by Franz Kafka
‘So what is it you want then?’ she asked, and leaned down encouragingly towards him. She was terribly fat, her body rippled, but her face, of course only by comparison, was almost delicate in its modelling. Karl was tempted, in view of the many foodstuffs that were carefully piled on shelves and tables here, to improvise some more delectable supper, especially as he suspected he might be offered a good deal by this influential woman here, but then he couldn’t think of anything, and he stuck to the original bacon, bread and beer. ‘Nothing else?’ asked the woman. ‘No thank you,’ said Karl, ‘but enough for three.’ When the woman asked who the other two were, Karl told her in a few words about his companions, he was happy enough to be asked some questions.
‘But that’s a meal fit for convicts,’ said the woman, now obviously awaiting further requests on Karl’s part. However, he was afraid that she might give them to him and refuse payment, and so he said nothing. ‘Well, I’ll soon have that ready for you,’ said the woman, and with mobility remarkable for someone of her bulk she went to one of the tables, cut off a large piece of streaky bacon with plenty of lean on it, with a long, thin, sawblade-like knife, took a loaf of bread from a shelf, picked up three bottles of beer from the floor, and put everything in a light straw basket, which she handed to Karl. Meanwhile, she explained to Karl that she had led him in here because the food out on the buffet always spoiled, because of the smoke and the many smells there, in spite of its being consumed so quickly. For the people outside it was still good enough. Karl lapsed into silence now, because he didn’t know what he had done to be given such special treatment. He thought of his companions, who, however well they might know America, might never have reached this storeroom, and would have had to content themselves with the spoiled food out on the buffet. In here, you couldn’t hear a thing from the hall, the walls must be very thick to keep these cellars cool enough. The straw basket had now been in Karl’s hands for some little time, but he didn’t think of paying and made no other move. Only when the woman went to add another bottle, similar to those that were on the tables outside, to the basket, did Karl shudderingly refuse.
‘Have you got far to go?’ asked the woman. ‘To Butterford,’ replied Karl. ‘That’s a very long way,’ said the woman. ‘Another day’s walk,’ said Karl. ‘No more?’ asked the woman. ‘Oh no,’ said Karl.
The woman rearranged a few things on the tables, a waiter came in, looked around for something, was directed by the woman to a large bowl where a great heap of sardines lay sprinkled with a little parsley, and then carried the bowl out in his raised hands.
‘Why are you so keen on spending the night outdoors?’ asked the woman. ‘We have plenty of space here. Come and sleep here in the hotel with us.’ Karl was very tempted, especially as he’d had so little sleep the previous night. ‘I have my luggage outside,’ he said reluctantly, if also with a little pride. ‘Just bring it here,’ said the woman, ‘that’s no obstacle.’ ‘What about my companions!’ said Karl, and he sensed right away that they indeed presented an obstacle. ‘They can stay here as well of course,’ said the woman. ‘Come on! Don’t make me keep asking.’ ‘My companions are decent enough people in most respects,’ said Karl, ‘but they’re not terribly clean.’ ‘Didn’t you see all the dirt in the hall?’ asked the woman, pulling a face. ‘Honestly, we take in all sorts here. I’ll have them make up three beds right away. It’ll be up in the attic, I’m afraid, because the hotel is full, I’ve had to move up to the attic myself, but it’s still preferable to being out in the open.’ ‘I can’t bring my companions,’ said Karl. He imagined the noise those two would make on the corridors of this classy hotel, how Robinson would besmirch everything and Delamarche inevitably molest even this woman here. ‘I don’t know why that should be so out of the question,’ said the woman, ‘but if you like, why not leave your companions outside, and come to us on your own.’ ‘I can’t, I can’t,’ said Karl, ‘they are my companions, and I have to stay with them.’ ‘How obstinate you are,’ said the woman, averting her head, ‘someone tries to be kind to you, to help you out, and you resist as hard as you can.’ Karl saw this was true, but he could think of no solution, and so he just said: ‘Thank you very much indeed for your kindness,’ then he remembered that he hadn’t paid yet, and he asked how much he owed. ‘You can pay when you return the basket,’ said the woman. ‘I need it back by tomorrow morning at the latest’ ‘Very well,’ said Karl. She opened a door that led straight outside, and said to him as he left with a bow: ‘Good night. But you’re making a mistake.’ He was already a few steps away when she shouted after him: ‘See you tomorrow!’
No sooner was he outside than he could hear the full noise from the buffet room again, which by now had had a brass band added to it. He was glad he hadn’t had to leave through the hall. The hotel’s five storeys were all lit up, brightening the road in front of it. Cars were still going by, though no longer in an unbroken stream, growing out of the distance even faster than by day, feeling their way with the white beams of their lights, which dimmed as they entered the illuminated area in front of the hotel, and brightened again as they returned to darkness.
Karl found his companions already fast asleep, he really had been gone far too long. He was just about to lay the food out appetizingly on some paper napkins he found in the basket, and wake his companions when everything was ready, when he saw that his suitcase, which he had left behind locked, and the key to which he had in his pocket, was wide open, with half its contents scattered about on the grass. ‘Get up!’ he shouted. ‘Thieves have been here while you were asleep.’ ‘Is anything missing?’ asked Delamarche. Robinson, not fully awake, put out a hand for the beer. ‘I don’t know,’ said Karl, ‘but the suitcase is open. It was very reckless of you to go to sleep and leave the suitcase standing unprotected.’ Delamarche and Robinson both laughed, and the former said: ‘Well, you shouldn’t stay out so long. The hotel is no more than ten paces away, and it takes you three hours to get there and back. We were hungry and we thought there might be something to eat in your suitcase, so we tickled the lock till it opened. But there was nothing there, and you can pack it all up again.’ ‘I see,’ said Karl, staring at the rapidly emptying basket, and listening to the peculiar noise Robinson made while drinking as the liquid first rolled down his throat, then sped back upwards with a whistling sound, before finally gathering itself and plunging back into the deep. ‘Have you finished eating?’ he asked, as the others paused for breath. ‘Didn’t you eat in the hotel?’ asked Delamarche, thinking Karl was claiming his share. ‘If you still want to eat, then hurry up,’ said Karl, and walked to his suitcase. ‘He’s in rather a bad mood,’ Delamarche said to Robinson. ‘I’m not in a bad mood at all,’ said Karl, ‘but I don’t think it’s right to break open my suitcase in my absence, and scatter my belongings on the ground. I know there’s always some give and take between companions, and I was prepared for it too, but this is going too far. I’m spending the night in the hotel and I’m not going on to Butterford with you. Now eat up, I have to return the basket.’ ‘Will you listen to that, Robinson, that’s the way to talk,’ said Delamarche, ‘that’s a fine way to talk. You can tell he’s German. You warned me off him early on, but like a fool I took him along. We put our trust in him, dragged him along with us for a whole day and lost at least half a day as a result, and now – just because someone’s lured him to the hotel – he says goodbye, he just simply says goodbye. But because he’s a perfidious German, he doesn’t do it openly, but he uses the suitcase as a pretext, and because he’s a vicious German, he can’t leave without offending our honour and calling us thieves, just because we had a little laugh with his suitcase.’ Karl, packing his things, said without turning round: ‘Just go on talking like that, you make it easier for me to leave. I know very well what companionship is. I had friends in Europe, and no one can say I behaved perfidiously or rudely to them. We’ve lost touch now of course, but if I ever return to Europe, they’ll be glad to see me, and we’
ll be friends again right away. According to you, Delamarche and Robinson, I betrayed you when, as I will never cease to proclaim, you had the kindness to take me up and offer me the prospect of an apprenticeship at Butterford. But what really happened was something different. You have nothing, and while that doesn’t lower you in my estimation, it makes you envious of my few possessions, and so you try to humiliate me, and that’s what I can’t stand. Having broken open my suitcase, you offer not a word of apology, but rather go on insulting me and insulting my people – and that finally makes it quite impossible for me to remain in your company. All this doesn’t really apply to you, Robinson, my only objection to your character is that you are too much influenced by Delamarche.’ ‘So now we know,’ said Delamarche, walking right up to Karl and giving him a little push, as though to get his attention, ‘so now we know who you really are. All day long you’ve been walking behind me, you’ve held on to my coat-tails, you’ve followed my every move, and apart from that there wasn’t a squeak out of you. But once you think you’ve found some sort of support in the hotel, you start making big speeches to us. A slyboots is what you are, and I’m not sure we’re going to take it lying down. Perhaps we should demand a tuition fee for everything you’ve picked up from watching us. Say, Robinson, he says we’re jealous of his possessions. A single day in Butterford – not to mention California – and we’ll have ten times more than what you’ve shown us, and whatever else you’ve got sewn into the lining of your jacket. So watch your words with us!’ Karl had got up from his suitcase, and watched as Robinson, still sleepy but becoming animated by the beer, also approached him. ‘If I stay around here much longer,’ he said, ‘I might get some further surprises. You seem half inclined to beat me up.’ ‘Our patience has limits,’ said Robinson. ‘You’d better stay out of it, Robinson,’ said Karl, keeping his eyes on Delamarche, ‘I know you’re really on my side, but you have to pretend to support Delamarche.’ ‘Are you trying to bribe him?’ asked Delamarche. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Karl. ‘I’m glad I’m going, and I want nothing more to do with either of you. I only want to say one more thing, you accused me of having money and hiding it from you. Assuming that was the case, wasn’t it the right way to behave with people I’d only known for a few hours, and hasn’t your present behaviour fully vindicated me?’ ‘Keep your cool,’ said Delamarche to Robinson, although the latter hadn’t budged. Then he asked Karl: ‘You’re being so shamelessly frank, why not, as we’re standing so companionably close together, take your frankness a stage further and admit to us what you’re going to the hotel for.’ Karl had to step back over his suitcase, so close had Delamarche come to him. But Delamarche wasn’t to be thrown off, he pushed the suitcase aside, took another stride forward, putting his foot on a white shirt-front that was lying on the grass, and repeated his question.
As though in answer a man with a bright torch approached the group from down on the road. He was a waiter from the hotel. No sooner had he spotted Karl than he said: ‘I’ve spent half an hour looking for you. I’ve combed the embankments on both sides of the highway. The head cook sends me to say that she needs the basket she lent you back urgently.’ ‘I’ve got it here,’ said Karl, in a voice shaking with nerves. Delamarche and Robinson had stepped modestly to one side, as they always did when in the presence of powerful strangers (to whom they hadn’t been introduced). The waiter took the basket and said: ‘And then the head cook would like to know whether you’ve had second thoughts, and did want to stay the night in the hotel after all. The other two gentlemen would also be welcome, if you wanted to bring them too. Beds have been made up. Admittedly, it is a mild night but there are some dangers attendant on sleeping out, there are often snakes on these embankments.’ ‘In view of the cook’s kindness, I would like to accept her invitation after all,’ said Karl, and waited for his companions to chime in. But Robinson just stood there, and Delamarche had his hands in his trouser pockets and was gazing up at the stars. Both of them were obviously relying on Karl simply to take them with him. ‘In that case,’ said the waiter, ‘I have been instructed to show you to the hotel, and to carry your baggage for you.’ ‘Then just a minute please,’ said Karl, and stooped to pick up one or two things that were lying around, and put them in the suitcase.
Suddenly he stood up. The photograph was missing, it had been lying uppermost in the suitcase, and now it was nowhere to be seen. ‘I can’t find the photograph,’ he said beseechingly to Delamarche. ‘What photograph do you mean?’ he asked. ‘The photograph of my parents,’ said Karl. ‘We saw no photograph,’ said Delamarche. ‘There was no photograph there, Mr Rossmann,’ Robinson confirmed beside him. ‘But that’s not possible,’ said Karl, and his beseeching glances drew the waiter nearer. ‘It was right at the top, and now it isn’t there any more. If only you hadn’t played your joke with the suitcase.’ ‘An error is out of the question,’ said Delamarche, ‘there was no picture in the suitcase.’ ‘It mattered more to me than everything else I have in that suitcase,’ said Karl to the waiter, who was walking around, looking in the grass. ‘It’s irreplaceable, you see, I’ll never get another one.’ And as the waiter gave up the pointless search, he added: ‘It’s the only picture of my parents that I had.’ Thereupon the waiter said perfectly undiplomatically, ‘Perhaps we should check the two gentlemen’s pockets’. ‘Yes,’ said Karl right away, ‘I must find the photograph. But before I start looking through your pockets, I’d like to say that whoever gives me the photograph of his own volition will get the entire suitcase plus contents.’ After a moment of general silence, Karl said to the waiter: ‘My companions obviously want to be searched. But even now, I promise the person who has the photograph in his pocket the whole suitcase. I can do no more.’ The waiter straightaway set about searching Delamarche, who seemed to him a trickier customer than Robinson, whom he left to Karl. He pointed out to Karl the necessity of searching them both at the same time, because otherwise one of them could discreetly get rid of the photograph somewhere. The instant Karl put his hand into Robinson’s pocket he pulled out a necktie that belonged to him, but he didn’t take it back, and added to the waiter, ‘Whatever you may find on Delamarche, please leave it with him. I want only the photograph, nothing but the photograph.’ As he searched through the breast-pockets, Karl felt Robinson’s hot and fatty breast with his hand, and he thought he might be perpetrating a great injustice on his companions. He tried to hurry. It was all in vain anyway, the photograph was not found on Robinson or Delamarche.
‘It’s no use,’ said the waiter. ‘They’ve probably torn up the photograph and thrown away the pieces,’ said Karl, ‘I thought they were my friends, but secretly they were only out to do me harm. Not so much Robinson, it probably wouldn’t even have occurred to him that the photograph would be so precious to me, but Delamarche all the more.’ Karl saw only the waiter in front of him, whose torch lit up a small circle, whereas everything else, including Delamarche and Robinson, was in pitch blackness.
Of course that put an end to any idea that the two might be taken along to the hotel. The waiter swung the suitcase on to his shoulder, Karl took the straw basket and they set off. Karl was already on the road when, reflecting, he stopped and called into the darkness: ‘Listen to me! If one of you should still have the photograph on him, and would like to bring it to me in the hotel, he’ll still get the suitcase and – I give you my word – immunity from prosecution.’ There was no reply as such, just a blurted word, the beginning of a reply from Robinson before Delamarche obviously stopped his mouth. Karl still waited for a long time for them to reconsider. Twice more he called out: ‘I’m still here.’ But there was no answering sound, just once a stone rolled down the slope, perhaps by chance, perhaps it was a misaimed throw.
5
IN THE HOTEL OCCIDENTAL
On reaching the hotel, Karl was taken straightaway to a kind of office, where the Head Cook, holding a notebook in her hand, was dictating a letter to a young typist. Her very precise dictati
on, the subdued and elastic tapping of the keys overtook the intermittently audible ticking of a clock on the wall, which now indicated almost half past eleven. ‘There!’ said the Head Cook, and she snapped the notebook shut. The typist leapt to her feet, and draped the wooden lid over the typewriter, without taking her eyes off Karl as she performed this mechanical action. She looked like a schoolgirl still, her apron for example had been very carefully ironed, with little ruches on the shoulders, her hair was piled up on her head, and after such particulars it was quite a surprise to come upon the serious expression on her face. First bowing to the Head Cook, and then to Karl, she left the room, and Karl involuntarily looked inquiringly at the Head Cook.