“This one nephew is enough for now,” said Karl’s uncle, laughing. “And now please accept my deep gratitude for your kindness, and I bid you farewell. It is by no means impossible, after all, that we”—he hugged Karl closely to himself—”might be able to spend a longer time with you on our next journey to Europe.”
“That would please me greatly,” said the captain. The two gentlemen shook hands, Karl could only mutely grasp the captain’s hand, for the captain was already preoccupied with the fifteen or so people led by Schubal, who were pouring into the room slightly cowed but still very noisy. The sailor asked the Senator if he could be permitted to lead the way, and then he cleared a path through the crowd for the Senator and Karl, who passed easily through the bowing people. It was apparent that these people, a good-natured bunch in general, regarded Schubal’s quarrel with the stoker as a joke that was still amusing even in the presence of the captain. Among them, Karl noticed Line the kitchen maid, who, winking gaily at him, put on and tied the apron the sailor had thrown down, for it belonged to her.
Still following the sailor, they left the office and turned into a short pasageway, which, after a few steps, brought them to a smaller door from which a short ladder led down to the boat that had been made ready for them. The sailors in the boat, into which their guide had leapt in a single bound, stood up and saluted. The Senator was just admonishing Karl to exercise caution in climbing down when Karl, still on the topmost rung, burst into violent sobs. The Senator put his right hand under Karl’s chin and held him tight, stroking him with his left hand. Clinging together in this way, they slowly descended step-by-step and landed in the boat, where the Senator selected a comfortable seat for Karl just opposite himself. At a sign from the Senator the sailors pushed off from the ship and were immediately rowing at full steam. They were hardly a few yards from the ship when Karl made the unexpected discovery that they were on the same side of the ship as the windows of the office. All three windows were filled by Schubal’s witnesses, who greeted them with friendly waves; even Karl’s uncle acknowledged them with a wave, and a sailor accomplished the feat of blowing them a kiss without ever breaking his even stroke. It was truly as if the stoker no longer existed. Karl more closely examined his uncle, whose knees were almost touching his, and he began to doubt whether, for him, this man could ever replace the stoker. And his uncle, avoiding his gaze, stared out at the waves jostling their boat.
1 Kafka, either by design or in error, describes the statue this way.—Trans.
2 Kafka is referring here to the woman who seduced Karl, earlier called “the maid.”—Trans.
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A Country Doctor
I WAS DISTRAUGHT: AN URGENT journey awaited me; I had to visit a gravely ill patient in a village ten miles away; a thick blizzard filled the distance that separated us; I had a trap, a light one with large wheels that was perfect for our country roads; I stood in the courtyard, wrapped in furs, holding my bag of instruments, all ready to go, but the horse was missing—no horse. My own horse had died the night before from the exertions of this icy winter. My maid was now running around the village trying to scrounge up a horse, but it was utterly hopeless. I knew it. I stood there aimlessly, more and more covered in snow, less and less able to move. The girl appeared at the gate, swinging the lantern, alone of course. Who would lend his horse for such a journey and at a time like this? I paced the courtyard once more; there was nothing I could do. Frustrated, I distractedly kicked at the flimsy door of the long-vacant pigsty. It flew open and was flung back and forth on its hinges. Steam and the smell of horses emerged. Inside, a dim stable lantern was hanging from a rope, swaying. A man, crouching in the low shed, revealed his open, blue-eyed face. “Shall I harness the horses to the trap?” he asked, crawling out on all fours. I could think of nothing to say and merely bent down to see what else was in the sty. The maid was standing beside me. “You never know what you’ll find in your own house,” she said, and we both laughed.