Amerika. Part 2

He soon saw that, apart from the lack of anywhere else to sleep, no sofa, no couch, he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, because he couldn't expose his newly returned suitcase and the money he carried on him to any danger. Nor did he want to leave, because he didn't think he could slip past the woman and the landlord and leave the building unnoticed. But surely he wouldn't be at greater risk here than on the open road. There was, though, as far as he could tell in the half-light, a striking absence of any other luggage in the room. Perhaps the likeliest solution was that these two were house-servants, who would have to get up soon to look after the guests, and therefore slept in their clothes. In which case he wasn't in particularly prestigious company, but at least he was safe. But so long as there was any doubt about it, he mustn't go to sleep.

At the foot of one of the beds was a candle and matches, which Karl crept over and got. He felt no compunction about striking a light, because the landlord had given the room to him as much as to the two others, and they had already enjoyed half a night's sleep, and had the inestimable advantage of being in beds anyway. He did, though, by moving and behaving cautiously, make every effort not to wake them.

First he wanted to examine his suitcase to take a look at his belongings, of which he only had a vague memory, and of which the most valuable were surely already gone. Because once Schubal lays his hand on something, there's little chance of getting it back in its original condition. Admittedly, he probably stood to get a large tip from the uncle, and the blame for any individual missing items he could always pin on the original minder of the suitcase, Mr b.u.t.terbaum.

When he opened the suitcase Karl was appalled by what met his eyes. All those hours he had spent during the crossing, packing and repacking it, and now everything was crammed in in such a higgledy-piggledy fashion that the lid flew up when he opened the catch. But Karl soon saw to his joy that the sole cause of all this disorder was the fact that the suit he had worn during the crossing, and for which of course the suitcase had not allowed had been crammed in afterwards. Nothing at all was missing. In the secret pocket of his jacket there was not only his pa.s.sport but also the money he had brought from home, so that, when Karl added it to what he already had on him, he was for the moment plentifully provided with money. The linen he'd been in on his arrival was also there, washed and ironed. He immediately put his wrist.w.a.tch and money into the tried and tested secret pocket. The only lamentable circ.u.mstance was that the Verona salami, which was not missing either, had imparted its smell to everything in the suitcase. If that couldn't be removed by some means, Karl faced the prospect of going around for the next several months shrouded in that smell.

As he looked out a few items in the very bottom of the suitcase, a pocket Bible, letter paper and photographs of his parents, his cap slipped off his head and into the suitcase. In its old setting he recognized it at once, it was his cap, the cap his mother had given him as a travelling cap. He had been careful not to wear it on board ship, as he knew that in America caps are generally worn in place of hats, and he hadn't wanted to wear his out before he even got there. Now Mr Green had used it to amuse himself at Karl's expense. Had his uncle put him up to that too? And in an unintentionally furious movement he banged the lid of the suitcase, which clicked loudly shut.

There was nothing for it now, both sleepers had been woken by this. At first one of them stretched and yawned, and then the other. And almost the entire contents of his suitcase were spread out on the table, if they were thieves they needed only to make their way to it and help themselves. Not just to pre-empt this possibility, but also to establish a few facts, Karl went over to their beds, candle in hand, and explained his right to be there. They seemed not to have expected any such explanation, and, far too tired to speak, they just stared at him without being taken aback in the slightest. They were both very young fellows, but hard work or hunger had made the bones stand out prematurely in their faces, they had scruffy beards on their chins, their long-uncut hair was rumpled on their heads, and in their sleepiness they rubbed and pressed their knuckles against their deep-set eyes.

In order to exploit their momentary weakness, Karl said: 'My name is Karl Rossmann, and I am German. Since we are sharing this room together, please tell me your names and nationalities. I would like to a.s.sure you that I have no interest in claiming a bed, since I arrived late, and I do not in fact intend to sleep. Please do not be misled by my good suit, I am very poor and have no prospects.'

The shorter of the two he was the one with his boots on intimated with his arms, legs and general demeanour that none of this had any interest for him, and that this was no time for such a palaver, lay down and was asleep at once: the other, a dark-skinned fellow also lay down again, but before going to sleep he casually waved his hand: 'That's Robinson and he's Irish, my name's Delamarche, I'm French, and now goodnight.' No sooner had he said this than with a huge breath he blew out Karl's candle, and fell back on his pillow.

'So that danger has been averted for the time being,' Karl told himself, and went back to the table. Unless their sleepiness was feigned, all was well. Too bad that one of them had to be Irish. Karl couldn't quite remember what book at home had warned him to beware of Irishmen in America. His stay with his uncle would have given him an excellent opportunity of going into the question of the dangers of Irishmen, but because he'd thought himself in security for good, he had neglected to do that. Now he at least wanted to take a closer look at the Irishman, with the candle that he had re-lit, and found that he looked if anything more palatable than the Frenchman. There was still a trace of roundness in his cheeks, and he had a friendly smile as he slept, as far as Karl could make out standing on tiptoe some way away.

For all that, still determined not to sleep, Karl sat down on the one chair in the room, put off the repacking of his suitcase, for which he had the rest of the night, and leafed around in his Bible without reading it. Then he picked up the photograph of his parents, in which his little father stood very tall, while his mother sat shrunken in the armchair in front of him. One of his father's hands was on the back of the armchair, the other, making a fist, rested on an ill.u.s.trated book which was open on a fragile ornamental table beside him. There was another photograph that depicted Karl and his parents together, one in which his father and mother were both glaring at him, while he had been instructed by the photographer to look into the camera. But then he hadn't been allowed to take that photograph with him on the journey.

The more minutely he now examined the one in front of him and tried to catch his father's gaze from various angles. But try as he might, even moving the candle to different points, his father refused to become any more alive, his heavy horizontal moustache didn't look anything like the real thing, it wasn't a good photograph. His mother had been better caught, her mouth downdrawn as though she'd suffered some injury, and forcing a smile. Karl thought that that must be so obvious to anyone looking at the picture, that a moment later, it seemed to him that it was too blatant and actually illogical. How could a picture give one an irresistible sense of the concealed feelings of its subject. And he looked away from the photograph for a while. When he looked at it again he was struck by his mother's hand, dangling from an armrest in the very foreground of the picture, close enough to kiss. He wondered whether he shouldn't after all write to his parents, as both of them had demanded, his father with particular sternness in Hamburg, at the end. Admittedly he had vowed to himself that terrible evening when his mother had told him that he would be going to America, irrevocably, that he would never write, but what did the vow of an inexperienced boy count in these new circ.u.mstances. He might just as well have vowed that after two months in America he would be a general in the American army, whereas in fact he was sharing an attic room with a couple of tramps, in an inn outside New York, and moreover, he had to concede that this was just the right place for him. Smilingly he interrogated his parent's faces, as though one might tell from them if they still craved news of their son.

So looking, he soon noticed that he was in fact very tired, and would scarcely be able to stay awake all night. The photograph slipped from his hands, he laid his face against it so that its coolness soothed his cheek, and with that pleasant sensation he fell asleep.

In the morning a tickling in his armpit woke him up. It was the Frenchman who permitted himself this intimacy. But the Irishman too was standing by Karl's table, and they were both looking at him with as keen an interest as Karl had shown in them the night before. Karl wasn't surprised that their getting up hadn't woken him; their quietness didn't necessarily imply any evil intent on their part, because he had been in a deep sleep, and they clearly hadn't taken too much trouble dressing or, for that matter, washing.

They now greeted each other properly and with a certain formality, and Karl learned that the two of them were fitters who had been out of work for a long time in New York, and so were pretty much on their uppers. By way of demonstration, Robinson opened his jacket and one could see he had no shirt on underneath, which one might also have concluded from the loose fit of his collar, which was attached to his jacket at the back. They were on their way to the little town of b.u.t.terford, two days' walk from New York, where apparently there were jobs to be had. They had no objection to Karl joining them, and promised him firstly that they would carry his suitcase some of the time, and secondly, if they should get jobs themselves, to get him a place as a trainee, which, if there was any work going at all, would be a simple matter. No sooner had Karl agreed to this, than they were counselling him to take off his good suit, which would only be a disadvantage to him in looking for a job. In fact, there was a good opportunity to get rid of it here and now, because the cleaning woman ran a clothes stall. They helped Karl, who wasn't altogether convinced in the matter of the suit, to get out of it, and they took it away. As Karl, alone now and still a little groggy with sleep, slowly got into his old suit, he reproached himself for selling the other which might disadvantage him in applying for a traineeship, but could only be of a.s.sistance in the search for a better sort of job, and he opened the door to call the two of them back, but there they were already, laying half a dollar as the proceeds of the sale on the table, but looking so pleased with themselves that it was impossible not to believe that they hadn't also earned their share from the sale, and an irritatingly large one at that.

There was no time to argue because the cleaner came in, every bit as sleepy as she'd been in the night, and ushered them all out into the corridor, on the grounds that the room had to be got ready for new guests, a specious reason of course, it was pure malice on her part. Karl, who had just wanted to put his suitcase in order, was compelled to look on as the woman gathered up his things in both hands and slung them into the suitcase with such force, as if they were wild animals being brought to heel. The two fitters danced around her, plucked at her skirts, patted her on the back, but if their purpose was to help Karl, it had the opposite effect. When the woman had shut the suitcase she pushed the handle into Karl's hand, shook off the fitters and drove them all out of the room, threatening them with no coffee if they didn't leave. The woman seemed to have completely forgotten that Karl hadn't been with the fitters all along, because she treated them all as one band, although the fitters had sold Karl's suit, which did at least imply a certain, common purpose.

They had to walk up and down the corridor for a long time, and the Frenchman in particular, who had linked arms with Karl, was swearing incessantly, threatening to punch the landlord to the ground if he should show his face, a moment he seemed to be preparing for by furiously grating his fists together. At last an innocent little boy came along, who had to get up on tiptoe to hand the Frenchman the coffee can. Unfortunately there was only that one can available, and the boy couldn't be made to understand that gla.s.ses were wanted as well. So only one person could drink at a time, and the other two had to stand and watch. Karl didn't want any, but not wanting to offend the others, he raised the can to his lips when it was his turn, but didn't drink from it.

When it was finished, the Irishman tossed the can on to the flagstones and they left the inn unseen by anyone, and walked out into a thick yellowish morning fog. For the most part they walked abreast and in silence along the side of the road, Karl had to carry his suitcase, the others probably wouldn't relieve him without being asked, the occasional automobile shot out of the fog, and all three turned their heads towards these cars, which were usually enormous, and so striking in appearance and so fleetingly present there was no time to notice whether they had any occupants or not. A little later, the columns of vehicles bringing food to New York started up, and in five lanes that took up the whole breadth of the road, they rolled by so solidly that no one could get across. From time to time the road widened out into a square, in the middle of which on a tower-like elevation a policeman strode up and down, directing everything and ordering the traffic on the main road and the side roads too, which then remained unsupervised until the next square and the next policeman, but was voluntarily kept in sufficient order by the silent and watchful coachmen and drivers. It was the prevailing calm of it all that most surprised Karl. Had it not been for the cries of the carefree animals going to the abattoirs, perhaps nothing would have been heard save the clatter of hooves and the hissing of the tyres. Although of course, the speed was anything but constant. At some of the junctions, because of the excessive pressure of traffic from the side roads, extensive rearrangements had to be undertaken, whole columns would grind to a halt, and only inch forward, but it also happened that for a while everything would hurtle past at lightning speeds, until, as though stopped by a single brake, it was all becalmed once more. The road didn't throw up a single speck of dust, the air remained crystal clear. There were no pedestrians, no market women making their way into town, as existed in Karl's home, but there were some large flat-backed automobiles, carrying up to twenty women at a time, all with baskets on their backs, perhaps they were market-women after all, craning their necks to see the traffic, and hoping to make faster progress. There were also automobiles of a similar type on which a few men rode, strolling about with their hands in their pockets. On one of these automobiles, which bore various inscriptions, Karl gave a little cry when he read: 'Dock workers hired for Jakob's shipping company'. The car was just travelling very slowly and a short, bowed, lively man beckoned to the three travellers to come on board. Karl took refuge behind the fitters, as though his uncle might be on the car and see him, and he was relieved when the others refused the invitation, although their arrogant expressions when they did so somewhat offended him. They shouldn't think themselves too good to work for his uncle. He immediately gave them to understand as much, although in veiled terms. Thereupon Delamarche told him not to concern himself in matters he didn't understand, that way of hiring people was a shameful swindle and Jakob's company was notorious throughout the whole of the United States. Karl made no reply, but from now on he inclined to the Irishman and asked him to carry his suitcase for a while, which, after Karl had repeated his request a few times, he did. Only he complained incessantly about the weight of the suitcase until it became clear that all he had in mind was to lighten it of the Verona salami, which had already drawn his favourable attention in the hotel. Karl was made to unpack it, the Frenchman took possession of it, set about it with a sabre-like knife, and ate almost the whole thing. Robinson was given the occasional slice, while Karl, who was left to carry the suitcase again if it wasn't to be abandoned on the highway, got nothing at all, as though he had already had his portion in advance. It seemed too petty to him to beg for a bit of it now, but it did gall him.

The fog had quite disappeared now and a high mountain range glittered in the distance, its wave-like crest lying under a still more distant heat haze. Lining the road were poorly cultivated fields around large factories, smoke-blackened, and all alone in open country. In tenement houses dotted about, the many windows trembled with all sorts of movement and light, and on all the small frail balconies women and children busied themselves, while around them, covering and uncovering them, pieces of washing, hanging and lying, fluttered in the morning wind and ballooned hugely. Leaving the houses, one could see larks high in the sky and swallows diving not far above the heads of the travellers.

Many things reminded Karl of his home, and he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea for him to leave New York and make for the interior. New York had the sea and the possibility of going home at any time. And so he stopped and told his companions he wanted to stay in New York after all. When Delamarche tried to push him forward he refused to be pushed, and said he must have the right to determine what he did for himself. The Irishman had to intervene between them, and explain that b.u.t.terford was far more beautiful than New York, and they both had to plead with him before he agreed to go on. And even then he wouldn't have gone if he hadn't told himself that it was probably better for him to go to a place from which it would be less easy to return home. It would be better for his work and his general progress, if he had no useless thoughts to distract him.

And now it was his turn to pull the others along, and they were so pleased with his eagerness that, quite unasked, they took it in turns to carry his suitcase, and Karl didn't understand what he had done to make them so happy. The road started to climb and when they stopped from time to time they could see, looking back, the panorama of New York and its harbour continually unfolding. The bridge that connected New York with Boston lay slender across the Hudson, and trembled if you narrowed your eyes. It seemed to be carrying no traffic at all, and below it was the smooth unanimated ribbon of water. Everything in both metropolises seemed empty, useless construction. There was almost no distinction to be drawn between the big buildings and the little ones. In the invisible canyons of the streets, life probably continued on its way, but above them there was nothing to be seen except a thin haze which didn't move, but seemed easy enough to dispel. Even in the harbour, the world's largest, peace had returned, and only sporadically did one have the impression, probably influenced by earlier, closer views, that one could see a ship sliding forward a little. But it was impossible to trace, because it eluded one's eyes and couldn't be found again.

But Robinson and Delamarche evidently saw much more, they pointed this way and that, and with their hands they arced towards squares and gardens, which they referred to by name. It was incomprehensible to them that Karl had been in New York for over two months, and had seen nothing of the city but one single street. And they promised him that once they had made enough money in b.u.t.terford, they would take him to New York and show him the sights, and in particular certain places of paradisal entertainment. Thereupon Robinson started singing at the top of his voice, Delamarche gave a clapping accompaniment, and Karl recognized it as an operetta tune from his home, but he liked the English version better than he ever had the original. So they gave a little open air performance in which they all partic.i.p.ated, only the city below them, for whose benefit it was supposed to be, seemed unaware of it.

Once Karl asked where Jakob's shipping company was, and straightaway the index fingers of Delamarche and Robinson shot out, pointing perhaps at the same place, perhaps at places that were miles apart. When they resumed their march, Karl asked when would be the earliest they might expect to return to New York with sufficient funds. Delamarche said it might easily be no more than a month, because there was a shortage of labour in b.u.t.terford and wages were high. Of course they would pool their money, so that chance differences in earnings between the three of them would be ironed out. Karl didn't like the idea of pooling their money, in spite of the fact that as a trainee he would of course be earning less than they would as qualified workers. Robinson then observed that if there was no work to be had in b.u.t.terford, they would of course have to go on looking further afield, either to find work as agricultural labourers, or maybe on to the goldfields of California, which, going by Robinson's detailed explanations, seemed to be his favourite plan. 'Why did you become a fitter, if you want to go to the goldfields?' asked Karl, who didn't like to hear of the need for such long and hazardous journeys. 'Why I became a fitter?' said Robinson. 'Certainly not so that my mother's son would starve. There's a fortune to be made in the goldfields.' 'There was,' said Delamarche. 'Still is,' said Robinson, and talked of many acquaintances who had made their fortunes, were still there, and of course didn't need to lift a finger, but for old friendship's sake would help him, and his friends as well, to a fortune. 'We'll w.a.n.gle our way into jobs in b.u.t.terford,' said Delamarche, and that was what Karl wanted to hear, although the way he expressed it didn't inspire much confidence.

In the course of the day they stopped at an inn just once, with an outdoor table that seemed to Karl to be made of iron, and ate practically raw meat that one couldn't cut but only tear with knife and fork. The bread was in the shape of a cylinder and every loaf had a sharp knife stuck in it. The meal was washed down with a black liquid that burned in one's throat. Delamarche and Robinson liked it, though, and drank to the fulfilment of various wishes, clinking gla.s.ses and keeping them touching in the air awhile. On neighbouring tables sat workers, in chalk-spattered shirts, all drinking the same black liquid. The many automobiles driving past spread clouds of dust over the tables. Large newspapers were pa.s.sed around, and there was excited talk about the construction workers' strike, the name Mack was used several times, Karl asked about him and learned that he was the father of the Mack he had known, and was the greatest property developer in New York. The strike was costing him millions, and even threatened him with bankruptcy. This was the talk of ill-informed and malevolent people, and Karl didn't believe a word of it.

The meal was further spoiled for Karl by the fact that it was rather open to question how it would be paid for. The fair and natural thing would be for each of them to pay his share, but Delamarche, and Robinson too, had occasionally let drop that the last of their money had gone on the previous night's lodgings. No watch or ring or anything else that might be turned into money was to be seen on either of them. And Karl couldn't complain that they had kept some money from the sale of his suit. That would have been an insult to them and would have meant goodbye for good. The astounding thing was that neither Delamarche nor Robinson showed any sign of anxiety about the bill, rather they were sufficiently high-spirited to make frequent advances to the waitress, who with a proud and heavy gait kept walking between the tables. Her hair would fall forward over her brow and cheeks, and she kept pushing it up and back again. Finally, just when one might have expected a friendly word from her, she walked up to the table, rested both hands on it, and said: 'All right, who's paying?' Never did hands move faster than those of Delamarche and Robinson as they pointed to Karl. Karl wasn't alarmed, he had seen it coming, and seen nothing wrong with it; his comrades, from whom he was expecting certain advantages, had every right to expect a few trifles to be paid for by him, even though it would have been better to discuss it fully, in advance. The awkward thing was that the money had to be got out of his secret pocket. His original intention had been to keep it for an emergency, and for the time being place himself on the same footing as his comrades. The advantage that the money, and especially his having kept quiet about it, had given him over his comrades they more than made up for by the fact that they'd been in America since childhood, had sufficient expertise and knowledge to enable them to earn money themselves, and finally that they were not used to any better living standard than they were presently enjoying. Karl's prior plan with regard to the money shouldn't automatically be affected by this bill, because he could spare a quarter pound, and could lay a quarter pound on the table and declare it was all he had, and that he was prepared to make a sacrifice for their joint journey to b.u.t.terford. For a trek on foot, such a sum was perfectly adequate. But now he wasn't sure if he had enough change, and besides, his coins were with his folded banknotes somewhere in the depths of his secret pocket, and the easiest way of finding anything in it was to empty the entire contents of it out on to the table. It was quite unnecessary for his comrades to learn of the existence of this secret pocket. Happily, it appeared that his comrades were still more interested in the waitress than in how Karl would find the money with which to pay for their meal. By calling for the bill, Delamarche had brought her to stand between himself and Robinson, and she could only repel their intrus-iveness by putting her spread hand on the face of one or other of them, and pushing him away. In the meantime, hot with the effort, Karl was collecting in one hand the money he was fishing for and pulling out of the secret pocket with the other. Finally he thought he had enough, though he wasn't that familiar with American currency, and laid it on the table. The sound of money straightaway put an end to the horseplay. To Karl's annoyance and the general surprise there was almost a whole pound on the table. No one actually asked why Karl hadn't mentioned the money, which was enough to pay for the three of them to travel to b.u.t.terford in comfort on the railway, but it was still very embarra.s.sing for Karl. He paid for the meal and slowly pocketed his money, although Delamarche managed to take a coin out of his hand, which he needed as a tip for the waitress, whom he embraced and squeezed and gave the money to from the other side.

Karl was grateful to them for not saying anything about the money when they walked on, and for a time he even toyed with the idea of confessing to them his entire fortune, but, finding no opportunity to do so, he didn't. By evening they were in more rural, fertile countryside. All around were unbroken fields, covering gentle slopes with their first green, rich country seats ab.u.t.ted the road, and for hours they walked between the gilded fences of the gardens; they crossed the same sluggish river several times, and often heard the trains thundering overhead on high arched viaducts.

The sun was just setting over the level top of distant forests when they flung themselves down on a patch of gra.s.s surrounded by a copse of trees on a plateau, to rest from their labours. Delamarche and Robinson lay there and stretched for all they were worth while Karl sat up and watched the highway a few feet below, on which, as they had all day long, cars kept rushing past one another, as though a certain number had been despatched from some faraway place, and the selfsame number were expected someplace equally faraway. During the whole day, from early in the morning, Karl hadn't seen a single car stopping or a single pa.s.senger getting out.

Robinson suggested spending the night there, as they were all tired enough, and they would be able to set off bright and early the next morning, and finally as they wouldn't be able to find any cheaper or better-located campsite before nightfall. Delamarche agreed with him, and only Karl felt obliged to reveal that he had enough money to pay for them all to stay in a hotel. Delamarche said they would be needing the money later, and he should hold on to it for the time being. Delamarche quite openly gave it to be understood that they were counting on Karl's money. As his initial suggestion had been accepted, Robinson went on to declare that, to gain strength for the morrow, they should have themselves a good bite to eat, and one of them should procure something for their supper from the hotel that was very close by them on the highway, with the luminous sign 'Hotel Occidental'. As the youngest, and in the absence of any other volunteers, Karl didn't hesitate to offer himself for this errand, and went across to the hotel, having been told to get bread, beer and bacon.

There must be a large town nearby, because the very first lounge that Karl set foot in at the hotel was full of a crowd of noisy people, and at the buffet, which ran down the length of the room as well as its two shorter sides, numerous waiters in white ap.r.o.ns were running about ceaselessly, and still they couldn't satisfy the impatient guests, as one could hear from the swearing on all sides and the noise of fists being banged on tables. No one paid the slightest attention to Karl; nor was there any service in the room itself, rather the guests, who were seated at tiny tables, swamped by other tables on all sides, foraged for themselves at the buffet. All the tables had a large bottle of oil, vinegar or somesuch on them, and all the dishes that were obtained from the buffet were doused with the liquid before being eaten. In order for Karl to reach the buffet, where the difficulties which faced him, with such a large order, would really only begin, he first had to squeeze his way through many tables, which, for all his caution, couldn't be done without grossly disturbing the guests, who took it all as if they were completely insentient, even on the occasion when Karl, albeit pushed from behind, stumbled against one of the little tables and almost upset it. He apologized of course, but no one seemed to understand, nor did he understand anything that they called out to him either.

With much difficulty, he managed to find a little s.p.a.ce at the buffet, although his view was restricted for a long time by the propped elbows of the people either side of him. It seemed to be the custom here to rest one's elbows on the table, and to press one's fists against one's temples; Karl remembered how much Dr Krumpal, his Latin teacher, had hated that posture, and how he would quietly and surrept.i.tiously sneak up, and with a suddenly brandished ruler brush an offending elbow abruptly and painfully from the table.

Karl stood pressed against the buffet, because no sooner had he reached it, than another table was set up immediately behind him, and one of the customers sitting down at it brushed Karl's back with the broad brim of his hat each time he threw his head back while speaking. But there was so little hope of getting anything from the waiters, even once his two rude neighbours had gone away satisfied. A few times Karl had reached across the table and grabbed at a waiter's ap.r.o.n, but it was simply torn free with an angry frown. You couldn't get a grip on any of them, all they did was keep running and running. If there had been anything suitable to eat and drink anywhere near Karl he would simply have taken it, asked how much it cost, paid and gone away happily. But the dishes in front of him were full of some herring-like fish, with black scales that had a golden gleam at the edges. They might be very expensive and probably wouldn't satisfy anyone's hunger. And to drink there were only little barrels of rum, and he wasn't taking any rum back to his companions, they seemed avid enough as it was for the most highly concentrated alcoholic drinks, and he wasn't about to help them in their quest.

So Karl had no option but to look for another place, and begin afresh. But a lot of time had pa.s.sed. The clock at the other end of the room, whose hands could just be made out through the smoke if you looked hard, showed that it was already past nine o'clock. Elsewhere at the buffet the crush was even greater than at his previous, somewhat marginal position. Besides, the room seemed to be filling up more and more as it got later. New guests kept coming through the main doors with a great commotion. At some points, the guests simply cleared the buffet, sat down on the tables, and toasted one another; they were the best places, from there they could see across the whole room.

Karl was still pressing forward, but he no longer hoped to achieve anything by doing so. He cursed himself for volunteering for this a.s.signment in spite of his ignorance of local conditions. His companions would quite rightly tell him off, and maybe even think that he hadn't bought them anything in order to save money. And now he was standing in a region where warm meat dishes with fine yellow potatoes were being eaten, and he had no notion of how people had come by them.

Then he saw, a couple of steps ahead of him, an elderly woman, obviously part of the hotel staff, talking and laughing with one of the guests. All the time she kept working away at her coiffure with a hairpin. Karl immediately resolved to present his order to this woman, partly because as the only woman, she seemed to him to be an exception to the general noise and bustle, and partly for the simpler reason that she was the only hotel employee within reach, always a.s.suming that she didn't suddenly run off somewhere the second he addressed her. In fact, just the opposite happened. Karl hadn't even addressed her, only listened in a little bit, when she, just in the way one sometimes looks to one side while talking, looked at Karl, and breaking off her conversation, asked him in friendly tones and in English of textbook purity whether he wanted something. 'I do indeed,' said Karl, 'I can't seem to get anything here.' 'Then come with me,' she said, took her leave of her acquaintance, who doffed his hat to her it seemed an act of incredible gallantry in the prevailing circ.u.mstances took Karl by the hand, went to the buffet, pushed a customer aside, opened a hatch in the buffet, crossed the pa.s.sage behind the tables with Karl, where you had to look out for the indefatigably rushing waiters, opened a double curtain, and there they were, in a large, cool storeroom. 'It's just a matter of knowing how it's done,' said Karl to himself.

'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 b.u.t.terford,' 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 s.p.a.ce 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 cla.s.sy 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 bra.s.s 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 gra.s.s. '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 b.u.t.terford 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 b.u.t.terford. 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 b.u.t.terford 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. a.s.suming 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 gra.s.s, 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 gra.s.s. '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 dictation, 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 ap.r.o.n 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.

'I am glad you decided to come after all,' said the Head Cook. 'What about your companions?' 'I didn't bring them,' said Karl. 'They probably have to make a very early start,' said the Head Cook, as though to explain it to herself. 'Won't she suppose that I'll be setting off with them?' Karl wondered, and therefore, to settle any doubts, he added: 'We had a falling out.' The Head Cook seemed to treat this as good news. 'So you're at liberty?' she asked. 'Yes, I'm at liberty,' said Karl, and it seemed the most worthless condition. 'Listen, wouldn't you like to get a job here in the hotel?' asked the Head Cook. 'Very much,' said Karl, 'but I am shockingly unqualified. I don't even know how to type, for example.' 'That's not the point,' said the Head Cook. 'For the time being you would start off in a very small job, and then it will be up to you to try and work your way up by industry and application. To say the least, though, I think it would be better for you to settle somewhere than to go tramping through the world. You don't seem to me to be cut out for that.' 'My uncle would agree with that,' Karl said to himself, and he nodded his consent. At the same time, he remembered that he the object of such concern had yet to introduce himself. 'I'm so sorry,' he said, 'I haven't introduced myself, my name is Karl Rossmann.' 'You're German, aren't you?' 'Yes,' said Karl, 'I've only been in America for a little while.' 'Where do you come from?' 'From Prague in Bohemia,' said Karl. 'Well I never,' exclaimed the Head Cook in German with a very strong English accent, and almost threw up her arms, 'then we're compatriots, my name is Grete Mitzelbach, and I come from Vienna. I know Prague extremely well, for half a year I worked at the Golden Goose on Wenceslas Square. Just imagine!' 'When was that?' asked Karl. 'It's many, many years ago now.' 'Because the old Golden Goose,' said Karl, 'was torn down two years ago.' 'Oh really,' said the Head Cook, lost in memories of bygone times.

Then suddenly becoming animated again, she seized Karl's hands and cried: 'Now that it has emerged that you are my fellow countryman, you mustn't leave here at any price. I won't let you do that to me. How would you like to be lift-boy, for example? You only have to say the word. If you've been around a bit, you will know that it's not particularly easy to get jobs like that, because they are really the best openings imaginable. You get to meet all the guests, you're always on view, you keep getting little jobs to do, in short, every day you get a chance to better your status. Leave all the rest to me!' 'I wouldn't mind being a lift-boy,' said Karl, after a short pause. It would have been very foolish of him to hold out against the job of lift-boy on the strength of his five years in secondary school. Here in America it would be more appropriate to be ashamed of those five years of school. And in point of fact, Karl had always liked lift-boys, he thought of them as an ornament of hotels. 'Don't you need languages?' he asked. 'You speak German and good English, that's perfectly adequate.' 'But all my English I've learned in just two and a half months in America,' said Karl, thinking he shouldn't hide his one light under a bushel. 'That says everything about you,' said the Head Cook. 'When I think of the trouble I had learning English. Admittedly that was thirty years ago now. I was talking about it only yesterday. Yesterday was my fiftieth birthday.' And with a smile she turned to see what impression such a great age made on Karl. 'I wish you many happy returns,' said Karl. 'That would always come in useful,' she said, shook Karl's hand, and was once again half melancholy at the old phrase from home, which had come to her as she spoke German.

'But you mustn't let me detain you,' she cried. 'I expect you're very tired, and we can talk about everything much better in the daytime. My delight at meeting a fellow countryman has made me quite inconsiderate. Come on, I'll take you to your room.' 'I have another favour I'd like to ask you, cook,' said Karl, looking at the telephone apparatus on the table. 'It is possible that tomorrow, perhaps very early, my former companions may bring in a photograph that I need urgently. Would you be so kind and telephone the porter to send them up to me, or have me brought down to them.' 'Of course,' said the Head Cook, 'but wouldn't it do if he just took receipt of the photograph? What is the photograph of, if I may ask?' 'It's a photograph of my parents,' said Karl, 'but no, I need to talk to them myself. The cook made no reply, and telephoned the porter's lodge with the instructions, giving Karl's room number as 536.

They went out through a door opposite the one he had come in at, on to a little pa.s.sage where a little lift-boy was asleep on his feet, leaning against the railing of a lift. 'We can help ourselves,' said the cook quietly, and ushered Karl into the lift. 'A ten or twelve hour day is just a bit much for a boy like that,' she said, as they rode up. 'But America's odd like that. Take that little boy, for instance, he only arrived here with his parents six months ago, he's Italian. At the moment, it looks as though he couldn't possibly stand up to his work, his face is gaunt, he falls asleep on his shift, even though he's a very willing lad by nature but give him another six months of working here or somewhere else in America, and he'll take it with ease, and in five years' time he'll be a strong man. I could regale you for hours with cases like that. I'm not even considering you, because you're a strong lad. You're seventeen, aren't you?' 'Sixteen next month,' replied Karl. 'Only sixteen!' said the cook. 'Well, courage!'

Upstairs, she took Karl to an attic room with a sloping ceiling that looked very cosy in the light of two electric lamps. 'Don't be put off by the furnishings,' said the cook, 'it's not a regular hotel room, but one of the rooms in my apartment, which consists of three rooms, so you won't be bothering me in the least. I'll lock the connecting door, so you'll have absolute privacy. When you join the hotel staff tomorrow you will of course be given a little room of your own. If you had brought your companions, I would have had beds made up for all of you in the staff dormitory, but as you've come on your own, I think you will be better off here, even though you'll be sleeping on the sofa. And now I hope you sleep well, so you'll be refreshed for work tomorrow. It won't be too tough to begin with.' 'Thank you for all your kindness.' 'Wait,' she said, stopping on her way out, 'you would almost have been woken up.' And she went over to one of the side doors of the room, knocked and called: 'Therese!' 'Yes, Head Cook,' the voice of the little typist replied. 'When you come to wake me tomorrow morning, will you go via the corridor, I have a guest sleeping in this room. He's terribly tired.' She smiled at Karl as she said this. 'Do you understand?' 'Yes, Head Cook'. 'Good night, then!' 'Good night.'

'You see,' said the Head Cook, by way of explanation, 'for the past few years I've been sleeping extremely badly. I am happy in my job, and don't really have anything to worry about. So my sleeplessness must be caused by the worries I had earlier. I count myself lucky if I fall asleep by three in the morning. But seeing as I need to be back on the job by five or half past at the latest, I have to be woken up, and very carefully at that, so that I don't become even more nervous than I am already. And so I have Therese wake me. But now you're fully informed, and I'm holding you up. Goodnight!' And in spite of her bulk, she positively skipped out of the room.

Karl was looking forward to his sleep, because it had been a long day. And he couldn't wish for any cosier place in which to have a long and untroubled sleep. His room wasn't intended as a bedroom, it was more of a living-room, or really a salon for the Head Cook, and a washstand had kindly been provided especially for that one evening but in spite of that, Karl didn't feel like an intruder, but all the better cared for. His suitcase was in order, and it probably hadn't been so secure for some time. There was a low chest of drawers with a loosely woven woollen rug thrown over it, with various framed photographs standing on it, Karl stopped to study them as he was inspecting the room. For the most part they were old photographs, and they were mainly of girls in uncomfortable old-fashioned clothes, with little hats perched on their heads, their right hands resting on parasols, facing the viewer but still somehow avoiding his glance. Among the male portraits, Karl was particularly struck by the picture of a young soldier who had set his cap down on a little table, standing there stiffly with his wild black hair, and a proud and repressed humour. The b.u.t.tons on his uniform had been retouched in gold on the photograph. All these pictures probably came from Europe, you could probably read on the back just where, but Karl didn't want to pick them up. He would have liked to display the picture of his parents in his own room in just the same way as these photographs were displayed here.

He was just stretching out on the sofa, looking forward to his sleep after thoroughly washing himself all over, as quietly as possible on account of his neighbour, when he thought he heard a quiet knocking on the door. He wasn't quite sure which door it was, and it might also have been just a noise. There was no immediate repet.i.tion of it, and Karl was on the point of sleep when it happened again. This time there could be no question but that it was a knock, coming from the door of the typist's room. Karl went over to the door on tiptoe and asked, in a voice so quiet that it wouldn't have woken his neighbour if she had happened to be asleep: 'What can I do for you?' Straightaway, and just as quietly, came the reply: 'Won't you open the door? The key is on your side.' 'Of course,' said Karl. 'Just let me get dressed first.' There was a slight pause, and then: 'You don't have to. Open the door and go and lie down in your bed again, I'll wait a moment.' 'Very well,' said Karl, and did as she suggested, only he turned the electric light on as well. 'I'm ready,' he said, a little louder. And at that the little typist emerged from her dark room, wearing exactly the same clothes she had had on downstairs in the office, she probably hadn't thought about going to bed in all that time.

'Do please excuse me,' she said, standing at Karl's bedside, leaning over him a little, 'and please don't give me away. I won't keep you long, I know you're dead tired.' 'It's not that bad,' said Karl, 'but perhaps it would have been better if I had got dressed after all.' He was forced to lie flat, in order to remain covered up to the neck, as he didn't have a nightshirt. 'I'll just stay for a moment,' she said, and reached for a chair, 'or can I sit down on your sofa?' Karl nodded. And then she sat down on the sofa, so close to him that Karl had to move right back against the wall in order to be able to look up at her. She had a round face, and regular features, only her forehead was unusually high, but that might just be on account of her hairstyle, which didn't quite suit her. Her dress was very clean and tidy. In her left hand she wa