Amerika

by Franz Kafka

  It was late when Therese came to the end of her story. It had been unusually detailed for her, and, especially in unimportant places, for instance the description of the scaffolding poles each soaring into the sky, she had had to stop with tears in her eyes. After ten years, she still remembered every detail of what had happened, and because the sight of her mother up on the partly finished ground floor was her last memory of her mother’s life, and she couldn’t relate it clearly enough to her friend, she wanted to go back to it again after the end of her story, but she faltered, buried her face in her hands and didn’t say another word.

  But there were happier times in Therese’s room as well. On his very first visit there, Karl had seen a manual of business correspondence lying there, and had asked to borrow it. It was then arranged that Karl would do the exercises in the book and take them for approval to Therese, who had already studied the book for what was relevant to her own little tasks. Now Karl would spend whole nights with cotton wool in his ears, downstairs on his bed in the dormitory, in all possible positions for variety, reading the book, and scribbling out exercises in a little notebook with a fountain pen the Head Cook had given him as a reward for organizing one of her large inventories in a tidy and practical way. He was able to turn the interruptions from the other boys to good account, by asking them for little English tips, until they got bored and left him alone. It often surprised him how reconciled they were to their present position, seemingly oblivious to its provisional nature – there were no lift-boys older than twenty at the hotel – and didn’t see the need for a decision about any future employment, and, in spite of Karl’s example, read nothing but detective stories at best, tattered copies of which were passed from bed to bed.

  When they met now, Therese would go over his work with excessive pedantry, they had differences of opinion, Karl called in evidence his great New York professor, but his views on grammar counted for no more with Therese than those of the lift-boys. She took the fountain pen out of his hand and crossed out the passage she was convinced was wrong, while in such doubtful instances, though there was usually no higher authority than Therese who would see the exercises, Karl usually put a line through her crossings-out to record his disagreement. Sometimes though the Head Cook would turn up and she invariably decided in Therese’s favour, which didn’t prove anything at all, as Therese was her secretary. But at the same time she did effect a general reconciliation, because they had tea and biscuits, and Karl was made to tell her about Europe, albeit with many interruptions from the Head Cook, who kept asking questions and exclaiming in surprise, which made Karl aware of how much had changed there, quite fundamentally, in a relatively short space of time, and how much must have changed already in his own absence, and was changing all the time.

  Karl had been in Ramses for perhaps a month, when one evening Renell told him in passing that he had been spoken to outside the hotel by a man called Delamarche, who had asked after Karl. Renell had no reason to keep quiet about anything, and he had truthfully reported that Karl was working as a lift-boy, but, as he enjoyed the protection of the Head Cook, he had excellent prospects of promotion. Karl noticed how carefully Delamarche had treated Renell, even asking him to dinner this very night. ‘I’m not having anything more to do with Delamarche,’ said Karl. ‘And you should be on your guard with him!’ ‘Me?’ said Renell, and he stretched and hurried off. He was the most delicate boy in the hotel, and there was a rumour circulating among the other boys, whose source was unknown, that he had, to put it no higher than that, been kissed in the lift by a posh lady who had been living in the hotel for some time. For anyone who knew the rumour, a great part of its charm was in watching that self-possessed lady, whose exterior gave no clue to the possibility of such behaviour, going past with her light quiet tread, delicate veils, and sternly corseted waist. She lived on the first floor, and so Renell’s lift was not hers, but of course if their own lifts happened to be engaged, one couldn’t forbid the guests from stepping into another. And so it happened that the lady did occasionally ride in Karl and Renell’s lift, and in fact only ever when Renell was on duty. It might be pure chance, but no one thought so, and when the lift went up carrying the two of them in it, a barely suppressed commotion went along the whole line of lift-boys, which had necessitated the intervention from one of the head waiters. Now, whether it was the lady or the rumour that was the cause, Renell had changed, he was even more self-confident, he left all the cleaning and polishing to Karl, who wanted to have a word with him about it, and he never set foot in the dormitory any more. No one else had so completely quit the normal orbit of the lift-boys, because in general, in questions of duty they all stuck together, and had a union that was recognized by the hotel management.

  All this passed through Karl’s mind, and he thought of Delamarche as well, as he went on doing his work. At midnight he had a little relief, because Therese, who would often come with little surprises, gave him a large apple and a bar of chocolate. They chatted awhile, barely put out by the interruptions of his taking the lift up and down. Conversation turned to Delamarche, and Karl realized that, in thinking of him as a dangerous person for some while now, he had allowed himself to be influenced by Therese, because that was how he appeared to her from what Karl had told her about him. Basically, though, Karl thought he was nothing worse than a scamp who had been turned to the bad by his misfortune, but with whom one could perfectly well get along. Therese though, took issue with that, and in long speeches pleaded with Karl to promise her that he would never exchange another word with Delamarche. Instead of making such a promise, Karl pressed her to go to sleep, it was already long past midnight, and when she refused he threatened to leave his post and take her up to her room himself. When she finally agreed to go, he said: ‘Why do you worry yourself unnecessarily, Therese? If it makes you sleep any better, I’ll gladly promise you that I won’t speak to Delamarche unless I absolutely have to.’ Then many rides were required of him, because the boy in the next door lift was called away on some errand, and Karl had to look after both lifts. Some hotel guests spoke of disorganization and one gentleman who was escorting a lady went so far as to tap Karl with his walking stick to make him hurry, something that was not called for at all. If only the guests would see that there was no boy standing by the other lift and would all come over to Karl’s, but no, they went to the other lift and remained there, with their hands on the door handle, or they even walked straight into it, which was something the lift-boy had to prevent at all costs, it was the strictest item in the rule book. The result for Karl was a lot of very fatiguing coming and going, and even then he didn’t feel he was discharging his duty properly. At about three in the morning, a porter, an old man with whom he was vaguely friendly, asked him for some help with something, but he was unable to give it, because there were groups of guests standing in front of both his lifts, and it needed great presence of mind to decide in favour of one of them, and promptly stride towards it. He was relieved, then, when the other boy returned and he called out a few words of reproach to him for his long absence, although it probably wasn’t his fault. After four o’clock there was a small lull, and not before time. Karl leaned against the railing beside his lift, slowly eating his apple, from which a strong sweet aroma rose from the very first bite, and looked down the lift-shaft, which was surrounded by the large windows of the storerooms, behind which great bunches of bananas glimmered faintly in the dark.

  6

  THE ROBINSON EPISODE

  Just then, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Karl, thinking of course it was a guest at the hotel, quickly stuffed the apple into his pocket and hurried off back to his lift, not bothering to give the man behind him a glance. ‘Good evening, Mr Rossmann,’ said the man, ‘it’s me, Robinson.’ ‘You have changed,’ said Karl, shaking his head. ‘Yes, I’m doing fine,’ said Robinson, and looked down at his clothes, which although individually they might have been choice items, made a positively shabby impression together. The mos
t striking part of the ensemble was a white waistcoat he was obviously wearing for the first time, which had four small black-rimmed pockets, to which Robinson tried to draw attention by puffing out his chest. ‘You are expensively dressed,’ said Karl, and thought briefly of his beautiful dark suit in which he could have stood comparison with Renell, and which his two bad companions had sold. ‘Yes,’ said Robinson, ‘almost every day I buy myself something new. How do you like the waistcoat?’ ‘It’s very nice,’ said Karl. ‘The pockets aren’t real, mind, they just look like pockets,’ said Robinson, and took Karl’s hand so that he might convince himself of this. Karl, though, shrank back, because an intolerable brandy smell wafted out of Robinson’s mouth. ‘You’re drinking again,’ said Karl, standing by the railing now. ‘No,’ said Robinson, ‘not much,’ and contradicted his previous self-satisfaction by saying: ‘What else can a man do in this world.’ A ride on the lift interrupted their conversation, and no sooner had Karl come down again than he was summoned by telephone to fetch the hotel doctor, as a lady had fainted on the seventh floor. On his way, he secretly hoped that Robinson might have left before he got back, because he didn’t want to be seen with him, and, mindful of Therese’s warning, he wanted to hear nothing from Delamarche either. But Robinson was still there, standing in the stiff attitude of one completely drunk, just as a senior hotel employee in black tails and top hat passed by, fortunately without apparently taking any notice of Robinson. ‘Wouldn’t you like to visit us some day, Rossmann, we’re doing very well now,’ said Robinson, and looked invitingly at Karl. ‘Are you asking, or is it Delamarche?’ Karl asked. ‘Delamarche and I. We are of one mind in this,’ said Robinson. ‘Then let me tell you, and please pass it on to Delamarche: our parting, while it may not have seemed so at the time, was final. I have suffered more at the hands of the two of you than from anyone else. Will you not finally leave me in peace?’ ‘But we are your companions,’ said Robinson, and repulsive drunken tears welled up in his eyes. ‘Delamarche says to say that he wants to make up for everything that’s happened in the past. We’re living with Brunelda now, she’s a wonderful singer.’ And he was on the point of delivering a tune in a high falsetto when Karl hissed at him: ‘Shut up, don’t you realize where you are.’ ‘Rossmann,’ said Robinson, deterred from singing but nothing else, ‘I’m your companion, whatever you say. And here you are with such a fine job, couldn’t you spare me a bit of money.’ ‘You’ll only spend it on drink,’ said Karl, ‘in your pocket I can see you’ve got a bottle of some brandy, from which I’m sure you had a drink while I was gone, because to begin with you were still relatively sober.’ ‘It’s just to give me strength on my mission,’ said Robinson apologetically. ‘I’ve given up trying to better you,’ said Karl. ‘Then what about some money!’ said Robinson with staring eyes. ‘I suppose you’ve been instructed by Delamarche to get some money. Very well, I’ll give you money, but only on condition that you leave the premises right away and never try to see me here again. If you have anything to say to me, you may write. Karl Rossmann, lift-boy, Hotel Occidental, that should get there. But you mustn’t, I repeat, mustn’t, try and find me here again. I work here, and have no time for visits. Will you accept the money, under those conditions?’ asked Karl, and reached into his waistcoat pocket, having decided to sacrifice whatever tips he had received that night. Robinson merely nodded in answer, and breathed noisily. Karl was unable to interpret this, and he said again: ‘Yes or No?’

  Then Robinson beckoned him nearer and whispered with unmistakable heaving movements: ‘Rossmann, I feel sick.’ ‘Goddamnit!’ Karl exclaimed, and with both hands he dragged him to the railing.

  And already vomit spewed forth from Robinson’s mouth into the deep. Helplessly, in the intervals allowed him by his nausea he blindly felt for Karl. ‘You’re really a good chap,’ he would say or ‘it’s almost over,’ which then turned out not to be the case at all, or ‘those bastards have poisoned me!’ Karl couldn’t stand to be near him he felt such apprehension and disgust, and he began pacing up and down. Robinson was slightly concealed in the corner by the lift, but what if someone were to notice him, one of those rich highly strung hotel guests, who were only waiting to voice a complaint to a passing hotel employee, who would then take it out on the whole staff, or if one of the continually changing hotel detectives happened to pass, incognito to all but the management, but whom one suspected in every man who screws up his eyes, even when it’s out of short-sightedness. While, down below, some member of the round-the-clock catering staff needed only to go into the foodstores, remark on the foulness in the light-shaft and telephone Karl to ask what the Hell was going on up there. Could Karl deny all knowledge of Robinson? And if he did, wouldn’t Robinson in his stupidity and desperation, instead of apologizing, appeal to Karl for help? And wouldn’t Karl then be faced with instant dismissal, in view of the shocking fact that a lift-boy, from the lowest and most expendable rank in the enormous hotel hierarchy, had, through the agency of a friend, sullied the hotel and alarmed or even driven away its guests? Was a lift-boy to be tolerated who had such friends, and from whom he received visits even while on duty? Wouldn’t it seem likely that such a lift-boy was himself a drinker or worse, for what could be more logical than to suspect that he supplied his friends from the hotel’s stores to the point where they did such things in random places in the scrupulously clean hotel, as Robinson had just done? And why should such a lad content himself with stealing victuals, since the possibility for thieving was almost limitless, what with the notorious negligence of the guests, the wardrobes standing open, valuables left lying on tables, gaping coffers and keys thoughtlessly thrown around?

  Just then Karl saw some guests emerging from a basement bar, where a variety performance had just ended. He took up his position by his lift and didn’t dare even look at Robinson, afraid of what might meet his eyes. It was of little comfort to him that there was not a sound, not so much as a sigh that could be heard from that direction. He attended to his guests, ferried them up and down, but he was unable to disguise his absent-mindedness, and every time he rode down, he expected to find an embarrassing surprise awaiting him.

  Finally he got a chance to see to Robinson, who was crouching in his corner, with his face pressed against his knees, making himself as small as possible. His round hard hat had been pushed right back on his head. ‘You must leave now,’ said Karl quietly and decisively, ‘here’s some money. If you’re quick about it, I’ll show you the short cut myself’ ‘I can’t move,’ said Robinson, mopping his brow with a tiny handkerchief, ‘I just want to die. You have no idea of how awful I feel. Delamarche always takes me along to smart bars, but I can’t stomach the fancy stuff they serve, I tell Delamarche so every day.’ ‘Well, you certainly can’t stay here,’ said Karl, ‘consider where you are. If you’re found, you’ll be punished, and I’ll lose my job. Where will that get us?’ ‘I can’t go,’ said Robinson, ‘I’d sooner jump down there,’ and he pointed between the bars of the railing, down the light-shaft. ‘So long as I sit here like this I can just about take it, but I can’t get up, I tried it once while you were gone.’ ‘Then I’ll get a car, and you can go to hospital,’ said Karl, pulling a little at the legs of Robinson, who threatened to lapse into complete stupor at any moment. No sooner did Robinson hear the word hospital though, which seemed to awaken terrible associations for him, than he started crying out loud, and thrust out his hands to Karl for pity.