by Franz Kafka
They decided to use the day to rest and take a walk; they had not only earned this respite from their work, they desperately needed it. And so they sat at the table and wrote three letters of excuse, Herr Samsa to his director, Frau Samsa to her client, and Grete to her boss. While they were writing, the cleaning woman came in to tell them that she was leaving, for her morning chores had been completed. The three writers merely nodded at first without looking up; only when the cleaning woman still had not left the room did they look up in annoyance. “Well?” asked Herr Samsa. The cleaning woman stood in the doorway smiling as though she had great news to announce to the family but would only do so after being thoroughly questioned. The almost vertical little ostrich plume on her hat, which had bothered Herr Samsa the entire time she had worked for them, swayed slightly in all directions. “So, what is it then?” asked Frau Samsa, for whom the cleaning woman still had the most respect. “Yes,” answered the cleaning woman, whose friendly laughter prevented her from continuing right away, “well, you needn’t worry about how to dispose of the things from next door. It has been taken care of.” Frau Samsa and Grete bent over their letters, as though they wished to continue writing. Herr Samsa, who noticed that the cleaning woman was about to begin describing everything in detail, dismissed this firmly with his outstretched hand. Since she was prevented from telling her story, she remembered that she was in a great hurry, and, obviously insulted, she called: “Farewell everyone,” turned around wildly and slammed the doors terribly as she left the apartment.
“She’ll be dismissed this evening,” said Herr Samsa, but he received no answer from his wife or his daughter, for it seemed that the cleaning woman had disturbed the peacefulness again just as it had been restored. They rose, went to the window, and remained there embracing one another. Herr Samsa turned around in his armchair and observed them in silence for a little while. Then he called: “Come on over here. Let the old things go. And have a little consideration for me, too.” The women obeyed him, rushed to him, caressed him, and hastily concluded their letters.
Then all three of them left the apartment together, which they had not done in months, and took a trolley to the countryside outside the city. The car in which they sat alone was entirely filled with warm sunshine. Reclining comfortably in their seats, they discussed their prospects for the future, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be not bad at all, for all three had positions that were quite good and especially promising for the future. Of course, the greatest improvement to their situation at the moment would easily come about with a change of apartments; they now wanted to take an apartment that was smaller and cheaper, but better situated and generally more practical than their current one which had been chosen by Gregor. As they were conversing, it occurred to Herr and Frau Samsa almost simultaneously at the sight of their increasingly lively daughter that, despite all the worry that had made her cheeks pale, she had blossomed into a pretty and voluptuous young woman. Growing quieter and communicating almost unconsciously through their glances, they thought that it was almost time to find a decent husband for her. And it seemed to them to be a confirmation of their new dreams and good intentions when, at their journey’s end, the daughter rose first and stretched her young body.
THE STOKER
(A Fragment)
As sixteen-year-old Karl Rossmann, who had been sent to America by his poor parents because a servant girl had seduced him and had his child, sailed into the New York harbor on the slowly moving ship, he beheld the Statue of Liberty, which he had been observing for some time as though it were illuminated by a sudden flash of sunlight. The arm holding the sword rose as though recently thrust upwards, and around her figure the free breezes were blowing.
“So high!” he said to himself and, as he hadn’t even thought of departing, he was gradually pushed by the continuously swelling crowd of porters passing by until he reached the ship’s railing.
A young man, with whom he had become fleetingly acquainted during the journey, said in passing: “Well, don’t you feel like getting off yet?” “Oh, I’m ready,” said Karl with a laugh and in his enthusiasm, and because he was a strong young man, he hoisted his trunk onto his shoulder. But as he looked past his acquaintance, who swung his stick a little as he moved along with the others, he realized with dismay that he had forgotten his own umbrella down in the ship. He quickly asked his acquaintance, who didn’t seem very pleased, if he would be kind enough to wait by his trunk for a moment and, surveying his surroundings in order to find his way back, he hurried off. To his regret, he found that a passageway down below that would have considerably shortened his route was barred for the first time, which probably had to do with the disembarkment of all the passengers, and he was forced to arduously find his way through a myriad of small rooms, down short staircases that followed one another endlessly, through perpetually bending corridors, through an empty room with an abandoned desk until he actually managed—due to his having only gone this route once or twice and always in a larger group—to become absolutely lost. In his helplessness, and because he encountered no one and heard only the continuous shuffling of a thousand human feet above him and noticed from afar, like a breath of air, the final strokes of the already shut-down engines, he began to pound without deliberation on an arbitrary little door that he had halted in front of as he strayed about.
“It’s open,” called a voice from inside, and Karl opened the door with a genuine sigh of relief. “Why are you pounding on the door so madly?” asked a huge man, hardly even glancing at Karl. Turbid light, which had long since been used up in the decks above, fell through some overhead hatch into the miserable cabin, in which a bed, a closet, an armchair, and the man stood side by side, closely as though they had been put into storage. “I’ve lost my way,” said Karl. “I didn’t really notice it during the journey, but this is a terribly large ship.” “Yes, you’re right about that,” said the man with a degree of pride, fiddling with the lock of a small trunk, which he kept pushing closed with both hands in order to hear the bar snapping into the catch. “But come inside!” the man continued. “You don’t want to stand outside!” “I’m not bothering you?” asked Karl. “How should you be bothering me!” “Are you German?” Karl sought to assure himself, for he had heard many things about the dangers, especially from the Irishmen, that threatened newcomers in America. “That I am, that I am,” said the man. Karl still hesitated. Suddenly the man grabbed the handle of the door, sweeping Karl into his cabin as he hastily closed it. “I can’t stand it when people look in on me from the corridor,” said the man, who was working on his trunk again. “Everyone walks by and looks in; it’s unbearable!” “But the corridor is completely empty,” said Karl, who stood there pressed awkwardly against the bedpost. “Now, yes,” said the man. “But we are talking about now,” thought Karl. “This man is difficult to talk to.” “Why don’t you lie on the bed; you’ll have more room there,” said the man. Karl crawled in as best he could and, as he did so, laughed out loud at his first failed attempt to swing himself over. But no sooner was he in bed than he cried: “Good God, I’ve completely forgotten about my trunk!” “Where is it?” “Above deck. An acquaintance is looking after it. What was his name again?” And he pulled a visiting card from a secret pocket that his mother had inserted into his coat lining for the journey. “Butterbaum, Franz Butterbaum.” “Do you really need the trunk?” “Of course” “Well why did you give it to a stranger then?” “I had forgotten my umbrella below and ran to get it but didn’t want to drag my trunk along. Then I got lost as well.” “You are alone? Without a companion?” “Yes, alone.” “Perhaps I should stick with this man,” Karl thought. “Where am I to find a better friend?” “And now you have lost your trunk as well. Not to mention your umbrella.” And the man sat in the armchair, as though Karl’s concern had now gained considerable interest for him. “But I think my trunk is not yet lost.” “Blessed are the faithful,” said the man and vigorously scratched his dark, short, thick
hair. “On a ship, the morals change along with the ports. In Hamburg, Butterbaum may have looked after your trunk, but here there is most likely no trace of either anymore.” “Then I must go up and look right away,” said Karl and looked around for a way out. “Why don’t you stay” said the man and thrust him quite roughly with a hand against his chest back onto the bed. “Why should I?” asked Karl angrily. “Because there’s no point,” said the man. “In a little while, I will go as well, and we can then go together. Either the trunk is stolen, then it is no use, or the man has left it there, and it’ll be all the more easy to find when the ship is entirely empty. And your umbrella as well.” “Do you know your way around the ship?” Karl asked mistrustfully, and it seemed to him that there must be a catch hidden in the otherwise convincing notion that his things were best found on an empty ship. “I’m a stoker, after all” said the man. “You’re a stoker!” Karl cried with joy, as though all his expectations had been exceeded, and propped himself up on his elbows to look at the man more closely. “Just in front of the cabin where I slept with the Slovak there was a porthole through which one could see into the engine room.” “Yes, that’s where I was working,” said the stoker. “I have always been so interested in technology,” said Karl, who followed a certain line of thought, “and later I would have certainly become an engineer if I had not had to leave for America.” “Why did you have to leave?” “Oh, that!” said Karl and discarded the entire story away with his hand. As he did so, he looked at the stoker with a smile, as though he were asking for leniency regarding something he had not even admitted. “There was surely a reason,” said the stoker in such a way that one couldn’t be sure if he intended to encourage him or prevent him from disclosing this reason. “Now I could also be a stoker,” said Karl. “My parents are now entirely indifferent about what I am to become.” “My position will be free” said the stoker, and in full awareness of this fact he put his hands in his trouser pockets and threw his legs, which were clad in wrinkled, leathery, iron-gray trousers, onto the bed to stretch them out. Karl had to move farther toward the wall. “You’re leaving the ship?” “That’s right, we’re departing today.” “But why? Don’t you like it?” “Well, this is the way it is, things are not always decided by whether one likes them or not. You are right, by the way; I also don’t like it. You’re probably not thinking seriously about becoming a stoker, but this is exactly when it is easiest to become one. So I definitely advise you against it. If you wanted to study in Europe, why don’t you want to do so here? After all, the American universities are incomparably better than those in Europe.” “It is possible, I suppose,” said Karl, “but I have almost no money for studying. I did read about someone who worked in a store during the day and studied at night until he got his doctor’s degree and became mayor as well, I think, but that requires a great amount of perseverance, right? That is something I lack, I’m afraid. Besides, I was not a particularly good student; it was not really difficult for me to bid my school farewell. And perhaps the schools here are much stricter. I can hardly speak any English. People here are generally quite biased against foreigners, I think.” “Have you also experienced that already? Well that’s good then. Then you’re my man. You see, we are on a German ship. It belongs to the Hamburg-America line. Why are we not all Germans here? Why is the chief engineer a Romanian? His name is Schubal. It’s unbelievable. And this mean bastard grinds us Germans on a German ship. Don’t think”—he ran out of breath, he waved his hand—“that I’m complaining just to complain. I know that you have no influence and are yourself a poor lad. But it is too horrible!” And he pounded on the table several times with his fist and didn’t take his eye off it as he pounded. “But I have served on so many ships”—and he stated twenty names in succession as though they were one word, Karl became quite confused—“and have excelled and been praised; I was a worker to the liking of my captains; I was even on the same merchant ship for several years.”—He rose, as though this was the culmination of his life—“And here in this tub, where everything is done by the book, where no wit is required, here I am worthless, here I am always standing in Schubal’s way, I am a sluggard, I deserve to be thrown out, and receive my pay only out of mercy. Can you understand that? I can’t.” “You can’t put up with it,” said Karl excitedly. He had almost lost the feeling that he was on the unstable floor of a ship, on the coast of an unfamiliar continent, so at home he felt here on the stoker’s bed. “Have you already been to see the captain? Have you already sought justice with him?” “Oh, go away, just go away. I don’t want you here. You don’t listen to what I say and then you give me advice. How am I supposed to go to the captain?” And the stoker tiredly sat down again and laid his face in both hands.
“I can’t give him any better advice,” said Karl to himself. And besides, Karl thought he should have gone to get his trunk rather than staying here and giving advice that was only considered stupid. As his father had handed over the trunk for good, he asked him jokingly: “How long will you keep it?” and now this valuable trunk might truly be lost. The only consolation left was that his father could hardly learn of his current situation, even if he should inquire. Only that he had come along to New York, that’s all the shipping company could say. But Karl was sorry that he had hardly used the things in the trunk, even though he ought to have changed his shirt a long time ago, for example. So he had been economical in the wrong place; now, at the beginning of his career, when it was especially necessary to present oneself cleanly dressed, he would have to appear in a dirty shirt. Otherwise the loss of the trunk would not have been so terrible, for the suit that he was wearing was actually better than the one in the trunk, which was only an emergency suit that his mother had had to mend just before his departure. Now he also recalled that there was still a piece of Veronese salami in his trunk that his mother had wrapped up for him as an extra gift, from which he had only been able to eat the smallest bit because he had had no appetite during the journey, and the soup that came to be served in the steerage had sufficed him amply. Now, however, he would have liked to have that sausage at hand so that he could offer it to the stoker. Such people are easy to win over, after all, if you slip them some kind of trifle. This Karl knew from his father, who won over all the lower employees with whom he did business by distributing cigars. Now all Karl had left to give away was his money, which he didn’t want to touch for the time being, considering that he had maybe already lost his trunk. Again his thoughts returned to the trunk, and now he failed to understand why he had watched it so attentively during the journey that it had almost cost him his sleep, just to allow the same trunk to be taken away from him so easily. He remembered the five nights during which he continuously suspected a little Slovak, who lay two bunks to the left of him, of being after his trunk. This Slovak was just lurking in wait for Karl, overcome by tiredness, to doze off for a moment, so that he could pull the trunk over to him with the long pole that he was always playing or practicing with during the day. During the day, this Slovak looked innocent enough, but no sooner had night fallen than he began to rise from time to time from his bed and look sadly over at Karl’s trunk. Karl could see this very clearly, for now and then someone with the restlessness of an emigrant always lit a little light, although this was forbidden according to the ship’s regulations, and attempted to decipher the incomprehensible brochures of the emigration agencies. If such a light was nearby, Karl could drift off a little, but if it was far away, or if it was dark, then he had to keep his eyes open. The strain had thoroughly exhausted him, and now it may have been in vain. That Butterbaum, if he should ever meet him somewhere!
At that moment, small short taps like those from children’s feet sounded from the distance into the perfect silence; they came closer with intensified strength and became the calm sound of men marching. Apparently they were walking single file, as was natural in the small corridor, and one could hear a clinking sound as though from weapons. Karl, who was almost prepared to stretch hi
mself out for a sleep that was free from all worries of trunk and Slovaks, startled and gave the stoker a push to finally alert him, for the head of the troop appeared to have just reached the door. “That’s the ship’s band,” said the stoker, “they played on deck and are now going to pack up. Now everything’s finished and we can go. Come along!” He took Karl by the hand, snatched at the last moment a framed picture of the Madonna from the wall above the bed, stuffed it in his breast pocket, grabbed his suitcase, and together with Karl he hurriedly left the cabin.
“Now I am going to the office to give the gentlemen a piece of my mind. There are no more passengers around; one doesn’t need to be considerate.” The stoker repeated this in various different ways, and as he walked, he tried to trample down a rat that was crossing their path with sideward jabs of his foot, but only drove it faster into its hole, which it managed to reach just in time. He was generally slow in his movements, for although he had long legs, they were too heavy after all.
They passed through a part of the kitchen where several girls in dirty aprons—they were dousing themselves on purpose—were cleaning dishes in large tubs. The stoker called over a girl by the name of Line, laid an arm around her waist, and carried her along a bit as she coquettishly pushed against his arm. “It’s time to get paid; do you want to come along?” he asked. “Why should I bother, why don’t you bring me the money instead?” she answered, slipped out under his arm and ran away. “Where did you pick up that handsome fellow, anyway?” she called afterwards, but didn’t wait for an answer. One could hear the laughter of all the girls who had interrupted their work.