Authors: Franz Kafka
‘Frequently people fall in the street and lie there dead. Whereupon all the shop people open their doors laden with wares, hurry busily out, cart the dead into a house, come out again all smiles, then the chatter begins: “Good morning – it’s a dull day – I’m selling any amount of kerchiefs – ah yes, the war.” I rush into the house, and after raising my hand several times timidly with my finger crooked, I finally knock on the janitor’s little window: “Good morning,” I say, “I understand a dead man was carried in here just now. Would you be kind enough to let me see him?” And when he shakes his head as though unable to make up his mind, I add: “Take care, I’m a member of the secret police and insist on seeing
the dead man at once!” Now he is no longer undecided. “Out with you!” he shouts. “This riffraff is getting in the habit of snooping about here every day. There’s no dead man here. Maybe next door.” I raise my hat and go.
‘But then, on having to cross a large square, I forget everything. If people must build such huge squares from sheer wantonness, why don’t they build a balustrade across them as well? Today there’s a southwest wind blowing. The spire of the Town Hall is moving in little circles. All the windowpanes are rattling, and the lampposts are bending like bamboos. The Virgin Mary’s cloak is coiling around her pillar and the wind is tugging at it. Does no one notice this? The ladies and gentlemen who should be walking on the pavement are floating. When the wind falls they stand still, say a few words, and bow to one another, but when the wind rises again they are helpless, and all their feet leave the ground at the same time. Although obliged to hold on to their hats, their eyes twinkle gaily enough and no one has the slightest fault to find with the weather. I’m the only one who’s afraid.’
To which I was able to say: ‘That story you told me earlier about your mother and the woman in the garden I really don’t find so remarkable. Not only have I heard and experienced many stories of this kind, I have even taken part in some. The whole thing is perfectly natural. Do you really mean to suggest that had I been on that balcony in the summer, I could not have asked the same question and given the same answer from the garden? Quite an ordinary occurrence!’
After I had said this, he seemed relieved at last. He told me I was well dressed and that he very much liked my tie. And what a fine complexion I had. And that confessions became most comprehensible when they were retracted.
Then he sat down beside me, for I had grown timid and, bending my head to one side, had made room for him.
Nevertheless, it didn’t escape my notice that he too was sitting there rather embarrassed, trying to keep some distance from me and speaking with difficulty:
‘Oh, what dreadful days I have to live through! Last night I was at a party. I was just bowing to a young lady in the gaslight and saying: “I’m so glad winter’s approaching” – I was just bowing with these words when to my annoyance I noticed that my right thigh had slipped out of joint. The kneecap had also become a little loose.
‘So I sat down, and as I always try to keep control over my sentences, I said: “for winter’s much less of an effort; it’s easier to comport oneself, one doesn’t have to take so much trouble with one’s words. Don’t you agree, Fräulein? I do hope I’m right about this.” My right leg was now giving me a lot of trouble. At first it seemed to have fallen apart completely, and only gradually did I manage to get it more or less back into shape by manipulation and careful rearrangement.
‘Then I heard the girl, who, out of sympathy, had also sat down, say in a low voice: “No, you don’t impress me at all because—”
‘ “Just a moment,” I said, pleased and full of expectation, “you mustn’t waste so much as five minutes talking to me, dear Fräulein. Please eat something while you’re talking, I implore you.”
‘And stretching out my arm I took a large bunch of grapes hanging heavily from a bowl held up by a bronze winged cupid, dangled it for a moment in the air, and then laid it on a small blue plate which I handed to the girl, not without a certain elegance, I trust.
‘ “You don’t impress me at all,” she said. “Everything you say is boring and incomprehensible, but that alone doesn’t make it true. What I really think, sir – why do you always call me dear Fräulein? – is that you can’t be bothered with the truth simply because it’s too tiring.”
‘God, how good that made me feel! “Yes, Fräulein, Fräulein!” I almost shouted, “how right you are! Dear Fräulein,
if you only knew what a wild joy it is to find oneself so well understood – and without having made any effort!”
‘ “There’s no doubt, sir, that for you the truth is too tiring. Just look at yourself! The entire length of you is cut out of tissue paper, yellow tissue paper, like a silhouette, and when you walk one ought to hear you rustle. So one shouldn’t get annoyed at your attitude or opinion, for you can’t help bending to whatever draft happens to be in the room.”
‘ “I don’t understand that. True, several people are standing about here in this room. They lay their arms on the backs of chairs or they lean against the piano or they raise a glass tentatively to their mouths or they walk timidly into the next room, and having knocked their right shoulders against a cupboard in the dark, they stand breathing by the open window and think: There’s Venus, the evening star. Yet here I am, among them. If there is a connection, I don’t understand it. But I don’t even know if there is a connection. – And you see, dear Fräulein, of all these people who behave so irresolutely, so absurdly as a result of their confusion, I alone seem worthy of hearing the truth about myself. And to make this truth more palatable you put it in a mocking way so that something concrete remains, like the outer walls of a house whose interior has been gutted. The eye is hardly obstructed; by day the clouds and sky can be seen through the great window holes, and by night the stars. But the clouds are often hewn out of gray stones, and the stars form unnatural constellations. – How would it be if in return I were to tell you that one day everyone wanting to live will look like me – cut out of tissue paper, like silhouettes, as you pointed out – and when they walk they will be heard to rustle? Not that they will be any different from what they are now, but that is what they will look like. Even you, dear Fräulein—”
‘Then I noticed that the girl was no longer sitting beside me. She must have left soon after her last words, for now she was standing far away from me by a window, surrounded
by three young men who were talking and laughing out of high white collars.
‘So I happily drank a glass of wine and walked over to the pianist who, all alone and nodding to himself, happened to be playing something sad. I bent carefully down to his ear so as not to frighten him and whispered into the melody: “Be so kind, sir, as to let me play now, for I’m just beginning to feel happy.”
‘Since he paid no attention to me, I stood there for a while embarrassed, but then, overcoming my timidity, I went from one guest to another, saying casually: “Today I’m going to play the piano. Yes.”
‘Everyone seemed to know I couldn’t play, but they smiled in a friendly way, pleased by the welcome interruption of their conversation. They paid proper attention to me only when I said to the pianist in a very loud voice: “Do me the favor, sir, of letting me play now. After all, I’m just beginning to feel happy. A triumph is at stake.”
‘Although the pianist stopped, he neither left his brown bench nor appeared to understand me. He sighed and covered his face with his long fingers.
‘I felt a trifle sorry for him and was about to encourage him to continue playing when the hostess approached with a group of people.
‘ “That’s a funny coincidence,” they said and laughed aloud as though I were about to do something unnatural.
‘The girl also joined them, looked at me contemptuously, and said: “Please, madame, do let him play. Perhaps he wants to make some contribution to the entertainment. He ought to be encouraged. Please let him.”
‘Everyone laughed, obviously thinking, as I did, that it was meant ironically. Only the pianist was silent. Holding his head low, he stroked the wood of the bench with the forefinger of his left hand, as though he were making designs in sand. I began to tremble, and to hide it, thrust my hands into my trouser pockets. Nor could I speak clearly any longer, for my whole face wanted to cry. Thus I had to choose the
words in such a way that the thought of my wanting to cry would appear ludicrous to the listeners.
‘ “Madame,” I said, “I must play now because—” As I had forgotten the reason I abruptly sat down at the piano. And then I remembered again. The pianist stood up and stepped tactfully over the bench, for I was blocking his way. “Please turn out the light, I can only play in the dark.” I straightened myself.
‘At that moment two gentlemen seized the bench and, whistling a song and rocking me to and fro, carried me far away from the piano to the dining table.
‘Everyone watched with approval and the girl said: “You see, madame, he played quite well. I knew he would. And you were so worried.”
‘I understood and thanked her with a bow, which I carried out well.
‘They poured me some lemonade and a girl with red lips held my glass while I drank. The hostess offered me a meringue on a silver salver and a girl in a pure white dress put the meringue in my mouth. Another girl, voluptuous and with a mass of fair hair, held a bunch of grapes over me, and all I had to do was pluck them off with my lips while she gazed into my receding eyes.
‘Since everyone was treating me so well I was a little surprised that they were so unanimous in holding me back when I tried to return to the piano.
‘ “That’s enough now,” said the host, whom I had not noticed before. He went out and promptly returned with an enormous top hat and a copper-brown overcoat with a flowery design. “Here are your things.”
‘They weren’t my things, of course, but I didn’t want to put him to the trouble of looking again. The host helped me into the overcoat which fitted beautifully, clinging tightly to my thin body. Bending over slowly, a lady with a kind face buttoned the coat all the way down.
‘ “Goodbye,” said the hostess, “and come back soon. You know you’re always welcome.” Whereupon everyone bowed
as though they thought it necessary. I tried to do likewise, but my coat was too tight. So I took my hat and, no doubt awkwardly, walked out of the room.
‘But as I passed through the front door with short steps I was assaulted from the sky by moon and stars and a great vaulted expanse, and from the Ringplatz by the Town Hall, the Virgin’s pillar, the church.
‘I walked calmly from the shadow into the moonlight, unbuttoned my overcoat, and warmed myself; then I put a stop to the humming of the night by raising my hands, and began to reflect as follows:
‘ “What is it that makes you all behave as though you were real? Are you trying to make me believe I’m unreal, standing here absurdly on the green pavement? You, sky, surely it’s a long time since you’ve been real, and as for you, Ringplatz, you never have been real.
‘ “It’s true, you’re all still superior to me, but only when I leave you alone.
‘ “Thank God, moon, you are no longer moon, but perhaps it’s negligent of me to go on calling you so-called moon, moon. Why do your spirits fall when I call you ‘forgotten paper lantern of a strange color’? And why do you almost withdraw when I call you ‘the Virgin’s pillar’? As for you, pillar of the Virgin Mary, I hardly recognize your threatening attitude when I call you ‘moon shedding yellow light.’
‘ “It really seems to me that thinking about you doesn’t do you any good; you lose in courage and health.
‘ “God, how much more profitable it would be if the Thinker could learn from the Drunk!
‘ “Why has everything become so quiet? I think the wind has dropped. And the small houses which often used to roll across the square as though on little wheels are rooted to the spot – calm – calm – one can’t even see the thin black line that used to separate them from the ground.”
‘And I started to run. I ran unimpeded three times around the great square, and as I didn’t meet a drunk I ran on toward the Karlsgasse without slowing down and without any effort.
My shadow, often smaller than myself, ran beside me along the wall as though in a gorge between the wall and the street level.
‘As I passed the fire station I heard a noise coming from the Kleiner Ring, and as I turned into it I saw a drunk standing by the iron railing of the fountain, his arms held out sideways and his feet in wooden shoes stamping the ground.
‘Stopping to get my breath, I went up to him, raised my top hat, and introduced myself:
‘ “Good evening, gentle nobleman, I am twenty-three years of age, but as yet I have no name. But you, no doubt, hail from the great city of Paris – bearing extraordinary, well-nigh singable names. You are surrounded by the quite unnatural odor of the dissolute Court of France. No doubt your tinted eyes have beheld those great ladies standing on the high shining terrace, ironically twisting their narrow waists while the ends of their decorated trains, spread over the steps, are still lying on the sand in the garden. – And surely, menservants in daringly cut gray tailcoats and white knee breeches climb tall poles, their legs hugging them but their torsos frequently bent back and to the side, for they have to raise enormous gray linen sheets off the ground with thick ropes and spread them in the air, because the great lady has expressed the wish for a misty morning.’
‘When he belched I felt almost frightened. “Is it really true, sir,” I said, “that you hail from our Paris, from that tempestuous Paris – ah, from that luxuriant hailstorm?”
‘When he belched again, I said with embarrassment: “I know, a great honor is being bestowed upon me.”
‘And with nimble fingers I buttoned up my overcoat; then with ardor and yet timidly I said: “I know you do not consider me worthy of an answer, but if I did not ask you today my life would be spent in weeping. I ask you, much-bespangled sir, is it true what I have been told? Are there people in Paris who consist only of sumptuous dresses, and are there houses that are only portals, and is it true that on summer days the
sky over the city is a fleeting blue embellished only by little white clouds glued onto it, all in the shape of hearts? And have they a highly popular panopticon there containing nothing but trees to which small plaques are fastened bearing the names of the most famous heroes, criminals, and lovers?