The Metamorphosis and Other Stories Read online

  The officer composed himself quickly. “I didn’t intend to unsettle you,” he said, “I know it is impossible to make someone understand those times today. Besides, the machine still works and is effective on its own. It is effective on its own, even if it stands alone in this valley. And the corpse still ultimately falls with an incomprehensibly gentle flight into the pit, even if hundreds no longer gather like flies, as they did back then, around the pit. Back then we had to install a strong fence around the pit, but it has long since been torn away.”

  The traveler tried to turn his face away from the officer and looked around aimlessly. The officer thought he was contemplating the valley’s bleakness; he therefore grasped his hands, moved around him to catch his eye, and asked: “Do you see the disgrace?”

  But the traveler said nothing. The officer let him be for a moment; with his legs apart and his hands on his hips, he stood still and looked at the ground. He then smiled at the traveler encouragingly and said: “I was nearby yesterday when the commandant invited you. I heard his invitation. I know the commandant. I understood immediately what he intended with the invitation. Even though his power would be great enough to intervene against me, he does not yet dare to, but he certainly wants to expose me to your judgment, that of a respected foreigner. He has worked it out carefully; this is your second day on the island, you were not familiar with the old commandant and his way of thinking, you are biased by your European point of view, perhaps you are fundamentally opposed to the death penalty in general, and this kind of mechanical execution method in particular, and moreover you can see how an execution takes place without public participation, sadly, on a machine that is already somewhat damaged. So wouldn’t it be possible, taking all this into account (this is how the commandant thinks), that you do not consider my procedure to be right? And if you think it is not right, (I am still speaking as the commandant) you will not keep silent about it, for you surely trust your tried and tested convictions. Of course, you have seen and learned to respect many peculiar customs in many nations, and will therefore probably not speak out against the procedure as vigorously as you might in your native country. But the commandant doesn’t need you to. One fleeting, indiscreet word will suffice. It must not even conform to your convictions, as long as it appears to fulfill his aim. He will question you very cunningly, of this I am certain. And his ladies will sit around in a circle and prick up their ears: you will say something like: ‘Criminal procedures are different where I come from,’ or ‘The defendant is interrogated before sentencing where I come from,’ or ‘Torture existed only in the Middle Ages where I come from.’ These are all remarks that are just as correct as they seem self-evident to you, innocent remarks that do not question my procedure. But how will the commandant receive them? I see him now, the good commandant, immediately pushing his chair aside and hurrying to the balcony; I see his ladies, pouring after him; I hear his voice—the ladies call it a thundering voice—as he says: ‘A great Western scholar, appointed to study criminal procedure in all countries, has just declared our procedure according to old custom to be an inhumane one. Given this verdict from such a distinguished person, it is of course no longer possible for me to tolerate this procedure. I therefore decree that starting today—and so on.’ You try to intervene, you didn’t say that which he proclaimed, you didn’t call my procedure inhumane, on the contrary, according to your deep insight you find that it is the most humane and most humanly dignified, you also admire this machinery—but it is too late; you can’t even get onto the balcony, which is already full of ladies; you try to make yourself noticeable; you want to scream; but a lady’s hand covers your mouth—and I and the work of the old commandant are lost.”

  The traveler had to suppress a smile; so easy was the task that he had thought to be so difficult. He said evasively: “You overestimate my influence; the commandant has read my letter of recommendation, he knows that I am not knowledgeable in criminal procedure. If I were to express my opinion, it would be the opinion of a private person and no more significant than the opinion of anyone else, and in any case it is far more insignificant than the opinion of the commandant, who has, as I understand, quite extensive rights in this penal colony. If his opinion about this procedure is as certain as you believe it to be, however, then I’m afraid the end has come for the procedure without requiring my modest assistance.”

  Had the officer understood it yet? No, he had not yet understood. He shook his head vigorously, looked back briefly toward the condemned man and the soldier, who flinched and let the rice porridge be, walked up quite closely to the traveler, not looking him in the face, but at someplace on his coat and said more softly than before: “You don’t know the commandant; your view of him and all of us is—pardon the expression—somewhat naïve; believe me, your influence cannot be overestimated. Indeed I was elated when I heard that you alone were to attend the execution. This order of the commandant was intended to strike me, but now I am turning it to my advantage. Undistracted by false insinuations and contemptful glances—which could not have been avoided if more people had attended the execution—you listened to my explanations, saw the machine and are now about to view the execution. Your decision has surely already been made; should small insecurities remain, they will be eliminated by the sight of the execution. And now I will make my appeal to you: help me and not the commandant!”

  The traveler did not let him speak further. “How could I do that?” he cried out. “That is entirely impossible. I can’t help you any more than I can harm you.”

  “Yes, you can,” said the officer. The traveler saw with some fear that the officer was clenching his fists. “Yes you can,” the officer repeated even more urgently. “I have a plan that is certain to succeed. You believe that your influence is inadequate. I know that it is adequate. But even if you are right, isn’t it necessary to try everything to preserve this procedure, even that which may be insufficient? So listen to my plan. To carry it out, it is above all necessary for you to restrain yourself as much as possible in the colony today with your judgment of the procedure. Unless you are asked directly, you may not say anything at all; your statements, however, must be brief and vague; one should notice that it is difficult for you to talk about it, that you are resentful, that if you were to speak openly, you would literally have to break out cursing. I am not asking you to lie; not at all; you should only answer briefly, like: ‘Yes, I saw the execution,’ or ‘Yes, I heard all the explanations.’ Only this, nothing further. As for the resentment that one is supposed to observe, there is enough cause for that, after all, even if it is not as the commandant understands it. He will misunderstand it entirely, of course, and interpret it according to his views. This is what my plan is based on. Tomorrow an important conference with all the senior administrators is being chaired by the commandant and taking place in the commandant’s headquarters. The commandant of course knows how to make a display out of such conferences. A gallery was built that is always full of spectators. I am obliged to take part in the meetings, but the reluctance agitates me. Now you are sure to be invited to the meeting in any case; if you behave according to my plan today, the invitation will turn into an urgent request. But should you for some incomprehensible reason not be invited, you must by all means request an invitation; that you will then receive it is beyond doubt. So tomorrow you will be sitting with the ladies in the commandant’s box. He reassures himself frequently with upward glances that you are there. After various indifferent, ridiculous agenda items intended solely for the benefit of the spectators—it is usually harbor construction, always harbor construction!—the question of criminal procedure will be raised. If the commandant fails to raise it, or fails to raise it soon enough, I will see to it. I will rise and report on today’s execution. Very briefly, only this report. Such a report is not customary there, but I will do it anyway. The commandant will thank me, as always, with a friendly smile, and then, not being be able to restrain himself, he will seize the good opportuni
ty. ‘We have just heard the report about the execution,’ he will say, or something similar. ‘I would only like to add to this report that this execution was attended by the great scholar, whose exceptionally honorable visit to our colony you all know about. Today’s meeting has also increased in significance due to his presence. Shall we not ask this great scholar how he has judged the execution, according to old custom, and the procedure that preceded it?’ There is applause all around, of course; general approval, I am the loudest. The commandant bows to you and says: ‘Then I ask the question in everyone’s name.’ And now you step up to the balustrade. Place your hands on it for everyone to see, otherwise the ladies will grab them and play with your fingers.—And now you speak at last. I don’t know how I will bear the suspense of the hours until then. In your speech, you must not restrain yourself at all, make a racket with the truth, lean over the balustrade, shout, yes, shout your opinion at the commandant, your unshakable opinion. But perhaps you don’t want to, it doesn’t suit your character. Perhaps you behave differently in such situations in your home country; that is also correct, that also suffices completely, don’t stand up at all, say only a few words, whisper them so that they are barely heard by the administrators beneath you, that will suffice. You yourself must not speak of the lack of attendance at the execution, of the screeching wheel, the torn strap, the disgusting gag. No, I will take care of everything else and, believe me, if my speech does not chase him out of the room, then it will force him to his knees so that he will have to confess: Old commandant, I bow before you.—That is my plan; would you like to help me carry it out? But of course you would, more than that, you must.” And the officer grabbed the traveler by both arms and looked at him, breathing heavily in his face. He had screamed the last sentences so that even the soldier and the condemned man had become attentive; although they could understand nothing, they stopped eating and looked over at the traveler as they chewed.

  The answer that the traveler had to give had been clear to him from the start; he had experienced too much in his life to waver here; he was fundamentally honest and was not afraid. But even so, he hesitated now for one breath of air under the gaze of the soldier and the condemned man. Finally, however, he said, as he had to say: “No.” The officer blinked his eyes several times, but did not take his eyes off him. “Would you like an explanation?” asked the traveler. The officer nodded silently. “I am an opponent of this procedure,” the traveler continued. “Even before you took me into your confidence—I will not betray this confidence, of course, under any circumstances—I had already considered whether I would be justified in intervening against this procedure and whether my intervention could have even the slightest chance of success. It was clear to me who I should turn to first: to the commandant, of course. You made it even clearer for me but without having made my decision any stronger; on the contrary, I am touched by your honest conviction, even if it cannot divert me.”

  The officer remained silent, turned to the machine, grasped one of the brass poles, and then, leaning back a little, looked up at the Scribe as though he were checking to see if everything was in order. The soldier and the condemned man appeared to have befriended one another; the condemned man was making signs to the soldier, difficult though this was being so tightly strapped in; the soldier bent down toward him; the condemned man whispered something, and the soldier nodded.

  The traveler followed the officer and said: “You don’t yet know what I intend to do. I will give the commandant my view of the procedure, not in a conference, but in private; I am also not going to stay here long enough to be called into any conference; I will depart early tomorrow morning, or at least board my ship.”

  It did not appear that the officer had been listening. “So the procedure did not convince you,” the officer said to himself and smiled, like an old man smiles at the nonsense of a child and conceals his own true thoughts behind his smile. “The time has come then,” he said finally and suddenly looked at the traveler with bright eyes that held some kind of challenge, some kind of call to participate.

  “What time has come?” asked the traveler uneasily, but received no answer.

  “You are free,” said the officer to the condemned man in his own language. The man did not believe it at first. “You’re free to go,” said the officer. For the first time, the condemned man’s face had some real life in it. Was it true? Was it only a whim of the officer that could pass? Had the foreign traveler obtained a pardon for him? What was it? His face seemed to be asking these questions. But not for long. Whatever it may be, he wanted to be truly free, if they were letting him, and began to shake around as much as the Harrow permitted.

  “You are breaking my straps,” shouted the officer, “be still! We’re going to undo them.” And he gave the soldier a sign and they set to work. The condemned man laughed quietly to himself without saying a word, turning his face back and forth between the officer to his left and the soldier to the right, not forgetting to include the traveler.

  “Pull him out,” the officer ordered the soldier. This had to be done with great caution due to the Harrow. Due to his impatience, the condemned man already had several small lacerations on his back.

  From now on, however, the officer hardly tended to him anymore. He walked up to the traveler, pulled out the leather folder again, leafed through it, finally found the page he was looking for, and showed it to the traveler. “Read,” he said. “I can’t,” said the traveler “I told you before, I can’t read these papers.” “Take a close look at this page,” said the officer and stood next to the traveler to read it with him. When this also didn’t help, he moved his little finger across the paper at a great height, as though the paper were under no circumstances to be touched, in order to make it easier for the traveler to read. The traveler also made an effort, to at least be able to oblige the officer in this, but it was impossible. The officer then began to spell out the inscription letter by letter, and then read it again cohesively. “‘Be just!’—it says. Now you can read it after all,” he said. The traveler bent down so far over the paper that the officer moved it farther away out of fear that he would touch it; although the traveler said nothing further, it was clear that he had still not been able to read it. “‘Be just!’—it says,” repeated the officer. “Perhaps,” said the traveler, “I believe that is what is says.” “Well good,” said the officer, at least partially satisfied, and climbed onto the ladder with the page in hand; he embedded it with great care into the Scribe and appeared to entirely rearrange the machinery; it was very strenuous work and also must have involved very small wheels, for sometimes the officer’s head disappeared inside the Scribe completely, so close was his examination of the machinery.

  The traveler followed his work continuously from below; his neck became stiff and his eyes hurt from the sky flooded with sunlight. The soldier and the condemned man were only concerned with one another. The condemned man’s shirt and trousers, which were already lying in the pit, were pulled out by the soldier with the tip of his bayonet. The shirt was terribly dirty and the condemned man washed it in the bucket of water. As he then put on his shirt and trousers, the soldier as well as the condemned man had to laugh out loud, for his clothing had been cut in two at the back. Perhaps the condemned man believed he was obligated to entertain the soldier, for he turned in circles in his cut up clothes before the soldier, who was squatting on the ground, and striking his knee as he laughed. Even so, they still restrained themselves out of consideration for the gentlemen’s presence.

  When the officer had finally finished his work above, he surveyed the whole machine with all its parts once again with a smile, slammed the lid of the Scribe shut this time that had until now been open, climbed down, looked into the pit and then at the condemned man, noted with satisfaction that he had retrieved his clothing, went to the bucket of water to wash his hands, recognized the disgusting filth too late, was unhappy that he was unable to wash his hands, finally plunged them—the alternative w
as inadequate, but he had to resign himself—into the sand, stood up, and began to unbutton the coat of his uniform. In doing so, the two ladies’ handkerchiefs that he had forced behind his collar fell into his hands. “Here, you can have your handkerchiefs,” he said and threw them to the condemned man. And to the traveler he explained: “Gifts from the ladies.”