Part 2 (1/2)

He soon saw that, apart from the lack of anywhere else to sleep, no sofa, no couch, he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, because he couldn't expose his newly returned suitcase and the money he carried on him to any danger. Nor did he want to leave, because he didn't think he could slip past the woman and the landlord and leave the building unnoticed. But surely he wouldn't be at greater risk here than on the open road. There was, though, as far as he could tell in the half-light, a striking absence of any other luggage in the room. Perhaps the likeliest solution was that these two were house-servants, who would have to get up soon to look after the guests, and therefore slept in their clothes. In which case he wasn't in particularly prestigious company, but at least he was safe. But so long as there was any doubt about it, he mustn't go to sleep.

At the foot of one of the beds was a candle and matches, which Karl crept over and got. He felt no compunction about striking a light, because the landlord had given the room to him as much as to the two others, and they had already enjoyed half a night's sleep, and had the inestimable advantage of being in beds anyway. He did, though, by moving and behaving cautiously, make every effort not to wake them.

First he wanted to examine his suitcase to take a look at his belongings, of which he only had a vague memory, and of which the most valuable were surely already gone. Because once Schubal lays his hand on something, there's little chance of getting it back in its original condition. Admittedly, he probably stood to get a large tip from the uncle, and the blame for any individual missing items he could always pin on the original minder of the suitcase, Mr b.u.t.terbaum.

When he opened the suitcase Karl was appalled by what met his eyes. All those hours he had spent during the crossing, packing and repacking it, and now everything was crammed in in such a higgledy-piggledy fas.h.i.+on that the lid flew up when he opened the catch. But Karl soon saw to his joy that the sole cause of all this disorder was the fact that the suit he had worn during the crossing, and for which of course the suitcase had not allowed had been crammed in afterwards. Nothing at all was missing. In the secret pocket of his jacket there was not only his pa.s.sport but also the money he had brought from home, so that, when Karl added it to what he already had on him, he was for the moment plentifully provided with money. The linen he'd been in on his arrival was also there, washed and ironed. He immediately put his wrist.w.a.tch and money into the tried and tested secret pocket. The only lamentable circ.u.mstance was that the Verona salami, which was not missing either, had imparted its smell to everything in the suitcase. If that couldn't be removed by some means, Karl faced the prospect of going around for the next several months shrouded in that smell.

As he looked out a few items in the very bottom of the suitcase, a pocket Bible, letter paper and photographs of his parents, his cap slipped off his head and into the suitcase. In its old setting he recognized it at once, it was his cap, the cap his mother had given him as a travelling cap. He had been careful not to wear it on board s.h.i.+p, as he knew that in America caps are generally worn in place of hats, and he hadn't wanted to wear his out before he even got there. Now Mr Green had used it to amuse himself at Karl's expense. Had his uncle put him up to that too? And in an unintentionally furious movement he banged the lid of the suitcase, which clicked loudly shut.

There was nothing for it now, both sleepers had been woken by this. At first one of them stretched and yawned, and then the other. And almost the entire contents of his suitcase were spread out on the table, if they were thieves they needed only to make their way to it and help themselves. Not just to pre-empt this possibility, but also to establish a few facts, Karl went over to their beds, candle in hand, and explained his right to be there. They seemed not to have expected any such explanation, and, far too tired to speak, they just stared at him without being taken aback in the slightest. They were both very young fellows, but hard work or hunger had made the bones stand out prematurely in their faces, they had scruffy beards on their chins, their long-uncut hair was rumpled on their heads, and in their sleepiness they rubbed and pressed their knuckles against their deep-set eyes.

In order to exploit their momentary weakness, Karl said: 'My name is Karl Rossmann, and I am German. Since we are sharing this room together, please tell me your names and nationalities. I would like to a.s.sure you that I have no interest in claiming a bed, since I arrived late, and I do not in fact intend to sleep. Please do not be misled by my good suit, I am very poor and have no prospects.'

The shorter of the two he was the one with his boots on intimated with his arms, legs and general demeanour that none of this had any interest for him, and that this was no time for such a palaver, lay down and was asleep at once: the other, a dark-skinned fellow also lay down again, but before going to sleep he casually waved his hand: 'That's Robinson and he's Irish, my name's Delamarche, I'm French, and now goodnight.' No sooner had he said this than with a huge breath he blew out Karl's candle, and fell back on his pillow.

'So that danger has been averted for the time being,' Karl told himself, and went back to the table. Unless their sleepiness was feigned, all was well. Too bad that one of them had to be Irish. Karl couldn't quite remember what book at home had warned him to beware of Irishmen in America. His stay with his uncle would have given him an excellent opportunity of going into the question of the dangers of Irishmen, but because he'd thought himself in security for good, he had neglected to do that. Now he at least wanted to take a closer look at the Irishman, with the candle that he had re-lit, and found that he looked if anything more palatable than the Frenchman. There was still a trace of roundness in his cheeks, and he had a friendly smile as he slept, as far as Karl could make out standing on tiptoe some way away.

For all that, still determined not to sleep, Karl sat down on the one chair in the room, put off the repacking of his suitcase, for which he had the rest of the night, and leafed around in his Bible without reading it. Then he picked up the photograph of his parents, in which his little father stood very tall, while his mother sat shrunken in the armchair in front of him. One of his father's hands was on the back of the armchair, the other, making a fist, rested on an ill.u.s.trated book which was open on a fragile ornamental table beside him. There was another photograph that depicted Karl and his parents together, one in which his father and mother were both glaring at him, while he had been instructed by the photographer to look into the camera. But then he hadn't been allowed to take that photograph with him on the journey.

The more minutely he now examined the one in front of him and tried to catch his father's gaze from various angles. But try as he might, even moving the candle to different points, his father refused to become any more alive, his heavy horizontal moustache didn't look anything like the real thing, it wasn't a good photograph. His mother had been better caught, her mouth downdrawn as though she'd suffered some injury, and forcing a smile. Karl thought that that must be so obvious to anyone looking at the picture, that a moment later, it seemed to him that it was too blatant and actually illogical. How could a picture give one an irresistible sense of the concealed feelings of its subject. And he looked away from the photograph for a while. When he looked at it again he was struck by his mother's hand, dangling from an armrest in the very foreground of the picture, close enough to kiss. He wondered whether he shouldn't after all write to his parents, as both of them had demanded, his father with particular sternness in Hamburg, at the end. Admittedly he had vowed to himself that terrible evening when his mother had told him that he would be going to America, irrevocably, that he would never write, but what did the vow of an inexperienced boy count in these new circ.u.mstances. He might just as well have vowed that after two months in America he would be a general in the American army, whereas in fact he was sharing an attic room with a couple of tramps, in an inn outside New York, and moreover, he had to concede that this was just the right place for him. Smilingly he interrogated his parent's faces, as though one might tell from them if they still craved news of their son.

So looking, he soon noticed that he was in fact very tired, and would scarcely be able to stay awake all night. The photograph slipped from his hands, he laid his face against it so that its coolness soothed his cheek, and with that pleasant sensation he fell asleep.

In the morning a tickling in his armpit woke him up. It was the Frenchman who permitted himself this intimacy. But the Irishman too was standing by Karl's table, and they were both looking at him with as keen an interest as Karl had shown in them the night before. Karl wasn't surprised that their getting up hadn't woken him; their quietness didn't necessarily imply any evil intent on their part, because he had been in a deep sleep, and they clearly hadn't taken too much trouble dressing or, for that matter, was.h.i.+ng.

They now greeted each other properly and with a certain formality, and Karl learned that the two of them were fitters who had been out of work for a long time in New York, and so were pretty much on their uppers. By way of demonstration, Robinson opened his jacket and one could see he had no s.h.i.+rt on underneath, which one might also have concluded from the loose fit of his collar, which was attached to his jacket at the back. They were on their way to the little town of b.u.t.terford, two days' walk from New York, where apparently there were jobs to be had. They had no objection to Karl joining them, and promised him firstly that they would carry his suitcase some of the time, and secondly, if they should get jobs themselves, to get him a place as a trainee, which, if there was any work going at all, would be a simple matter. No sooner had Karl agreed to this, than they were counselling him to take off his good suit, which would only be a disadvantage to him in looking for a job. In fact, there was a good opportunity to get rid of it here and now, because the cleaning woman ran a clothes stall. They helped Karl, who wasn't altogether convinced in the matter of the suit, to get out of it, and they took it away. As Karl, alone now and still a little groggy with sleep, slowly got into his old suit, he reproached himself for selling the other which might disadvantage him in applying for a trainees.h.i.+p, but could only be of a.s.sistance in the search for a better sort of job, and he opened the door to call the two of them back, but there they were already, laying half a dollar as the proceeds of the sale on the table, but looking so pleased with themselves that it was impossible not to believe that they hadn't also earned their share from the sale, and an irritatingly large one at that.

There was no time to argue because the cleaner came in, every bit as sleepy as she'd been in the night, and ushered them all out into the corridor, on the grounds that the room had to be got ready for new guests, a specious reason of course, it was pure malice on her part. Karl, who had just wanted to put his suitcase in order, was compelled to look on as the woman gathered up his things in both hands and slung them into the suitcase with such force, as if they were wild animals being brought to heel. The two fitters danced around her, plucked at her skirts, patted her on the back, but if their purpose was to help Karl, it had the opposite effect. When the woman had shut the suitcase she pushed the handle into Karl's hand, shook off the fitters and drove them all out of the room, threatening them with no coffee if they didn't leave. The woman seemed to have completely forgotten that Karl hadn't been with the fitters all along, because she treated them all as one band, although the fitters had sold Karl's suit, which did at least imply a certain, common purpose.

They had to walk up and down the corridor for a long time, and the Frenchman in particular, who had linked arms with Karl, was swearing incessantly, threatening to punch the landlord to the ground if he should show his face, a moment he seemed to be preparing for by furiously grating his fists together. At last an innocent little boy came along, who had to get up on tiptoe to hand the Frenchman the coffee can. Unfortunately there was only that one can available, and the boy couldn't be made to understand that gla.s.ses were wanted as well. So only one person could drink at a time, and the other two had to stand and watch. Karl didn't want any, but not wanting to offend the others, he raised the can to his lips when it was his turn, but didn't drink from it.

When it was finished, the Irishman tossed the can on to the flagstones and they left the inn unseen by anyone, and walked out into a thick yellowish morning fog. For the most part they walked abreast and in silence along the side of the road, Karl had to carry his suitcase, the others probably wouldn't relieve him without being asked, the occasional automobile shot out of the fog, and all three turned their heads towards these cars, which were usually enormous, and so striking in appearance and so fleetingly present there was no time to notice whether they had any occupants or not. A little later, the columns of vehicles bringing food to New York started up, and in five lanes that took up the whole breadth of the road, they rolled by so solidly that no one could get across. From time to time the road widened out into a square, in the middle of which on a tower-like elevation a policeman strode up and down, directing everything and ordering the traffic on the main road and the side roads too, which then remained unsupervised until the next square and the next policeman, but was voluntarily kept in sufficient order by the silent and watchful coachmen and drivers. It was the prevailing calm of it all that most surprised Karl. Had it not been for the cries of the carefree animals going to the abattoirs, perhaps nothing would have been heard save the clatter of hooves and the hissing of the tyres. Although of course, the speed was anything but constant. At some of the junctions, because of the excessive pressure of traffic from the side roads, extensive rearrangements had to be undertaken, whole columns would grind to a halt, and only inch forward, but it also happened that for a while everything would hurtle past at lightning speeds, until, as though stopped by a single brake, it was all becalmed once more. The road didn't throw up a single speck of dust, the air remained crystal clear. There were no pedestrians, no market women making their way into town, as existed in Karl's home, but there were some large flat-backed automobiles, carrying up to twenty women at a time, all with baskets on their backs, perhaps they were market-women after all, craning their necks to see the traffic, and hoping to make faster progress. There were also automobiles of a similar type on which a few men rode, strolling about with their hands in their pockets. On one of these automobiles, which bore various inscriptions, Karl gave a little cry when he read: 'Dock workers hired for Jakob's s.h.i.+pping company'. The car was just travelling very slowly and a short, bowed, lively man beckoned to the three travellers to come on board. Karl took refuge behind the fitters, as though his uncle might be on the car and see him, and he was relieved when the others refused the invitation, although their arrogant expressions when they did so somewhat offended him. They shouldn't think themselves too good to work for his uncle. He immediately gave them to understand as much, although in veiled terms. Thereupon Delamarche told him not to concern himself in matters he didn't understand, that way of hiring people was a shameful swindle and Jakob's company was notorious throughout the whole of the United States. Karl made no reply, but from now on he inclined to the Irishman and asked him to carry his suitcase for a while, which, after Karl had repeated his request a few times, he did. Only he complained incessantly about the weight of the suitcase until it became clear that all he had in mind was to lighten it of the Verona salami, which had already drawn his favourable attention in the hotel. Karl was made to unpack it, the Frenchman took possession of it, set about it with a sabre-like knife, and ate almost the whole thing. Robinson was given the occasional slice, while Karl, who was left to carry the suitcase again if it wasn't to be abandoned on the highway, got nothing at all, as though he had already had his portion in advance. It seemed too petty to him to beg for a bit of it now, but it did gall him.

The fog had quite disappeared now and a high mountain range glittered in the distance, its wave-like crest lying under a still more distant heat haze. Lining the road were poorly cultivated fields around large factories, smoke-blackened, and all alone in open country. In tenement houses dotted about, the many windows trembled with all sorts of movement and light, and on all the small frail balconies women and children busied themselves, while around them, covering and uncovering them, pieces of was.h.i.+ng, hanging and lying, fluttered in the morning wind and ballooned hugely. Leaving the houses, one could see larks high in the sky and swallows diving not far above the heads of the travellers.

Many things reminded Karl of his home, and he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea for him to leave New York and make for the interior. New York had the sea and the possibility of going home at any time. And so he stopped and told his companions he wanted to stay in New York after all. When Delamarche tried to push him forward he refused to be pushed, and said he must have the right to determine what he did for himself. The Irishman had to intervene between them, and explain that b.u.t.terford was far more beautiful than New York, and they both had to plead with him before he agreed to go on. And even then he wouldn't have gone if he hadn't told himself that it was probably better for him to go to a place from which it would be less easy to return home. It would be better for his work and his general progress, if he had no useless thoughts to distract him.

And now it was his turn to pull the others along, and they were so pleased with his eagerness that, quite unasked, they took it in turns to carry his suitcase, and Karl didn't understand what he had done to make them so happy. The road started to climb and when they stopped from time to time they could see, looking back, the panorama of New York and its harbour continually unfolding. The bridge that connected New York with Boston lay slender across the Hudson, and trembled if you narrowed your eyes. It seemed to be carrying no traffic at all, and below it was the smooth unanimated ribbon of water. Everything in both metropolises seemed empty, useless construction. There was almost no distinction to be drawn between the big buildings and the little ones. In the invisible canyons of the streets, life probably continued on its way, but above them there was nothing to be seen except a thin haze which didn't move, but seemed easy enough to dispel. Even in the harbour, the world's largest, peace had returned, and only sporadically did one have the impression, probably influenced by earlier, closer views, that one could see a s.h.i.+p sliding forward a little. But it was impossible to trace, because it eluded one's eyes and couldn't be found again.

But Robinson and Delamarche evidently saw much more, they pointed this way and that, and with their hands they arced towards squares and gardens, which they referred to by name. It was incomprehensible to them that Karl had been in New York for over two months, and had seen nothing of the city but one single street. And they promised him that once they had made enough money in b.u.t.terford, they would take him to New York and show him the sights, and in particular certain places of paradisal entertainment. Thereupon Robinson started singing at the top of his voice, Delamarche gave a clapping accompaniment, and Karl recognized it as an operetta tune from his home, but he liked the English version better than he ever had the original. So they gave a little open air performance in which they all partic.i.p.ated, only the city below them, for whose benefit it was supposed to be, seemed unaware of it.

Once Karl asked where Jakob's s.h.i.+pping company was, and straightaway the index fingers of Delamarche and Robinson shot out, pointing perhaps at the same place, perhaps at places that were miles apart. When they resumed their march, Karl asked when would be the earliest they might expect to return to New York with sufficient funds. Delamarche said it might easily be no more than a month, because there was a shortage of labour in b.u.t.terford and wages were high. Of course they would pool their money, so that chance differences in earnings between the three of them would be ironed out. Karl didn't like the idea of pooling their money, in spite of the fact that as a trainee he would of course be earning less than they would as qualified workers. Robinson then observed that if there was no work to be had in b.u.t.terford, they would of course have to go on looking further afield, either to find work as agricultural labourers, or maybe on to the goldfields of California, which, going by Robinson's detailed explanations, seemed to be his favourite plan. 'Why did you become a fitter, if you want to go to the goldfields?' asked Karl, who didn't like to hear of the need for such long and hazardous journeys. 'Why I became a fitter?' said Robinson. 'Certainly not so that my mother's son would starve. There's a fortune to be made in the goldfields.' 'There was,' said Delamarche. 'Still is,' said Robinson, and talked of many acquaintances who had made their fortunes, were still there, and of course didn't need to lift a finger, but for old friends.h.i.+p's sake would help him, and his friends as well, to a fortune. 'We'll w.a.n.gle our way into jobs in b.u.t.terford,' said Delamarche, and that was what Karl wanted to hear, although the way he expressed it didn't inspire much confidence.

In the course of the day they stopped at an inn just once, with an outdoor table that seemed to Karl to be made of iron, and ate practically raw meat that one couldn't cut but only tear with knife and fork. The bread was in the shape of a cylinder and every loaf had a sharp knife stuck in it. The meal was washed down with a black liquid that burned in one's throat. Delamarche and Robinson liked it, though, and drank to the fulfilment of various wishes, clinking gla.s.ses and keeping them touching in the air awhile. On neighbouring tables sat workers, in chalk-spattered s.h.i.+rts, all drinking the same black liquid. The many automobiles driving past spread clouds of dust over the tables. Large newspapers were pa.s.sed around, and there was excited talk about the construction workers' strike, the name Mack was used several times, Karl asked about him and learned that he was the father of the Mack he had known, and was the greatest property developer in New York. The strike was costing him millions, and even threatened him with bankruptcy. This was the talk of ill-informed and malevolent people, and Karl didn't believe a word of it.

The meal was further spoiled for Karl by the fact that it was rather open to question how it would be paid for. The fair and natural thing would be for each of them to pay his share, but Delamarche, and Robinson too, had occasionally let drop that the last of their money had gone on the previous night's lodgings. No watch or ring or anything else that might be turned into money was to be seen on either of them. And Karl couldn't complain that they had kept some money from the sale of his suit. That would have been an insult to them and would have meant goodbye for good. The astounding thing was that neither Delamarche nor Robinson showed any sign of anxiety about the bill, rather they were sufficiently high-spirited to make frequent advances to the waitress, who with a proud and heavy gait kept walking between the tables. Her hair would fall forward over her brow and cheeks, and she kept pus.h.i.+ng it up and back again. Finally, just when one might have expected a friendly word from her, she walked up to the table, rested both hands on it, and said: 'All right, who's paying?' Never did hands move faster than those of Delamarche and Robinson as they pointed to Karl. Karl wasn't alarmed, he had seen it coming, and seen nothing wrong with it; his comrades, from whom he was expecting certain advantages, had every right to expect a few trifles to be paid for by him, even though it would have been better to discuss it fully, in advance. The awkward thing was that the money had to be got out of his secret pocket. His original intention had been to keep it for an emergency, and for the time being place himself on the same footing as his comrades. The advantage that the money, and especially his having kept quiet about it, had given him over his comrades they more than made up for by the fact that they'd been in America since childhood, had sufficient expertise and knowledge to enable them to earn money themselves, and finally that they were not used to any better living standard than they were presently enjoying. Karl's prior plan with regard to the money shouldn't automatically be affected by this bill, because he could spare a quarter pound, and could lay a quarter pound on the table and declare it was all he had, and that he was prepared to make a sacrifice for their joint journey to b.u.t.terford. For a trek on foot, such a sum was perfectly adequate. But now he wasn't sure if he had enough change, and besides, his coins were with his folded banknotes somewhere in the depths of his secret pocket, and the easiest way of finding anything in it was to empty the entire contents of it out on to the table. It was quite unnecessary for his comrades to learn of the existence of this secret pocket. Happily, it appeared that his comrades were still more interested in the waitress than in how Karl would find the money with which to pay for their meal. By calling for the bill, Delamarche had brought her to stand between himself and Robinson, and she could only repel their intrus-iveness by putting her spread hand on the face of one or other of them, and pus.h.i.+ng him away. In the meantime, hot with the effort, Karl was collecting in one hand the money he was fis.h.i.+ng for and pulling out of the secret pocket with the other. Finally he thought he had enough, though he wasn't that familiar with American currency, and laid it on the table. The sound of money straightaway put an end to the horseplay. To Karl's annoyance and the general surprise there was almost a whole pound on the table. No one actually asked why Karl hadn't mentioned the money, which was enough to pay for the three of them to travel to b.u.t.terford in comfort on the railway, but it was still very embarra.s.sing for Karl. He paid for the meal and slowly pocketed his money, although Delamarche managed to take a coin out of his hand, which he needed as a tip for the waitress, whom he embraced and squeezed and gave the money to from the other side.

Karl was grateful to them for not saying anything about the money when they walked on, and for a time he even toyed with the idea of confessing to them his entire fortune, but, finding no opportunity to do so, he didn't. By evening they were in more rural, fertile countryside. All around were unbroken fields, covering gentle slopes with their first green, rich country seats ab.u.t.ted the road, and for hours they walked between the gilded fences of the gardens; they crossed the same sluggish river several times, and often heard the trains thundering overhead on high arched viaducts.

The sun was just setting over the level top of distant forests when they flung themselves down on a patch of gra.s.s surrounded by a copse of trees on a plateau, to rest from their labours. Delamarche and Robinson lay there and stretched for all they were worth while Karl sat up and watched the highway a few feet below, on which, as they had all day long, cars kept rus.h.i.+ng past one another, as though a certain number had been despatched from some faraway place, and the selfsame number were expected someplace equally faraway. During the whole day, from early in the morning, Karl hadn't seen a single car stopping or a single pa.s.senger getting out.

Robinson suggested spending the night there, as they were all tired enough, and they would be able to set off bright and early the next morning, and finally as they wouldn't be able to find any cheaper or better-located campsite before nightfall. Delamarche agreed with him, and only Karl felt obliged to reveal that he had enough money to pay for them all to stay in a hotel. Delamarche said they would be needing the money later, and he should hold on to it for the time being. Delamarche quite openly gave it to be understood that they were counting on Karl's money. As his initial suggestion had been accepted, Robinson went on to declare that, to gain strength for the morrow, they should have themselves a good bite to eat, and one of them should procure something for their supper from the hotel that was very close by them on the highway, with the luminous sign 'Hotel Occidental'. As the youngest, and in the absence of any other volunteers, Karl didn't hesitate to offer himself for this errand, and went across to the hotel, having been told to get bread, beer and bacon.

There must be a large town nearby, because the very first lounge that Karl set foot in at the hotel was full of a crowd of noisy people, and at the buffet, which ran down the length of the room as well as its two shorter sides, numerous waiters in white ap.r.o.ns were running about ceaselessly, and still they couldn't satisfy the impatient guests, as one could hear from the swearing on all sides and the noise of fists being banged on tables. No one paid the slightest attention to Karl; nor was there any service in the room itself, rather the guests, who were seated at tiny tables, swamped by other tables on all sides, foraged for themselves at the buffet. All the tables had a large bottle of oil, vinegar or somesuch on them, and all the dishes that were obtained from the buffet were doused with the liquid before being eaten. In order for Karl to reach the buffet, where the difficulties which faced him, with such a large order, would really only begin, he first had to squeeze his way through many tables, which, for all his caution, couldn't be done without grossly disturbing the guests, who took it all as if they were completely insentient, even on the occasion when Karl, albeit pushed from behind, stumbled against one of the little tables and almost upset it. He apologized of course, but no one seemed to understand, nor did he understand anything that they called out to him either.

With much difficulty, he managed to find a little s.p.a.ce at the buffet, although his view was restricted for a long time by the propped elbows of the people either side of him. It seemed to be the custom here to rest one's elbows on the table, and to press one's fists against one's temples; Karl remembered how much Dr Krumpal, his Latin teacher, had hated that posture, and how he would quietly and surrept.i.tiously sneak up, and with a suddenly brandished ruler brush an offending elbow abruptly and painfully from the table.