Amerika

by Franz Kafka

  It took rather a long time before his uncle decided to give Karl any insight at all into the nature of his business, though Karl often asked him about it. It was a sort of commissioning and forwarding business, of a kind that Karl thought probably didn’t even exist in Europe. The actual business consisted of intermediate trade, but not delivering goods from producers to consumers or even to retailers, but the supplying of goods and raw materials to the great factory cartels, and from one cartel to another. It involved buying, storing, transporting and selling on a vast scale, demanding constant telephone and telegraph communications with its customers. The telegraph room was not smaller but actually larger than the telegraph office of his home town, through which Karl had once walked guided by a fellow pupil who knew his way around it. And wherever one looked in the telephone room, the doors of telephone booths were continually opening and closing, and the sound of so many telephones ringing was quite bewildering. The uncle opened the door of the nearest booth, and in the fizzing electric light sat an employee, quite indifferent to the sound of the door, his head gripped by a steel band that clamped the headphones to his ears. His right arm lay on a little table, as though it was particularly heavy, and only the fingers holding a pencil moved with inhuman speed and fluency. He spoke very sparingly into the tube and one often saw that he wanted to make some objection to the speaker, or to ask him some question, but certain words he heard forced him instead, before he could say anything, to lower his eyes and write. It wasn’t his job to talk, as the uncle quietly explained to Karl, because the information that he was gathering was also simultaneously being taken down by two other employees and then collated, so that errors were as far as possible eliminated. Just as Karl and his uncle were stepping out of the door, an apprentice slipped in and emerged with the completed message on a piece of paper. People were criss-crossing the middle of the floor, in all directions, at great speed. No one offered a greeting, greetings had been abolished, each one fell into the tracks of the man ahead of him and kept his eyes on the floor, across which he wanted to make as rapid progress as possible, or else he picked up, at a glance, single words or figures from the fluttering piece of paper he held in his hand.

  ‘You really have achieved a lot,’ said Karl, on one of his visits to the business, the full inspection of which must take many days, merely to take in each individual department.

  ‘And, you know, I set it all up myself thirty years ago. I owned a little store in the harbour district, and if five chests were unloaded there in the course of a day, that was a lot, and I would go home feeling very full of myself. Today I own the third largest warehouse in the port, and that shop now serves as the canteen and tool room for the sixty-fifth group of my dockworkers.’

  ‘It’s like a miracle,’ said Karl.

  ‘Things develop very fast over here,’ said the uncle, terminating the conversation.

  One day his uncle turned up just as it was time for dinner, which Karl was about to eat by himself as usual, and told him to get into a dark suit and eat with him and a couple of business friends of his. While Karl was changing in the room next door, the uncle sat down at his desk and looked through an English exercise Karl had just completed, slammed his hand down on the desk and called out, ‘Really excellent!’ His dressing seemed to go better when he heard that praise, but in fact he was now pretty confident of his English.

  In his uncle’s dining-room, which he remembered from the evening of his first arrival, two large fat gentlemen rose to greet them, the one was a certain Green, the other a certain Pollunder as became clear during the conversation. It was his uncle’s habit never to say very much by way of introduction, and to leave it to Karl to find out essential or interesting things about people. Over dinner, only private business matters were discussed – it was a good opportunity for Karl to master some business expressions – and Karl was left in peace to get on with his dinner, like a child for whom the most important thing is that it should eat its fill, but afterwards Mr Green leaned across to Karl, and evidently at pains to speak slowly and clearly, asked Karl about his first impressions of America. In the deathly silence that followed Karl replied, giving the occasional look at his uncle, pretty fully and tried to please his listeners by using some New Yorkish expressions. At one such expression all three gentlemen burst out laughing and Karl was afraid he had made some blunder, but no, he had, as Mr Pollunder explained, said something very felicitous. In fact, he seemed to conceive a special fondness for Karl and while the uncle and Mr Green returned to their business discussion Mr Pollunder had Karl move his chair closer to him, first asking him questions about his name, where he was from and the journey here, and then, to let him relax, he talked hurriedly, coughing and laughing, about himself and his daughter, with whom he lived on a little estate outside New York where he was only ever able to spend the evenings because he was a banker and his work kept him in the city all day. Karl was cordially invited to come out to this country estate, such a recent American as Karl must surely need to recover from New York from time to time. Karl asked his uncle for permission to accept this invitation, and his uncle, apparently happily, gave it, though without stipulating or raising the question of a date, as Karl and Mr Pollunder had expected him to do.

  But the very next day Karl was summoned to one of his uncle’s offices – there were ten of them, just in this one building – where he found his uncle and Mr Pollunder lounging rather silently in two armchairs. ‘Mr Pollunder,’ said his uncle, whom it was difficult to recognize in the evening gloom, ‘Mr Pollunder has come to take you up to his estate, as we discussed yesterday.’ ‘I didn’t know it was going to be for today,’ replied Karl, ‘otherwise I should have been prepared.’ ‘If you’re not ready, then perhaps we’d better put off your visit for another time,’ said the uncle. ‘What kind of preparations!’ exclaimed Mr Pollunder. ‘A young man is always prepared.’ ‘It isn’t on his account,’ said the uncle to his guest, ‘but he would have to go up to his room, and that would delay you.’ ‘There’s plenty of time for that too,’ said Mr Pollunder, ‘I allowed for a delay, and left work early.’ ‘You see’, said the uncle, ‘the kind of inconvenience your visit has caused already.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ said Karl, ‘but I’ll be back in a trice’ and was just on his way. ‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry,’ said Mr Pollunder. ‘You haven’t caused me the slightest inconvenience, on the contrary your visit will make me very happy.’ ‘You’ll miss your riding-lesson tomorrow, have you cancelled that yet?’ ‘No,’ said Karl. The visit he had been looking forward to was becoming a burden, ‘I didn’t know –’ ‘But you still intend to go?’ the uncle asked. The amiable Mr Pollunder came to his assistance. ‘We can stop by at the riding school on our way and sort it out.’ ‘That’s an idea,’ said the uncle. ‘But Mak will still be expecting you.’ ‘Not exactly expecting me,’ said Karl, ‘but he will be there.’ ‘Well?’ said the uncle, as though Karl’s reply hadn’t made the slightest justification. Once again Mr Pollunder intervened: ‘Klara’ – this was Mr Pollunder’s daughter – ‘is expecting him too, tonight, and surely she takes precedence over Mak?’ ‘Absolutely,’ said the uncle. ‘So run off to your room,’ and he banged the armrest of his chair, almost involuntarily, a few times. Karl was already at the door when the uncle fired one more question at him: ‘But you will be back in time for your English lesson tomorrow morning?’ ‘Oh!’ Mr Pollunder exclaimed, and spun round in his chair in astonishment, inasmuch as his bulk made it possible. ‘can’t he even stay for tomorrow? I’d bring him back on the morning of the day after.’ ‘That’s out of the question,’ replied the uncle. ‘I can’t permit his studies to be affected. Later on, once he’s established in an orderly, professional way of life, I’ll be very glad to allow him to accept such kind and flattering invitations as yours even for longer periods.’ ‘What contradictions!’ thought Karl. Mr Pollunder was sad now. ‘It’s almost not worth it, just for one evening.’ ‘That was what I thought too,’ said the uncle. ‘But you have t
o take what you can get,’ said Mr Pollunder, laughing again. ‘I’m waiting for you,’ he called to Karl, who, as his uncle didn’t say anything this time, rushed off. By the time he got back, ready to go, he found his uncle had gone, and only Mr Pollunder was left in the office. Mr Pollunder happily shook him by both hands, as though to be sure that Karl really would be going with him. Hot himself from rushing about, Karl shook both Mr Pollunder’s hands, he was looking forward to going on the excursion. ‘Was uncle really not angry at me for going?’ ‘Oh no! He didn’t really mean it. It’s just that he cares about your education.’ ‘Did he tell you himself that he didn’t mean what he said earlier?’ ‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Pollunder in a drawn-out way, to prove that he was incapable of lying. ‘It’s strange how reluctant he was to give me permission to visit you, even though you’re his friend.’ But even Mr Pollunder, though he didn’t admit it, couldn’t find an explanation either and both pondered the matter for a long time afterwards as they drove through the warm evening in Mr Pollunder’s car, though their conversation was on other things.

  They sat close together, and Mr Pollunder held Karl’s hand in his while he talked. Karl wanted to hear all about Miss Klara, it was as though he felt impatient on account of the long drive, and believed that by listening to Mr Pollunder’s stories he would be able to arrive earlier than he really could. Although he had never before driven through the streets of New York at night and the noise pulsing over pavements and roads and changing direction like a whirlwind was more like a distinct element than something caused by men, as Karl tried to follow Mr Pollunder’s every word, he concentrated all his attention on Mr Pollunder’s dark waistcoat, which had a gold chain calmly draped across it. From the streets where people, showing an open fear of arriving late, hurried their steps and drew up outside theatres in speeding vehicles, they passed some transitional areas and then reached the suburbs, where their car kept being diverted off on to side-streets by mounted policemen, as the main thoroughfares were all occupied by striking metalworkers, and only the most essential traffic could be allowed to pass at the crossroads. When their car emerged from one of the dark echoey side-streets on to one of these main avenues that was as broad as a whole square they saw in endless perspective on either side of them a great column of people walking in tiny steps, their massed voices more in unison than a single human voice. In the empty lanes one occasionally saw a policeman on a horse, motionless, or the carriers of flags and banners spanning the whole street, or a workers’ leader surrounded by colleagues and shop stewards or an electric tram car, which hadn’t managed to flee in time, and was now standing there dark and empty with the driver and conductor sitting on the platform. A long way away from the actual demonstration stood little groups of onlookers, all of them reluctant to leave the spot, even though they had no idea of what was going on. But Karl rested happily against the arm Mr Pollunder had thrown around him, the conviction that he would shortly be a welcome guest in a well-lit, high-walled, dog-guarded country house making him very happy, and even if he could no longer, on account of his growing sleepiness, follow every word of what Mr Pollunder was saying to him, he did still pull himself together from time to time and rubbed his eyes to check whether Mr Pollunder had noticed his sleepiness because that was what he wanted to avoid at all costs.

  3

  A COUNTRY HOUSE NEAR NEW YORK

  ‘We’ve arrived,’ said Mr Pollunder, in the middle of one of Karl’s absences. The car had stopped in front of a country house, which, in the manner of rich people’s country houses around New York, was bigger and higher than country houses for single families needed to be. As only the lower part of the house was lit up, it was impossible to gauge how high it was. There were rustling chestnut trees in front of it, and between them – the gates were already open – a short drive leading to a flight of stairs at the entrance. Judging by the tiredness he felt on getting out, Karl thought the drive there had probably been quite long. In the dark of the chestnut avenue, he heard a girl’s voice beside him saying: ‘At last, Mr Jakob.’ ‘My name is Rossmann,’ said Karl, and took the hand held out to him by the girl, whom he could just see in outline. ‘He is only Jakob’s nephew,’ Pollunder explained, ‘and his name is Karl Rossmann.’ ‘We’re still very pleased to welcome him here,’ said the girl, who didn’t much care what people were called. But Karl still inquired, as he walked up to the house flanked by Mr Pollunder and the girl: ‘Are you Miss Klara then?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, and a little differentiating light from the house just reached her face which she held up to him, ‘but I didn’t want to introduce myself in the darkness.’ Then why did she meet us at the gate? wondered Karl, gradually waking up because of the walk. ‘By the way, we have another guest tonight,’ said Klara. ‘Not possible!’ exclaimed Mr Pollunder angrily. ‘Mr Green,’ said Klara. ‘When did he got here?’ asked Karl, almost with foreboding. ‘Just a moment ago. Didn’t you hear his car ahead of you?’ Karl looked up at Pollunder to see how he was taking the news, but he had his hands in his pockets and seemed to be stamping rather. ‘It’s really no good living just outside New York, you’re not spared any interruptions. We’ll definitely have to move further out. Even if I have to drive half the night to get home.’ They stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘But Mr Green hasn’t been to see us for ages,’ said Klara, who was obviously in complete agreement with her father, but still wanted to calm him down. ‘Why did he have to come tonight,’ said Pollunder, and the words tripped out over his fat lower lip, which being loose and fleshy easily became agitated. ‘Quite!’ said Klara. ‘Perhaps he’ll go away again soon,’ observed Karl, and was astonished at the sympathy he felt with these people, who even yesterday had been complete strangers to him. ‘Oh no,’ said Klara, ‘he has some kind of big business with Papa, and the discussion will probably go on for a long time, because he told me in jest that I’ll have to stay and listen till tomorrow morning if I’m to be a good hostess.’ ‘Then he’s spending the night with us. That too,’ cried Pollunder, as if the depths had really been plumbed. ‘Really,’ he said, and the thought cheered him up, ‘really, I feel like taking you straight back to the car, Mr Rossmann, and taking you back to your uncle. The evening is completely ruined, and who knows when your uncle will next let us take you away from him. But if I bring you back now, tonight, then he won’t be able to refuse next time.’ And he reached for Karl’s hand to put the plan into effect. But Karl made no move, and Klara asked her father to let him stay because she and Karl at least wouldn’t be put out by Mr Green in the slightest, and finally Pollunder realized that his resolve wasn’t unshakeable. Besides – and this was perhaps the decisive factor – Mr Green came out on to the top step and called out into the garden: ‘What’s keeping you?’ ‘Come on,’ said Pollunder, and began climbing the steps. Karl and Klara followed him, scrutinizing one another in the light. ‘Such red lips she has,’ Karl said to himself, and he thought of Mr Pollunder’s lips and how beautiful they had become in his daughter. ‘After supper,’ she said, ‘if it’s all right with you, we can go up to my room, then we’ll be rid of Mr Green and can leave Papa to talk to him. And I hope you’ll be kind enough to play the piano for me, because Papa has already told me how good you are, unfortunately I can never bring myself to practise and I never go near my piano, even though I really love music’ Karl was in full agreement with Klarl’s suggestion, even though he would have preferred it if Mr Pollunder had been able to join them too. But faced by the enormous figure of Green – Karl had become used to Pollunder’s size – which gradually grew towards them as they climbed the stairs, all Karl’s hopes of somehow enticing Mr Pollunder for the evening from such a man quickly faded.

  Mr Green received them in a great hurry, as though there was much catching up to do, he took Mr Pollunder’s arm and pushed Karl and Klara ahead of him into the dining-room, which, with the flowers on the table half-peeping out of strips of fresh foliage, looked very festive, and made Mr Green’s presence doubly regrettable. As he stood by th
e table waiting for the others to sit down, Karl was glad that the big glass door into the garden would be left open, because a powerful scent blew up to them as in an arbour, when Mr Green, puffing and panting, busied himself with shutting it, bending down to the lowest bolts, reaching up on tiptoe for the top ones, and all with such youthful speed that by the time the servant rushed up to help it was all done. Mr Green’s first words at table were expressions of surprise that Karl had been permitted by his uncle to make this visit. Rapidly, he spooned soup into his mouth and explained to Klara on his right and Mr Pollunder on his left why he was so surprised, how closely the uncle watched over Karl, and how the uncle’s love for Karl really surpassed the usual love of uncles. Not content with making mischief by being here, he’s making mischief between me and my uncle, thought Karl, and he couldn’t swallow a mouthful of the golden soup. But as he didn’t want to draw attention to his irritation he began dumbly pouring soup into himself. The dinner dragged on like a plague. Only Mr Green, and to some extent Klara, showed any degree of animation and managed the odd short laugh. Mr Pollunder only became snarled up in the conversation on the few occasions when Mr Green turned to business matters. But he quickly withdrew again, and Mr Green had to surprise him into it a little later. He was at pains to emphasize – and here Karl, who was listening as if to a threat, had to be reminded by Klara that there was roast meat in front of him and that this was dinner – that it hadn’t been his intention at any stage to make this surprise visit. For even if the business they still had to discuss was of particular urgency, then at least the principal part of it could have been negotiated in town today, and the details kept for tomorrow or some other day. Accordingly he had gone to see Mr Pollunder long before the close of business, but had found him gone, so that he had been compelled to ring home to say that he wouldn’t be back that night and had then driven out here. ‘Then I owe you an apology,’ said Karl aloud, and, before anyone could reply, he went on, ‘because it’s my fault that Mr Pollunder left his business early and I’m very sorry.’ Mr Pollunder covered most of his face with his napkin, while Klara smiled at Karl, but it wasn’t a sympathetic smile, but rather one that sought to influence him in some way. ‘No need to apologize,’ said Mr Green, who was just carving up a pigeon with a few brisk strokes of his knife, ‘on the contrary, I’m glad to be spending the evening in such pleasant company, rather than having my evening meal by myself at home, waited on by my old housekeeper who is so ancient that even the few steps from the door to my table seems to take her forever, and I can if I am minded to, sit back in my chair and follow her progress. Just recently I arranged for the butler to carry my food as far as the dining-room door, but the way from the door to my table she seems to think is hers by rights.’ ‘My God!’ exclaimed Klara, ‘such loyalty!’ ‘Yes, there is still some loyalty in the world,’ said Mr Green lifting some food to his mouth, where, Karl happened to see, his tongue curled round and gripped it. He felt rather sick and stood up. Almost instantly Mr Pollunder and Klara each seized one of his hands. ‘You must remain seated,’ said Klara. And once he had sat down again, she whispered to him: ‘we’ll soon be able to get away. Be patient.’ Mr Green was quietly getting on with his dinner meanwhile, as though it were the responsibility of Mr Pollunder and Klara to calm Karl down each time he made him feel sick.