‘We have no right to do either,’ returned Jenkins thoughtfully, ‘but you know, Blaisdell, there’s a little too darn much realism about some parts of your “dream.” I haven’t been smoking any doped cigars; but when you held that up to the light, I’ll swear I saw – well, never mind. Burn it – send it back to the place it came from.’
‘South America?’ said I.
‘A hotter place than that. Burn it.’
So he struck a match and we did. It was gone in one great white flash.
A large place was given by morning papers to the suicide of Doctor Frederick Holt, caused, it was surmised, by mental derangement brought about by his unjust implication in the Peeler murder. It seemed an inadequate reason, since he had never been arrested, but no other was ever discovered.
Of course, our action in destroying that ‘membrane’ was illegal and rather precipitate, but, though he won’t talk about it, I know that Jenkins agrees with me – doubt is sometimes better than certainty, and there are marvels better left unproved. Those, for instance, which concern the Powers of Evil.
In the Penal Colony
Franz Kafka
Translated into English by Ian Johnston
Franz Kafka (1883–1924) was an iconic early twentieth-century writer of German-Jewish descent who lived in Prague (then part of Bohemia). Kafka’s nightmarish, disturbing work – the novels The Trial (1925), The Castle (1926) and Amerika (1927), as well as short stories like ‘The Metamorphosis’ (1915) – is now considered among the most original in modern literature. The story reprinted here, ‘In the Penal Colony’ (1919) first appeared in an English translation in 1948. The story’s reliance on strange ritual and its luminous clarity are grounded in a modernity that, along with his other work, represented a new approach to weird fiction. As is well-documented, Kafka’s writers’ group had clear connections to, and influence on, writers such as Alfred Kubin.
‘It’s a remarkable apparatus,’ said the Officer to the Explorer and gazed with a certain look of admiration at the device, with which he was, of course, thoroughly familiar. It appeared that the Traveller had responded to the invitation of the Commandant only out of politeness, when he had been asked to attend the execution of a soldier condemned for disobeying and insulting his superior. Interest in this execution was not really very high even in the penal colony itself. At least, here in the small, deep, sandy valley, closed in on all sides by barren slopes, apart from the Officer and the Traveller there were present only the Condemned, a vacant-looking man with a broad mouth and dilapidated hair and face, and the Soldier, who held the heavy chain to which were connected the small chains which bound the Condemned Man by his feet and wrist bones, as well as by his neck, and which were also linked to each other by connecting chains. The Condemned Man, incidentally, had an expression of such dog-like resignation that it looked as if one could set him free to roam around the slopes and would only have to whistle at the start of the execution for him to return.
The Traveller had little interest in the apparatus and walked back and forth behind the Condemned Man, almost visibly indifferent, while the Officer took care of the final preparations. Sometimes he crawled under the apparatus, which was built deep into the earth, and sometimes he climbed up a ladder to inspect the upper parts. These were jobs which really could have been left to a mechanic, but the Officer carried them out with great enthusiasm, maybe because he was particularly fond of this apparatus or maybe because there was some other reason why the work could not be entrusted to anyone else. ‘It’s all ready now!’ he finally cried and climbed back down the ladder. He was unusually tired, breathing with his mouth wide open, and he had pushed two fine lady’s handkerchiefs under the collar of his uniform at the back. ‘These uniforms are really too heavy for the tropics,’ the Traveller said, instead of asking some questions about the apparatus, as the Officer had expected. ‘That’s true,’ said the Officer. He washed the oil and grease from his dirty hands in a bucket of water standing ready, ‘But they mean home, and we don’t want to lose our homeland.’ ‘Now, have a look at this apparatus,’ he added immediately, drying his hands with a towel and at the same time pointing to the apparatus. ‘Up to this point I still had to do some work by hand, but from now on the apparatus works entirely on its own.’ The Traveller nodded and followed the Officer. The latter tried to protect himself against all eventualities by saying, ‘Of course, breakdowns do happen. I really hope none will occur today, but we must be prepared for them. The apparatus is supposed to keep going for twelve hours without interruption. But if any breakdowns occur, they are only very minor, and will be dealt with right away.’
‘Don’t you want to sit down?’ he asked finally. He pulled out a chair from a pile of cane chairs and offered it to the Traveller. The latter could not refuse. He was now sitting on the edge of a pit, into which he cast a fleeting glance. It was not very deep. On one side of the hole the piled earth was heaped up into a wall; on the other side stood the apparatus. ‘I don’t know,’ the Officer said, ‘whether the Commandant has already explained the apparatus to you.’ The Traveller made a vague gesture with his hand. That was good enough for the Officer, for now he could explain the apparatus himself. ‘This apparatus,’ he said, grasping a connecting rod and leaning against it, ‘is our previous Commandant’s invention. I also worked with him on the very first tests and took part in all the work right up to its completion. However, the credit for the invention belongs entirely to him alone. Have you heard of our previous Commandant? No? Well, I’m not claiming too much when I say that the organization of the entire penal colony is his work. We, his friends, already knew at the time of his death that the administration of the colony was so self-contained that even if his successor had a thousand new plans in mind, he would not be able to alter anything of the old plan, at least not for several years. And our prediction has held. The New Commandant has had to recognize that. It’s a shame that you didn’t know the previous Commandant!’
‘However,’ the Officer said, interrupting himself, ‘I’m chattering, and his apparatus stands here in front of us. As you see, it consists of three parts. With the passage of time certain popular names have been developed for each of these parts. The one underneath is called the Bed, the upper one is called the Inscriber, and here in the middle, this moving part is called the Harrow.’ ‘The Harrow?’ the Traveller asked. He had not been listening with full attention. The sun was excessively strong, trapped in the shadowless valley, and one could hardly collect one’s thoughts. So the Officer appeared to him all the more admirable in his tight tunic weighed down with epaulettes and festooned with braid, ready to go on parade, as he explained the matter so eagerly and, in addition, while he was talking, still kept adjusting screws here and there with a screwdriver. The Soldier appeared to be in a state similar to the Traveller. He had wound the Condemned Man’s chain around both his wrists and was supporting himself with his hand on his weapon, letting his head hang backward, not bothering about anything. The Traveller was not surprised at that, for the Officer spoke French, and clearly neither the Soldier nor the Condemned Man understood the language. So it was certainly all the more striking that the Condemned Man, in spite of that, did what he could to follow the Officer’s explanations. With a sort of sleepy persistence he kept directing his gaze to the place where the Officer had just pointed, and when a question from the Traveller interrupted the Officer, the Condemned Man looked at the Traveller, too, just as the Officer was doing.
‘Yes, the Harrow,’ said the Officer. ‘The name fits. The needles are arranged as in a harrow, and the whole thing is driven like a harrow, although it stays in one place and is, in principle, much more artistic. Anyway, you’ll understand in a moment. The condemned is laid out here on the Bed. I’ll describe the apparatus first and only then let the procedure go to work. That way you’ll be able to follow it better. Also a sprocket in the Inscriber is excessively worn. It really squeaks. When it’s in motion one can hardly make oneself understood. Un
fortunately replacement parts are difficult to come by in this place. So, here is the Bed, as I said. The whole thing is completely covered with a layer of cotton wool, the purpose of which you’ll find out in a moment. The condemned man is laid out on his stomach on this cotton wool – naked, of course. There are straps for the hands here, for the feet here, and for the throat here, to tie him in securely. At the head of the Bed here, where the man, as I have mentioned, first lies face down, is this small protruding lump of felt, which can easily be adjusted so that it presses right into the man’s mouth. Its purpose is to prevent him screaming and biting his tongue to pieces. Of course, the man has to let the felt in his mouth – otherwise the straps around his throat will break his neck.’ ‘That’s cotton wool?’ asked the Traveller and bent down. ‘Yes, it is,’ said the Officer smiling, ‘feel it for yourself.’ He took the Traveller’s hand and led him over to the Bed. ‘It’s a specially prepared cotton wool. That’s why it looks so unrecognizable. I’ll get around to mentioning its purpose in a moment.’ The Traveller was already being won over a little to the apparatus. With his hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun, he looked up at the height of the apparatus. It was a massive construction. The Bed and the Inscriber were the same size and looked like two dark chests. The Inscriber was set about two metres above the Bed, and the two were joined together at the corners by four brass rods, which almost reflected rays from the sun. The Harrow hung between the chests on a band of steel.
The Officer had hardly noticed the earlier indifference of the Traveller, but he did have a sense of how the latter’s interest was being aroused now. So he paused in his explanation in order to allow the Traveller time to observe the apparatus undisturbed. The Condemned Man imitated the Traveller, but since he could not put his hand over his eyes, he blinked upward with his eyes uncovered.
‘So now the man is lying down,’ said the Traveller. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
‘Yes,’ said the Officer. He pushed his cap back a little and ran his hand over his hot face. ‘Now, listen. Both the Bed and the Inscriber have their own electric batteries. The Bed needs them for itself, and the Inscriber for the Harrow. As soon as the man is strapped in securely, the Bed is set in motion. It quivers with tiny, very rapid oscillations from side to side and up and down simultaneously. You will have seen similar devices in mental hospitals. Only with our Bed all movements are precisely calibrated, for they must be meticulously coordinated with the movements of the Harrow. But it’s the Harrow which has the job of actually carrying out the sentence.’
‘What is the sentence?’ the Traveller asked. ‘You don’t even know that?’ asked the Officer in astonishment and bit his lip. ‘Forgive me if my explanations are perhaps confused. I really do beg your pardon. Previously it was the Commandant’s habit to provide such explanations. But the New Commandant has excused himself from this honourable duty. However, the fact that with such an eminent visitor’ – the Traveller tried to deflect the honour with both hands, but the Officer insisted on the expression – ‘that with such an eminent visitor he didn’t even once make him aware of the form of our sentencing is yet again something new, which…’ He had a curse on his lips, but controlled himself and said merely: ‘I was not informed about it. It’s not my fault. In any case, I am certainly the person best able to explain our style of sentencing, for here I am carrying’ – he patted his breast pocket – ‘the relevant diagrams drawn by the previous Commandant.’
‘Diagrams made by the Commandant himself?’ asked the Traveller. ‘Then was he in his own person a combination of everything? Was he soldier, judge, engineer, chemist, and draftsman?’
‘He was indeed,’ said the Officer, nodding his head with a fixed and thoughtful expression. Then he looked at his hands, examining them. They didn’t seem to him clean enough to handle the diagrams. So he went to the bucket and washed them again. Then he pulled out a small leather folder and said, ‘Our sentence does not sound severe. The law which a condemned man has violated is inscribed on his body with the Harrow. This Condemned Man, for example,’ and the Officer pointed to the man, ‘will have inscribed on his body, “Honour your superiors!”’
The Traveller had a quick look at the man. When the Officer was pointing at him, the man kept his head down and appeared to be directing all his energy into listening in order to learn something. But the movements of his pouting lips, which were pressed close together, showed clearly that he was incapable of understanding anything. The Traveller wanted to raise various questions, but after looking at the Condemned Man he merely asked, ‘Does he know his sentence?’ ‘No,’ said the Officer. He wished to get on with his explanation right away, but the Traveller interrupted him: ‘He doesn’t know his own sentence?’ ‘No,’ said the Officer once more. He then paused for a moment, as if he was requesting from the Traveller a more detailed reason for his question, and said, ‘It would be useless to give him that information. He experiences it on his own body.’ The Traveller really wanted to keep quiet at this point, but he felt how the Condemned Man was gazing at him – he seemed to be asking whether he could approve of the process the Officer had described. So the Traveller, who had up to this point been leaning back, bent forward again and kept up his questions, ‘But does he nonetheless have some general idea that he’s been condemned?’ ‘Not that either,’ said the Officer, and he smiled at the Traveller, as if he was still waiting for some strange revelations from him. ‘No?’ said the Traveller, wiping his forehead. ‘So the man does not yet know even at this point how his defence was received?’ ‘He has had no opportunity to defend himself,’ said the Officer and looked away, as if he was talking to himself and did not wish to embarrass the Traveller with an explanation of matters so self-evident to him. ‘But he must have had a chance to defend himself,’ said the Traveller and stood up from his chair.
The Officer recognized that he was in danger of having his explanation of the apparatus held up for a long time. So he went to the Traveller, took him by the arm, pointed with his hand at the Condemned Man, who stood there stiffly now that the attention was so clearly directed at him – the Soldier was also pulling on his chain – and said, ‘The matter stands like this. Here in the penal colony I have been appointed judge. In spite of my youth. For I stood at the side of our previous Commandant in all matters of punishment, and I also know the most about the apparatus. The basic principle I use for my decisions is this: Guilt is always beyond a doubt. Other courts could not follow this principle, for they are made up of many heads and, in addition, have even higher courts above them. But that is not the case here, or at least it was not that way with the previous Commandant. It’s true the New Commandant has already shown a desire to get mixed up in my court, but I’ve succeeded so far in fending him off. And I’ll continue to be successful. You wanted this case explained. It’s so simple – just like all of them. This morning a captain laid a charge that this man, who is assigned to him as a servant and who sleeps before his door, had been sleeping on duty. For his duty is to stand up every time the clock strikes the hour and salute in front of the captain’s door. That’s certainly not a difficult duty – and it’s necessary, since he is supposed to remain fresh both for guarding and for service. Yesterday night the captain wanted to check whether his servant was fulfilling his duty. He opened the door on the stroke of two and found him curled up asleep. He got his horsewhip and hit him across the face. Now, instead of standing up and begging for forgiveness, the man grabbed his master by the legs, shook him, and cried out, “Throw away that whip or I’ll eat you up.” Those are the facts. The captain came to me an hour ago. I wrote up his statement and right after that the sentence. Then I had the man chained up. It was all very simple. If I had first summoned the man and interrogated him, the result would have been confusion. He would have lied, and if I had been successful in refuting his lies, he would have replaced them with new lies, and so forth. But now I have him, and I won’t release him again. Now, does that clarify ever
ything? But time is passing. We should be starting the execution already, and I haven’t finished explaining the apparatus yet.’ He urged the Traveller to sit down in his chair, moved to the apparatus again, and started, ‘As you see, the shape of the Harrow corresponds to the shape of a man. This is the harrow for the upper body, and here are the harrows for the legs. This small cutter is the only one designated for the head. Is that clear to you?’ He leaned forward to the Traveller in a friendly way, ready to give the most comprehensive explanation.
The Traveller looked at the Harrow with a wrinkled frown. The information about the judicial procedures had not satisfied him. However, he had to tell himself that here it was a matter of a penal colony, that in this place special regulations were necessary, and that one had to give precedence to military measures right down to the last detail. Beyond that, however, he had some hopes in the New Commandant, who obviously, although slowly, was intending to introduce a new procedure which the limited understanding of this Officer could not accept. Following this train of thought, the Traveller asked, ‘Will the Commandant be present at the execution?’
‘That is not certain,’ said the Officer, embarrassingly affected by the sudden question, and his friendly expression made a grimace. ‘That is why we need to hurry up. As much as I regret the fact, I’ll have to make my explanation even shorter. But tomorrow, once the apparatus is clean again – the fact that it gets so very dirty is its only fault – I could add a more detailed explanation. So now, only the most essential things. When the man is lying on the Bed and it starts quivering, the Harrow sinks onto the body. It positions itself automatically in such a way that it touches the body only lightly with the needle tips. Once the machine is set in position, this steel cable tightens up immediately into a rod. And now the performance begins. Someone who is not an initiate sees no external difference among the punishments. The Harrow seems to do its work uniformly. As it quivers, it sticks the tips of its needles into the body, which is also vibrating from the movement of the bed. Now, to enable someone to check on how the sentence is being carried out, the Harrow is made of glass. That gave rise to certain technical difficulties with fastening the needles in it securely, but after several attempts we were successful. We didn’t spare any efforts. And now, as the inscription is made on the body, everyone can see through the glass. Don’t you want to come closer and see the needles for yourself.’
The Weird: A Compendium of Strange and Dark Stories Page 31