by Franz Kafka
Karl was on his way to the door to fetch the servant when Mr Green got to his feet, stretched himself after the lavish meal and the long rest, noisily thumped his chest, and said in a tone couched between advice and command: ‘Before you leave, you must say goodbye to Miss Klara.’ ‘Yes, you must,’ concurred Mr Pollunder, who had also stood up. You could tell with him that the words didn’t come from his heart, he let his hands drop listlessly against his trouser seams, and he kept buttoning and unbuttoning his jacket, which, in the latest fashion was barely hip length, which on such a fat person as Mr Pollunder was unbecoming. One got the distinct impression, on seeing him standing alongside Mr Green, that Mr Pollunder’s fatness was no healthy fatness, his massive back was bowed, his belly looked soft and unsustainable, a real weight, while his face looked pale and anxious. Mr Green was perhaps even fatter than Mr Pollunder, but it was a convincing, mutually supportive fatness, his feet were together in soldierly fashion, he carried his head erect and swaying, he looked like a great gymnast, a real team leader.
‘So first you go and look in on Miss Klara,’ continued Mr Green. ‘That ought to be a pleasure for you, and it also fits in nicely with my own timetable. Because it so happens I have something interesting to tell you before you leave here, which may well affect your decision to return home. Only unfortunately I’m bound by a higher command not to reveal anything to you before midnight. You can imagine how I regret that, because it eats into my nighe’s sleep, but I must stick to my instructions. The time now is a quarter past eleven, therefore I can finish discussing my business with Mr Pollunder, where you would only be in the way, while you can spend an agreeable few minutes with Miss Klara. On the dot of twelve you present yourself back here, where you will be told all that is needful for you.’
Could Karl refuse this demand, which really asked of him only the minimum of politeness and gratitude towards Mr Pollunder, which, furthermore, was put to him by a coarse man who was unconcerned in the matter, whereas Mr Pollunder, whom it did concern, stayed out of it, in both word and look? What was the interesting news he would only be allowed to hear at midnight? Unless it speeded his return home by the three quarters of an hour by which it delayed him now, it was of little interest to him. But his greatest doubt was whether he could go to Miss Klara at all, seeing as she was his enemy. If only he’d had the life-preserver with him which his uncle had given him as a paperweight. Klarl’s room might be a dangerous den indeed. But now it was impossible to say the least thing against Klara, seeing as she was Pollunder’s daughter, and, it seemed, Mack’s betrothed as well. She would only have had to behave slightly differently towards him, and he would have openly admired her on account of such connections. He was still pondering all this when he realized that no further pondering was required of him because Green opened the door and said to the servant who sprang up from his plinth: ‘Take this young man to Miss Klara.’
‘That’s the way an order should be carried out,’ thought Karl, as the servant led him at a brisk trot, though groaning with old age, by some particularly short route to Klarl’s room. As Karl passed his own room, whose door was still open, he wanted to step inside for a moment, perhaps to calm himself a little. But the servant wouldn’t allow that. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you must go to Miss Klara. You heard it yourself.’ ‘I only wanted to stay there a minute,’ said Karl, and he thought he would throw himself on the sofa for a change, to while away some of the time to midnight. ‘Don’t make it any harder for me to carry out my instructions,’ said the servant. ‘He seems to think a visit to Miss Klara is a punishment for me,’ thought Karl. He took a few more steps, and then stubbornly stopped again. ‘Now come along, young sir,’ said the servant, ‘seeing as you’ve got this far already. I know you wanted to leave tonight but you can’t always have everything the way you want it. I told you right away that that would be very difficult.’ ‘Yes, I want to go away, and I will go away,’ said Karl, ‘and now I just want to say goodbye to Miss Klara.’ ‘There,’ said the servant, and Karl could tell he didn’t believe a word of what he’d just said, ‘so why are you so reluctant to say goodbye, come along.’
‘Who’s that in the corridor?’ Klara’s voice inquired, and she appeared leaning out of a nearby doorway, with a large table-lamp with a red shade in her hand. The servant rushed over to report to her, Karl dawdled along in his wake. ‘You’re late,’ said Klara. Without answering her for the moment, Karl said to the servant quietly, but, now knowing something of his character, in tones of strict command: ‘You’re to wait for me outside!’ ‘I was just going to bed,’ said Klara, putting the lamp down on the table. As he had downstairs with the dining-room door, the servant carefully closed the door from outside. ‘It’s gone half past eleven.’ ‘Gone half past eleven,’ Karl repeated doubtfully, as though alarmed by the numbers.
‘Then I have to say goodbye right away,’ said Karl, ‘because on the dot of twelve I have to be down in the dining-room.’ ‘What urgent business you have,’ said Klara, and absent-mindedly arranged the folds of her loose nightgown, her face glowed and she kept smiling. Karl sensed that there was no danger of a resumption of hostilities with Klara. ‘Couldn’t you play something for me on the piano, as Papa promised me yesterday and you yourself did earlier today?’ ‘Isn’t it too late for that?’ asked Karl. He would have liked to oblige her, because she was quite different from the way she had been before, as though she’d risen into the circle of Pollunder’s, and of Mack’s too. ‘Well, it is late,’ she said, and her desire for music seemed to have abated. ‘And then every note echoes through the whole house, if you did play I’m sure it would wake all the servants in the attic.’ ‘Then I’ll leave the piano-playing, I hope to come back sometime, and if it’s not out of your way, why don’t you visit my uncle some time, and then you could pop in and see me too. I’ve got a magnificent piano in my room. Uncle gave it to me. If you like, I could play you all my little pieces on it, unfortunately there aren’t very many of them, and they’re not really suitable for such a great instrument, on which only virtuosos should be heard. But you would be able to have that pleasure too, if you arrange your visit ahead of time, because uncle wants to hire a famous piano teacher for me – just imagine how much I’m looking forward to that – and his playing would be an inducement to you to visit me during a lesson. To be honest, I’m glad it’s too late to play now, because I can hardly play anything, you’d be amazed at how little I know. And now you must allow me to say. goodbye, after all it is your bedtime.’ And because Klara looked at him kindly, and seemed to bear him no ill will as a result of their fighting, he added with a smile as he gave her his hand: ‘As they say in my country: sleep well and sweet dreams.’
‘Wait,’ she said, without taking his hand, ‘maybe you should play after all,’ and she disappeared through a little side-door directly beside the piano. ‘What’s the matter?’ thought Karl, ‘I can’t wait much longer, however sweet she is.’ There was a knock on the outer door, and the servant, not quite daring to open the door, whispered through a crack in the door: ‘Excuse me, I’ve just been called away, so I can’t stay here any longer.’ ‘Off you go then,’ said Karl, who by now trusted himself to find the way to the dining-room unescorted, ‘just leave the lantern by the door for me. What time is it, by the way?’ ‘Almost a quarter to twelve,’ said the servant. ‘How slowly the time passes,’ said Karl. The servant was on the point of closing the door, when Karl remembered he hadn’t tipped him yet, took a schilling from his trouser pockets – he had acquired the American habit of carrying his loose change jingling in his trouser pocket, and banknotes in the pocket of his waistcoat – and handed it to the servant with the words: ‘This is for your services.’
Klara had come back in the meantime, her hands in her rigid coiffure, when it occurred to Karl that he shouldn’t have sent the servant away, because who would walk him to the suburban railway station now? Well, Mr Pollunder would probably be able to drum up a servant from somewhere, perhaps this very servan
t had been called down to the dining-room to be put at his disposal later. ‘I would like you to play something for me. We have so little music here, I don’t want to miss an opportunity of hearing some now.’ ‘Then it’s high time,’ said Karl, and without further ado he sat down at the piano. ‘Would you like some sheet music?’ asked Klara. ‘No thank you, I can’t even read music properly,’ replied Karl, and began playing. It was a little tune, which as Karl probably knew, was meant to be played quite slowly, particularly so that foreigners could understand it, but he hammered it out as mechanically as a march. When he’d finished, the shattered silence of the house slunk back. They sat there stunned and motionless. ‘Pretty good,’ said Klara, but there was no platitude that might have comforted Karl after playing like that. ‘How late is it?’ he asked. ‘A quarter to midnight.’ ‘Then I’ve still got a bit of time,’ he said, and privately he thought: It’s either or. I don’t have to play all ten of my tunes, but there is one I can try and play nicely. And he embarked on his beloved soldier’s song. So slowly that the hearer’s alerted expectations lengthened towards the next note, which Karl would hold back as long as he could before squeezing it out. As with all his tunes, he first had to locate the notes by eye, but he also felt sorrow being born within him that sought its definition beyond the end of the song and couldn’t find it. ‘I’m no good,’ Karl said when he’d finished this time, and looked at Klara with tear-filled eyes.
Then there came the sound of loud clapping from the next door room. ‘Someone else is listening!’ cried Karl in consternation. ‘Mack,’ said Klara quietly. And Mack’s voice rang out, calling: ‘Karl Rossmann, Karl Rossmann!’
Karl swung himself off the piano stool and opened the door. He saw Mack sprawling on a large four-poster bed, with the coverlet draped loosely over his legs. The blue silk canopy was the only thing remotely feminine about the angular, simple, heavy bed. There was a single candle burning on the bedside table, but the bedlinen and Mack’s shirt were so white that its light reflected off them in a dazzle; even the edges of the canopy gleamed with its slightly ruched, not quite stretched silk. Behind Mack the bed and everything else was lost in complete darkness. Klara leaned against the bedpost, and only had eyes for Mack.
‘Hello there,’ said Mack, and gave Karl his hand. ‘You play pretty well, so far I’ve only known your horsemanship.’ ‘I do equally badly at both,’ said Karl. ‘If I’d known you were listening, I would certainly not have played. But your’ – he broke off, as he was reluctant to say ‘betrothed’ since Mack and Klara were obviously already sleeping together. ‘I thought so,’ said Mack, ‘that’s why Klara had to lure you away from New York, otherwise I’d never have got to hear you play. You’re only a beginner, and even in those pieces which you must have practised a lot, and which are in very rudimentary arrangements you made a few mistakes, but I was still very glad to hear you, quite apart from the fact that I despise no one’s playing. won’t you sit down and keep us company for a while. Klara, give him a chair.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Karl hesitantly. ‘But I can’t stay, however much I’d like to. I never knew this house had such cosy rooms.’ ‘I’m having everything converted to this style,’ said Mack.
At that moment, a bell chimed twelve times in quick succession, each ring falling into the noise of its predecessor. Karl felt the wind from those great bells brushing his cheeks. What village was it that could boast of such bells!
‘High time,’ said Karl, held his hands out to Mack and Klara without touching them, and ran out on to the corridor. There was no lantern there, and he was sorry he had tipped the servant too soon. He was feeling his way along the wall towards his own room, but was still only halfway there, when he saw Mr Green hurriedly swaying towards him with a candle held high in his hand. In the same hand he carried the letter.
‘Rossmann, why aren’t you coming? Why are you keeping me waiting? What have you been up to with Miss Klara?’ ‘Questions, questions!’ thought Karl, and now he’ll push me against the wall, because he was standing right in front of Karl, whose back was indeed against the wall. In this corridor Green took on a quite ridiculous size, and Karl was even wondering flippantly to himself whether he might not have eaten up nice Mr Pollunder.
‘It appears you are not a man of your word. You promise to come down at twelve o’clock, instead of which you’re prowling around Miss Klara’s door. I on the other hand promised you something interesting at midnight, and lo, here I am.’
And with that he handed Karl the letter. On the envelope it said: ‘To Karl Rossmann. To be delivered to him at midnight, wherever he may be met’. ‘Finally,’ said Mr Green, while Karl was opening the letter, ‘I think it’s noteworthy that I’ve driven all the way here from New York on your account, so you really shouldn’t make me chase you up and down corridors on top of that.’
‘It’s from my uncle!’ said Karl, no sooner than he’d opened the letter. ‘I was expecting it,’ he said, turning to Mr Green.
‘I really couldn’t care less whether you were expecting it or not. Just read it,’ he said, and held the candle up to Karl.
By its light Karl read: ‘Beloved Nephew! As you will have realized during our unfortunately far too brief life together, I am a man of principle. That is a very disagreeable and a very sad thing, not only for those around me, but for myself as well, however, I owe everything I am to my principles, and no one has the right to ask of me that I deny myself out of existence, no one, not even you, my dear nephew, though you should be the very first if it ever occurred to me to allow such a general assault on myself. Then I would love to take you with these same two hands that are holding and writing on this piece of paper, and lift you high up in the air. However, as there is no suggestion that this might ever occur, I am bound to send you away from me after what has happened today, and I must ask you neither to seek me out in person nor to attempt to communicate with me by letter or through an intermediary. Against my wishes, you decided to leave me this evening, so be true to your decision all your life, only then will it have been a manly decision. For the conveyor of this news, I chose my best friend, Mr Green, who will surely find sufficiently sparing words for yourself, I have none left in me at the moment. He is a man of influence, and will, for love of me, support your first independent steps by word and deed. In order to understand our separation, which as I end this letter seems to me once more unfathomable, I have to keep saying to myself: No good can come from your family, Karl. Should Mr Green forget to give you your suitcase and umbrella, then remind him to do so. With best wishes for your future well-being, I remain
Your faithful uncle Jakob.’
‘Have you finished?’ asked Green. ‘Yes’ said Karl, ‘have you got the suitcase and umbrella for me?’ asked Karl. ‘There you are,’ said Green, and set Karl’s old suitcase, which he had kept hidden behind his back in his left hand, on the floor beside Karl. ‘And the umbrella?’ asked Karl. ‘It’s all here,’ said Green, and pulled out the umbrella, which was dangling from a trouser pocket. ‘The things were brought in by one Schubal, a chief engineer with the Hamburg–America Line, he claims he found them on the ship. Thank him if you ever get the chance.’ ‘Well, at least I have my old things back,’ said Karl, and laid the umbrella on the suitcase. ‘The Senator suggests you might look after them better in future,’ remarked Mr Green, and then asked, obviously out of personal curiosity: ‘What kind of strange suitcase is that?’ ‘It’s a suitcase that soldiers in my home country enlist with,’ replied Karl, ‘it’s my father’s old army suitcase. It’s very practical.’ Smiling, he added: ‘If you remember not to leave it somewhere.’ ‘Well, you’ve had enough instructions now,’ said Mr Green, ‘and I don’t suppose you have another uncle in America. Lastly, here is a third-class ticket to San Francisco. I chose that as your destination, firstly because the chances of employment are far better for you in the east, and secondly because your uncle is involved in everything here that you might be considered for, and a meeting is to be avoided at all cost
s. In Frisco, you’ll be able to work undisturbed, just start at the bottom and gradually work your way up.’
Karl could hear no malice in these words, the bad news that had been inside Green all evening had been delivered, and now Green seemed a harmless man, one with whom it was perhaps possible to talk more openly than anyone else. The best of men, who through no fault of his own is made the bearer of such a secret and painful decision, is bound to be suspicious for as long as he contains it within himself. ‘I will leave the house at once,’ said Karl, expecting the confirmation of an experienced man, ‘because I was only invited into it as the nephew of my uncle, whereas as a stranger I have no business here. Would you be so good as to show me the way out, and point me in the direction of the nearest inn.’ ‘Will you get on with it,’ said Green, ‘you’re putting me to a great deal of trouble.’ On seeing the enormous stride that Green had taken right away Karl stopped, such haste was suspicious, and he grabbed Green by the coat-tails and said, suddenly grasping the true state of things: ‘There is one more thing you must explain to me. On the envelope of the letter you were told to give me, it just says that I am to be given it at midnight wherever I am met. Why, then, pleading those instructions, did you detain me here when I wanted to leave at a quarter past eleven? You went beyond your instructions.’ Green introduced his reply with a gesture indicating in an exaggerated way the fatuity of Karl’s observation, and then said: ‘Does it say anywhere on the envelope that I am to be rushed into an early grave on your account, and do the contents of the letter allow one to conclude that the instructions are to be taken in such a way? If I hadn’t detained you, then I would just have had to give you the letter at midnight on the highway somewhere.’ ‘No,’ Karl insisted, ‘not quite. If you were too tired, you might not even have been able to set off after me, or, though Mr Pollunder denies it, I might have been back with my uncle by midnight, or it might have been your duty even to drive me back to my uncle in your automobile – which seems to have been unaccountably ignored – seeing as I was insistent on returning. Don’t the words on the envelope declare quite unambiguously that midnight was the deadline for me? And you must take the blame for making me miss it.’