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Reading by David Lewis Richardson.
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
Translated by Ian Johnston.
Chapter I, part 1
One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up
from anxious dreams, he discovered that in
bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous
bug.
He lay on his armour-hard back and saw, as
he lifted his head up a little, his brown,
arched abdomen divided up into rigid bow-like
sections.
From this height the blanket, just about ready
to slide off completely, could hardly stay
in place.
His numerous legs, pitifully thin in comparison
to the rest of his circumference, flickered
helplessly before his eyes.
"What's happened to me," he thought.
It was no dream.
His room, a proper room for a human being,
only somewhat too small, lay quietly between
the four well-known walls.
Above the table, on which an unpacked collection
of sample cloth goods was spread out—Samsa
was a travelling salesman—hung the picture
which he had cut out of an illustrated magazine
a little while ago and set in a pretty gilt
frame.
It was a picture of a woman with a fur hat
and a fur boa.
She sat erect there, lifting up in the direction
of the viewer a solid fur muff into which
her entire forearm had disappeared.
Gregor's glance then turned to the window.
The dreary weather—the rain drops were falling
audibly down on the metal window ledge—made
him quite melancholy.
"Why don't I keep sleeping for a little while
longer and forget all this foolishness," he
thought.
But this was entirely impractical, for he
was used to sleeping on his right side, and
in his present state he couldn't get himself
into this position.
No matter how hard he threw himself onto his
right side, he always rolled again onto his
back.
He must have tried it a hundred times, closing
his eyes so that he would not have to see
the wriggling legs, and gave up only when
he began to feel a light, dull pain in his
side which he had never felt before.
"O God," he thought, "what a demanding job
I've chosen!
Day in, day out, on the road.
The stresses of selling are much greater than
the work going on at head office, and, in
addition to that, I have to cope with the
problems of travelling, the worries about
train connections, irregular bad food, temporary
and constantly changing human relationships,
which never come from the heart.
To hell with it all!"
He felt a slight itching on the top of his
abdomen.
He slowly pushed himself on his back closer
to the bed post so that he could lift his
head more easily, found the itchy part, which
was entirely covered with small white spots—he
did not know what to make of them and wanted
to feel the place with a leg.
But he retracted it immediately, for the contact
felt like a cold shower all over him.
He slid back again into his earlier position.
"This getting up early," he thought, "makes
a man quite idiotic.
A man must have his sleep.
Other travelling salesmen live like harem
women.
For instance, when I come back to the inn
during the course of the morning to write
up the necessary orders, these gentlemen are
just sitting down to breakfast.
If I were to try that with my boss, I'd be
thrown out on the spot.
Still, who knows whether that mightn't be
really good for me?
If I didn't hold back for my parents' sake,
I'd have quit ages ago.
I would've gone to the boss and told him just
what I think from the bottom of my heart.
He would've fallen right off his desk!
How weird it is to sit up at that desk and
talk down to the employee from way up there.
The boss has trouble hearing, so the employee
has to step up quite close to him.
Anyway, I haven't completely given up that
hope yet.
Once I've got together the money to pay off
my parents' debt to him—that should take
another five or six years—I'll do it for
sure.
Then I'll make the big break.
In any case, right now I have to get up.
My train leaves at five o'clock."
He looked over at the alarm clock ticking
away by the chest of drawers.
"Good God!" he thought.
It was half past six, and the hands were going
quietly on.
It was past the half hour, already nearly
quarter to.
Could the alarm have failed to ring?
One saw from the bed that it was properly
set for four o'clock.
Certainly it had rung.
Yes, but was it possible to sleep through
that noise which made the furniture shake?
Now, it's true he'd not slept quietly, but
evidently he'd slept all the more deeply.
Still, what should he do now?
The next train left at seven o'clock.
To catch that one, he would have to go in
a mad rush.
The sample collection wasn't packed up yet,
and he really didn't feel particularly fresh
and active.
And even if he caught the train, there was
no avoiding a blow-up with the boss, because
the firm's errand boy would've waited for
the five o'clock train and reported the news
of his absence long ago.
He was the boss's minion, without backbone
or intelligence.
Well then, what if he reported in sick?
But that would be extremely embarrassing and
suspicious, because during his five years'
service Gregor hadn't been sick even once.
The boss would certainly come with the doctor
from the health insurance company and would
reproach his parents for their lazy son and
cut short all objections with the insurance
doctor's comments; for him everyone was completely
healthy but really lazy about work.
And besides, would the doctor in this case
be totally wrong?
Apart from a really excessive drowsiness after
the long sleep, Gregor in fact felt quite
well and even had a really strong appetite.
As he was thinking all this over in the greatest
haste, without being able to make the decision
to get out of bed—the alarm clock was indicating
exactly quarter to seven—there was a cautious
knock on the door by the head of the bed.
"Gregor," a voice called—it was his mother!—"it's
quarter to seven.
Don't you want to be on your way?"
The soft voice!
Gregor was startled when he heard his voice
answering.
It was clearly and unmistakably his earlier
voice, but in it was intermingled, as if from
below, an irrepressibly painful squeaking,
which left the words positively distinct only
in the first moment and distorted them in
the reverberation, so that one didn't know
if one had heard correctly.
Gregor wanted to answer in detail and explain
everything, but in these circumstances he
confined himself to saying, "Yes, yes, thank
you mother.
I'm getting up right away."
Because of the wooden door the change in Gregor's
voice was not really noticeable outside, so
his mother calmed down with this explanation
and shuffled off.
However, as a result of the short conversation,
the other family members became aware that
Gregor was unexpectedly still at home, and
already his father was knocking on one side
door, weakly but with his fist.
"Gregor, Gregor," he called out, "what's going
on?"
And, after a short while, he urged him on
again in a deeper voice: "Gregor!"
Gregor!"
At the other side door, however, his sister
knocked lightly.
"Gregor?
Are you all right?
Do you need anything?"
Gregor directed answers in both directions,
"I'll be ready right away."
He made an effort with the most careful articulation
and by inserting long pauses between the individual
words to remove everything remarkable from
his voice.
His father turned back to his breakfast.
However, the sister whispered, "Gregor, open
the door—I beg you."
Gregor had no intention of opening the door,
but congratulated himself on his precaution,
acquired from travelling, of locking all doors
during the night, even at home.
First he wanted to stand up quietly and undisturbed,
get dressed, above all have breakfast, and
only then consider further action, for—he
noticed this clearly—by thinking things
over in bed he would not reach a reasonable
conclusion.
He remembered that he had already often felt
a light pain or other in bed, perhaps the
result of an awkward lying position, which
later turned out to be purely imaginary when
he stood up, and he was eager to see how his
present fantasies would gradually dissipate.
That the change in his voice was nothing other
than the onset of a real chill, an occupational
illness of commercial travellers, of that
he had not the slightest doubt.
It was very easy to throw aside the blanket.
He needed only to push himself up a little,
and it fell by itself.
But to continue was difficult, particularly
because he was so unusually wide.
He needed arms and hands to push himself upright.
Instead of these, however, he had only many
small limbs which were incessantly moving
with very different motions and which, in
addition, he was unable to control.
If he wanted to bend one of them, then it
was the first to extend itself, and if he
finally succeeded doing what he wanted with
this limb, in the meantime all the others,
as if left free, moved around in an excessively
painful agitation.
"But I must not stay in bed uselessly," said
Gregor to himself.
At first he wanted to get out of bed with
the lower part of his body, but this lower
part—which, by the way, he had not yet looked
at and which he also couldn't picture clearly—proved
itself too difficult to move.
The attempt went so slowly.
When, having become almost frantic, he finally
hurled himself forward with all his force
and without thinking, he chose his direction
incorrectly, and he hit the lower bedpost
hard.
The violent pain he felt revealed to him that
the lower part of his body was at the moment
probably the most sensitive.
Thus, he tried to get his upper body out of
the bed first and turned his head carefully
toward the edge of the bed.
He managed to do this easily, and in spite
of its width and weight his body mass at last
slowly followed the turning of his head.
But as he finally raised his head outside
the bed in the open air, he became anxious
about moving forward any further in this manner,
for if he allowed himself eventually to fall
by this process, it would take a miracle to
prevent his head from getting injured.
And at all costs he must not lose consciousness
right now.
He preferred to remain in bed.
However, after a similar effort, while he
lay there again, sighing as before, and once
again saw his small limbs fighting one another,
if anything worse than earlier, and didn't
see any chance of imposing quiet and order
on this arbitrary movement, he told himself
again that he couldn't possibly remain in
bed and that it might be the most reasonable
thing to sacrifice everything if there was
even the slightest hope of getting himself
out of bed in the process.
At the same moment, however, he didn't forget
to remind himself from time to time of the
fact that calm—indeed the calmest—reflection
might be better than the most confused decisions.
At such moments, he directed his gaze as precisely
as he could toward the window, but unfortunately
there was little confident cheer to be had
from a glance at the morning mist, which concealed
even the other side of the narrow street.
"It's already seven o'clock," he told himself
at the latest striking of the alarm clock,
"already seven o'clock and still such a fog."
And for a little while longer he lay quietly
with weak breathing, as if perhaps waiting
for normal and natural conditions to re-emerge
out of the complete stillness.
But then he said to himself, "Before it strikes
a quarter past seven, whatever happens I must
be completely out of bed.
Besides, by then someone from the office will
arrive to inquire about me, because the office
will open before seven o'clock."
And he made an effort then to rock his entire
body length out of the bed with a uniform
motion.
If he let himself fall out of the bed in this
way, his head, which in the course of the
fall he intended to lift up sharply, would
probably remain uninjured.
His back seemed to be hard; nothing would
really happen to that as a result of the fall.
His greatest reservation was a worry about
the loud noise which the fall must create
and which presumably would arouse, if not
fright, then at least concern on the other
side of all the doors.
However, it had to be tried.
As Gregor was in the process of lifting himself
half out of bed—the new method was more
of a game than an effort; he needed only to
rock with a constant rhythm—it struck him
how easy all this would be if someone were
to come to his aid.
Two strong people—he thought of his father
and the servant girl—would have been quite
sufficient.
They would have only had to push their arms
under his arched back to get him out of the
bed, to bend down with their load, and then
merely to exercise patience and care that
he completed the flip onto the floor, where
his diminutive legs would then, he hoped,
acquire a purpose.
Now, quite apart from the fact that the doors
were locked, should he really call out for
help?
In spite of all his distress, he was unable
to suppress a smile at this idea.
He had already got to the point where, by
rocking more strongly, he maintained his equilibrium
with difficulty, and very soon he would finally
have to decide, for in five minutes it would
be a quarter past seven.
Then there was a ring at the door of the apartment.
"That's someone from the office," he told
himself, and he almost froze while his small
limbs only danced around all the faster.
For one moment everything remained still.
"They aren't opening," Gregor said to himself,
caught up in some absurd hope.
But of course then, as usual, the servant
girl with her firm tread went to the door
and opened it.
Gregor needed to hear only the first word
of the visitor's greeting to recognize immediately
who it was, the manager himself.
Why was Gregor the only one condemned to work
in a firm where, at the slightest lapse, someone
immediately attracted the greatest suspicion?
Were all the employees then collectively,
one and all, scoundrels?
Among them was there then no truly devoted
person who, if he failed to use just a couple
of hours in the morning for office work, would
become abnormal from pangs of conscience and
really be in no state to get out of bed?
Was it really not enough to let an apprentice
make inquiries, if such questioning was even
necessary?
Must the manager himself come, and in the
process must it be demonstrated to the entire
innocent family that the investigation of
this suspicious circumstance could be entrusted
only to the intelligence of the manager?
And more as a consequence of the excited state
in which this idea put Gregor than as a result
of an actual decision, he swung himself with
all his might out of the bed.
There was a loud thud, but not a real crash.
The fall was absorbed somewhat by the carpet
and, in addition, his back was more elastic
than Gregor had thought.
For that reason the dull noise was not quite
so conspicuous.
But he had not held his head up with sufficient
care and had hit it.
He turned his head, irritated and in pain,
and rubbed it on the carpet.
"Something has fallen in there," said the
manager in the next room on the left.
Gregor tried to imagine to himself whether
anything similar to what was happening to
him today could have also happened at some
point to the manager.
At least one had to concede the possibility
of such a thing.
However, as if to give a rough answer to this
question, the manager now, with a squeak of
his polished boots, took a few determined
steps in the next room.
From the neighbouring room on the right the
sister was whispering to inform Gregor: "Gregor,
the manager is here."
"I know," said Gregor to himself.
But he did not dare make his voice loud enough
so that his sister could hear.
"Gregor," his father now said from the neighbouring
room on the left, "Mr. Manager has come and
is asking why you have not left on the early
train.
We don't know what we should tell him.
Besides, he also wants to speak to you personally.
So please open the door.
He will be good enough to forgive the mess
in your room."
In the middle of all this, the manager called
out in a friendly way, "Good morning, Mr.
Samsa."
"He is not well," said his mother to the manager,
while his father was still talking at the
door, "He is not well, believe me, Mr. Manager.
Otherwise how would Gregor miss a train?
The young man has nothing in his head except
business.
I'm almost angry that he never goes out at
night.
Right now he's been in the city eight days,
but he's been at home every evening.
He sits here with us at the table and reads
the newspaper quietly or studies his travel
schedules.
It's a quite a diversion for him to busy himself
with fretwork.
For instance, he cut out a small frame over
the course of two or three evenings.
You'd be amazed how pretty it is.
It's hanging right inside the room.
You'll see it immediately, as soon as Gregor
opens the door.
Anyway, I'm happy that you're here, Mr. Manager.
By ourselves, we would never have made Gregor
open the door.
He's so stubborn, and he's certainly not well,
although he denied that this morning."
"I'm coming right away," said Gregor slowly
and deliberately and didn't move, so as not
to lose one word of the conversation.
"My dear lady, I cannot explain it to myself
in any other way," said the manager; "I hope
it is nothing serious.
On the other hand, I must also say that we
business people, luckily or unluckily, however
one looks at it, very often simply have to
overcome a slight indisposition for business
reasons."
"So can Mr. Manager come in to see you now?"
asked his father impatiently and knocked once
again on the door.
"No," said Gregor.
In the neighbouring room on the left a painful
stillness descended.
In the neighbouring room on the right the
sister began to sob.
Why didn't his sister go to the others?
She'd probably just gotten up out of bed now
and hadn't even started to get dressed yet.
Then why was she crying?
Because he wasn't getting up and wasn't letting
the manager in, because he was in danger of
losing his position, and because then his
boss would badger his parents once again with
the old demands?
Those were probably unnecessary worries right
now.
Gregor was still here and wasn't thinking
at all about abandoning his family.
At the moment he was lying right there on
the carpet, and no one who knew about his
condition would've seriously demanded that
he let the manager in.
But Gregor wouldn't be casually dismissed
right way because of this small discourtesy,
for which he would find an easy and suitable
excuse later on.
It seemed to Gregor that it might be far more
reasonable to leave him in peace at the moment,
instead of disturbing him with crying and
conversation.
But it was the very uncertainty which distressed
the others and excused their behaviour.
"Mr. Samsa," the manager was now shouting,
his voice raised, "what's the matter?
You are barricading yourself in your room,
answer with only a yes and a no, are making
serious and unnecessary troubles for your
parents, and neglecting (I mention this only
incidentally) your commercial duties in a
truly unheard of manner.
I am speaking here in the name of your parents
and your employer, and I am requesting you
in all seriousness for an immediate and clear
explanation.
I am amazed.
I am amazed.
I thought I knew you as a calm, reasonable
person, and now you appear suddenly to want
to start parading around in weird moods.
The Chief indicated to me earlier this very
day a possible explanation for your neglect--it
concerned the collection of cash entrusted
to you a short while ago--but in truth I almost
gave him my word of honour that this explanation
could not be correct.
However, now I see here your unimaginable
pig headedness, and I am totally losing any
desire to speak up for you in the slightest.
And your position is not at all the most secure.
Originally I intended to mention all this
to you privately, but since you are letting
me waste my time here uselessly, I don't know
why the matter shouldn't come to the attention
of your parents.
Your productivity has also been very unsatisfactory
recently.
Of course, it's not the time of year to conduct
exceptional business, we recognize that, but
a time of year for conducting no business,
there is no such thing at all, Mr. Samsa,
and such a thing must never be."
"But Mr. Manager," called Gregor, beside himself
and, in his agitation, forgetting everything
else, "I'm opening the door immediately, this
very moment.
A slight indisposition, a dizzy spell, has
prevented me from getting up.
I'm still lying in bed right now.
But I'm quite refreshed once again.
I'm in the midst of getting out of bed.
Just have patience for a short moment!
Things are not going as well as I thought.
But things are all right.
How suddenly this can overcome someone!
Only yesterday evening everything was fine
with me.
My parents certainly know that.
Actually just yesterday evening I had a small
premonition.
People must have seen that in me.
Why have I not reported that to the office?
But people always think that they'll get over
sickness without having to stay at home.
Mr. Manager!
Take it easy on my parents!
There is really no basis for the criticisms
which you're now making against me, and really
nobody has said a word to me about that.
Perhaps you have not read the latest orders
which I shipped.
Besides, now I'm setting out on my trip on
the eight o'clock train; the few hours' rest
have made me stronger.
Mr. Manager, do not stay.
I will be at the office in person right away.
Please have the goodness to say that and to
convey my respects to the Chief."
While Gregor was quickly blurting all this
out, hardly aware of what he was saying, he
had moved close to the chest of drawers without
effort, probably as a result of the practice
he had already had in bed, and now he was
trying to raise himself up on it.
Actually, he wanted to open the door.
He really wanted to let himself be seen by
and to speak with the manager.
He was keen to witness what the others now
asking about him would say when they saw him.
If they were startled, then Gregor had no
more responsibility and could be calm.
But if they accepted everything quietly, then
he would have no reason to get excited and,
if he got a move on, could really be at the
station around eight o'clock.
End of chapter I, part 1.
Chapter I, part 2
At first he slid down a few times on the smooth
chest of drawers.
But at last he gave himself a final swing
and stood upright there.
He was no longer at all aware of the pains
in his lower body, no matter how they might
still sting.
Now he let himself fall against the back of
a nearby chair, on the edge of which he braced
himself with his thin limbs.
By doing this he gained control over himself
and kept quiet, for he could now hear the
manager.
"Did you understood a single word?" the manager
asked the parents, "Is he playing the fool
with us?"
"For God's sake," cried the mother already
in tears, "perhaps he's very ill and we're
upsetting him.
Grete!
Grete!" she yelled at that point.
"Mother?"
called the sister from the other side.
They were making themselves understood through
Gregor's room.
"You must go to the doctor right away.
Gregor is sick.
Hurry to the doctor.
Have you heard Gregor speak yet?"
"That was an animal's voice," said the manager,
remarkably quietly in comparison to the mother's
cries.
"Anna!
Anna!' yelled the father through the hall
into the kitchen, clapping his hands, "fetch
a locksmith right away!"
The two young women were already running through
the hall with swishing skirts—how had his
sister dressed herself so quickly?—and yanked
open the doors of the apartment.
One couldn't hear the doors closing at all.
They probably had left them open, as is customary
in an apartment where a huge misfortune has
taken place.
However, Gregor had become much calmer.
All right, people did not understand his words
any more, although they seemed clear enough
to him, clearer than previously, perhaps because
his ears had gotten used to them.
But at least people now thought that things
were not all right with him and were prepared
to help him.
The confidence and assurance with which the
first arrangements had been carried out made
him feel good.
He felt himself included once again in the
circle of humanity and was expecting from
both the doctor and the locksmith, without
differentiating between them with any real
precision, splendid and surprising results.
In order to get as clear a voice as possible
for the critical conversation which was imminent,
he coughed a little, and certainly took the
trouble to do this in a really subdued way,
since it was possible that even this noise
sounded like something different from a human
cough.
He no longer trusted himself to decide any
more.
Meanwhile in the next room it had become really
quiet.
Perhaps his parents were sitting with the
manager at the table whispering; perhaps they
were all leaning against the door listening.
Gregor pushed himself slowly towards the door,
with the help of the easy chair, let go of
it there, threw himself against the door,
held himself upright against it—the balls
of his tiny limbs had a little sticky stuff
on them—and rested there momentarily from
his exertion.
Then he made an effort to turn the key in
the lock with his mouth.
Unfortunately it seemed that he had no real
teeth.
How then was he to grab hold of the key?
But to make up for that his jaws were naturally
very strong; with their help he managed to
get the key really moving.
He didn't notice that he was obviously inflicting
some damage on himself, for a brown fluid
came out of his mouth, flowed over the key,
and dripped onto the floor.
"Just listen for a moment," said the manager
in the next room; "he's turning the key."
For Gregor that was a great encouragement.
But they all should've called out to him,
including his father and mother, "Come on,
Gregor," they should've shouted; "keep going,
keep working on the lock."
Imagining that all his efforts were being
followed with suspense, he bit down frantically
on the key with all the force he could muster.
As the key turned more, he danced around the
lock.
Now he was holding himself upright only with
his mouth, and he had to hang onto the key
or then press it down again with the whole
weight of his body, as necessary.
The quite distinct click of the lock as it
finally snapped really woke Gregor up.
Breathing heavily he said to himself, "So
I didn't need the locksmith," and he set his
head against the door handle to open the door
completely.
Because he had to open the door in this way,
it was already open very wide without him
yet being really visible.
He first had to turn himself slowly around
the edge of the door, very carefully, of course,
if he didn't want to fall awkwardly on his
back right at the entrance into the room.
He was still preoccupied with this difficult
movement and had no time to pay attention
to anything else, when he heard the manager
exclaim a loud "Oh!"—it sounded like the
wind whistling—and now he saw him, nearest
to the door, pressing his hand against his
open mouth and moving slowly back, as if an
invisible constant force was pushing him away.
His mother—in spite of the presence of the
manager she was standing here with her hair
sticking up on end, still a mess from the
night—was looking at his father with her
hands clasped.
She then went two steps towards Gregor and
collapsed right in the middle of her skirts,
which were spread out all around her, her
face sunk on her breast, completely concealed.
His father clenched his fist with a hostile
expression, as if he wished to push Gregor
back into his room, then looked uncertainly
around the living room, covered his eyes with
his hands, and cried so that his mighty breast
shook.
At this point Gregor did not take one step
into the room, but leaned his body from the
inside against the firmly bolted wing of the
door, so that only half his body was visible,
as well as his head, tilted sideways, with
which he peeped over at the others.
Meanwhile it had become much brighter.
Standing out clearly from the other side of
the street was a part of the endless grey-black
house situated opposite—it was a hospital—with
its severe regular windows breaking up the
facade.
The rain was still coming down, but only in
large individual drops visibly and firmly
thrown down one by one onto the ground.
The breakfast dishes were standing piled around
on the table, because for his father breakfast
was the most important meal time in the day,
which he prolonged for hours by reading various
newspapers.
Directly across on the opposite wall hung
a photograph of Gregor from the time of his
military service; it was a picture of him
as a lieutenant, as he, smiling and worry
free, with his hand on his sword, demanded
respect for his bearing and uniform.
The door to the hall was ajar, and since the
door to the apartment was also open, one could
see out into the landing of the apartment
and the start of the staircase going down.
"Now," said Gregor, well aware that he was
the only one who had kept his composure.
"I'll get dressed right away, pack up the
collection of samples, and set off.
You'll allow me to set out on my way, will
you not?
You see, Mr. Manager, I am not pig-headed,
and I am happy to work.
Travelling is exhausting, but I couldn't live
without it.
Where are you going, Mr. Manager?
To the office?
Really?
Will you report everything truthfully?
A person can be incapable of work momentarily,
but that's precisely the best time to remember
the earlier achievements and to consider that
later, after the obstacles have been shoved
aside, the person will work all the more eagerly
and intensely.
I am really so indebted to Mr. Chief--you
know that perfectly well.
On the other hand, I am concerned about my
parents and my sister.
I'm in a fix, but I'll work myself out of
it again.
Don't make things more difficult for me than
they already are.
Speak up on my behalf in the office!
People don't like travelling salesmen.
I know that.
People think they earn pots of money and thus
lead a fine life.
People don't even have any special reason
to think through this judgment more clearly.
But you, Mr. Manager, you have a better perspective
on what's involved than other people, even,
I tell you in total confidence, a better perspective
than Mr. Chairman himself, who in his capacity
as the employer may let his judgment make
casual mistakes at the expense of an employee.
You also know well enough that the travelling
salesman who is outside the office almost
the entire year can become so easily a victim
of gossip, coincidences, and groundless complaints,
against which it's impossible for him to defend
himself, since for the most part he doesn't
hear about them at all and only then when
he's exhausted after finishing a trip and
at home gets to feel in his own body the nasty
consequences, which can't be thoroughly explored
back to their origins.
Mr. Manager, don't leave without speaking
a word telling me that you'll at least concede
that I'm a little in the right!"
But at Gregor's first words the manager had
already turned away, and now he looked back
at Gregor over his twitching shoulders with
pursed lips.
During Gregor's speech he was not still for
a moment but kept moving away towards the
door, without taking his eyes off Gregor,
but really gradually, as if there was a secret
ban on leaving the room.
He was already in the hall, and given the
sudden movement with which he finally pulled
his foot out of the living room, one could
have believed that he had just burned the
sole of his foot.
In the hall, however, he stretched his right
hand out away from his body towards the staircase,
as if some truly supernatural relief was waiting
for him there.
Gregor realized that he must not under any
circumstances allow the manager to go away
in this frame of mind, especially if his position
in the firm was not to be placed in the greatest
danger.
His parents did not understand all this very
well.
Over the long years, they had developed the
conviction that Gregor was set up for life
in his firm and, in addition, they had so
much to do nowadays with their present troubles
that all foresight was foreign to them.
But Gregor had this foresight.
The manager must be held back, calmed down,
convinced, and finally won over.
The future of Gregor and his family really
depended on it!
If only the sister had been there!
She was clever.
She had already cried while Gregor was still
lying quietly on his back.
And the manager, this friend of the ladies,
would certainly let himself be guided by her.
She would have closed the door to the apartment
and talked him out of his fright in the hall.
But the sister was not even there.
Gregor must deal with it himself.
Without thinking that as yet he didn't know
anything about his present ability to move
and that his speech possibly—indeed probably—had
once again not been understood, he left the
wing of the door, pushed himself through the
opening, and wanted to go over to the manager,
who was already holding tight onto the handrail
with both hands on the landing in a ridiculous
way.
But as he looked for something to hold onto,
with a small scream Gregor immediately fell
down onto his numerous little legs.
Scarcely had this happened, when he felt for
the first time that morning a general physical
well being.
The small limbs had firm floor under them;
they obeyed perfectly, as he noticed to his
joy, and strove to carry him forward in the
direction he wanted.
Right away he believed that the final amelioration
of all his suffering was immediately at hand.
But at the very moment when he lay on the
floor rocking in a restrained manner quite
close and directly across from his mother,
who had apparently totally sunk into herself,
she suddenly sprang right up with her arms
spread far apart and her fingers extended
and cried out, "Help, for God's sake, help!"
She held her head bowed down, as if she wanted
to view Gregor better, but ran senselessly
back, contradicting that gesture, forgetting
that behind her stood the table with all the
dishes on it.
When she reached the table, she sat down heavily
on it, as if absent-mindedly, and did not
appear to notice at all that next to her coffee
was pouring out onto the carpet in a full
stream from the large overturned container.
"Mother, mother," said Gregor quietly, and
looked over towards her.
The manager momentarily had disappeared completely
from his mind.
At the sight of the flowing coffee Gregor
couldn't stop himself snapping his jaws in
the air a few times . At that his mother screamed
all over again, hurried from the table, and
collapsed into the arms of his father, who
was rushing towards her.
But Gregor had no time right now for his parents—the
manager was already on the staircase.
His chin level with the banister, the manager
looked back for the last time.
Gregor took an initial movement to catch up
to him if possible.
But the manager must have suspected something,
because he made a leap down over a few stairs
and disappeared, still shouting "Huh!"
The sound echoed throughout the entire stairwell.
Now, unfortunately this flight of the manager
also seemed to bewilder his father completely.
Earlier he had been relatively calm, for instead
of running after the manager himself or at
least not hindering Gregor from his pursuit,
with his right hand he grabbed hold of the
manager's cane, which he had left behind with
his hat and overcoat on a chair.
With his left hand, his father picked up a
large newspaper from the table and, stamping
his feet on the floor, he set out to drive
Gregor back into his room by waving the cane
and the newspaper.
No request of Gregor's was of any use; no
request would even be understood.
No matter how willing he was to turn his head
respectfully, his father just stomped all
the harder with his feet.
Across the room from him his mother had pulled
open a window, in spite of the cool weather,
and leaning out with her hands on her cheeks,
she pushed her face far outside the window.
Between the alley and the stairwell a strong
draught came up, the curtains on the window
flew around, the newspapers on the table swished,
and individual sheets fluttered down over
the floor.
The father relentlessly pressed forward, pushing
out sibilants, like a wild man.
Now, Gregor had no practice at all in going
backwards—it was really very slow going.
If Gregor only had been allowed to turn himself
around, he would have been in his room right
away, but he was afraid to make his father
impatient by the time-consuming process of
turning around, and each moment he faced the
threat of a mortal blow on his back or his
head from the cane in his father's hand.
Finally Gregor had no other option, for he
noticed with horror that he did not understand
yet how to maintain his direction going backwards.
And so he began, amid constantly anxious sideways
glances in his father's direction, to turn
himself around as quickly as possible, although
in truth this was only done very slowly.
Perhaps his father noticed his good intentions,
for he did not disrupt Gregor in this motion,
but with the tip of the cane from a distance
he even directed Gregor's rotating movement
here and there.
If only his father had not hissed so unbearably!
Because of that Gregor totally lost his head.
He was already almost totally turned around,
when, always with this hissing in his ear,
he just made a mistake and turned himself
back a little.
But when he finally was successful in getting
his head in front of the door opening, it
became clear that his body was too wide to
go through any further.
Naturally his father, in his present mental
state, had no idea of opening the other wing
of the door a bit to create a suitable passage
for Gregor to get through.
His single fixed thought was that Gregor must
get into his room as quickly as possible.
He would never have allowed the elaborate
preparations that Gregor required to orient
himself and thus perhaps get through the door.
On the contrary, as if there were no obstacle
and with a peculiar noise, he now drove Gregor
forwards.
Behind Gregor the sound at this point was
no longer like the voice of only a single
father.
Now it was really no longer a joke, and Gregor
forced himself, come what might, into the
door.
One side of his body was lifted up.
He lay at an angle in the door opening.
His one flank was sore with the scraping.
On the white door ugly blotches were left.
Soon he was stuck fast and would have not
been able to move any more on his own.
The tiny legs on one side hung twitching in
the air above, and the ones on the other side
were pushed painfully into the floor.
Then his father gave him one really strong
liberating push from behind, and he scurried,
bleeding severely, far into the interior of
his room.
The door was slammed shut with the cane, and
finally it was quiet.
End of chapter I.
Chapter II, part 1
Gregor first woke up from his heavy swoon-like
sleep in the evening twilight.
He would certainly have woken up soon afterwards
without any disturbance, for he felt himself
sufficiently rested and wide awake, although
it appeared to him as if a hurried step and
a cautious closing of the door to the hall
had aroused him.
Light from the electric streetlamps lay pale
here and there on the ceiling and on the higher
parts of the furniture, but underneath around
Gregor it was dark.
He pushed himself slowly toward the door,
still groping awkwardly with his feelers,
which he now learned to value for the first
time, to check what was happening there.
His left side seemed one single long unpleasantly
stretched scar, and he really had to hobble
on his two rows of legs.
In addition, one small leg had been seriously
wounded in the course of the morning incident—it
was almost a miracle that only one had been
hurt—and dragged lifelessly behind.
By the door he first noticed what had really
lured him there: it was the smell of something
to eat.
A bowl stood there, filled with sweetened
milk, in which swam tiny pieces of white bread.
He almost laughed with joy, for he now had
a much greater hunger than in the morning,
and he immediately dipped his head almost
up to and over his eyes down into the milk.
But he soon drew it back again in disappointment,
not just because it was difficult for him
to eat on account of his delicate left side—he
could eat only if his entire panting body
worked in a coordinated way—but also because
the milk, which otherwise was his favourite
drink and which his sister had certainly placed
there for that reason, did not appeal to him
at all.
He turned away from the bowl almost with aversion
and crept back into the middle of the room.
In the living room, as Gregor saw through
the crack in the door, the gas was lit, but
where, on other occasions at this time of
day, his father was accustomed to read the
afternoon newspaper in a loud voice to his
mother and sometimes also to his sister, at
the moment no sound was audible.
Now, perhaps this reading aloud, about which
his sister had always spoken and written to
him, had recently fallen out of their general
routine.
But it was so still all around, in spite of
the fact that the apartment was certainly
not empty.
"What a quiet life the family leads," said
Gregor to himself and, as he stared fixedly
out in front of him into the darkness, he
felt a great pride that he had been able to
provide such a life in a beautiful apartment
like this for his parents and his sister.
But how would things go if now all tranquillity,
all prosperity, all contentment should come
to a horrible end?
In order not to lose himself in such thoughts,
Gregor preferred to set himself moving, so
he moved up and down in his room.
Once during the long evening one side door
and then the other door was opened just a
tiny crack and quickly closed again.
Someone presumably needed to come in but had
then thought better of it.
Gregor immediately took up a position by the
living room door, determined to bring in the
hesitant visitor somehow or other or at least
to find out who it might be.
But now the door was not opened any more,
and Gregor waited in vain.
Earlier, when the door had been barred, they
had all wanted to come in to him; now, when
he had opened one door and when the others
had obviously been opened during the day,
no one came any more, and the keys were stuck
in the locks on the outside.
The light in the living room was turned off
only late at night, and now it was easy to
establish that his parents and his sister
had stayed awake all this time, for one could
hear clearly as all three moved away on tiptoe.
Now it was certain that no one would come
into Gregor any more until the morning.
Thus, he had a long time to think undisturbed
about how he should reorganize his life from
scratch.
But the high, open room, in which he was compelled
to lie flat on the floor, made him anxious,
without his being able to figure out the reason,
for he had lived in the room for five years.
With a half unconscious turn and not without
a slight shame he scurried under the couch,
where, in spite of the fact that his back
was a little cramped and he could no longer
lift up his head, he felt very comfortable
and was sorry only that his body was too wide
to fit completely under it.
There he remained the entire night, which
he spent partly in a state of semi-sleep,
out of which his hunger constantly woke him
with a start, but partly in a state of worry
and murky hopes, which all led to the conclusion
that for the time being he would have to keep
calm and with patience and the greatest consideration
for his family tolerate the troubles which
in his present condition he was now forced
to cause them.
Already early in the morning—it was still
almost night—Gregor had an opportunity to
test the power of the decisions he had just
made, for his sister, almost fully dressed,
opened the door from the hall into his room
and looked eagerly inside.
She did not find him immediately, but when
she noticed him under the couch—God, he
had to be somewhere or other, for he could
hardly fly away—she got such a shock that,
without being able to control herself, she
slammed the door shut once again from the
outside.
However, as if she was sorry for her behaviour,
she immediately opened the door again and
walked in on her tiptoes, as if she was in
the presence of a serious invalid or a total
stranger.
Gregor had pushed his head forward just to
the edge of the couch and was observing her.
Would she really notice that he had left the
milk standing, not indeed from any lack of
hunger, and would she bring in something else
to eat more suitable for him?
If she did not do it on her own, he would
sooner starve to death than call her attention
to the fact, although he had a really powerful
urge to move beyond the couch, throw himself
at his sister's feet, and beg her for something
or other good to eat.
But his sister noticed right away with astonishment
that the bowl was still full, with only a
little milk spilled around it.
She picked it up immediately, although not
with her bare hands but with a rag, and took
it out of the room.
Gregor was extremely curious what she would
bring as a substitute, and he pictured to
himself different ideas about it.
But he never could have guessed what his sister
out of the goodness of her heart in fact did.
She brought him, to test his taste, an entire
selection, all spread out on an old newspaper.
There were old half-rotten vegetables, bones
from the evening meal, covered with a white
sauce which had almost solidified, some raisins
and almonds, cheese which Gregor had declared
inedible two days earlier, a slice of dry
bread, and a slice of salted bread smeared
with butter.
In addition to all this, she put down a bowl—probably
designated once and for all as Gregor's—into
which she had poured some water.
And out of her delicacy of feeling, since
she knew that Gregor would not eat in front
of her, she went away very quickly and even
turned the key in the lock, so that Gregor
would now observe that he could make himself
as comfortable as he wished.
Gregor's small limbs buzzed now that the time
for eating had come.
His wounds must, in any case, have already
healed completely.
He felt no handicap on that score.
He was astonished at that and thought about
how more than a month ago he had cut his finger
slightly with a knife and how this wound had
hurt enough even the day before yesterday.
"Am I now going to be less sensitive," he
thought, already sucking greedily on the cheese,
which had strongly attracted him right away,
more than all the other foods.
Quickly and with his eyes watering with satisfaction,
he ate one after the other the cheese, the
vegetables, and the sauce.
The fresh food, by contrast, didn't taste
good to him.
He couldn't bear the smell and even carried
the things he wanted to eat a little distance
away.
By the time his sister slowly turned the key
as a sign that he should withdraw, he was
long finished and now lay lazily in the same
spot.
The noise immediately startled him, in spite
of the fact that he was already almost asleep,
and he scurried back again under the couch.
But it cost him great self-control to remain
under the couch, even for the short time his
sister was in the room, because his body had
filled out somewhat on account of the rich
meal and in the narrow space there he could
scarcely breathe.
In the midst of minor attacks of asphyxiation,
he looked at her with somewhat protruding
eyes, as his unsuspecting sister swept up
with a broom, not just the remnants, but even
the foods which Gregor had not touched at
all, as if these were also now useless, and
as she dumped everything quickly into a bucket,
which she closed with a wooden lid, and then
carried all of it out of the room.
She had hardly turned around before Gregor
had already dragged himself out from the couch,
stretched out, and let his body expand.
In this way Gregor got his food every day,
once in the morning, when his parents and
the servant girl were still asleep, and a
second time after the common noon meal, for
his parents were, as before, asleep then for
a little while, and the servant girl was sent
off by his sister on some errand or other.
They certainly would not have wanted Gregor
to starve to death, but perhaps they could
not have endured finding out what he ate other
than by hearsay.
Perhaps his sister wanted to spare them what
was possibly only a small grief, for they
were really suffering quite enough already.
What sorts of excuses people had used on that
first morning to get the doctor and the locksmith
out of the house Gregor was completely unable
to ascertain.
Since they could not understand him, no one,
not even his sister, thought that he might
be able to understand others, and thus, when
his sister was in her room, he had to be content
with listening now and then to her sighs and
invocations to the saints.
Only later, when she had grown somewhat accustomed
to everything—naturally there could never
be any talk of her growing completely accustomed
to it—Gregor sometimes caught a comment
which was intended to be friendly or could
be interpreted as such.
"Well, today it tasted good to him," she said,
if Gregor had really cleaned up what he had
to eat; whereas, in the reverse situation,
which gradually repeated itself more and more
frequently, she used to say sadly, "Now everything
has stopped again."
But while Gregor could get no new information
directly, he did hear a good deal from the
room next door, and as soon as he heard voices,
he scurried right away to the appropriate
door and pressed his entire body against it.
In the early days especially, there was no
conversation which was not concerned with
him in some way or other, even if only in
secret.
For two days at all meal times discussions
on that subject could be heard on how people
should now behave; but they also talked about
the same subject in the times between meals,
for there were always at least two family
members at home, since no one really wanted
to remain in the house alone and people could
not under any circumstances leave the apartment
completely empty.
In addition, on the very first day the servant
girl—it was not completely clear what and
how much she knew about what had happened—on
her knees had begged his mother to let her
go immediately, and when she said good bye
about fifteen minutes later, she thanked them
for the dismissal with tears in her eyes,
as if she was receiving the greatest favour
which people had shown her there, and, without
anyone demanding it from her, she swore a
fearful oath not to betray anyone, not even
the slightest bit.
Now his sister had to team up with his mother
to do the cooking, although that didn't create
much trouble because people were eating almost
nothing.
Again and again Gregor listened as one of
them vainly invited another one to eat and
received no answer other than "Thank you.
I've had enough" or something like that.
And perhaps they had stopped having anything
to drink, too.
His sister often asked his father whether
he wanted to have a beer and gladly offered
to fetch it herself, and when his father was
silent, she said, in order to remove any reservations
he might have, that she could send the caretaker's
wife to get it.
But then his father finally said a resounding
"No," and nothing more would be spoken about
it.
Already during the first day his father laid
out all the financial circumstances and prospects
to his mother and to his sister as well.
From time to time he stood up from the table
and pulled out of the small lockbox salvaged
from his business, which had collapsed five
years previously, some document or other or
some notebook.
The sound was audible as he opened up the
complicated lock and, after removing what
he was looking for, locked it up again.
These explanations by his father were, in
part, the first enjoyable thing that Gregor
had the chance to listen to since his imprisonment.
He had thought that nothing at all was left
over for his father from that business; at
least his father had told him nothing to contradict
that view, and Gregor in any case hadn't asked
him about it.
At the time Gregor's only concern had been
to use everything he had in order to allow
his family to forget as quickly as possible
the business misfortune which had brought
them all into a state of complete hopelessness.
And so at that point he'd started to work
with a special intensity and from an assistant
had become, almost overnight, a travelling
salesman, who naturally had entirely different
possibilities for earning money and whose
successes at work were converted immediately
into the form of cash commissions, which could
be set out on the table at home in front of
his astonished and delighted family.
Those had been beautiful days, and they had
never come back afterwards, at least not with
the same splendour, in spite of the fact that
Gregor later earned so much money that he
was in a position to bear the expenses of
the entire family, costs which he, in fact,
did bear.
They had become quite accustomed to it, both
the family and Gregor as well.
They took the money with thanks, and he happily
surrendered it, but the special warmth was
no longer present.
Only the sister had remained still close to
Gregor, and it was his secret plan to send
her next year to the conservatory, regardless
of the great expense which that necessarily
involved and which would be made up in other
ways.
In contrast to Gregor she loved music very
much and knew how to play the violin charmingly.
Now and then during Gregor's short stays in
the city the conservatory was mentioned in
conversations with his sister, but always
only as a beautiful dream, whose realization
was unimaginable, and their parents never
listened to these innocent expectations with
pleasure.
But Gregor thought about them with scrupulous
consideration and intended to explain the
matter ceremoniously on Christmas Eve.
In his present situation, such futile ideas
went through his head, while he pushed himself
right up against the door and listened.
Sometimes in his general exhaustion he couldn't
listen any more and let his head bang listlessly
against the door, but he immediately pulled
himself together, for even the small sound
which he made by this motion was heard near
by and silenced everyone.
"There he goes on again," said his father
after a while, clearly turning towards the
door, and only then would the interrupted
conversation gradually be resumed again.
Gregor found out clearly enough—for his
father tended to repeat himself often in his
explanations, partly because he had not personally
concerned himself with these matters for a
long time now, and partly also because his
mother did not understand everything right
away the first time—that, in spite all bad
luck, a fortune, although a very small one,
was available from the old times, which the
interest, which had not been touched, had
in the intervening time gradually allowed
to increase a little.
Furthermore, in addition to this, the money
which Gregor had brought home every month—he
had kept only a few florins for himself—had
not been completely spent and had grown into
a small capital amount.
Gregor, behind his door, nodded eagerly, rejoicing
over this unanticipated foresight and frugality.
True, with this excess money, he could have
paid off more of his father's debt to his
employer and the day on which he could be
rid of this position would have been a lot
closer, but now things were doubtless better
the way his father had arranged them.
At the moment, however, this money was not
nearly sufficient to permit the family to
live on the interest payments.
Perhaps it would be enough to maintain the
family for one or at most two years, that's
all.
Thus, it only added up to an amount which
one should not really draw upon and which
must be set aside for an emergency.
But the money to live on had to be earned.
Now, although his father was old, he was a
healthy man who had not worked at all for
five years and thus could not be counted on
for very much.
He had in these five years, the first holidays
of his trouble-filled but unsuccessful life,
put on a good deal of fat and thus had become
really heavy.
And should his old mother now perhaps work
for money, a woman who suffered from asthma,
for whom wandering through the apartment even
now was a great strain and who spent every
second day on the sofa by the open window
labouring for breath?
Should his sister earn money, a girl who was
still a seventeen-year-old child whose earlier
life style had been so very delightful that
it had consisted of dressing herself nicely,
sleeping in late, helping around the house,
taking part in a few modest enjoyments and,
above all, playing the violin?
When it came to talking about this need to
earn money, at first Gregor went away from
the door and threw himself on the cool leather
sofa beside the door, for he was quite hot
from shame and sorrow.
Often he lay there all night long.
He didn't sleep a moment and just scratched
on the leather for hours at a time.
He undertook the very difficult task of shoving
a chair over to the window.
Then he crept up on the window sill and, braced
in the chair, leaned against the window to
look out, obviously with some memory or other
of the satisfaction which that used to bring
him in earlier times.
Actually, from day to day he perceived things
with less and less clarity, even those a short
distance away: the hospital across the street,
the all-too-frequent sight of which he had
previously cursed, was not visible at all
any more, and if he had not been precisely
aware that he lived in the quiet but completely
urban Charlotte Street, he could have believed
that from his window he was peering out at
a featureless wasteland, in which the grey
heaven and the grey earth had merged and were
indistinguishable.
His attentive sister must have observed a
couple of times that the chair stood by the
window; then, after cleaning up the room,
each time she pushed the chair back right
against the window and from now on she even
left the inner casement open.
If Gregor had only been able to speak to his
sister and thank her for everything that she
had to do for him, he would have tolerated
her service more easily.
As it was, he suffered under it.
The sister admittedly sought to cover up the
awkwardness of everything as much as possible,
and, as time went by, she naturally got more
successful at it.
But with the passing of time Gregor also came
to understand everything more precisely.
Even her entrance was terrible for him.
As soon as she entered, she ran straight to
the window, without taking the time to shut
the door, in spite of the fact that she was
otherwise very considerate in sparing anyone
the sight of Gregor's room, and yanked the
window open with eager hands, as if she was
almost suffocating, and remained for a while
by the window breathing deeply, even when
it was still so cold.
With this running and noise she frightened
Gregor twice every day.
The entire time he trembled under the couch,
and yet he knew very well that she would certainly
have spared him gladly if it had only been
possible to remain with the window closed
in a room where Gregor lived.
End of chapter II, part 1.
Chapter II, part 2
On one occasion—about one month had already
gone by since Gregor's transformation, and
there was now no particular reason any more
for his sister to be startled at Gregor's
appearance—she arrived a little earlier
than usual and came upon Gregor as he was
still looking out the window, immobile and
well positioned to frighten someone.
It would not have come as a surprise to Gregor
if she had not come in, since his position
was preventing her from opening the window
immediately.
But she not only did not step inside; she
even retreated and shut the door.
A stranger really might have concluded from
this that Gregor had been lying in wait for
her and wanted to bite her.
Of course, Gregor immediately concealed himself
under the couch, but he had to wait until
the noon meal before his sister returned,
and she seemed much less calm than usual.
From this he realized that his appearance
was still constantly intolerable to her and
must remain intolerable in future, and that
she really had to exert a lot of self-control
not to run away from a glimpse of only the
small part of his body which stuck out from
under the couch.
In order to spare her even this sight, one
day he dragged the sheet on his back and onto
the couch—this task took him four hours—and
arranged it in such a way that he was now
completely concealed and his sister, even
if she bent down, could not see him.
If this sheet was not necessary as far as
she was concerned, then she could remove it,
for it was clear enough that Gregor could
not derive any pleasure from isolating himself
away so completely.
But she left the sheet just as it was, and
Gregor believed he even caught a look of gratitude
when, on one occasion, he carefully lifted
up the sheet a little with his head to check,
as his sister took stock of the new arrangement.
In the first two weeks his parents could not
bring themselves to visit him, and he often
heard how they fully acknowledged his sister's
present work; whereas, earlier they had often
got annoyed at his sister because she had
seemed to them a somewhat useless young woman.
However, now both his father and his mother
often waited in front of Gregor's door while
his sister cleaned up inside, and as soon
as she came out, she had to explain in detail
how things looked in the room, what Gregor
had eaten, how he had behaved this time, and
whether perhaps a slight improvement was perceptible.
In any event, his mother comparatively soon
wanted to visit Gregor, but his father and
his sister restrained her, at first with reasons
which Gregor listened to very attentively
and which he completely endorsed.
Later, however, they had to hold her back
forcefully, and when she then cried "Let me
go to Gregor.
He's my unlucky son!
Don't you understand that I have to go to
him?"
Gregor then thought that perhaps it would
be a good thing if his mother came in, not
every day, of course, but maybe once a week.
She understood everything much better than
his sister, who, in spite of all her courage,
was still a child and, in the last analysis,
had perhaps undertaken such a difficult task
only out of childish recklessness.
Gregor's wish to see his mother was soon realized.
While during the day Gregor, out of consideration
for his parents, did not want to show himself
by the window, he couldn't crawl around very
much on the few square metres of the floor.
He found it difficult to bear lying quietly
during the night, and soon eating no longer
gave him the slightest pleasure.
So for diversion he acquired the habit of
crawling back and forth across the walls and
ceiling.
He was especially fond of hanging from the
ceiling.
The experience was quite different from lying
on the floor.
It was easier to breathe, a slight vibration
went through his body, and in the midst of
the almost happy amusement which Gregor found
up there, it could happen that, to his own
surprise, he let go and hit the floor.
However, now he naturally controlled his body
quite differently, and he did not injure himself
in such a great fall.
His sister noticed immediately the new amusement
which Gregor had found for himself—for as
he crept around he left behind here and there
traces of his sticky stuff—and so she got
the idea of making Gregor's creeping around
as easy as possible and thus of removing the
furniture which got in the way, especially
the chest of drawers and the writing desk.
But she was in no position to do this by herself.
She did not dare to ask her father to help,
and the servant girl would certainly not have
assisted her, for although this girl, about
sixteen years old, had courageously remained
since the dismissal of the previous cook,
she had begged for the privilege of being
allowed to stay permanently confined to the
kitchen and of having to open the door only
in answer to a special summons.
Thus, his sister had no other choice but to
involve his mother while his father was absent.
His mother approached Gregor's room with cries
of excited joy, but she fell silent at the
door.
Of course, his sister first checked whether
everything in the room was in order.
Only then did she let his mother walk in.
In great haste Gregor had drawn the sheet
down even further and wrinkled it more.
The whole thing really looked just like a
coverlet thrown carelessly over the couch.
On this occasion, Gregor held back from spying
out from under the sheet.
Thus, he refrained from looking at his mother
this time and was just happy that she had
come.
"Come on; he’s not visible," said his sister,
and evidently led his mother by the hand.
Now Gregor listened as these two weak women
shifted the still heavy old chest of drawers
from its position, and as his sister constantly
took on herself the greater part of the work,
without listening to the warnings of his mother,
who was afraid that she would strain herself.
The work lasted a long time.
After about a quarter of an hour had already
gone by, his mother said it would be better
if they left the chest of drawers where it
was, because, in the first place, it was too
heavy: they would not be finished before his
father's arrival, and leaving the chest of
drawers in the middle of the room would block
all Gregor's pathways, but, in the second
place, they could not be certain that Gregor
would be pleased with the removal of the furniture.
To her the reverse seemed to be true; the
sight of the empty walls pierced her right
to the heart, and why should Gregor not feel
the same, since he had been accustomed to
the room furnishings for a long time and in
an empty room would feel himself abandoned?
"And is it not the case," his mother concluded
very quietly, almost whispering as if she
wished to prevent Gregor, whose exact location
she really didn't know, from hearing even
the sound of her voice—for she was convinced
that he did not understand her words—"and
isn't it a fact that by removing the furniture
we're showing that we're giving up all hope
of an improvement and are leaving him to his
own resources without any consideration?
I think it would be best if we tried to keep
the room exactly in the condition it was in
before, so that, when Gregor returns to us,
he finds everything unchanged and can forget
the intervening time all the more easily."
As he heard his mother's words Gregor realized
that the lack of all immediate human contact,
together with the monotonous life surrounded
by the family over the course of these two
months, must have confused his understanding,
because otherwise he couldn't explain to himself
how he, in all seriousness, could have been
so keen to have his room emptied.
Was he really eager to let the warm room,
comfortably furnished with pieces he had inherited,
be turned into a cavern in which he would,
of course, then be able to crawl about in
all directions without disturbance, but at
the same time with a quick and complete forgetting
of his human past as well?
Was he then at this point already on the verge
of forgetting and was it only the voice of
his mother, which he had not heard for a long
time, that had aroused him?
Nothing was to be removed—everything must
remain.
In his condition he could not function without
the beneficial influences of his furniture.
And if the furniture prevented him from carrying
out his senseless crawling about all over
the place, then there was no harm in that,
but rather a great benefit.
But his sister unfortunately thought otherwise.
She had grown accustomed, certainly not without
justification, so far as the discussion of
matters concerning Gregor was concerned, to
act as an special expert with respect to their
parents, and so now the mother's advice was
for his sister sufficient reason to insist
on the removal, not only of the chest of drawers
and the writing desk, which were the only
items she had thought about at first, but
also of all the furniture, with the exception
of the indispensable couch.
Of course, it was not only childish defiance
and her recent very unexpected and hard won
self-confidence which led her to this demand.
She had also actually observed that Gregor
needed a great deal of room to creep about;
the furniture, on the other hand, as far as
one could see, was not of the slightest use.
But perhaps the enthusiastic sensibility of
young women of her age also played a role.
This feeling sought release at every opportunity,
and with it Grete now felt tempted to want
to make Gregor's situation even more terrifying,
so that then she would be able to do even
more for him than now.
For surely no one except Grete would ever
trust themselves to enter a room in which
Gregor ruled the empty walls all by himself.
And so she did not let herself be dissuaded
from her decision by her mother, who in this
room seemed uncertain of herself in her sheer
agitation and soon kept quiet, helping his
sister with all her energy to get the chest
of drawers out of the room.
Now, Gregor could still do without the chest
of drawers if need be, but the writing desk
really had to stay.
And scarcely had the women left the room with
the chest of drawers, groaning as they pushed
it, when Gregor stuck his head out from under
the sofa to take a look how he could intervene
cautiously and with as much consideration
as possible.
But unfortunately it was his mother who came
back into the room first, while Grete had
her arms wrapped around the chest of drawers
in the next room and was rocking it back and
forth by herself, without moving it from its
position.
His mother was not used to the sight of Gregor;
he could have made her ill, and so, frightened,
Gregor scurried backwards right to the other
end of the sofa, but he could no longer prevent
the sheet from moving forward a little.
That was enough to catch his mother's attention.
She came to a halt, stood still for a moment,
and then went back to Grete.
Although Gregor kept repeating to himself
over and over that really nothing unusual
was going on, that only a few pieces of furniture
were being rearranged, he soon had to admit
to himself that the movements of the women
to and fro, their quiet conversations, and
the scratching of the furniture on the floor
affected him like a great swollen commotion
on all sides, and, so firmly was he pulling
in his head and legs and pressing his body
into the floor, he had to tell himself unequivocally
that he wouldn't be able to endure all this
much longer.
They were cleaning out his room, taking away
from him everything he cherished; they had
already dragged out the chest of drawers in
which the fret saw and other tools were kept,
and they were now loosening the writing desk
which was fixed tight to the floor, the desk
on which he, as a business student, a school
student, indeed even as an elementary school
student, had written out his assignments.
At that moment he really didn't have any more
time to check the good intentions of the two
women, whose existence he had in any case
almost forgotten, because in their exhaustion
they were working really silently, and the
heavy stumbling of their feet was the only
sound to be heard.
And so he scuttled out—the women were just
propping themselves up on the writing desk
in the next room in order to take a breather—changing
the direction of his path four times.
He really didn't know what he should rescue
first.
Then he saw hanging conspicuously on the wall,
which was otherwise already empty, the picture
of the woman dressed in nothing but fur.
He quickly scurried up over it and pressed
himself against the glass which held it in
place and which made his hot abdomen feel
good.
At least this picture, which Gregor at the
moment completely concealed, surely no one
would now take away.
He twisted his head towards the door of the
living room to observe the women as they came
back in.
They had not allowed themselves very much
rest and were coming back right away.
Grete had placed her arm around her mother
and held her tightly.
"So what shall we take now?" said Grete and
looked around her.
Then her glance met Gregor's from the wall.
She kept her composure only because her mother
was there.
She bent her face towards her mother in order
to prevent her from looking around, and said,
although in a trembling voice and too quickly,
"Come, wouldn't it be better to go back to
the living room for just another moment?"
Grete's purpose was clear to Gregor: she wanted
to bring his mother to a safe place and then
chase him down from the wall.
Well, let her just try!
He squatted on his picture and did not hand
it over.
He would sooner spring into Grete's face.
But Grete's words had immediately made the
mother very uneasy.
She walked to the side, caught sight of the
enormous brown splotch on the flowered wallpaper,
and, before she became truly aware that what
she was looking at was Gregor, screamed out
in a high pitched raw voice "Oh God, oh God"
and fell with outstretched arms, as if she
was surrendering everything, down onto the
couch and lay there motionless.
"Gregor, you.
. ." cried out his sister with a raised fist
and an urgent glare.
Since his transformation these were the first
words which she had directed right at him.
She ran into the room next door to bring some
spirits or other with which she could revive
her mother from her fainting spell.
Gregor wanted to help as well—there was
time enough to save the picture—but he was
stuck fast on the glass and had to tear himself
loose forcefully.
Then he also scurried into the next room,
as if he could give his sister some advice,
as in earlier times, but then he had to stand
there idly behind her, while she rummaged
about among various small bottles.
Still, she was frightened when she turned
around.
A bottle fell onto the floor and shattered.
A splinter of glass wounded Gregor in the
face, some corrosive medicine or other dripped
over him.
Now, without lingering any longer, Grete took
as many small bottles as she could hold and
ran with them into her mother.
She slammed the door shut with her foot.
Gregor was now shut off from his mother, who
was perhaps near death, thanks to him.
He could not open the door, and he did not
want to chase away his sister who had to remain
with her mother.
At this point he had nothing to do but wait,
and overwhelmed with self-reproach and worry,
he began to creep and crawl over everything:
walls, furniture, and ceiling.
Finally, in his despair, as the entire room
started to spin around him, he fell onto the
middle of the large table.
A short time elapsed.
Gregor lay there limply.
All around was still.
Perhaps that was a good sign.
Then there was ring at the door.
The servant girl was naturally shut up in
her kitchen, and therefore Grete had to go
to open the door.
The father had arrived.
"What's happened?" were his first words.
Grete's appearance had told him everything.
Grete replied with a dull voice; evidently
she was pressing her face into her father's
chest: "Mother fainted, but she's getting
better now.
Gregor has broken loose."
"Yes, I have expected that," said his father,
"I always told you that, but you women don't
want to listen."
It was clear to Gregor that his father had
badly misunderstood Grete's short message
and was assuming that Gregor had committed
some violent crime or other.
Thus, Gregor now had to find his father to
calm him down, for he had neither the time
nor the ability to explain things to him.
And so he rushed away to the door of his room
and pushed himself against it, so that his
father could see right away as he entered
from the hall that Gregor fully intended to
return at once to his room, that it was not
necessary to drive him back, but that one
only needed to open the door, and he would
disappear immediately.
But his father was not in the mood to observe
such niceties.
"Ah," he yelled as soon as he entered, with
a tone as if he were all at once angry and
pleased.
Gregor pulled his head back from the door
and raised it in the direction of his father.
He had not really pictured his father as he
now stood there.
Of course, what with his new style of creeping
all around, he had in the past while neglected
to pay attention to what was going on in the
rest of the apartment, as he had done before,
and really should have grasped the fact that
he would encounter different conditions.
Nevertheless, nevertheless, was that still
his father?
Was that the same man who had lain exhausted
and buried in bed in earlier days when Gregor
was setting out on a business trip, who had
received him on the evenings of his return
in a sleeping gown and arm chair, totally
incapable of standing up, who had only lifted
his arm as a sign of happiness, and who in
their rare strolls together a few Sundays
a year and on the important holidays made
his way slowly forwards between Gregor and
his mother—who themselves moved slowly—always
a bit more slowly than them, bundled up in
his old coat, all the time setting down his
walking stick carefully, and who, when he
had wanted to say something, almost always
stood still and gathered his entourage around
him?
But now he was standing up really straight,
dressed in a tight-fitting blue uniform with
gold buttons, like the ones servants wear
in a banking company.
Above the high stiff collar of his jacket
his firm double chin stuck out prominently,
beneath his bushy eyebrows the glance of his
black eyes was freshly penetrating and alert,
his otherwise dishevelled white hair was combed
down into a carefully exact shining part.
He threw his cap, on which a gold monogram,
apparently the symbol of the bank, was affixed,
in an arc across the entire room onto the
sofa and moved, throwing back the edge of
the long coat of his uniform, with his hands
in his trouser pockets and a grim face, right
up to Gregor.
He really didn't know what he had in mind,
but he raised his foot uncommonly high anyway,
and Gregor was astonished at the gigantic
size of the sole of his boot.
However, he did not linger on that point.
For he knew from the first day of his new
life that, as far as he was concerned, his
father considered the greatest force the only
appropriate response.
And so he scurried away from his father, stopped
when his father remained standing, and scampered
forward again when his father merely stirred.
In this way they made their way around the
room repeatedly, without anything decisive
taking place.
In fact, because of the slow pace, it didn't
look like a chase.
Gregor remained on the floor for the time
being, especially since he was afraid that
his father could take a flight up onto the
wall or the ceiling as an act of real malice.
At any event, Gregor had to tell himself that
he couldn't keep up this running around for
a long time, because whenever his father took
a single step, he had to go through an enormous
number of movements.
Already he was starting to suffer from a shortage
of breath, just as in his earlier days when
his lungs had been quite unreliable.
As he now staggered around in this way in
order to gather all his energies for running,
hardly keeping his eyes open and feeling so
listless that he had no notion at all of any
escape other than by running and had almost
already forgotten that the walls were available
to him, although they were obstructed by carefully
carved furniture full of sharp points and
spikes, at that moment something or other
thrown casually flew down close by and rolled
in front of him.
It was an apple.
Immediately a second one flew after it.
Gregor stood still in fright.
Further running away was useless, for his
father had decided to bombard him.
From the fruit bowl on the sideboard his father
had filled his pockets.
And now, without for the moment taking accurate
aim, he was throwing apple after apple.
These small red apples rolled around on the
floor, as if electrified, and collided with
each other.
A weakly thrown apple grazed Gregor's back
but skidded off harmlessly.
However, another thrown immediately after
that one drove into Gregor's back really hard.
Gregor wanted to drag himself off, as if the
unexpected and incredible pain would go away
if he changed his position.
But he felt as if he was nailed in place and
lay stretched out completely confused in all
his senses.
Only with his final glance did he notice how
the door of his room was pulled open and how,
right in front of his sister—who was yelling—his
mother ran out in her undergarments, for his
sister had undressed her in order to give
her some freedom to breathe in her fainting
spell, and how his mother then ran up to his
father, on the way her tied up skirts slipped
toward the floor one after the other, and
how, tripping over her skirts, she hurled
herself onto his father and, throwing her
arms around him, in complete union with him--but
at this moment Gregor's powers of sight gave
way--as her hands reached to the back of his
father's head and she begged him to spare
Gregor's life.
End of chapter II.
Chapter III, part 1
Gregor's serious wound, from which he suffered
for over a month—since no one ventured to
remove the apple, it remained in his flesh
as a visible reminder—seemed by itself to
have reminded the father that, in spite of
his present unhappy and hateful appearance,
Gregor was a member of the family, something
one should not treat as an enemy, and that
it was, on the contrary, a requirement of
family duty to suppress one's aversion and
to endure--nothing else, just endure.
And if through his wound Gregor had now apparently
lost for good his ability to move and for
the time being needed many, many minutes to
crawl across his room, like an aged invalid—so
far as creeping up high was concerned, that
was unimaginable—nevertheless for this worsening
of his condition, in his opinion, he did get
completely satisfactory compensation, because
every day towards evening the door to the
living room, which he was in the habit of
keeping a sharp eye on even one or two hours
beforehand, was opened, so that he, lying
down in the darkness of his room, invisible
from the living room, could see the entire
family at the illuminated table and listen
to their conversation, to a certain extent
with their common permission, a situation
quite different from what had happened before.
Of course, it was no longer the animated social
interaction of former times, which Gregor
in small hotel rooms had always thought about
with a certain longing, when, tired out, he
had had to throw himself into the damp bedclothes.
For the most part what went on now was very
quiet.
After the evening meal, the father fell asleep
quickly in his arm chair.
The mother and sister talked guardedly to
each other in the stillness.
Bent far over, the mother sewed fine undergarments
for a fashion shop.
The sister, who had taken on a job as a salesgirl,
in the evening studied stenography and French,
so as perhaps later to obtain a better position.
Sometimes the father woke up and, as if he
was quite ignorant that he had been asleep,
said to the mother "How long you have been
sewing today?" and went right back to sleep,
while the mother and the sister smiled tiredly
to each other.
With a sort of stubbornness the father refused
to take off his servant's uniform even at
home, and while his sleeping gown hung unused
on the coat hook, the father dozed completely
dressed in his place, as if he was always
ready for his responsibility and even here
was waiting for the voice of his superior.
As a result, in spite of all the care of the
mother and sister, his uniform, which even
at the start was not new, grew dirty, and
Gregor looked, often for the entire evening,
at this clothing, with stains all over it
and with its gold buttons always polished,
in which the old man, although very uncomfortable,
slept peacefully nonetheless.
As soon as the clock struck ten, the mother
tried gently encouraging the father to wake
up and then persuading him to go to bed, on
the ground that he couldn't get a proper sleep
here and that the father, who had to report
for service at six o'clock, really needed
a good sleep.
But in his stubbornness, which had gripped
him since he had become a servant, he insisted
always on staying even longer by the table,
although he regularly fell asleep and then
could only be prevailed upon with the greatest
difficulty to trade his chair for the bed.
No matter how much the mother and sister might
at that point work on him with small admonitions,
for a quarter of an hour he would remain shaking
his head slowly, his eyes closed, without
standing up.
The mother would pull him by the sleeve and
speak flattering words into his ear; the sister
would leave her work to help her mother, but
that would not have the desired effect on
the father.
He would settle himself even more deeply in
his arm chair.
Only when the two women grabbed him under
the armpits would he throw his eyes open,
look back and forth at the mother and sister,
and habitually say "This is a life.
This is the peace and quiet of my old age."
And propped up by both women, he would heave
himself up elaborately, as if for him it was
the greatest trouble, allow himself to be
led to the door by the women, wave them away
there, and proceed on his own from there,
while the mother quickly threw down her sewing
implements and the sister her pen in order
to run after the father and help him some
more.
In this overworked and exhausted family who
had time to worry any longer about Gregor
more than was absolutely necessary?
The household was constantly getting smaller.
The servant girl was now let go.
A huge bony cleaning woman with white hair
flying all over her head came in the morning
and evening to do the heaviest work.
The mother took care of everything else in
addition to her considerable sewing work.
It even happened that various pieces of family
jewellery, which previously the mother and
sister had been overjoyed to wear on social
and festive occasions, were sold, as Gregor
found out in the evening from the general
discussion of the prices they had fetched.
But the greatest complaint was always that
they could not leave this apartment, which
was too big for their present means, since
it was impossible to imagine how Gregor might
be moved.
But Gregor fully recognized that it was not
just consideration for him which was preventing
a move, for he could have been transported
easily in a suitable box with a few air holes.
The main thing holding the family back from
a change in living quarters was far more their
complete hopelessness and the idea that they
had been struck by a misfortune like no one
else in their entire circle of relatives and
acquaintances.
What the world demands of poor people they
now carried out to an extreme degree.
The father bought breakfast to the petty officials
at the bank, the mother sacrificed herself
for the undergarments of strangers, the sister
behind her desk was at the beck and call of
customers, but the family's energies did not
extend any further.
And the wound in his back began to pain Gregor
all over again, when now mother and sister,
after they had escorted the father to bed,
came back, let their work lie, moved close
together, and sat cheek to cheek and when
his mother would now say, pointing to Gregor's
room, "Close the door, Grete," and when Gregor
was again in the darkness, while close by
the women mingled their tears or, quite dry
eyed, stared at the table.
Gregor spent his nights and days with hardly
any sleep.
Sometimes he thought that the next time the
door opened he would take over the family
arrangements just as he had earlier.
In his imagination appeared again, after a
long time, his employer and supervisor and
the apprentices, the excessively spineless
custodian, two or three friends from other
businesses, a chambermaid from a hotel in
the provinces, a loving fleeting memory, a
female cashier from a hat shop, whom he had
seriously but too slowly courted--they all
appeared mixed in with strangers or people
he had already forgotten, but instead of helping
him and his family, they were all unapproachable,
and he was happy to see them disappear.
But then he was in no mood to worry about
his family.
He was filled with sheer anger over the wretched
care he was getting, even though he couldn't
imagine anything which he might have an appetite
for.
Still, he made plans about how he could take
from the larder what he at all account deserved,
even if he wasn't hungry.
Without thinking any more about how they might
be able to give Gregor special pleasure, the
sister now kicked some food or other very
quickly into his room in the morning and at
noon, before she ran off to her shop, and
in the evening, quite indifferent to whether
the food had perhaps only been tasted or,
what happened most frequently, remained entirely
undisturbed, she whisked it out with one sweep
of her broom.
The task of cleaning his room, which she now
always carried out in the evening, could not
be done any more quickly.
Streaks of dirt ran along the walls; here
and there lay tangles of dust and garbage.
At first, when his sister arrived, Gregor
positioned himself in a particularly filthy
corner in order with this posture to make
something of a protest.
But he could have well stayed there for weeks
without his sister's changing her ways.
In fact, she perceived the dirt as much as
he did, but she had decided just to let it
stay.
In this business, with a touchiness which
was quite new to her and which had generally
taken over the entire family, she kept watch
to see that the cleaning of Gregor's room
remained reserved for her.
Once his mother had undertaken a major cleaning
of Gregor's room, which she had only completed
successfully after using a few buckets of
water.
But the extensive dampness made Gregor sick
and he lay supine, embittered and immobile
on the couch.
However, the mother's punishment was not delayed
for long.
For in the evening the sister had hardly observed
the change in Gregor's room before she ran
into the living room mightily offended and,
in spite of her mother's hand lifted high
in entreaty, broke out in a fit of crying.
Her parents—the father had, of course, woken
up with a start in his arm chair—at first
looked at her astonished and helpless, until
they started to get agitated.
Turning to his right, the father heaped reproaches
on the mother that she was not to take over
the cleaning of Gregor's room from the sister
and, turning to his left, he shouted at the
sister that she would no longer be allowed
to clean Gregor's room ever again, while the
mother tried to pull the father, beside himself
in his excitement, into the bed room.
The sister, shaken by her crying fit, pounded
on the table with her tiny fists, and Gregor
hissed at all this, angry that no one thought
about shutting the door and sparing him the
sight of this commotion.
But even when the sister, exhausted from her
daily work, had grown tired of caring for
Gregor as she had before, even then the mother
did not have to come at all on her behalf.
And Gregor did not have to be neglected.
For now the cleaning woman was there.
This old widow, who in her long life must
have managed to survive the worst with the
help of her bony frame, had no real horror
of Gregor.
Without being in the least curious, she had
once by chance opened Gregor's door.
At the sight of Gregor, who, totally surprised,
began to scamper here and there, although
no one was chasing him, she remained standing
with her hands folded across her stomach staring
at him.
Since then she did not fail to open the door
furtively a little every morning and evening
to look in on Gregor.
At first, she also called him to her with
words which she presumably thought were friendly,
like "Come here for a bit, old dung beetle!"
or "Hey, look at the old dung beetle!"
Addressed in such a manner, Gregor answered
nothing, but remained motionless in his place,
as if the door had not been opened at all.
If only, instead of allowing this cleaning
woman to disturb him uselessly whenever she
felt like it, they had given her orders to
clean up his room every day!
One day in the early morning—a hard downpour,
perhaps already a sign of the coming spring,
struck the window panes—when the cleaning
woman started up once again with her usual
conversation, Gregor was so bitter that he
turned towards her, as if for an attack, although
slowly and weakly.
But instead of being afraid of him, the cleaning
woman merely lifted up a chair standing close
by the door and, as she stood there with her
mouth wide open, her intention was clear:
she would close her mouth only when the chair
in her hand had been thrown down on Gregor's
back.
"This goes no further, all right?" she asked,
as Gregor turned himself around again, and
she placed the chair calmly back in the corner.
Gregor ate hardly anything any more.
Only when he chanced to move past the food
which had been prepared did he, as a game,
take a bit into his mouth, hold it there for
hours, and generally spit it out again.
At first he thought it might be his sadness
over the condition of his room which kept
him from eating, but he very soon became reconciled
to the alterations in his room.
People had grown accustomed to put into storage
in his room things which they couldn't put
anywhere else, and at this point there were
many such things, now that they had rented
one room of the apartment to three lodgers.
These solemn gentlemen—all three had full
beards, as Gregor once found out through a
crack in the door—were meticulously intent
on tidiness, not only in their own room but,
since they had now rented a room here, in
the entire household, and particularly in
the kitchen.
They simply did not tolerate any useless or
shoddy stuff.
Moreover, for the most part they had brought
with them their own pieces of furniture.
Thus, many items had become superfluous, and
these were not really things one could sell
or things people wanted to throw out.
All these items ended up in Gregor's room,
even the box of ashes and the garbage pail
from the kitchen.
The cleaning woman, always in a hurry, simply
flung anything that was momentarily useless
into Gregor's room.
Fortunately Gregor generally saw only the
relevant object and the hand which held it.
The cleaning woman perhaps was intending,
when time and opportunity allowed, to take
the stuff out again or to throw everything
out all at once, but in fact the things remained
lying there, wherever they had ended up at
the first throw, unless Gregor squirmed his
way through the accumulation of junk and moved
it.
At first he was forced to do this because
otherwise there was no room for him to creep
around, but later he did it with a growing
pleasure, although after such movements, tired
to death and feeling wretched, he didn't budge
for hours.
Because the lodgers sometimes also took their
evening meal at home in the common living
room, the door to the living room stayed shut
on many evenings.
But Gregor had no trouble at all going without
the open door.
Already on many evenings when it was open
he had not availed himself of it, but, without
the family noticing, was stretched out in
the darkest corner of his room.
However, once the cleaning woman had left
the door to the living room slightly ajar,
and it remained open even when the lodgers
came in in the evening and the lights were
put on.
They sat down at the head of the table, where
in earlier days the mother, the father, and
Gregor had eaten, unfolded their serviettes,
and picked up their knives and forks.
The mother immediately appeared in the door
with a dish of meat and right behind her the
sister with a dish piled high with potatoes.
The food gave off a lot of steam.
The gentlemen lodgers bent over the plate
set before them, as if they wanted to check
it before eating, and in fact the one who
sat in the middle—for the other two he seemed
to serve as the authority—cut off a piece
of meat still on the plate obviously to establish
whether it was sufficiently tender and whether
or not something should be shipped back to
the kitchen.
He was satisfied, and mother and sister, who
had looked on in suspense, began to breathe
easily and to smile.
The family itself ate in the kitchen.
In spite of that, before the father went into
the kitchen, he came into the room and with
a single bow, cap in hand, made a tour of
the table.
The lodgers rose up collectively and murmured
something in their beards.
Then, when they were alone, they ate almost
in complete silence.
It seemed odd to Gregor that, out of all the
many different sorts of sounds of eating,
what was always audible was their chewing
teeth, as if by that Gregor should be shown
that people needed their teeth to eat and
that nothing could be done even with the most
handsome toothless jawbone.
"I really do have an appetite," Gregor said
to himself sorrowfully, "but not for these
things.
How these lodgers stuff themselves, and I
am dying."
On this very evening the violin sounded from
the kitchen.
Gregor didn't remember hearing it all through
this period.
The lodgers had already ended their night
meal, the middle one had pulled out a newspaper
and had given each of the other two a page,
and they were now leaning back, reading and
smoking.
When the violin started playing, they became
attentive, got up, and went on tiptoe to the
hall door, at which they remained standing
pressed up against one another.
They must have been audible from the kitchen,
because the father called out "Perhaps the
gentlemen don't like the playing?
It can be stopped at once."
"On the contrary," stated the lodger in the
middle, "might the young woman not come into
us and play in the room here, where it is
really much more comfortable and cheerful?"
"Oh, thank you," cried out the father, as
if he were the one playing the violin.
The men stepped back into the room and waited.
Soon the father came with the music stand,
the mother with the sheet music, and the sister
with the violin.
The sister calmly prepared everything for
the recital.
The parents, who had never previously rented
a room and therefore exaggerated their politeness
to the lodgers, dared not sit on their own
chairs.
The father leaned against the door, his right
hand stuck between two buttons of his buttoned-up
uniform.
The mother, however, accepted a chair offered
by one lodger.
Since she left the chair sit where the gentleman
had chanced to put it, she sat to one side
in a corner.
The sister began to play.
The father and mother, one on each side, followed
attentively the movements of her hands.
Attracted by the playing, Gregor had ventured
to advance a little further forward and his
head was already in the living room.
He scarcely wondered about the fact that recently
he had had so little consideration for the
others.
Earlier this consideration had been something
he was proud of.
And for that very reason he would have had
at this moment more reason to hide away, because
as a result of the dust which lay all over
his room and flew around with the slightest
movement, he was totally covered in dirt.
On his back and his sides he carted around
with him dust, threads, hair, and remnants
of food.
His indifference to everything was much too
great for him to lie on his back and scour
himself on the carpet, as he often had done
earlier during the day.
In spite of his condition he had no timidity
about inching forward a bit on the spotless
floor of the living room.
In any case, no one paid him any attention.
The family was all caught up in the violin
playing.
The lodgers, by contrast, who for the moment
had placed themselves, hands in their trouser
pockets, behind the music stand much too close
to the sister, so that they could all see
the sheet music, something that must certainly
bother the sister, soon drew back to the window
conversing in low voices with bowed heads,
where they then remained, worriedly observed
by the father.
It now seemed really clear that, having assumed
they were to hear a beautiful or entertaining
violin recital, they were disappointed and
were allowing their peace and quiet to be
disturbed only out of politeness.
The way in which they all blew the smoke from
their cigars out of their noses and mouths
in particular led one to conclude that they
were very irritated.
And yet his sister was playing so beautifully.
Her face was turned to the side, her gaze
followed the score intently and sadly.
Gregor crept forward still a little further,
keeping his head close against the floor in
order to be able to catch her gaze if possible.
Was he an animal that music so captivated
him?
For him it was as if the way to the unknown
nourishment he craved was revealing itself.
He was determined to press forward right to
his sister, to tug at her dress, and to indicate
to her in this way that she might still come
with her violin into his room, because here
no one valued the recital as he wanted to
value it.
He did not wish to let her go from his room
any more, at least not as long as he lived.
His frightening appearance would for the first
time become useful for him.
He wanted to be at all the doors of his room
simultaneously and snarl back at the attackers.
However, his sister should not be compelled
but would remain with him voluntarily.
She would sit next to him on the sofa, bend
down her ear to him, and he would then confide
in her that he firmly intended to send her
to the conservatory and that, if his misfortune
had not arrived in the interim, he would have
declared all this last Christmas—had Christmas
really already come and gone?—and would
have brooked no argument.
After this explanation his sister would break
out in tears of emotion, and Gregor would
lift himself up to her armpit and kiss her
throat, which she, from the time she started
going to work, had left exposed without a
band or a collar.
"Mr. Samsa," called out the middle lodger
to the father and, without uttering a further
word, pointed his index finger at Gregor as
he was moving slowly forward.
The violin fell silent.
The middle lodger smiled, first shaking his
head once at his friends, and then looked
down at Gregor once more.
Rather than driving Gregor back again, the
father seemed to consider it of prime importance
to calm down the lodgers, although they were
not at all upset and Gregor seemed to entertain
them more than the violin recital.
The father hurried over to them and with outstretched
arms tried to push them into their own room
and simultaneously to block their view of
Gregor with his own body.
At this point they became really somewhat
irritated, although one no longer knew whether
that was because of the father's behaviour
or because of knowledge they had just acquired
that they had, without knowing it, a neighbour
like Gregor.
They demanded explanations from his father,
raised their arms to make their points, tugged
agitatedly at their beards, and moved back
towards their room quite slowly.
In the meantime, the isolation which had suddenly
fallen upon his sister after the sudden breaking
off of the recital had overwhelmed her.
She had held onto the violin and bow in her
limp hands for a little while and had continued
to look at the sheet music as if she was still
playing.
All at once she pulled herself together, placed
the instrument in her mother's lap—the mother
was still sitting in her chair having trouble
breathing for her lungs were labouring—and
had run into the next room, which the lodgers,
pressured by the father, were already approaching
more rapidly.
One could observe how under the sister's practiced
hands the sheets and pillows on the beds were
thrown on high and arranged.
Even before the lodgers had reached the room,
she was finished fixing the beds and was slipping
out.
The father seemed so gripped once again with
his stubbornness that he forgot about the
respect which he always owed to his renters.
He pressed on and on, until at the door of
the room the middle gentleman stamped loudly
with his foot and thus brought the father
to a standstill.
"I hereby declare," the middle lodger said,
raising his hand and casting his glance both
on the mother and the sister, "that considering
the disgraceful conditions prevailing in this
apartment and family"—with this he spat
decisively on the floor—"I immediately cancel
my room.
I will, of course, pay nothing at all for
the days which I have lived here; on the contrary
I shall think about whether or not I will
initiate some sort of action against you,
something which—believe me—will be very
easy to establish."
He fell silent and looked directly in front
of him, as if he was waiting for something.
In fact, his two friends immediately joined
in with their opinions, "We also give immediate
notice."
At that he seized the door handle, banged
the door shut, and locked it.
The father groped his way tottering to his
chair and let himself fall in it.
It looked as if he was stretching out for
his usual evening snooze, but the heavy nodding
of his head, which looked as if it was without
support, showed that he was not sleeping at
all.
Gregor had lain motionless the entire time
in the spot where the lodgers had caught him.
Disappointment with the collapse of his plan
and perhaps also weakness brought on by his
severe hunger made it impossible for him to
move.
He was certainly afraid that a general disaster
would break over him at any moment, and he
waited.
He was not even startled when the violin fell
from the mother's lap, out from under her
trembling fingers, and gave off a reverberating
tone.
"My dear parents," said the sister banging
her hand on the table by way of an introduction,
"things cannot go on any longer in this way.
Maybe if you don't understand that, well,
I do.
I will not utter my brother's name in front
of this monster, and thus I say only that
we must try to get rid of it.
We have tried what is humanly possible to
take care of it and to be patient.
I believe that no one can criticize us in
the slightest."
"She is right in a thousand ways," said the
father to himself.
The mother, who was still incapable of breathing
properly, began to cough numbly with her hand
held up over her mouth and a manic expression
in her eyes.
The sister hurried over to her mother and
held her forehead.
The sister's words seemed to have led the
father to certain reflections.
He sat upright, played with his uniform hat
among the plates, which still lay on the table
from the lodgers' evening meal, and looked
now and then at the motionless Gregor.
End of chapter III, part 1.
Chapter III, part 2
"We must try to get rid of it," the sister
now said decisively to the father, for the
mother, in her coughing fit, was not listening
to anything.
"It is killing you both.
I see it coming.
When people have to work as hard as we all
do, they cannot also tolerate this endless
torment at home.
I just can't go on any more."
And she broke out into such a crying fit that
her tears flowed out down onto her mother's
face.
She wiped them off her mother with mechanical
motions of her hands.
"Child," said the father sympathetically and
with obvious appreciation, "then what should
we do?"
The sister only shrugged her shoulders as
a sign of the perplexity which, in contrast
to her previous confidence, had come over
her while she was crying.
"If only he understood us," said the father
in a semi-questioning tone.
The sister, in the midst of her sobbing, shook
her hand energetically as a sign that there
was no point thinking of that.
"If he only understood us," repeated the father
and by shutting his eyes he absorbed the sister's
conviction of the impossibility of this point,
"then perhaps some compromise would be possible
with him.
But as it is.
. ."
"It must be gotten rid of," cried the sister.
"That is the only way, father.
You must try to get rid of the idea that this
is Gregor.
The fact that we have believed for so long,
that is truly our real misfortune.
But how can it be Gregor?
If it were Gregor, he would have long ago
realized that a communal life among human
beings is not possible with such an animal
and would have gone away voluntarily.
Then we would not have a brother, but we could
go on living and honour his memory.
But this animal plagues us.
It drives away the lodgers, will obviously
take over the entire apartment, and leave
us to spend the night in the alley.
Just look, father," she suddenly cried out,
"he's already starting up again."
With a fright which was totally incomprehensible
to Gregor, the sister even left the mother,
pushed herself away from her chair, as if
she would sooner sacrifice her mother than
remain in Gregor's vicinity, and rushed behind
her father who, excited merely by her behaviour,
also stood up and half raised his arms in
front of the sister as though to protect her.
But Gregor did not have any notion of wishing
to create problems for anyone and certainly
not for his sister.
He had just started to turn himself around
in order to creep back into his room, quite
a startling sight, since, as a result of his
suffering condition, he had to guide himself
through the difficulty of turning around with
his head, in this process lifting and banging
it against the floor several times.
He paused and looked around.
His good intentions seem to have been recognized.
The fright had lasted only for a moment.
Now they looked at him in silence and sorrow.
His mother lay in her chair, with her legs
stretched out and pressed together; her eyes
were almost shut from weariness.
The father and sister sat next to one another.
The sister had set her hands around the father's
neck.
"Now perhaps I can actually turn myself around,"
thought Gregor and began the task again.
He couldn't stop puffing at the effort and
had to rest now and then.
Besides, no one was urging him on.
It was all left to him on his own.
When he had completed turning around, he immediately
began to wander straight back.
He was astonished at the great distance which
separated him from his room and did not understand
in the least how in his weakness he had covered
the same distance a short time before, almost
without noticing it.
Constantly intent only on creeping along quickly,
he hardly paid any attention to the fact that
no word or cry from his family interrupted
him.
Only when he was already in the door did he
turn his head, not completely, because he
felt his neck growing stiff.
At any rate he still saw that behind him nothing
had changed.
Only the sister was standing up.
His last glimpse brushed over the mother who
was now completely asleep.
Hardly was he inside his room when the door
was pushed shut very quickly, bolted fast,
and barred.
Gregor was startled by the sudden commotion
behind him, so much so that his little limbs
bent double under him.
It was his sister who had been in such a hurry.
She had stood up right away, had waited, and
had then sprung forward nimbly.
Gregor had not heard anything of her approach.
She cried out "Finally!" to her parents, as
she turned the key in the lock.
"What now?"
Gregor asked himself and looked around him
in the darkness.
He soon made the discovery that he could no
longer move at all.
He was not surprised at that.
On the contrary, it struck him as unnatural
that up to this point he had really been able
up to move around with these thin little legs.
Besides he felt relatively content.
True, he had pains throughout his entire body,
but it seemed to him that they were gradually
becoming weaker and weaker and would finally
go away completely.
The rotten apple in his back and the inflamed
surrounding area, entirely covered with white
dust, he hardly noticed.
He remembered his family with deep feelings
of love.
In this business, his own thought that he
had to disappear was, if possible, even more
decisive than his sister's.
He remained in this state of empty and peaceful
reflection until the tower clock struck three
o'clock in the morning.
From the window he witnessed the beginning
of the general dawning outside.
Then without willing it, his head sank all
the way down, and from his nostrils flowed
out weakly his last breath.
Early in the morning the cleaning woman came.
In her sheer energy and haste she banged all
the doors—in precisely the way people had
already asked her to avoid—so much so that
once she arrived a quiet sleep was no longer
possible anywhere in the entire apartment.
In her customarily brief visit to Gregor she
at first found nothing special.
She thought he lay so immobile there because
he wanted to play the offended party.
She gave him credit for as complete an understanding
as possible.
Since she happened to be holding the long
broom in her hand, she tried to tickle Gregor
with it from the door.
When that was quite unsuccessful, she became
irritated and poked Gregor a little, and only
when she had shoved him from his place without
any resistance did she become attentive.
When she quickly realized the true state of
affairs, her eyes grew large, she whistled
to herself.
However, she didn't restrain herself for long.
She pulled open the door of the bedroom and
yelled in a loud voice into the darkness,
"Come and look.
It's kicked the bucket.
It's lying there, totally snuffed!"
The Samsa married couple sat upright in their
marriage bed and had to get over their fright
at the cleaning woman before they managed
to grasp her message.
But then Mr. and Mrs. Samsa climbed very quickly
out of bed, one on either side.
Mr. Samsa threw the bedspread over his shoulders,
Mrs. Samsa came out only in her night-shirt,
and like this they stepped into Gregor's room.
Meanwhile, the door of the living room, in
which Grete had slept since the lodgers had
arrived on the scene, had also opened.
She was fully clothed, as if she had not slept
at all; her white face also seem to indicate
that.
"Dead?" said Mrs. Samsa and looked questioningly
at the cleaning woman, although she could
check everything on her own and even understand
without a check.
"I should say so," said the cleaning woman
and, by way of proof, poked Gregor's body
with the broom a considerable distance more
to the side.
Mrs. Samsa made a movement as if she wished
to restrain the broom, but didn't do it.
"Well," said Mr. Samsa, "now we can give thanks
to God."
He crossed himself, and the three women followed
his example.
Grete, who did not take her eyes off the corpse,
said, "Look how thin he was.
He had eaten nothing for such a long time.
The meals which came in here came out again
exactly the same."
In fact, Gregor's body was completely flat
and dry.
That was apparent really for the first time,
now that he was no longer raised on his small
limbs and nothing else distracted one's gaze.
"Grete, come into us for a moment," said Mrs.
Samsa with a melancholy smile, and Grete went,
not without looking back at the corpse, behind
her parents into the bed room.
The cleaning woman shut the door and opened
the window wide.
In spite of the early morning, the fresh air
was partly tinged with warmth.
It was already the end of March.
The three lodgers stepped out of their room
and looked around for their breakfast, astonished
that they had been forgotten.
"Where is the breakfast?" asked the middle
one of the gentlemen grumpily to the cleaning
woman.
However, she laid her finger to her lips and
then quickly and silently indicated to the
lodgers that they could come into Gregor's
room.
So they came and stood in the room, which
was already quite bright, around Gregor's
corpse, their hands in the pockets of their
somewhat worn jackets.
Then the door of the bed room opened, and
Mr. Samsa appeared in his uniform, with his
wife on one arm and his daughter on the other.
All were a little tear stained.
Now and then Grete pressed her face onto her
father's arm.
"Get out of my apartment immediately," said
Mr. Samsa and pulled open the door, without
letting go of the women.
"What do you mean?" said the middle lodger,
somewhat dismayed and with a sugary smile.
The two others kept their hands behind them
and constantly rubbed them against each other,
as if in joyful anticipation of a great squabble
which must end up in their favour.
"I mean exactly what I say," replied Mr. Samsa
and went directly with his two female companions
up to the lodger.
The latter at first stood there motionless
and looked at the floor, as if matters were
arranging themselves in a new way in his head.
"All right, then we'll go," he said and looked
up at Mr. Samsa as if, suddenly overcome by
humility, he was asking fresh permission for
this decision.
Mr. Samsa merely nodded to him repeatedly
with his eyes open wide.
Following that, the lodger actually went with
long strides immediately out into the hall.
His two friends had already been listening
for a while with their hands quite still,
and now they hopped smartly after him, as
if afraid that Mr. Samsa could step into the
hall ahead of them and disturb their reunion
with their leader.
In the hall all three of them took their hats
from the coat rack, pulled their canes from
the cane holder, bowed silently, and left
the apartment.
In what turned out to be an entirely groundless
mistrust, Mr. Samsa stepped with the two women
out onto the landing, leaned against the railing,
and looked over as the three lodgers slowly
but steadily made their way down the long
staircase, disappeared on each floor in a
certain turn of the stairwell, and in a few
seconds came out again.
The deeper they proceeded, the more the Samsa
family lost interest in them, and when a butcher
with a tray on his head come to meet them
and then with a proud bearing ascended the
stairs high above them, Mr. Samsa., together
with the women, left the banister, and they
all returned, as if relieved, back into their
apartment.
They decided to pass that day resting and
going for a stroll.
Not only had they earned this break from work,
but there was no question that they really
needed it.
And so they sat down at the table and wrote
three letters of apology: Mr. Samsa to his
supervisor, Mrs. Samsa to her client, and
Grete to her proprietor.
During the writing the cleaning woman came
in to say that she was going off, for her
morning work was finished.
The three people writing at first merely nodded,
without glancing up.
Only when the cleaning woman was still unwilling
to depart, did they look up angrily.
"Well?" asked Mr. Samsa.
The cleaning woman stood smiling in the doorway,
as if she had a great stroke of luck to report
to the family but would only do it if she
was asked directly.
The almost upright small ostrich feather in
her hat, which had irritated Mr. Samsa during
her entire service, swayed lightly in all
directions.
"All right then, what do you really want?"
asked Mrs. Samsa, whom the cleaning lady still
usually respected.
"Well," answered the cleaning woman, smiling
so happily she couldn't go on speaking right
away, "about how that rubbish from the next
room should be thrown out, you mustn't worry
about it.
It's all taken care of."
Mrs. Samsa and Grete bent down to their letters,
as though they wanted to go on writing.
Mr. Samsa, who noticed that the cleaning woman
wanted to start describing everything in detail,
decisively prevented her with an outstretched
hand.
But since she was not allowed to explain,
she remembered the great hurry she was in,
and called out, clearly insulted, "Bye bye,
everyone," turned around furiously and left
the apartment with a fearful slamming of the
door.
"This evening she'll be let go," said Mr.
Samsa, but he got no answer from either his
wife or from his daughter, because the cleaning
woman seemed to have upset once again the
tranquillity they had just attained.
They got up, went to the window, and remained
there, with their arms about each other.
Mr. Samsa turned around in his chair in their
direction and observed them quietly for a
while.
Then he called out, "All right, come here
then.
Let's finally get rid of old things.
And have a little consideration for me."
The women attended to him at once.
They rushed to him, caressed him, and quickly
ended their letters.
Then all three left the apartment together,
something they had not done for months now,
and took the electric tram into the open air
outside the city.
The car in which they were sitting by themselves
was totally engulfed by the warm sun.
Leaning back comfortably in their seats, they
talked to each other about future prospects,
and they discovered that on closer observation
these were not at all bad, for the three of
them had employment, about which they had
not really questioned each other at all, which
was extremely favourable and with especially
promising prospects.
The greatest improvement in their situation
at this moment, of course, had to come from
a change of dwelling.
Now they wanted to rent an apartment smaller
and cheaper but better situated and generally
more practical than the present one, which
Gregor had found.
While they amused themselves in this way,
it struck Mr. and Mrs. Samsa, almost at the
same moment, how their daughter, who was getting
more animated all the time, had blossomed
recently, in spite of all the troubles which
had made her cheeks pale, into a beautiful
and voluptuous young woman.
Growing more silent and almost unconsciously
understanding each other in their glances,
they thought that the time was now at hand
to seek out a good honest man for her.
And it was something of a confirmation of
their new dreams and good intentions when
at the end of their journey their daughter
got up first and stretched her young body.
End of The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, translated
by Ian Johnston.
Read for LibriVox.org by David Lewis Richardson.
Lancashire, England.
