The Meowmorphosis Read online

  Gregor endured this imposition as stoically as he was able; no others witnessed it, a fact for which he was glad, and again, he found that purring which he could neither control nor predict, rumbling up from his furry chest, even now growing broader and more stately.

  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 uttered a resounding “No,” and nothing more would be spoken about it.

  ON THE FIRST DAY of Gregor’s changed situation, his father had laid out all the financial circumstances and prospects to his mother and sister. From time to time since, the elder Mr. Samsa would stand up from the table, take the small lockbox salvaged from his business, which had collapsed five years previously, and pull out some document or notebook. (Gregor could hear the distinct sound of the box’s complicated lock opening and, after his father was done with it, closing and locking again.) These explanations by his father were the first somewhat enjoyable thing that Gregor had the chance to listen to since his imprisonment. Gregor had thought that no money at all remained 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 work as hard as he possibly could so that his family might forget as quickly as possible the financial misfortune that had brought them all into such a state of complete hopelessness. And so at that point he’d applied himself to his job with a special intensity and from an assistant had become, almost overnight, a traveling salesman, which naturally opened entirely different possibilities for earning money, as his successes at work were turned immediately into cash commissions, which could be brought home and set on the table in front of his astonished and delighted family.

  Those had been beautiful days, and they had never come back afterward, at least not with the same splendor, despite that Gregor later earned so much money that he was in a position to bear the expenses of the entire family, which was precisely what he did. 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 as that arrangement continued, their warm family intimacy faded. Only Grete remained still close to Gregor, and it was his secret plan to send her next year to the conservatory, regardless of the great expense that necessarily involved and which would have to be made up in other ways. Unlike Gregor, she loved music very much and knew how to play the violin charmingly. Now and then during Gregor’s short stays at home, music school would come up 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 dwelled upon it with scrupulous consideration and intended to present his plan to Grete and his parents ceremoniously on Christmas.

  In his present situation, he would recall such thoughts, recognizing their futility now, as he pushed himself right up against the door and listened to the others. Sometimes, in his general exhaustion, he couldn’t listen anymore and let his head droop sleepily against the door, but he immediately pulled himself together, for even the small sound he made by this motion was heard outside and caused everyone to immediately fall silent. “There he goes again,” his father said after a while, clearly turning toward 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 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 of all the bad luck they’d suffered, a modest sum of money was still available from the old times, and the interest, which had not been touched, had in the intervening time gradually increased a bit. In addition, the money that 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. He even allowed himself a small, triumphant squeak, which he prayed went unheard. True, had he known of 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 his horrid job would have been a lot closer—but now things were doubtlessly better the way his father had arranged them.

  At the moment, however, this savings was not nearly enough to permit the family to live on the interest payments. Perhaps it would be enough to maintain them for a year or two at most, but that was all. Thus, it should ideally continue to be set aside for use as a last resort, in case of a true emergency; meanwhile, the money to live on would have to be earned. Now, Gregor’s father was old, and though he was a healthy man, he had not worked at all for five years and thus could not be counted on for very much. He had, in those five years—the first time off he’d ever had in his trouble-filled but unsuccessful life—put on a good deal of fat. And should Gregor’s old mother now work for money, a woman who suffered from asthma, exacerbated now by Gregor’s constant shedding of his fine fur and dander; a woman for whom just wandering through the apartment was a great strain, who spent every second day on the sofa by the open window laboring for breath? Or should his sister go to work to earn money, a girl who was still a seventeen-year-old child whose earlier lifestyle 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 the options were laid out like that, 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 get a minute of sleep, just scratched on the leather for hours at a time. Finally, recalling the satisfaction that the sight of the street outside used to bring him, he undertook the difficult task of shoving a chair over to the window; then he crept up on the windowsill and, braced in the chair, leaned against the glass to look out.

  With each passing day, Gregor found that he could see things with more and more clarity, even things a long distance away, especially in the dark: the hospital across the street, the all-too-frequent sight of which he had previously cursed, was visible clearly now, even to the colors of the beards of various patients, 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 an astonishing painting, in which the clear heaven and the teeming earth had merged and were full of extraordinarily sharply drawn scenes and landscapes. His attentive sister must have observed a couple of times that the chair stood by the window, for thereafter, upon cleaning up the room, she made sure to push 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 could have tolerated her attentions more easily. Grete sought to cover up the awkwardness of everything as much as possible—particularly that of cleaning up his business, which was now messier than it once was. 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 him, squealing with delight and chasing him about the room, caring little whether he wished to be held or cosseted.
She would shut the window, out of which he spent the better part of his time gazing, and shut the door so that he was quite trapped. She then set to her ministrations, winding her fingers in his long, bushy tail, scratching his ears, speaking nonsense and lifting him high into the air before producing her silver hairbrush and compelling him to lie uncomfortably upon his back while she brushed his tangled fur until it became quite glossy—a process Gregor found extraordinarily painful and annoying. With this fuss and noise she frightened Gregor twice every day, and thus the entire time between her visits he trembled under the couch, though he knew very well that she would certainly have spared him gladly if only he had been a little less handsome, furry, or enticing to the spirit of a young girl.

  On one occasion—about a month had gone by since Gregor’s transformation, and there was now no particular reason anymore 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 closing the window immediately, lest he fall out. But she not only stepped inside; she brought in a porcelain washtub, picked him up, and bathed him vigorously, ignoring his caterwauls of protest. A stranger really might have concluded from the expression on his face that Gregor wanted to bite her. Instead, the girl produced a rose-colored collar, with bells and bits of shiny material on it, as well as a large, bright buckle. Gregor’s heart quailed against the thing, but he could not resist his sister with any effectiveness as she seized his damp scruff and wrangled him into the thing with no ceremony whatsoever.

  Of course, when it was done, Gregor immediately concealed himself under the couch and began frantically licking himself to remove any memory of the bath, any thought of the hideous collar, and he had to wait until the noon meal before Grete returned, though she seemed calmer than usual. From this he realized that his appearance was still constantly tempting to her and must remain tempting in future, and that she really had to exert a lot of self-control not to run toward the slightest glimpse of even only that small part of his body which stuck out from under the couch. In order to spare himself, one day Gregor pulled the sheet onto his back and dragged it onto the couch—this task took him four hours—and arranged it in such a way that he was now completely concealed, so his sister, even if she bent down, could not see him. Of course she could remove it, but she left the sheet just as it was, catching his meaning, and Gregor believed he even caught a look of sorrow 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.

  SHE BATHED HIM VIGOROUSLY, IGNORING HIS CATERWAULS OF PROTEST.

  IN THE FIRST two weeks his parents could not bring themselves to visit him, and he often heard how thankfully they acknowledged his sister’s present work—whereas, before, they had often grown annoyed at her 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 fussed over him, 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 in the direction of his old self was perceptible. In any event, before long his mother wanted to visit Gregor as well, but his father and his sister restrained her, at first with reasons that Gregor listened to very attentively and that 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 poor 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 task out of childish desire. His mother would surely sit calmly and read while he crouched near her—but not too near. She might reach out and pat him once an hour, if she liked, but she would not importune him in the same way that Grete did, he felt certain.

  Gregor’s wish to see his mother was soon realized. While during the day he wanted nothing more than to sit himself by the window, he couldn’t crawl around very much on the few square inches of the sill. He found it difficult to bear lying quietly during the night, for his paws, his whiskers, his tail all wished to prowl and to hunt—though all that he could find to expend his desire upon was a few dust-motes his sister had missed in her cleaning. Soon eating no longer gave him much pleasure, for the food lay there dead and did not offer any sport at all. So for diversion he acquired the habit of scampering back and forth across the mantel and bookshelves. He was especially fond of hanging from the draperies. 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 that 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, but without fail landed firmly upon his four paws. His sister noticed immediately the new amusement that Gregor had found for himself—for as he crept around he left behind here and there traces of his wispy white fur—and so she got the idea of making Gregor’s bouncing around as easy as possible and thus of removing the furniture, which was starting to get quite scratched and ruined by his attention, especially the chest of drawers and the writing desk.

  But she was in no position to do this by herself, and she did not dare to ask her father to help. Thus, Grete had no other choice but to involve their mother while their father was absent. Gregor’s mother approached his 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 dragged the sheet down even farther and wrinkled it more; now 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—he didn’t need to see his mother this time, he was just happy that she had come. “Come on, he’s just hiding,” said his sister, and evidently led his mother by the hand. Now Gregor listened as the two women struggled to push the heavy old chest of drawers from its position. 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 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, she pointed out, they could not be certain 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? In an empty room, would he not 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 improvement, that we’re 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 sens
ible, adult human contact save his sister’s cosseting, together with the monotonous life he’d been forced to spend listening to the family through the walls over the course of these two months, must have confused his understanding, because otherwise he couldn’t explain to himself how, in all seriousness, he 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 sun about in all directions without disturbance, but neither leap to and from the bed, nor hang from the curtains, nor send the papers scattering from the writing desk, a practice that brought him much joy? At the same time, if he indulged his new appetites, would they result in 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? No, nothing was to be removed—everything must remain. His mother was right: In his condition he could not function without the beneficial influences of his furniture, as a reminder and a call back to his old self. And if the furniture allowed him to carry out his mad romping about all over the place, then there was no harm in that, but rather a great benefit.