The Metamorphosis And Other Stories Part 2

"Don't worry, you're all covered up."

"No!" shouted his father, so loudly that the answer slammed back into the question, throwing off the blankets with such force that they unfurled completely for a moment in the air, and then springing to his feet in bed. He had only one hand on the ceiling to steady himself. "You wanted to cover me up, I know it, you little cretin, but I'm not covered up yet. And even if I'm at the end of my strength, it's still enough for you, more than enough for you. Yes, I know your friend. He would have been the son after my own heart. That's why you've been cheating him all these years. Why else? Do you think I haven't wept for him? And that's why you lock yourself up in your office, the chief is busy, mustn't be disturbed-so you can write your deceitful little letters to Russia. But fortunately no one has to teach a father to see through his son. And just when you thought you had him down, all the way down, so far down you can sit your backside on him and he won't move, then my fine son decides to get himself married!"

Georg stared up at the monstrous specter of his father.12 His friend in St. Petersburg, whom his father suddenly knew so well, wrenched his heart as never before. He imagined him lost in the vastness of Russia. He pictured him standing in the doorway of his empty, plundered warehouse. He could barely stand amid the wreck of his showcases, his ruined wares, and the falling gas brackets. Why did he have to move so far away? His friend in St. Petersburg, whom his father suddenly knew so well, wrenched his heart as never before. He imagined him lost in the vastness of Russia. He pictured him standing in the doorway of his empty, plundered warehouse. He could barely stand amid the wreck of his showcases, his ruined wares, and the falling gas brackets. Why did he have to move so far away?

"Now listen to me!" his father cried, and Georg, nearly half frantic, ran to the bed to absorb everything, but stopped midway there.

"Because she lifted her skirts," his father started simpering, "because she pulled up her skirts like this, the nasty little goose," and demonstrated by hiking his s.h.i.+rt high enough to reveal the scar on his thigh from his war days, "because she lifted her skirts like this and like that, you threw yourself on her, and in order to have your way with her undisturbed, you disgraced your mother's memory, betrayed your friend, and shoved your father into bed so that he can't move. But can he move, or can't he?"

And he stood up, independent of any support, and kicked out his legs. He was radiant with insight.

Georg stood in a corner, as far from his father as possible. He had already made up his mind years ago to guard his every move so as to be on the lookout for a surprise attack from above, behind, or below. He recalled this long-forgotten resolve just now and as quickly forgot it, like a short length of thread drawn through the eye of a needle.

"But your friend has not been betrayed after all!" cried his father, punctuating his words with a pointed finger. "I've been representing him locally."

"What a comedian!" burst from Georg, but he realized just as soon the damage that had been done, and only too late bit down-his eyes bulging-so hard on his tongue that he recoiled in pain.

"Yes, I have been acting out a play! A play! Great word! What other comfort was left for an old widowed father? Tell me-and when you answer, still be my living son-what was left for me, in my back room, plagued by a disloyal staff, and old to the very marrow? And my son saunters exultantly through the world, closing deals I had prepared, falling all over himself with joy, and slinking away from his father with the stiff mug of an honorable man! Do you think I didn't love you, I who fathered you?"

"Now he's going to lean forward," thought Georg; "what if he fell and shattered to pieces!" These words buzzed through his brain.

His father did lean forward but did not tumble. Since Georg had not come any nearer, as expected, his father righted himself again.

"Stay where you are, I don't need you! You think you still have the power to come over here and only hold back of your own free will. Don't fool yourself! I am still stronger by far. Alone I may have had to yield, but Mother left her strength to me, your friend has joined me in a splendid alliance, and I have your clientele here in my pocket!"

"He even has pockets in his nights.h.i.+rt!" Georg said to himself, and believed that this remark could render his father ridiculous before the whole world. But this thought stayed with him only a moment, because he always forgot everything.

"Just bring your fiancee around here on your arm! I'll sweep her from your side, you don't know how quick!"

Georg grimaced in disbelief. His father merely nodded at Georg's corner, a.s.suring the truth of his words.

"How you amused me today, coming to ask me if you should tell your friend about your engagement. He already knows it, you stupid boy, he knows everything! I've been writing because you forgot to take away my writing things. That's why he hasn't come here for years, he knows everything a hundred times better than you; he crumples your unread letters in his left hand while he holds up his right hand to read my letters!"

He flung his arms over his head in his enthusiasm. "He knows everything a thousand times better!" he cried.

"Ten thousand times!" said Georg, to ridicule his father, but the words came out of his mouth deadly earnest.

"For years I've been waiting for you to come to me with this question! Do you think I've been interested in anything else? Do you believe I read newspapers? Look!" and he threw at Georg a sheet of newspaper that had somehow been swept into the bed. It was an old newspaper whose name was entirely unfamiliar to him.

"How long you fought off your adulthood! Your mother had to die, she couldn't witness the joyous day; your friend is rotting in Russia, three years ago he was already yellow enough to toss out, and as for me, you can see how I'm faring. You can see that much!"

"So you've been waiting to pounce on me!" cried Georg.

In a pitying tone, his father casually remarked: "You probably meant to say that earlier. Now it's beside the point."

And then louder: "So now you know what else existed in the world outside of you, before you knew only about yourself! Yes, you were a truly innocent child, but you were even more truly an evil man!-And for that reason, I hereby sentence you to death by drowning!"

Georg felt forcibly driven from the room, the crash of his father falling to the bed still rained down on him as he fled. On the stairs, which he slipped down as he would a hill, he ran into the cleaning woman, who was on her way up to do the morning tidying. "Jesus!" she yelped, and covered her face with her ap.r.o.n, but he was already gone. He leapt from the door and across the road, driven toward the water. Already he clung to the railing like a starving man to food. He swung himself over, like the outstanding gymnast he had been in his youth, the pride of his parents. He was still clinging with a weakening grip when he spied an approaching motor bus through the railings that would easily dampen the sound of his fall; he softly called out: "Dear parents, I have always loved you," and let himself drop.

At that moment an unending stream of traffic crossed over the bridge.

The Stoker: A Fragmente.

AS SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD KARL ROSSMANN, whose poor parents had sent him off to America because a maid had seduced him and then had his child, sailed into New York harbor on the now slowly moving s.h.i.+p, he saw the Statue of Liberty, which he had already been watching from far off, stand out as if s.h.i.+ning in suddenly brighter sunlight. The arm with the sword13 reached up as if freshly thrust out, and the free breezes blew around the figure. reached up as if freshly thrust out, and the free breezes blew around the figure.

"So high!" he said to himself, and without any thought of disembarking, he was pushed farther and farther along, all the way to the railing, by the constantly swelling throng of porters pressing past him.

On his way by, a young man with whom he had been briefly acquainted during the voyage said to him: "Well, don't you feel like going ash.o.r.e yet?" "Oh yes, I'm ready," said Karl, laughing, and out of sheer joy and youthful strength, he hoisted his trunk onto his shoulder. But as he looked beyond his acquaintance, who was already moving off and lightly swinging his stick, he remembered with dismay that he had left his own umbrella below deck. He hastily begged his acquaintance, who seemed none too pleased, to be kind enough to watch his trunk a moment; he surveyed his surroundings to regain his bearings and hurried off. Down below he was disappointed to find that a pa.s.sageway that would have shortened his route considerably was barred now for the first time, probably because of all the disembarking pa.s.sengers, and he had to arduously make his way through a long series of small rooms, down countless short staircases, one after another, through continually winding corridors, past a room with a deserted desk, until finally, as he had only gone this way once or twice before and always in a large group, he was utterly lost. In his bewilderment he came to a stop by a small door, and because he encountered no one and could hear only the endless trampling of thousands of human feet overhead, and from a distance like a sigh the final whine of the engines shutting down, he began, without consideration, to pound on the door.

"It's open," a voice called from inside, and Karl opened the door with a genuine sigh of relief. "Why are you pounding on the door like a madman?" asked a huge man, barely glancing at Karl. Through some kind of overhead hatch murky light, long stale from its use on the decks above, seeped into the miserable cabin, where a bed, a closet, a chair, and the man were crowded together side by side as if stowed there. "I've lost my way," said Karl. "I never really noticed it during the voyage, but this is an awfully large s.h.i.+p." "Yes, you're right about that," the man said with a certain degree of pride but did not stop fiddling with the lock of a small footlocker that he kept pressing shut with both hands to hear the catch snap home. "But come on in!" the man continued. "You don't want to stand around outside!" "Am I intruding?" asked Karl. "No, how would you be intruding!" "Are you German?" Karl tried to rea.s.sure himself further because he had heard a lot about the dangers that threatened newcomers to America, from the Irish especially.14 "That I am, yes indeed," said the man. Karl still hesitated. Then the man unexpectedly seized the door handle and swiftly shut the door, sweeping Karl into the cabin. "I can't stand being peered at from the corridor," he said, fiddling with the chest again; "they all run by and peer in, who can put up with it!" "But the corridor is totally empty now," said Karl, who was pressed uncomfortably against the bedpost. "Yes, now," said the man. "But we're talking about now," thought Karl; "this is a difficult man to talk to." "Why don't you lie down on the bed, you'll have more room," said the man. Karl crawled in as best he could and chuckled loudly at his first unsuccessful attempt to pitch himself across the bed. But as soon as he was in the bed he exclaimed: "Good G.o.d, I've completely forgotten my trunk!" "Well, where is it?" "Up on deck, someone I met is watching it. Now what was his name?" And from a secret pocket that his mother had sewn into his jacket lining specially for this voyage, he fished out a visiting card. "b.u.t.terbaum, Franz b.u.t.terbaum." "Is your trunk really necessary?" "Of course." "Well then, why did you give it to a complete stranger?" "I had forgotten my umbrella down below and ran to get it, but I didn't want to lug my trunk along. And then I got lost too." "Are you alone? No one accompanying you?" "Yes, I'm alone."-"Maybe I should stick with this man," went through Karl's mind, "where could I find a better friend?" "And now you've also lost your trunk. Not to mention the umbrella." And the man sat down on the chair as if he had developed some interest in Karl's problem. "But I don't believe the trunk is really lost yet." "Believe what you want," said the man, vigorously scratching his short, dark thatch of hair, "on a s.h.i.+p the morals change as often as the ports. In Hamburg, your b.u.t.terbaum might have guarded your trunk; here there's most likely no trace left of either of them." "Then I must go look for it immediately," said Karl, looking around to see how he could leave. "Stay where you are," the man said, and thrust a hand against Karl's chest, pus.h.i.+ng him roughly back onto the bed. "But why?" Karl asked peevishly. "Because it makes no sense," said the man; "in a little while I'm going and then we can go together. Either the trunk is stolen and there's no help for it, or the man has left it there and we'll find it all the more easily when the s.h.i.+p is empty. The same goes for your umbrella." "Do you know your way around the s.h.i.+p?" asked Karl warily, as it seemed to him that there must be some catch in the otherwise convincing notion that his things would be best found on an empty s.h.i.+p. "Well, I'm a stoker," "That I am, yes indeed," said the man. Karl still hesitated. Then the man unexpectedly seized the door handle and swiftly shut the door, sweeping Karl into the cabin. "I can't stand being peered at from the corridor," he said, fiddling with the chest again; "they all run by and peer in, who can put up with it!" "But the corridor is totally empty now," said Karl, who was pressed uncomfortably against the bedpost. "Yes, now," said the man. "But we're talking about now," thought Karl; "this is a difficult man to talk to." "Why don't you lie down on the bed, you'll have more room," said the man. Karl crawled in as best he could and chuckled loudly at his first unsuccessful attempt to pitch himself across the bed. But as soon as he was in the bed he exclaimed: "Good G.o.d, I've completely forgotten my trunk!" "Well, where is it?" "Up on deck, someone I met is watching it. Now what was his name?" And from a secret pocket that his mother had sewn into his jacket lining specially for this voyage, he fished out a visiting card. "b.u.t.terbaum, Franz b.u.t.terbaum." "Is your trunk really necessary?" "Of course." "Well then, why did you give it to a complete stranger?" "I had forgotten my umbrella down below and ran to get it, but I didn't want to lug my trunk along. And then I got lost too." "Are you alone? No one accompanying you?" "Yes, I'm alone."-"Maybe I should stick with this man," went through Karl's mind, "where could I find a better friend?" "And now you've also lost your trunk. Not to mention the umbrella." And the man sat down on the chair as if he had developed some interest in Karl's problem. "But I don't believe the trunk is really lost yet." "Believe what you want," said the man, vigorously scratching his short, dark thatch of hair, "on a s.h.i.+p the morals change as often as the ports. In Hamburg, your b.u.t.terbaum might have guarded your trunk; here there's most likely no trace left of either of them." "Then I must go look for it immediately," said Karl, looking around to see how he could leave. "Stay where you are," the man said, and thrust a hand against Karl's chest, pus.h.i.+ng him roughly back onto the bed. "But why?" Karl asked peevishly. "Because it makes no sense," said the man; "in a little while I'm going and then we can go together. Either the trunk is stolen and there's no help for it, or the man has left it there and we'll find it all the more easily when the s.h.i.+p is empty. The same goes for your umbrella." "Do you know your way around the s.h.i.+p?" asked Karl warily, as it seemed to him that there must be some catch in the otherwise convincing notion that his things would be best found on an empty s.h.i.+p. "Well, I'm a stoker,"f the man said. "You're a stoker!" Karl cried happily, as if this exceeded all expectation and, propping himself up on his elbows, he inspected the man more closely. "Just outside the cabin where I slept with the Slovak there was a porthole through which you could see into the engine room." "Yes, that's where I worked," said the stoker. "I have always been interested in technology," said Karl, pursuing his own train of thought, "and would surely have become an engineer later on if I hadn't had to leave for America." "Why did you have to leave, then?" "Oh, that!" said Karl, waving away the whole business with his hand. At the same time he looked at the stoker with a smile as if asking his indulgence for what he hadn't even admitted. "I'm sure there was some reason," said the stoker, and it was hard to tell whether he was demanding or dismissing the story behind that reason. "Now I could become a stoker too," said Karl, "my parents don't care what becomes of me." "My job will be free," said the stoker, and as a show of this he put his hands in the pockets of his creased and leathery, iron gray trousers and flung his legs across the bed in order to stretch them out. Karl had to move over closer to the wall. "Are you leaving the s.h.i.+p?" "Yes, we're moving out today." "But why? Don't you like it?" "Well, that's the way things go, it's not always a matter of what pleases you or not. But as a matter of fact you're right, I don't like it. You're probably not seriously thinking of becoming a stoker, but that's exactly when it's easiest to become one. So, I strongly advise you against it. If you wanted to study in Europe, why don't you want to study here? The American universities are incomparably better than the European ones." "It's certainly possible," said Karl, "but I have almost no money for a university. I did read about someone who worked all day and studied at night until he got a doctorate and became a mayor, I believe, but that requires a lot of perseverance, doesn't it? I'm afraid that's something I lack. Anyway, I was never a very good student, and leaving school was not particularly hard on me. And perhaps the schools here will be even more stringent. I speak almost no English. And besides, I think people here are prejudiced against foreigners." "So you've found that out already? Well, that's good. Then you're my man. Look, we're on a German s.h.i.+p, it belongs to the Hamburg-America line, so why aren't we all Germans here? Why is the chief engineer a Romanian? His name is Schubal. It's beyond belief. And that villain makes us slave away on a German s.h.i.+p! Don't go thinking"-he was out of breath and flailing his hand-"that I'm complaining just to complain. I know you have no influence and are just a poor young lad yourself. But it's a shame!" And he beat the table repeatedly, his eyes fixed on his fist as he banged. "I've served on so many s.h.i.+ps"-and he fired off twenty names as if they were one word, making Karl dizzy-"and I've always excelled, I was praised, the captains always liked my work, I even worked for several years on the same merchant s.h.i.+p"-he stood up as if this had been the high point of his life-"and here on this tub, where everything is done by the book and no brains are required, here I'm no good, here I'm always in Schubal's way, I'm a lazybones who deserves to be thrown out and only get his pay out of mercy. Can you understand that? I can't." "You shouldn't put up with that," said Karl heatedly. He felt so at home here on the stoker's bed that he had almost lost any sense of being on the unsteady ground of a s.h.i.+p off the coast of an unknown continent. "Have you been to see the captain? Have you asked him to see to your rights?" "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 wearily sat down again and buried his face in both hands. the man said. "You're a stoker!" Karl cried happily, as if this exceeded all expectation and, propping himself up on his elbows, he inspected the man more closely. "Just outside the cabin where I slept with the Slovak there was a porthole through which you could see into the engine room." "Yes, that's where I worked," said the stoker. "I have always been interested in technology," said Karl, pursuing his own train of thought, "and would surely have become an engineer later on if I hadn't had to leave for America." "Why did you have to leave, then?" "Oh, that!" said Karl, waving away the whole business with his hand. At the same time he looked at the stoker with a smile as if asking his indulgence for what he hadn't even admitted. "I'm sure there was some reason," said the stoker, and it was hard to tell whether he was demanding or dismissing the story behind that reason. "Now I could become a stoker too," said Karl, "my parents don't care what becomes of me." "My job will be free," said the stoker, and as a show of this he put his hands in the pockets of his creased and leathery, iron gray trousers and flung his legs across the bed in order to stretch them out. Karl had to move over closer to the wall. "Are you leaving the s.h.i.+p?" "Yes, we're moving out today." "But why? Don't you like it?" "Well, that's the way things go, it's not always a matter of what pleases you or not. But as a matter of fact you're right, I don't like it. You're probably not seriously thinking of becoming a stoker, but that's exactly when it's easiest to become one. So, I strongly advise you against it. If you wanted to study in Europe, why don't you want to study here? The American universities are incomparably better than the European ones." "It's certainly possible," said Karl, "but I have almost no money for a university. I did read about someone who worked all day and studied at night until he got a doctorate and became a mayor, I believe, but that requires a lot of perseverance, doesn't it? I'm afraid that's something I lack. Anyway, I was never a very good student, and leaving school was not particularly hard on me. And perhaps the schools here will be even more stringent. I speak almost no English. And besides, I think people here are prejudiced against foreigners." "So you've found that out already? Well, that's good. Then you're my man. Look, we're on a German s.h.i.+p, it belongs to the Hamburg-America line, so why aren't we all Germans here? Why is the chief engineer a Romanian? His name is Schubal. It's beyond belief. And that villain makes us slave away on a German s.h.i.+p! Don't go thinking"-he was out of breath and flailing his hand-"that I'm complaining just to complain. I know you have no influence and are just a poor young lad yourself. But it's a shame!" And he beat the table repeatedly, his eyes fixed on his fist as he banged. "I've served on so many s.h.i.+ps"-and he fired off twenty names as if they were one word, making Karl dizzy-"and I've always excelled, I was praised, the captains always liked my work, I even worked for several years on the same merchant s.h.i.+p"-he stood up as if this had been the high point of his life-"and here on this tub, where everything is done by the book and no brains are required, here I'm no good, here I'm always in Schubal's way, I'm a lazybones who deserves to be thrown out and only get his pay out of mercy. Can you understand that? I can't." "You shouldn't put up with that," said Karl heatedly. He felt so at home here on the stoker's bed that he had almost lost any sense of being on the unsteady ground of a s.h.i.+p off the coast of an unknown continent. "Have you been to see the captain? Have you asked him to see to your rights?" "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 wearily sat down again and buried his face in both hands.

"I can't give him any better advice," Karl said to himself. And the overwhelming thought occurred to him that he would have been better off going after his trunk instead of staying here and offering advice that was only considered stupid. When his father had handed over the trunk to him for good he had jokingly asked: "How long will you keep it?" and now this precious trunk might already be well and truly lost. His sole consolation was that his father, even if he did make inquiries, could hardly find out about his present situation. The s.h.i.+pping company could only say that he had gotten as far as New York. But Karl was sorry that he had hardly used the items in the trunk, though he ought to have, for instance, long since changed his s.h.i.+rt. So he had economized in the wrong place, and now, at the very start of his career, when it was necessary to arrive neatly dressed, he would have to appear in a dirty s.h.i.+rt. Otherwise the loss of the trunk would not have been so bad, as the suit 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 remembered that a piece of Verona salami was still in his trunk; his mother had packed this as a special treat, but he had eaten only the tiniest bit of it because he had had no appet.i.te during the voyage and the soup served in steerageg amply sufficed. But he would gladly have that sausage in hand now, so that he could present it to the stoker. For people such as this are easily won over if one slips them any old trifle; Karl had learned that from his father, who by distributing cigars won over all the underlings with whom he had to do business. At present all Karl had to give away was his money, and he did not want to touch that for the moment, considering he might have already lost his trunk. Again his thoughts returned to the trunk, and now he could not understand why he had kept watch over it so vigilantly during the voyage that it had almost cost him his sleep, when he had later allowed the same trunk to be taken from him so easily. He remembered the five nights during which he had incessantly suspected a little Slovak, lying two berths to his left, of having designs on the trunk. This Slovak had merely been waiting for Karl to be overcome by fatigue and nod off for a moment so that he could hook the trunk and pull it over to him with a long pole that he played or practiced with all day long. During the day the Slovak seemed innocent enough, but as soon as night fell he would periodically rise from his berth and mournfully eye Karl's trunk. Karl could see him quite clearly, for there was always someone lighting a lamp here or there, even though this was forbidden by the s.h.i.+p's regulations, with the restless anxiety of an emigrant trying to decipher the incomprehensible brochures from the emigration agencies. If such a light was nearby, Karl could doze off for a while; but if the light was far away or it was totally dark, then he had to keep his eyes open. This strain had thoroughly exhausted him and now it may have all been in vain. Oh, that b.u.t.terbaum, if he ever saw him again somewhere! amply sufficed. But he would gladly have that sausage in hand now, so that he could present it to the stoker. For people such as this are easily won over if one slips them any old trifle; Karl had learned that from his father, who by distributing cigars won over all the underlings with whom he had to do business. At present all Karl had to give away was his money, and he did not want to touch that for the moment, considering he might have already lost his trunk. Again his thoughts returned to the trunk, and now he could not understand why he had kept watch over it so vigilantly during the voyage that it had almost cost him his sleep, when he had later allowed the same trunk to be taken from him so easily. He remembered the five nights during which he had incessantly suspected a little Slovak, lying two berths to his left, of having designs on the trunk. This Slovak had merely been waiting for Karl to be overcome by fatigue and nod off for a moment so that he could hook the trunk and pull it over to him with a long pole that he played or practiced with all day long. During the day the Slovak seemed innocent enough, but as soon as night fell he would periodically rise from his berth and mournfully eye Karl's trunk. Karl could see him quite clearly, for there was always someone lighting a lamp here or there, even though this was forbidden by the s.h.i.+p's regulations, with the restless anxiety of an emigrant trying to decipher the incomprehensible brochures from the emigration agencies. If such a light was nearby, Karl could doze off for a while; but if the light was far away or it was totally dark, then he had to keep his eyes open. This strain had thoroughly exhausted him and now it may have all been in vain. Oh, that b.u.t.terbaum, if he ever saw him again somewhere!

At that instant the absolute silence was broken by brief little thuds in the distance like children's footsteps; they came nearer and grew louder until it was the steady tread of men marching. They were evidently walking single file as was natural in the narrow pa.s.sage, and a clattering sound like weapons could be heard. Karl, who had been on the verge of stretching out on the bed and sleeping, free from worry over trunks and Slovaks, started up and nudged the stoker to fully alert him, as the head of the procession seemed to have just reached the door. "That's the s.h.i.+p's band," said the stoker, "they've been playing on deck and now they're going to pack up. It's all clear now and we can go. Come on!" He seized Karl by the hand, took a framed picture of the Madonna off the wall at the last moment and stuffed it in his breast pocket, grabbed his footlocker, and hastily left the cabin with Karl.

"Now I'm going to the office and giving those gentlemen a piece of my mind. There are no more pa.s.sengers, so I don't have to mince words." The stoker kept repeating variations of this, and as he went along he kicked out sideways, attempting to stomp on a rat that scurried across their path but only driving it faster into a hole that it reached in the nick of time. The stoker was generally slow in his movements, for while his legs were long they were just too heavy.

They pa.s.sed through a section of the kitchen where some girls in dirty ap.r.o.ns-they were deliberately splas.h.i.+ng themselves-were was.h.i.+ng dishes in large tubs. The stoker called over a girl named Line, put his arm around her waist, and led her a ways away while she pressed herself coquettishly against his arm. "It's time to get our pay, do you want to come along?" he asked. "Why should I bother; bring the money back here," she replied, and slipped under his arm and ran away. "Where did you pick up that beautiful boy?" she called back, but did not wait for an answer. There was laughter from all of the girls, who had stopped their work.

But Karl and the stoker kept walking until they came to a door with a small pediment over it supported by little gilded caryatids. It looked quite extravagant for a s.h.i.+p's decor. Karl realized that he had never been in this area of the s.h.i.+p, which had probably been reserved for first- and second-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers during the voyage, whereas now all the part.i.tions had been removed for the scouring of the s.h.i.+p. In fact, they had already run into some men with brooms on their shoulders, who had greeted the stoker. Karl marveled at the intense flurry of activity; he knew little of it, of course, in steerage. Running along the pa.s.sageways there were also wires from electrical lines, and a little bell could be heard ringing constantly.

The stoker respectfully knocked at the door, and when a voice called, "Come in," he motioned at Karl with a wave of his hand to be brave and enter. This he did, but then remained standing by the door. Beyond the three windows of the room he saw the waves of the ocean, and his heart soared as he took in their buoyant motion, as if he had not been looking incessantly at the ocean for five long days. Immense s.h.i.+ps were crossing in front of one another, yielding to the swell of the waves only as much as their tonnage allowed. Through narrowed eyes the s.h.i.+ps appeared to be staggering under their own ma.s.sive weight. Their masts bore slim but elongated flags which were drawn taut by the s.h.i.+ps' movement yet kept fluttering to and fro. Salvos, probably fired from wars.h.i.+ps, rang out; one such s.h.i.+p was pa.s.sing fairly nearby and its gun barrels were glinting in the sunlight, seemingly enveloped by the sure, smooth, but rippling glide of the s.h.i.+p through the water. The smaller s.h.i.+ps and boats, from the doorway at least, could only be seen in the distance as swarms of them darted through the gaps between the larger s.h.i.+ps. But beyond all this towered New York, examining Karl with the hundred thousand windows of its skysc.r.a.pers. Yes, in this room one knew where one was.

Three gentlemen were sitting at a round table, one a s.h.i.+p's officer in a blue naval uniform and the other two, officials of the harbor authority, in black American uniforms. On the table lay a mountainous stack of different doc.u.ments, which the first officer skimmed through with pen in hand, then turned over to the other two, who read them, made excerpts, then filed them away in their briefcases, except when one of the two officials, who was almost constantly clacking his teeth, dictated something for his colleague to record.

A small man sat at a desk by one window with his back to the door and fussed over weighty ledgers, which were arranged side by side on a solid bookcase just in front of him. Beside him lay an open cash box, which appeared empty at first glance.

The second window was clear and provided the best view. But two gentlemen stood by the third window, conversing in low tones. One of them, who was leaning against the window, also wore a naval uniform and was toying with the hilt of a sword. The man with whom he was speaking was facing the window, and every so often his movements partially revealed a row of medals on the other man's chest. He was dressed in civilian clothes and held a thin bamboo cane which, since he stood with his hands on his hips, also jutted out like a sword.

Karl did not have much time to ingest all this, for an attendant quickly stepped up to them and asked the stoker, with a purposeful look conveying that he had no business here, what it was he wanted. Responding as softly as he had been asked, the stoker replied that he wished to speak to the chief purser.h The attendant, for his part, dismissed this request with a wave of his hand but nevertheless tiptoed, giving the round table a wide berth, over to the man with the ledgers. This gentleman-as was obvious-abruptly stiffened at the attendant's words but eventually turned to face the man who wanted to speak to him and proceeded to gesticulate furiously at the stoker to ward him off and then, as a further precaution, at the attendant too. The attendant returned to the stoker and said in a confidential manner: "Get out of this room at once!" The attendant, for his part, dismissed this request with a wave of his hand but nevertheless tiptoed, giving the round table a wide berth, over to the man with the ledgers. This gentleman-as was obvious-abruptly stiffened at the attendant's words but eventually turned to face the man who wanted to speak to him and proceeded to gesticulate furiously at the stoker to ward him off and then, as a further precaution, at the attendant too. The attendant returned to the stoker and said in a confidential manner: "Get out of this room at once!"

Upon receiving this response, the stoker looked down at Karl as if Karl were his heart to which he was silently bemoaning his sorrows. Without further thought Karl charged forward and ran straight across the room, brus.h.i.+ng the officer's chair on his way past; the attendant also set off running, crouching low with arms spread wide and ready to scoop, as if he were hunting some sort of vermin, but Karl was the first to reach the chief purser's desk, which he held on to tightly in case the attendant should try to drag him away.

Naturally the whole room came immediately to life. The s.h.i.+p's officer at the table sprang to his feet; the men from the harbor authority looked on calmly but attentively; the two gentlemen by the window had moved side by side; the attendant, feeling out of place now that his superiors were interested, stepped back. The stoker waited anxiously by the door for the moment when his help would be needed. The purser finally swung his armchair forcefully around to the right.

Karl, rummaging in his secret pocket, which he had no qualms about revealing to these people, pulled out his pa.s.sport, which he opened and laid on the desk in lieu of further introduction. The purser seemed to consider the pa.s.sport irrelevant, for he flicked it aside with two fingers, whereupon Karl, as if this formality had been concluded to his satisfaction, put it back in his pocket.

"Please allow me to say," he then began, "that in my opinion the stoker has been done an injustice. There is a certain Schubal on board who's on his case. The stoker has worked on many s.h.i.+ps, all of which he can name and all of which were very satisfactorily served; he is industrious and serious about his work, and it's difficult to comprehend why his performance would not be up to standard on this s.h.i.+p, where the duties are not nearly so taxing as they are, for example, on a merchant s.h.i.+p. Therefore it can only be slander that prevents his advancement and robs him of the reward that would otherwise a.s.suredly be his. I have only outlined this matter in general terms, he can enumerate his specific grievances for you himself." Karl had directed his remarks to all the gentlemen present because they were all in fact listening, and it seemed much more likely that a just man could be found among all of them than that this just man should be the purser. Karl had also been clever enough to conceal the fact that he had known the stoker only a short time. But he would have spoken more effectively if he had not been disconcerted by the red face of the man with the bamboo cane as he first viewed it from his current position.

"Every single word is true," said the stoker before anyone asked him anything or even looked in his direction. This over zealousness would have been a gross error if the gentleman with the medals, who, it suddenly dawned on Karl, was obviously the captain, had not clearly made up his mind already to hear the stoker out. For he extended a hand and called to the stoker: "Come here!" with a voice firm enough to be hit with a hammer. Now everything hinged upon the stoker's conduct, for Karl did not doubt the justness of his cause.

Fortunately it became evident at this point that the stoker was an experienced man of the world. With perfect calm he reached into his little chest and unerringly pulled out a small bundle of papers and a notebook, and then, as if it were the most natural thing to do, he completely ignored the purser, walked directly to the captain, and spread out his evidence on the windowsill. Having no choice, the purser was forced to make his own way across. "The man is a known whiner," he said by way of explanation. "He spends more time in my office than the engine room. He has driven that poor, calm Schubal to distraction. Now listen for once!" He turned to the stoker. "This time you're really taking your obtrusiveness too far. How many times have you already been thrown out of pay rooms, and it served you right with your demands, which are without exception totally and completely unjustified! How many times have you then come running to the purser's office! How many times have you been told nicely that Schubal is your immediate superior, with whom you have to come to terms yourself! And now you even have the gall to come in here when the captain's present and you have no shame about pestering him; you even have the effrontery to go so far as to bring this boy along, whom you've trained as the mouthpiece for your ridiculous accusations, and yet this is the first time I have ever seen him on this s.h.i.+p!"

Karl had to forcibly restrain himself from jumping forward. But the captain had already intervened, saying: "Let's listen to what the man has to say. In any case Schubal is becoming much too independent for my liking, by which, however, I don't mean to imply anything in your favor." These last words were directed to the stoker; it was only natural that the captain could not immediately take his side, but everything appeared to be moving in the right direction. The stoker began his explanations and was in control of himself enough at the start to give Schubal the t.i.tle of "Mister." How Karl rejoiced, standing at the purser's abandoned desk, where he took great pleasure in pressing down on a postal scale again and again.-Mr. Schubal is unfair! Mr. Schubal prefers foreigners! Mr. Schubal had ordered the stoker out of the engine room and made him clean toilets, which was certainly not the stoker's job!-At one point, Mr. Schubal's competence was challenged as being more apparent than actual. At that moment Karl eyed the captain very closely and openly, as if they were colleagues, to ensure that the captain would not be unfavorably influenced by the stoker's somewhat awkward manner of expression. Still, nothing tangible emerged from the stream of words, and even though the captain's gaze was still fixed ahead of him as a sign of his resolve to hear the stoker through to the end this time, the other gentlemen were growing impatient and soon the stoker's voice no longer dominated the room unquestionably, which was disturbing to Karl. First, the gentleman in civilian clothes started playing with his bamboo cane, tapping it, albeit softly, against the parquet floor, and the other gentlemen naturally looked his way from time to time. The harbor officials, who were obviously in a hurry, took up their doc.u.ments again and began, if somewhat distractedly, to look through them; the s.h.i.+p's officer edged closer to his table, and the chief purser, believing he had won this round, heaved a deep and ironic sigh. Only the attendant seemed exempt from the gathering lack of interest; sympathetic to the sufferings of a poor man surrounded by the great, he nodded earnestly at Karl as if he wanted to explain something.

Meanwhile, outside the windows, life in the harbor continued: A flat barge with a mountain of barrels, which must have been ingeniously stowed because none of them rolled around, tugged past and almost completely darkened the room; small motor-boats, which Karl could have minutely examined if he had had the time, roared by in straight lines, each obeying the jerking hands of a man standing upright at the wheel; here and there peculiar bobbing objects surfaced on their own from the restless waves and were submerged just as quickly, sinking before Karl's astonished eyes; boats from the ocean liners surged past, rowed by furiously working sailors and full of still, expectant pa.s.sengers sitting exactly as they had been squeezed in, although some of them could not resist turning their heads to look at the s.h.i.+fting scenery. An endless movement, a restlessness pa.s.sed from the element of restlessness to the helpless human beings and their works!

But everything called for haste, for clarity, for accurate description, and what was the stoker doing? He was certainly talking up a storm, his trembling hands were long past being able to hold the papers on the windowsill, complaints about Schubal came flooding into his mind from all directions, and in his opinion, each and every one would have sufficed to bury Schubal forever, but all he could present to the captain was a pitiful tangle of everything jumbled together. For a long time the gentleman with the bamboo cane had been whistling up at the ceiling, the harbor officials had already detained the s.h.i.+p's officer at their table and showed no signs of releasing him, the chief purser was visibly held back from an outburst only by the calmness of the captain, and the attendant was standing at the ready, awaiting at any moment the captain's orders concerning the stoker.

Karl could remain idle no longer. Therefore he approached the group slowly, considering all the quicker how to tackle the situation as cleverly as possible. It was now or never, it could not be long before they were both thrown out of the office. The captain might well be a good man and in addition he might, or so it seemed to Karl, have some special reason for demonstrating that he was a fair superior at present, but in the end he was not an instrument that one could play into the ground-and that was just how the stoker was treating him, although it was only out of his profound sense of indignation.

So Karl said to the stoker: "You must tell the story more simply, more clearly; the captain can't fully appreciate it the way you're telling it now. Does he know all the engineers and cabin boys by their last names, let alone by their first names, so that you just mention such a name and he instantly knows who it is? Sort out your complaints and tell him the most important first and then the others in descending order; perhaps then you won't even have to voice most of them. You've always explained it to me so clearly!" "If one could steal trunks in America, one could also lie now and again," he thought to justify himself.

If only it would help! Might it not be too late already? The stoker did fall silent upon hearing the familiar voice, but his eyes were so blinded by tears of wounded pride, awful memories, and the extreme distress of the moment that he could barely recognize Karl anymore. How could he now-and Karl privately realized this upon seeing his silent friend-how could he suddenly change his tack now when he felt that he had already said all there was to say without receiving the slightest acknowledgment, and yet on the other hand he had really not said anything at all and could hardly expect these gentlemen to listen to everything again. And at this particular point Karl, his sole supporter, steps in wanting to give good advice but instead shows him that everything, absolutely everything is lost.

"If only I'd come forward sooner instead of staring out the window," Karl said to himself, bowing his head before the stoker and slapping his hands on his thighs to signal that all hope had vanished.

But the stoker misinterpreted this, probably sensing that Karl was secretly reproaching him, and with the honest intention of convincing him otherwise, he superseded all his previous deeds by starting to argue with Karl. Now of all times-when the gentlemen at the round table had long since grown aggravated by the pointless barrage that was disrupting their important work, when the chief purser had gradually found the captain's patience incomprehensible and was on the verge of exploding, when the attendant, by now fully reestablished within the sphere of his superiors, was measuring the stoker with menacing looks, and when the gentleman with the bamboo cane, to whom even the captain was sending friendly glances now and then, was completely inured to and even disgusted by the stoker and pulled out a small notebook and, evidently preoccupied with other matters, let his eyes wander back and forth between the notebook and Karl.

"Yes, I know, I know," said Karl, who was having difficulty fighting off the stoker's tirade yet still managed to keep up a friendly smile throughout the quarreling, "you're right, quite right, I've never once doubted it." He would have liked to restrain the stoker's flailing hands for fear of being struck, or better yet, he would have liked to press him into a corner and whisper a few calm, soothing words that no one else need hear. But the stoker was beyond the pale. Karl began to take some comfort in the thought that, if necessary, the stoker could overpower all seven men present with the strength of his despair. However, on the desk, as a peek in that direction informed him, there lay a panel crammed with push b.u.t.tons connected to electrical wires: One hand simply pressing them down could turn the entire s.h.i.+p rebellious, its pa.s.sages full of hostile men.

Here, the seriously indifferent gentleman with the bamboo cane stepped up to Karl and asked, not too loudly but audibly enough to be heard above all the stoker's racket: "So what is your name?" At that moment, as if someone behind the door were awaiting this remark, there came a knock. The attendant looked over to the captain, who nodded. At this the attendant went to the door and opened it. Outside, in an old imperial coat, stood a man of medium build who, judging by his appearance, did not seem suited to engine work but was nevertheless-Schubal. If Karl had not inferred this from the look in everyone's eyes, which exuded a certain satisfaction that even the captain was not immune to, then he would have been horrified to realize it by looking at the stoker, who clenched his fists at the end of his stiffened arms as if this concentration of force were the most important thing to him, something for which he was willing to sacrifice the very life in his body. All his strength, even the power to keep himself upright, was concentrated in his fists.

And so here was the enemy, jaunty and fresh in his festive dress, a ledger under one arm-probably records of the stoker's work and pay-making it unabashedly clear by scanning each face in turn that it was his intention to ascertain the mood of each individual. All seven were already friends of his, for even if the captain had had reservations about him, or perhaps had only pretended to, he could probably not find fault with Schubal after all the pain he had just been subjected to by the stoker. A man like the stoker could not be dealt with severely enough, and if Schubal were to be reproached for anything at all it was for failing to succinctly and sufficiently subdue the stoker's recalcitrance and thus prevent him from having the audacity to appear before the captain today.

Now one might still a.s.sume that the confrontation between the stoker and Schubal could not fail to have the same effect upon men as it would certainly have before a higher tribunal; for even if Schubal could disguise himself well, he might not be able to keep up this ruse to the very end. A single flash of his wicked temperament would be enough to enlighten these gentlemen, and Karl wanted to make sure of that. He already had some insight into the ac.u.men, the weaknesses, the moods of these men individually, and from that standpoint the time he had already spent here had not been wasted. If only the stoker were in better shape, but he seemed entirely incapable of fighting. If Schubal were held in front of him, he would probably have battered that hated skull with his fists. But even the few steps separating them were most likely more than the stoker could manage. Why had Karl not foreseen the so easily foreseeable: That Schubal was bound to turn up in the end, if not of his own accord, then summoned by the captain? Why had he not discussed a plan of action with the stoker on the way here instead of simply marching, hopelessly unprepared, through a random door, which in fact is what they did? Was the stoker still capable of speech, of saying yes and no as would be necessary during the cross-examination, which, however, would only happen in the most hopeful scenario? The stoker stood there, his legs spread apart, his knees slightly bent, his head half raised, and the air flowing through his open mouth as if he had no lungs within to process it.

Karl on the other hand felt more vigorous and alert than he had perhaps ever been at home. If only his parents could see him now: fighting the good fight in a foreign country before highly respected persons, and although not yet triumphant, entirely prepared for the ultimate conquest! Would they revise their opinion of him? Sit him down between them and praise him? Look once, just once, into his devoted eyes? Uncertain questions, and the most inappropriate moment to ask them!

"I have come here because I believe the stoker is accusing me of some sort of dishonesty. A girl from the kitchen told me she'd seen him on his way here. Captain, sir, and the rest of you gentlemen, I am ready to refute any charge with my own doc.u.ments and, if necessary, with statements by impartial and unbiased witnesses who are waiting outside the door." So spoke Schubal. This was indeed the clear speech of a man, and from the change in the listeners' faces one might have thought that these were the first human sounds they had heard in a long time. They failed to notice, of course, that even this eloquent speech had holes in it. Why was the first word that occurred to him "dishonesty"? Should the accusations have started here, rather than with his national prejudices? A girl from the kitchen had seen the stoker on his way to the office and had understood immediately? Was it not a sense of guilt that sharpened his mind? And he had automatically brought witnesses along with him and then called them impartial and unbiased? A fraud, nothing but a fraud! And these gentlemen tolerated it and even acknowledged it as proper conduct? Why had he apparently let so much time elapse between the kitchen girl's message and his arrival here? Evidently it was for the purpose of allowing the stoker to weary the men to the point where they would gradually lose their capacity for clear judgment, which Schubal had most to fear. Had he not, obviously having stood behind the door for a long time, only knocked after the gentleman asked his casual question and when he had reason to hope that the matter of the stoker was disposed of?

It was all very clear and that was how it was unwittingly presented by Schubal, but it had to be clarified for these gentlemen in a different, more tangible manner. They needed to be jolted awake. So Karl, quick, at least take advantage of what time is left to you before the witnesses arrive and take over everything.

At that moment, however, the captain waved off Schubal, who-since his affair appeared to be momentarily postponed-immediately stepped aside and was joined in quiet conversation by the attendant; the two men kept leering at the stoker and gesturing emphatically, and it seemed to Karl that Schubal was rehearsing his next grand speech.

"Didn't you wish to ask the young man something, Mr. Jakob?" the captain said to the gentleman with the bamboo cane amid general silence.

"Indeed," he said, acknowledging this courtesy with a slight bow. And then he asked Karl once more: "So what is your name?"

Karl, who believed the main issue would best be served by dispensing with the stubborn inquisitor quickly, answered tersely and without his usual custom of presenting his pa.s.sport, which he would have had to hunt for first: "Karl Rossmann."

"Well," said the man addressed as Mr. Jakob, taking a step backward at first with an almost incredulous smile. The captain too, the chief purser, the s.h.i.+p's officer, and even the attendant were all extremely astonished upon hearing Karl's name. Only the men from the harbor authority and Schubal remained indifferent.

"Well," repeated Mr. Jakob, approaching Karl somewhat stiffly, "then I am your Uncle Jakob and you are my dear nephew. I suspected it all along!" he said to the captain before he embraced and then kissed Karl, who suffered all this in silence.

"And what is your name?" Karl asked very politely, yet wholly unmoved after he felt himself released; he struggled to foresee the consequences this latest development might have for the stoker. For the moment, there was no indication that Schubal could derive any benefit from it.

"You don't seem to understand your luck," said the captain, believing that Karl's question had wounded Mr. Jakob's personal dignity, since he had withdrawn to the window, evidently to conceal his agitated face, which he kept dabbing at with a handkerchief. "That's Senator Edward Jakob who has just introduced himself to you as your uncle. Now a brilliant career awaits you, no doubt completely contrary to your previous expectations. Try to grasp this as best you can right now and pull yourself together!"

"Indeed I do have an Uncle Jakob in America," said Karl, turning to the captain, "but if I understood correctly, Jakob is merely the Senator's surname."

"So it is," said the captain expectantly.

"Well, my Uncle Jakob, who is my mother's brother, has Jakob for his Christian name, but his surname would naturally be the same as my mother's, whose maiden name is Bendelmayer."

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed the Senator, reacting to Karl's statement as he cheerfully returned from his recuperative break at the window. Everyone present, except for the harbor officials, burst out laughing, some as if moved to do so, others for no apparent reason.

"But what I said was by no means ridiculous," thought Karl.

"Gentlemen," repeated the Senator, "you are taking part, contrary to both my intentions and yours, in a little family scene, and therefore I cannot avoid providing you with an explanation, since I believe only the captain"-at this mention they exchanged bows-"is completely informed of the circ.u.mstances."

"Now I must really pay attention to every word," Karl told himself, and was delighted to note, from a sideways glance, that life was beginning to return to the stoker.

"During all the long years of my sojourn in America-although the word 'sojourn' is hardly fitting for an American citizen, which I am heart and soul-well, during all these long years, I have been living entirely without contact with my European relatives for reasons that, in the first place, have no business here, and secondly, would truly be too painful to discuss. I actually dread the moment when I may be forced to explain them to my dear nephew, and unfortunately it will be impossible to avoid frank references to his parents and their nearest and dearest."

"He is my uncle, no question," Karl told himself as he listened; "he's probably changed his name."

"My dear nephew is now-let us use the proper word-quite simply cut off by his parents, the same as a cat tossed out the door when it has become annoying. I wish by no means to gloss over what my nephew did to be so punished, but his fault was such that its mere mention is absolution enough."

"That sounds fair enough," thought Karl, "but I don't want him to tell everyone the story. Besides, he can't possibly know about it. Who could have told him?"

"He was, in fact," his uncle continued, occasionally rocking forward on his bamboo cane, whereby he did indeed successfully avoid the unnecessary solemnity the situation was otherwise bound to a.s.sume, "in fact, he was seduced by a maidservant, Johanna Brummer, a woman of thirty-five. I do not mean to offend my nephew by using the word 'seduced,' but it is difficult to find another word equally suitable."

Karl, who had moved much closer to his uncle, turned around at this point to gauge the reactions on the faces of those present. No one was laughing, they were all listening patiently and earnestly. After all, one does not laugh at a senator's nephew at the first opportunity that presents itself. The most that could be said was that the stoker was smiling at Karl, albeit faintly, which was encouraging in the first place as a sign of renewed life and pardonable in the second as Karl, in the stoker's cabin, had tried to keep secret this very same affair that was now being made public.

"Now, this Brummer woman," his uncle went on, "had a child by my nephew, a healthy boy who was christened Jakob, no doubt after my humble self, who I'm sure was casually mentioned by my nephew but made a great impression on the girl. Fortunately, I may add. For the parents, in order to avoid paying for child support or being further involved in personal scandal-I must emphasize that I am not familiar with either the laws over there or the parents' situation-therefore, so as to avoid paying for child support and their son's scandal, they s.h.i.+pped my dear nephew off to America miserably unprovided for, as one can see, so that he would soon, without the miracles that still happen, at least in America, in all likelihood have met his lonely end in some alley near New York harbor if that maid hadn't sent me a letter, which reached me the day before yesterday after a long odyssey and which provided me with the whole story, a personal description of my nephew, and also, very sensibly, the name of the s.h.i.+p. If my purpose here were to entertain you gentlemen, I could read a few pa.s.sages of this letter"-he pulled out and flourished two huge, densely written pages from his pocket. "It would surely affect you, as it was written with a somewhat simple yet well intentioned cleverness and with much love for the father of the child. But I wish neither to entertain you anymore than is necessary to enlighten you nor to potentially wound any feelings my nephew may still harbor; he can, if he so desires for his own information, read the letter in the privacy of the room that already awaits him."

Karl however had no feelings for that girl. In the rush of memories from an ever-dimming past, she sat in her kitchen, with her elbows propped up on the kitchen cupboard. She would stare at him whenever he would come into the kitchen for a gla.s.s of water for his father or to pa.s.s on some instructions from his mother. Sometimes she would be writing a letter, awkwardly sitting beside the kitchen cupboard and drawing her inspiration from Karl's face. Sometimes she would hide her eyes behind her hands, and then no words could get through to her. Sometimes she would kneel in her narrow little room next to the kitchen, praying before a wooden cross; Karl would then shyly watch her from the pa.s.sage through the narrow crack of the door. Sometimes she raced around the kitchen and jumped back, laughing like a witch, if Karl got in her way. Sometimes she would shut the kitchen door after Karl came in and hold on to the latch until he demanded to leave. Sometimes she brought him things he did not at all desire and pressed them silently into his hands. But one time she said, "Karl," and led him, still shocked at the unexpected familiarity, into her little room, which she then locked with much grimacing and sighing. She almost choked him as she clung to his neck, and while asking him to undress her, she actually undressed him and put him into her bed as if she wanted no one else to have him from now on and wished to caress him and coddle him until the end of the world. "Karl, oh, my Karl!" she cried, as if by gazing at him she were confirming her possession, while Karl saw absolutely nothing and felt uncomfortable in the warm bedding that she seemed to have piled up specially for his benefit. Then she lay down next to him and wanted to extract some secrets from him, but he could tell her none and she was annoyed, either in jest or in earnest; she shook him, she listened to his heart beating, she offered her own breast for him to do the same, but she could not induce Karl to do so; she pressed her naked belly against his body, fondled him between the legs so repulsively that Karl thrust his head and neck from the pillows, then ground her belly against him a few times-it felt as if she were part of him, and perhaps this was the reason he was seized by a dreadful helplessness. He was weeping when he finally reached his own bed, after she entreated him repeatedly to visit her again. That was all it was and yet his uncle had succeeded in making a grand story out of it. And that cook15 had evidently been thinking of him and notified his uncle of his arrival. That was very kind of her and he hoped to one day repay her had evidently been thinking of him and notified his uncle of his arrival. That was very kind of her and he hoped to one day repay her16.

"And now," cried the Senator, "I would like to hear loud and clear whether I am your uncle or not."

"You are my uncle," said Karl, kissing his hand and receiving a kiss on the forehead in return. "I'm very glad to have met you, but you are mistaken if you believe that my parents speak only ill of you. But aside from that, your speech contained several errors, that is to say, I mean, everything didn't really happen like that. But you can't judge things so well from here, and besides, I don't think it will cause any great harm if these gentlemen are slightly misinformed about the details of a matter that could hardly interest them very much."

"Well said," remarked the Senator, guiding Karl over to the visibly sympathetic captain and asking: "Don't I have a splendid nephew?"

"I am happy," said the captain, with a bow that only a militarily trained person can execute, "to have made your nephew's acquaintance, Mr. Senator. It is a particular honor for my s.h.i.+p to have provided the setting for such a meeting. But the voyage