Delamarche is a bad person,” said Karl, “I know him from before. I once spent an entire day on a long march with him and was glad not to be around him anymore. And I’m supposed to be a servant at his place?”

  “If every servant were as finicky in choosing his master as you are!” said the student, and he seemed to smile. “Look, I’m a salesman by day, the lowest-ranking salesman, actually an errand boy, in Montly’s department store. Montly is undoubtedly a scoundrel, but that doesn’t really bother me, what infuriates me is the miserable pay. So do take me as an example.”

  “What?” said Karl. “You’re a salesman by day and study at night?”

  “Yes,” said the student, “there’s no other way. I’ve explored many possibilities, but I’ve never found a better way of life. You see, some years ago I was exclusively a student, day and night, but I almost starved, had to sleep in a dirty old hole, and didn’t dare go into the classrooms wearing the suit I had back then. But that’s all over now.”

  “When do you sleep, though?” asked Karl, looking at the student in amazement.

  “Oh, as for sleeping!” said the student, “I shall sleep once I’m finished with my studies. As for now, I just drink black coffee.” And he turned around, pulled a large flask from under his desk, poured black coffee into a little cup, and downed it, the way one swallows medicines quickly so as to avoid noticing the taste.

  “It’s such a great thing, black coffee,” said the student, “it’s a pity you’re so far away and I can’t hand you some.”

  “I don’t like black coffee,” said Karl.

  “Nor do I,” said the student, laughing. “But where would I be without it. If it weren’t for black coffee, Montly wouldn’t keep me a moment longer. I always say Montly, but of course he doesn’t even have the slightest notion I exist. I really have no idea how I would keep going at work if I didn’t always keep a flask this big in my desk, for I’ve never yet dared to give up drinking coffee, but believe me, it wouldn’t be long before I’d be lying behind the desk fast asleep. Unfortunately, people can sense this, at work they call me Black Coffee; it’s a stupid joke that has certainly harmed my chances of getting ahead.”

  “And when will you be finished with your studies?” asked Karl.

  “It’s slow going,” said the student, lowering his head. He left the balustrade and sat down at the table again; after propping his elbows on the open book and running his hands through his hair, he said: “It can take between one and two more years.”

  “I too wanted to study,” Karl said, as though this particular circumstance gave him the right to expect even more confidences than the student, who was beginning to fall silent, had already revealed.

  “Well,” said the student, and it was not altogether clear whether he had begun to read his book again or was simply gazing at it absently, “you can be happy about having given up your studies. I myself have been studying for years, out of pure single-mindedness. It has given me little satisfaction and even less chance of a decent future. And in any case, what sort of prospects did I really want! America is full of bogus doctors.”

  “I wanted to become an engineer,” Karl said hastily to the student, who appeared to have lapsed into complete indifference.

  “And now you’ll be a servant for these people,” said the student, looking up for a moment, “of course, that must be painful.” The conclusion drawn by the student stemmed from a misunderstanding, but perhaps it could help Karl make some headway with him. Karl therefore asked: “Maybe I too could get a job in the department store?”

  This question tore the student away from his book; but it never even crossed his mind that he could help Karl look for a position. “Try,” he said, “or better still, don’t try. Obtaining that post at Montly’s has been the greatest success in my life. If I had to choose between my studies and that post, I would naturally choose the post. All my efforts are geared toward avoiding the necessity of having to make such a choice.”

  “So it’s that difficult to get a post there,” said Karl, more to himself than to the student.

  “Well, what do you think,” said the student, “here, of course, it is easier to become a district judge than a door-opener at Montly’s.”

  Karl remained silent. After all, this student, who was much more experienced than he and who, for reasons unknown to Karl, hated Delamarche and certainly bore Karl no ill will, could not come up with a single reason for encouraging Karl to leave Delamarche. And yet he knew nothing about the threat from the police that Karl faced and from which he was somewhat shielded only at Delamarche’s.

  “You saw the demonstration below yesterday evening, didn’t you? If you didn’t know anything about the circumstances, you could easily imagine that this candidate, Lobter is his name, might actually have some chance, or at least be in the running.” “I know nothing about politics,” said Karl.

  “That’s a mistake,” sai
d the student. “But leaving that aside, you do have eyes and ears. As you can hardly have failed to notice, that man undoubtedly had friends and enemies. And keep in mind that, at least in my opinion, the man doesn’t have the slightest chance of being elected. I happen to know all about him, just by accident; someone living here knows him. He doesn’t lack ability, and so far as his views and political past are concerned, he would be an eminently suitable judge for this district. But no one thinks he can be elected, he will fail as splendidly as one can fail; he’ll have wasted a few dollars on his election campaign, that’s all.”

  For a moment Karl and the student regarded each other in silence. The student nodded, smiling, and pressed his hand to his weary eyes.

  “Well, aren’t you going to bed?” he asked, “I must really get on with my studies. See how much work I’ve still got to wade through.” And he flicked quickly through half the pages in a book so as to give Karl an idea of the work still awaiting him.

  “Well, good night then,” said Karl, bowing.

  “But do come over to see us sometime,” said the student, who was already seated at the table again, “of course, only if you’d like. You’ll always find quite a few people here. I’ve also time for you, from nine to ten in the evening.”

  “So you advise me to stay with Delamarche?” Karl asked.

  “Absolutely,” said the student, bending his head over his books. It seemed as if he had not uttered that word but rather as if it had come from a voice deeper than the student’s; it continued to resound in Karl’s ears. Slowly he approached the curtain, cast another glance at the student, who now sat quite still within his circle of light, with darkness on all sides, and slipped into the room. He was greeted by the unified breathing of the three sleepers. Then he groped his way along the wall, looked for the settee, and upon finding it stretched out quietly, as though it were his usual bed. Since the student, who knew Delamarche well and had a precise understanding of the situation here and who, moreover, was an educated man, had advised him to stay, he had no qualms at all for now. He did not have such lofty aspirations as the student, for even at home who knew where he would have managed to finish his studies, and if this seemed scarcely possible at home, no one could expect him to do so here in this foreign country. But he would have greater hope of finding a post in which he could achieve something and be recognized for his achievements if he accepted the servant position at Delamarche’s, and then once he had that secure position, he could wait for a favorable opportunity to arise. On this very street there appeared to be many offices of middling or low stature, and if they were short of staff, they might not be all that particular about choosing new employees. If necessary, he would gladly become a messenger boy, but it was certainly not altogether inconceivable that he would be hired solely for office work and would someday become an office employee and sit at his own desk, where he could spend some time looking out the window without a care in the world, like the official he had seen that morning as they marched through the courtyard. When he closed his eyes, he was struck by the soothing thought that he was after all still young, and that Delamarche would eventually have to let him go; this household certainly didn’t look as if it would last forever. But if Karl should ever obtain such an office position, he would occupy himself exclusively with his office work and not dissipate his energy like the student. Besides, he would, if necessary, dedicate some nighttime hours to the office and indeed would even be required to do so because of his limited business training. He would think only of the interests of the business he served and gladly take on every task, even those that other clerical workers would reject as being unworthy of them. These good intentions jostled one another in his head as if his future boss stood before the settee reading them from his face.