“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 ashore 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 passageway that would have shortened his route considerably was barred now for the first time, probably because of all the disembarking passengers, 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 ship.” “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 reassure himself further because he had heard a lot about the dangers that threatened newcomers to America, from the Irish especially. “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 God, 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. “Butterbaum, Franz Butterbaum.” “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 ship the morals change as often as the ports. In Hamburg, your Butterbaum 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, pushing 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 ship is empty. The same goes for your umbrella.” “Do you know your way around the ship?” 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 ship. “Well, I’m a stoker,” 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 ship?” “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 ship, 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 ship! 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 ships”—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 ship”—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 ship 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.