3

A COUNTRY HOUSE NEAR NEW YORK

‘We’ve arrived,’ said Mr Pollunder, in the middle of one of Karl’s absences. The car had stopped in front of a country house, which, in the manner of rich people’s country houses around New York, was bigger and higher than country houses for single families needed to be. As only the lower part of the house was lit up, it was impossible to gauge how high it was. There were rustling chestnut trees in front of it, and between them – the gates were already open – a short drive leading to a flight of stairs at the entrance. Judging by the tiredness he felt on getting out, Karl thought the drive there had probably been quite long. In the dark of the chestnut avenue, he heard a girl’s voice beside him saying: ‘At last, Mr Jakob.’ ‘My name is Rossmann,’ said Karl, and took the hand held out to him by the girl, whom he could just see in outline. ‘He is only Jakob’s nephew,’ Pollunder explained, ‘and his name is Karl Rossmann.’ ‘We’re still very pleased to welcome him here,’ said the girl, who didn’t much care what people were called. But Karl still inquired, as he walked up to the house flanked by Mr Pollunder and the girl: ‘Are you Miss Klara then?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, and a little differentiating light from the house just reached her face which she held up to him, ‘but I didn’t want to introduce myself in the darkness.’ Then why did she meet us at the gate? wondered Karl, gradually waking up because of the walk. ‘By the way, we have another guest tonight,’ said Klara. ‘Not possible!’ exclaimed Mr Pollunder angrily. ‘Mr Green,’ said Klara. ‘When did he got here?’ asked Karl, almost with foreboding. ‘Just a moment ago. Didn’t you hear his car ahead of you?’ Karl looked up at Pollunder to see how he was taking the news, but he had his hands in his pockets and seemed to be stamping rather. ‘It’s really no good living just outside New York, you’re not spared any interruptions. We’ll definitely have to move further out. Even if I have to drive half the night to get home.’ They stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘But Mr Green hasn’t been to see us for ages,’ said Klara, who was obviously in complete agreement with her father, but still wanted to calm him down. ‘Why did he have to come tonight,’ said Pollunder, and the words tripped out over his fat lower lip, which being loose and fleshy easily became agitated. ‘Quite!’ said Klara. ‘Perhaps he’ll go away again soon,’ observed Karl, and was astonished at the sympathy he felt with these people, who even yesterday had been complete strangers to him. ‘Oh no,’ said Klara, ‘he has some kind of big business with Papa, and the discussion will probably go on for a long time, because he told me in jest that I’ll have to stay and listen till tomorrow morning if I’m to be a good hostess.’ ‘Then he’s spending the night with us. That too,’ cried Pollunder, as if the depths had really been plumbed. ‘Really,’ he said, and the thought cheered him up, ‘really, I feel like taking you straight back to the car, Mr Rossmann, and taking you back to your uncle. The evening is completely ruined, and who knows when your uncle will next let us take you away from him. But if I bring you back now, tonight, then he won’t be able to refuse next time.’ And he reached for Karl’s hand to put the plan into effect. But Karl made no move, and Klara asked her father to let him stay because she and Karl at least wouldn’t be put out by Mr Green in the slightest, and finally Pollunder realized that his resolve wasn’t unshakeable. Besides – and this was perhaps the decisive factor – Mr Green came out on to the top step and called out into the garden: ‘What’s keeping you?’ ‘Come on,’ said Pollunder, and began climbing the steps. Karl and Klara followed him, scrutinizing one another in the light. ‘Such red lips she has,’ Karl said to himself, and he thought of Mr Pollunder’s lips and how beautiful they had become in his daughter. ‘After supper,’ she said, ‘if it’s all right with you, we can go up to my room, then we’ll be rid of Mr Green and can leave Papa to talk to him. And I hope you’ll be kind enough to play the piano for me, because Papa has already told me how good you are, unfortunately I can never bring myself to practise and I never go near my piano, even though I really love music’ Karl was in full agreement with Klarl’s suggestion, even though he would have preferred it if Mr Pollunder had been able to join them too. But faced by the enormous figure of Green – Karl had become used to Pollunder’s size – which gradually grew towards them as they climbed the stairs, all Karl’s hopes of somehow enticing Mr Pollunder for the evening from such a man quickly faded.

Mr Green received them in a great hurry, as though there was much catching up to do, he took Mr Pollunder’s arm and pushed Karl and Klara ahead of him into the dining-room, which, with the flowers on the table half-peeping out of strips of fresh foliage, looked very festive, and made Mr Green’s presence doubly regrettable. As he stood by the table waiting for the others to sit down, Karl was glad that the big glass door into the garden would be left open, because a powerful scent blew up to them as in an arbour, when Mr Green, puffing and panting, busied himself with shutting it, bending down to the lowest bolts, reaching up on tiptoe for the top ones, and all with such youthful speed that by the time the servant rushed up to help it was all done. Mr Green’s first words at table were expressions of surprise that Karl had been permitted by his uncle to make this visit. Rapidly, he spooned soup into his mouth and explained to Klara on his right and Mr Pollunder on his left why he was so surprised, how closely the uncle watched over Karl, and how the uncle’s love for Karl really surpassed the usual love of uncles. Not content with making mischief by being here, he’s making mischief between me and my uncle, thought Karl, and he couldn’t swallow a mouthful of the golden soup. But as he didn’t want to draw attention to his irritation he began dumbly pouring soup into himself. The dinner dragged on like a plague. Only Mr Green, and to some extent Klara, showed any degree of animation and managed the odd short laugh. Mr Pollunder only became snarled up in the conversation on the few occasions when Mr Green turned to business matters. But he quickly withdrew again, and Mr Green had to surprise him into it a little later. He was at pains to emphasize – and here Karl, who was listening as if to a threat, had to be reminded by Klara that there was roast meat in front of him and that this was dinner – that it hadn’t been his intention at any stage to make this surprise visit. For even if the business they still had to discuss was of particular urgency, then at least the principal part of it could have been negotiated in town today, and the details kept for tomorrow or some other day. Accordingly he had gone to see Mr Pollunder long before the close of business, but had found him gone, so that he had been compelled to ring home to say that he wouldn’t be back that night and had then driven out here. ‘Then I owe you an apology,’ said Karl aloud, and, before anyone could reply, he went on, ‘because it’s my fault that Mr Pollunder left his business early and I’m very sorry.’ Mr Pollunder covered most of his face with his napkin, while Klara smiled at Karl, but it wasn’t a sympathetic smile, but rather one that sought to influence him in some way. ‘No need to apologize,’ said Mr Green, who was just carving up a pigeon with a few brisk strokes of his knife, ‘on the contrary, I’m glad to be spending the evening in such pleasant company, rather than having my evening meal by myself at home, waited on by my old housekeeper who is so ancient that even the few steps from the door to my table seems to take her forever, and I can if I am minded to, sit back in my chair and follow her progress. Just recently I arranged for the butler to carry my food as far as the dining-room door, but the way from the door to my table she seems to think is hers by rights.’ ‘My God!’ exclaimed Klara, ‘such loyalty!’ ‘Yes, there is still some loyalty in the world,’ said Mr Green lifting some food to his mouth, where, Karl happened to see, his tongue curled round and gripped it. He felt rather sick and stood up. Almost instantly Mr Pollunder and Klara each seized one of his hands. ‘You must remain seated,’ said Klara. And once he had sat down again, she whispered to him: ‘we’ll soon be able to get away. Be patient.’ Mr Green was quietly getting on with his dinner meanwhile, as though it were the responsibility of Mr Pollunder and Klara to calm Karl down each time he made him feel sick.

What made the dinner go on was the thoroughness with which Mr Green treated each course, although he always seemed ready for another one afterwards, never slackened, and really gave the appearance of wanting to recover from his old housekeeper. Now and again he would praise Miss Klara’s management of the house, which visibly flattered her, while Karl attempted to ward off these compliments as though they were attacks on her. Nor did Mr Green confine his attention to her, he repeatedly, without looking up from his plate, deplored Karl’s striking lack of appetite. Mr Pollunder defended Karl’s appetite, though, as Karl’s host, it should have been his role to encourage him to eat more. Karl felt under considerable strain throughout the meal, and that made him so sensitive that, against his better judgement, he saw Mr Pollunder’s words as hostile to himself. And it was purely on account of this that he suddenly consumed a great quantity of food with prodigious speed, then dropped his knife and fork exhausted and was the most lethargic member of the company, which made things very difficult for the waiter.

‘Tomorrow I will tell the Senator how you offended Miss Klara by not eating,’ said Mr Green and the only clue to his humorous intention was the way he handled his cutlery. ‘Look at the girl, see how sad she looks,’ he went on, and chucked Klara under the chin. She let him do it, and closed her eyes. ‘Little thing you,’ he cried, leaned back in his chair, and laughed red-faced and with the vigour of one who has eaten. Karl couldn’t understand Mr Pollunder’s behaviour at all. There he sat staring at the plate in front of him, as though the important events were all taking place there. He didn’t pull up Karl’s chair, and when he spoke he spoke to the generality, but he had nothing particular to say to Karl. And yet he allowed Green, that old New York bachelor roué, blatantly to fondle Klara, to insult Karl, his guest, or at least to treat him like a child, and Lord knows to what acts he was gearing himself up.

With dinner over – when Green sensed the general mood, he was the first to get up, and as it were pulled all the others up with him – Karl went off by himself to one of the great windows, divided up by little white strips, that looked out on to the terrace, and that turned out, on closer inspection, to be doors. What was left of the revulsion Mr Pollunder and his daughter had initially felt for Green, and which had seemed so incomprehensible to Karl at first? Now there they were standing with Green nodding at him. The smoke from Mr Green’s cigar, a present from Pollunder, of a thickness that his father would occasionally affirm existed, but had probably never witnessed with his own eyes, spread throughout the room, and carried Green’s influence into nooks and corners in which he would personally never set foot. In spite of the distance, Karl felt the smoke tickle his nose, and the behaviour of Mr Green, at whom he cast another quick glance across the room, seemed to him quite dastardly. Now he no longer excluded the possibility that his uncle had only refused to let him make this visit because he knew Mr Pollunder for a weak character, and so foresaw, if not in detail, then at least in general, the possibility of Karl’s being insulted. Nor did he care for the American girl, although her appearance had hardly been a disappointment to him. Since Mr Green had taken up with her he had been surprised by the beauty which her face was capable of, especially by the lustre of her constantly darting eyes. He had never seen a skirt as clinging as the one that clasped her body, little creases in the yellow, delicate, resistant fabric showed the strain. But Karl felt nothing for her, and would happily have declined to go up to her room with her, if instead he could open the door, the knob of which he held in both hands just in case, and climb into the car, or if the chauffeur was asleep already he could have gone to New York on foot by himself. The clear night with the favourable full moon was free for anyone, and to be afraid out in the open seemed idiotic to Karl. He pictured to himself – and for the first time he felt happy in that room – how he would arrive in the morning – he could hardly get there any sooner on foot – and surprise his uncle. He had never seen inside his uncle’s bedroom, in fact he didn’t even know where it was, but he would find out from someone. Then he would knock on the door, and on hearing the formal ‘Enter’ he would run into the room and surprise his dear uncle, whom he had previously only seen buttoned up and fully dressed, sitting up in bed, startled eyes on the door, in his nightshirt. Just by itself that might not be much, but imagine the possible consequences! Perhaps he would have breakfast with his uncle for the first time, his uncle in bed, himself on a chair, the breakfast on a low table between them, then perhaps they would breakfast together regularly, perhaps as a consequence of these breakfasts, it was almost inevitable in fact, they would meet more than the once a day it had been up until now, and then of course they would also be able to talk more openly with one another. It was really only because of the lack of frankness between them that he had shown a little disobedience to his uncle, or rather just stubbornness. And if he had to spend the night here – which unfortunately seemed probable, even though they left him to stand alone by a window and amuse himself – perhaps this unfortunate visit would become the turning point in his relations with his uncle, and perhaps his uncle in his bedroom tonight entertained similar thoughts himself.

He felt slightly comforted and turned round. Klara was standing in front of him, saying: ‘Do you really not like it here with us at all? couldn’t you feel a little more at home? Come with me, I’ll make one final effort.’ She led him across the room to the door. The two men were sitting at a side table with tall glasses full of gently effervescent drinks, which were unfamiliar to Karl and which he would have liked to try. Mr Green had his elbow on the table, and the whole of his face as close as possible to Mr Pollunder; if one didn’t know Mr Pollunder, one might easily have supposed that what these two were talking about was not business at all, but something of a criminal nature. Whereas Mr Pollunder’s eyes followed Karl tenderly as he went to the door, Green didn’t make the slightest move to look at Karl – even though one quite involuntarily tends to follow where one’s partner is looking. Karl saw in this behaviour the expression of a creed of Green’s that everyone should try to get by on his own abilities, Karl for himself and Green for himself, the necessary social connection between them would be established in time by the victory or destruction of one or other of them. ‘If he thinks that,’ Karl said to himself, ‘then he’s a fool. I want nothing to do with him, and I wish he would leave me in peace.’ No sooner had he emerged into the corridor than he thought he had probably behaved badly, because he had had his eyes glued to Green and had made Klara practically drag him out of the room. To make amends, he walked eagerly beside her now. Walking down the corridor, he at first didn’t believe his eyes when he saw at every twenty paces a richly liveried servant standing with a candelabra, holding its thick stem in both hands. ‘Electric power has so far only been connected to the dining-room,’ explained Klara. ‘We only recently bought the house, and had it completely converted, inasmuch as you can convert such an old and idiosyn-cratically constructed house like this.’ ‘So there are some old houses in America,’ said Karl. ‘Of course,’ said Klara laughing, and pulling him on. ‘You’ve got some strange ideas about America.’ ‘You’re not to laugh at me,’ he said crossly. After all, he knew both Europe and America, whereas she only knew America.

Klara put out her hand to push open a door in passing, and said: ‘This is where you’ll be sleeping.’ Of course Karl wanted to take a look at the room right away, but Klara explained, almost shouting with impatience, that that could wait, and he was to come along now. They had a little tug of war in the corridor, finally Karl thought he mustn’t just do whatever Klara said, and he broke loose and ran into the room. It was surprisingly dark outside, because just beyond the window was a treetop which was swaying to and fro. There was birdsong. In the room itself, which the moonlight hadn’t penetrated, one could make out very little. Karl was sorry he hadn’t brought along the electric torch his uncle had given him. Torches were essential in a house like this, if they had a few torches all the servants could be packed off to bed. He sat down on the window-seat and looked and listened. A frightened bird seemed to drill its way through the foliage of the old tree. The whistle of a New York suburban train sounded somewhere out in the distance. Apart from that all was quiet.

But not for long, because Klara ran in. Clearly angry, she cried: ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ and smacked at her skirt Karl wasn’t going to answer until she changed her tone. But she strode up to him and cried: ‘Well, are you coming or not?’ and either intentionally or in her excitement, she shoved him in the chest, so that he would have fallen out of the window, if his feet hadn’t gripped the floor at the last moment as he slipped backwards off the window-seat. I almost fell out of the window just now,’ he said, reprovingly. ‘Well, I wish you had. Why are you so naughty. I’m going to push you down again.’ And she put her arms round him, he was so surprised he forgot to make himself heavy, and with her sport-toughened body she carried him almost as far as the window. Then he came to his senses, freed himself with a twist of his hips, and then grabbed her. ‘Oh stop it, you’re hurting me!’ she said right away. But this time Karl thought he’d better not let her go. He allowed her to move her feet and take steps, but he went with her and didn’t let go. It was so easy to hold on to her in her tight dress. ‘Let me go,’ she whispered, her flushed face just by his, he had to strain to see her, she was so close, ‘Let me go, and I’ll give you a present.’ ‘Why is she sighing like that,’ thought Karl, ‘it can’t be hurting her, I’m not pressing at all,’ and he didn’t let go. But suddenly after a moment of careless silent standing, his body felt her strength returning and she slipped free, and held his upper body in a practised grip, warding off his legs with foot movements of some exotic fighting style, and panting for air with wonderful regularity, she drove him back towards the wall. There was a sofa there, on which she laid Karl, and said to him, ‘Now try and escape.’ ‘You cat, you wildcat,’ Karl cried in a bewilderment of shame and rage. ‘You wildcat, you’re mad.’ ‘Watch your words,’ she said, and one of her hands slipped round his throat and began choking him so hard that Karl was reduced to gulping for air, while with the other hand she touched his cheek as though to try it out, and then withdrew it far enough for her to slap him at any moment. ‘How would you like it,’ she said, ‘if for your behaviour towards a lady I were to send you home with a good slap for punishment. Perhaps it would be a useful lesson for future reference, though it wouldn’t be a pleasant memory. I’m sorry for you, you’re quite a good-looking boy really, and if you’d learned ju-jitsu, you would probably have given me a thrashing. Even so, even so – seeing you lying there, I feel an enormous urge to smack your face. I’ll probably regret it, but if I do it, I want you to know that it will almost have been in spite of myself. And of course I wouldn’t content myself with just one slap then, but hit you left and right till your cheeks are swollen. Maybe you’re a man of honour – I almost think you are – and you won’t be able to go on living after you’ve been slapped, and you’ll have to do away with yourself. But why did you have to treat me like that? Don’t you like me? Didn’t you want to come up to my room with me? Woops! I almost slapped you by accident. But if I let you off for now, you’d better behave in future. I’m not your uncle whom you can defy with impunity. Lastly I want to point out to you that if I let you go without slapping you, you’re not to think that in point of honour you might as well have been slapped, because if you were to think that, I’d prefer actually to slap you. I wonder what Mack will say when I tell him all this.’ At the name of Mack she let go of Karl, to whose confused mind Mack seemed like a saviour. He could still feel Klarl’s hand round his throat, so he went on writhing for a while and then lay still.

She told him to get up, but he didn’t move or reply. Somewhere she lit a candle, and the room grew light, a blue zigzag pattern appeared on the ceiling, but Karl lay there, his head on the sofa cushion, just as Klara had left it, and didn’t move it an inch. Klara walked about the room, her skirt swishing against her legs, then she stopped for a long time, probably by the window, he guessed. ‘Snapped out of it?’ she could be heard to ask. It was a heavy blow to Karl that in this room, where Mr Pollunder had put him for the night, he could get no rest. This girl was walking about in it, then she would stop and talk, it was all so inexpressibly tedious. He wanted to get to sleep quickly, and then get out of here, nothing more. He didn’t even want to go to bed, just stay where he was on the sofa. He was just lying there, waiting for her to leave, then he would leap across to the door, bolt it, and fling himself back on the sofa. He had such a need to stretch and yawn, but he didn’t want to do that in front of Klara. And so he lay there, staring up, feeling his face becoming ever more rigid, sensing a fly buzzing in front of his eyes, without really knowing what it was.

Klara went over to him again, leaned across to see where he was looking, and if he hadn’t disciplined himself, he would have had to look at her. ‘I’m going now,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’ll feel like seeing me later. The door to my rooms is the fourth one along on this side of the corridor. So you pass three doors, and the next one is mine. I won’t be going down to the salon again, I’m staying up in my room. You’ve really taken it out of me. I won’t exactly be waiting for you, but if you want to, then come. Remember, you promised to play the piano for me. But maybe you’re fed up with me, and you can’t move any more, then stay here and sleep. For the moment I’m not going to tell my father about our fight; I’m just saying that in case you’re worried.’ Then, in spite of her alleged tiredness, she was out of the room in two bounds.

Straightaway Karl sat up, lying had become impossible for him. For a little exercise he went to the door and looked out into the passage. It was pitch-black out there! He felt relieved when he had shut the door and bolted it, and was back by his table in the candlelight. He had decided not to stay in the house any longer, but to go downstairs to Mr Pollunder, to tell him quite openly how Klara had treated him – he didn’t mind admitting his defeat – and with probably sufficient justification, ask for permission to drive or walk home. If Mr Pollunder should have any objection to his immediate return, then Karl would ask to be shown to the nearest hotel by a servant. This wasn’t how one normally behaved to a friendly host, but it was still more unusual for a guest to be treated as he had been by Klara. She had even thought her promise not to mention the fight to Mr Pollunder was doing him a favour, and that was shocking enough. Was it some kind of wrestling bout to which Karl had been invited, so that it would have been embarrassing for him to have been thrown by a girl who probably spent most of her waking hours learning wrestling holds? She had probably received tuition from Mack. Let her tell him everything, he would understand, Karl was sure of that, even though he’d not yet had an opportunity to try him. But Karl also knew that if Mack had given him coaching, he would have been a far better pupil than Klara; and one day he would come back here, most probably uninvited, he would first reconnoitre the area, local knowledge was a prime advantage of Klarl’s, and then he would grab that selfsame Klara, and dust that same sofa with her which she had laid him on today.

Now it was just a matter of finding his way down to the salon, where, in his initial distraction, he had probably also left his hat in some unsuitable place. He would take the candle with him of course, but even with its light, it wouldn’t be easy to find the way. For example he didn’t even know whether this room was on the same floor as the salon or not. Klara had kept pulling him on the way here, so that he had been unable to look around. He had also been distracted by the servants with their candelabras, in short, he really didn’t know if they had climbed one flight of stairs or two, or none at all. Judging from the view, the room was quite high up, and he tended therefore to imagine that they had climbed some steps, but then there were steps leading up to the front door, so perhaps that accounted for the height on this side of the house. If only there was a glimmer of light from a doorway or a faint voice in the corridor.

His wristwatch, a present from his uncle, showed eleven o’clock as he took up the candle and went out into the corridor. In case his search should be unsuccessful, he left his door open, so that he would at least be able to find his room again, and thereby, in an extreme emergency, Klara’s as well. Lest the door should fall shut, he pushed a chair in the way. In the passageway Karl found that he had to contend with a draught – naturally he had turned left, away from Klara’s door – that was quite weak, but still well capable of extinguishing the candle, so that Karl had to shield the flame with his hand, and also to stop at intervals to allow the guttering light to recover. He made slow progress, and the way back seemed to be twice as long. Karl passed great stretches of wall that had no doors at all, so that one couldn’t imagine what lay behind them. Then it was one door after another, he tried several of them, but they were all locked, and the rooms evidently unoccupied. It was an extraordinary waste of space, and Karl thought of the eastern districts of New York, which his uncle had promised to show him, where one small room apparently housed several families and a corner was home to a whole family, with the children huddling round their parents. And here there were so many empty rooms, whose sole purpose was to make a hollow sound when you knocked on their doors. Karl thought Mr Pollunder had been led astray by false friends, besotted with his daughter, and thus corrupted. His uncle had surely judged him correctly, and only that principle of his of not influencing Karl’s own judgements was responsible for this visit and his wanderings along these passages. Karl decided to tell his uncle all this straight out tomorrow, because his uncle’s own principle meant that he would listen to his nephew’s opinion, even of himself, calmly and gladly. That principle was perhaps the only thing that Karl didn’t like about his uncle, and even that feeling was not unqualified.

Suddenly the wall on one side of the corridor came to an end, and was replaced by an ice-cold marble balustrade. Karl put the candle down on it and carefully leaned forward. Empty darkness blew towards him. If this was the entrance hall of the house – by the light of the candle he saw what seemed to be a bit of vaulted ceiling – why hadn’t they come in through it? What was this large and lofty room for? It was like standing in the gallery of a church up here. Karl almost regretted that he couldn’t stay in the house till morning, he would like to have had a guided tour of it by daylight from Mr Pollunder.

The balustrade did not go on for very long, and soon Karl was swallowed up by the enclosed corridor again. Suddenly it made a sharp turn, and Karl walked smack into a wall, only the vigilance with which he held the candle upright kept it from falling from his grasp and being extinguished. As the corridor seemed never ending, without a window anywhere and no sign of movement either high or low, it occurred to Karl that he was going round in a circle, he hoped to come upon the open door of his room soon, but neither that nor the balustrade returned. So far Karl had refrained from calling out, as he was reluctant to make a noise in a strange house at this late hour, but he now realized that it would be a forgivable thing to do in this unlit house, and he was just about to halloo loudly down the corridor in both directions, when he saw, from where he had come, a small light coming ever nearer. Karl’s joy at this salvation was so great that he forgot all his caution and started running towards it, which caused his candle to go out after a few steps. He didn’t care, he didn’t need it any more, here came an old retainer with a lantern who would show him the way.

‘Who are you?’ asked the retainer and held the lantern in Karl’s face, thereby simultaneously lighting up his own. His face seemed rather stiff on account of a long white beard which only broke up into silky ringlets when it hit his chest. He must be a trusty servant to be allowed to wear such a beard, thought Karl, and he stared at its length and breadth, without being inhibited by the fact that he was being stared at himself. He replied right away that he was a guest of Mr Pollunder’s, that he had left his own room to go back to the dining-room, but had been unable to find it. ‘Oh yes,’ said the servant, ‘we haven’t introduced electric light yet.’ ‘I know,’ said Karl. ‘wouldn’t you care to light your candle at my lantern?’ asked the servant. ‘Yes please,’ said Karl, and did so. ‘There is such a draught in the corridors,’ said the servant, ‘a candle is easily extinguished, and so I have a lantern.’ ‘Yes, a lantern is far more practical,’ said Karl. ‘You’re all spattered with wax too,’ said the servant, passing the lantern over Karl’s suit. ‘I never noticed that,’ said Karl, and he was very sorry as it was his black suit, which his uncle had said fitted him best of all his suits. The fight with Klara couldn’t have done much for the suit either, he now thought. The servant was kind enough to give the suit a quick clean; Karl kept turning round in front of him, drawing more stains to his attention, which the servant duly removed. ‘Why is there such a draught here?’ asked Karl, once they were on their way again. ‘There’s a lot of building work still to be done,’ said the servant, ‘they’ve begun on the conversion, but it’s going very slowly. And now the building workers have gone on strike, maybe you’ve heard. A building job like that is nothing but trouble. They’ve made a couple of major openings, but there’s no one to wall them up, and so there’s a draught all over the house. If I didn’t have cotton wool in my ears, I wouldn’t be able to survive.’ ‘Would you like me to speak up?’ said Karl. ‘No, your voice is very clear,’ said the servant. ‘But to get back to the building, the draught is quite intolerable, especially here in the vicinity of the chapel, which will certainly have to be separated from the rest of the house later.’ ‘So the balustrade you pass in this corridor opens out into the chapel?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I thought so right away,’ said Karl. ‘It’s well worth seeing,’ said the servant. ‘If it hadn’t been there, I doubt whether Mr Mack would have bought the house.’ ‘Mr Mack?’ asked Karl, ‘I thought the house belonged to Mr Pollunder.’ ‘Yes, it does,’ said the servant, ‘but Mr Mack was the moving force behind the purchase. Do you not know Mr Mack?’ ‘Yes I do,’ said Karl. ‘But what is his relationship with Mr Pollunder?’ ‘He is the young lady’s intended,’ said the servant. ‘I had no idea of that,’ said Karl, and stopped. ‘Does it come as such a surprise to you?’ asked the servant. ‘I just want to take account of it. If you’re not aware of such relationships, you can make very serious blunders,’ replied Karl. ‘I’m surprised you weren’t informed about it,’ said the servant ‘No I wasn’t,’ said Karl, embarrassed. ‘They probably thought you knew about it,’ said the servant, ‘it’s not a recent development. By the way, we’ve arrived,’ and he opened a door, behind which a flight of steps led steeply down to the back door of the dining-room, which was brightly lit, as it had been on their arrival. Before Karl had entered the dining-room, from which the voices of Mr Green and Mr Pollunder could be heard, as they could two hours previously, the servant said: ‘If you like, I’ll wait here for you, and take you back to your room. It is difficult to find your way around on your first evening with us.’ ‘I won’t be going back to my room,’ said Karl, and he didn’t know why the statement made him feel sad. ‘Surely it’s not that bad,’ said the servant, smiling in a gently superior way and patting him on the arm. He probably took Karl to mean that he intended to spend the whole night in the dining-room, talking and drinking with the gentlemen. Karl didn’t want to make any admissions, and besides, he thought this servant, whom he liked better than any of the others, might be able to show him the way to New York later, and so he said: ‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting here, that would be very kind of you, and I’m happy to accept. I’ll be out in a little while, and tell you what’s to be done then. I think I’ll be needing your help.’ ‘Very good,’ said the servant, and set the lantern down on the floor and seated himself on a low plinth, whose unoccupied condition was probably something to do with the conversion of the house, ‘I’ll be waiting for you here.’ ‘You can leave the candle with me too,’ he added, as Karl was about to enter the salon with his burning candle in his hand. ‘I am being absent-minded,’ said Karl, and passed the candle to the servant, who merely nodded to him, although it wasn’t clear whether it was deliberate, or merely the result of stroking his beard.

Karl opened the door which rattled loudly, not through his own fault, but because it consisted of a single pane of glass which almost broke when the door was quickly pulled open held only by the handle. Karl let go of the door in fright, because he had meant to make a particularly quiet entrance. Without turning round, he noticed how behind him the servant must have got off his plinth to close the door carefully, without making the slightest noise. ‘Excuse the interruption,’ he said to the two gentlemen, who stared at him with large astonished faces. At the same time he scoured the room to see whether he might not quickly find his hat lying somewhere. But it was nowhere to be seen, the table had been cleared, there was the disagreeable possibility that it had been carried off into the kitchens. ‘What have you done with Klara?’ asked Mr Pollunder, who seemed to welcome the interruption, as he straightaway shifted in his chair to face Karl. Mr Green feigned indifference, pulled out his wallet, by size and thickness a monster of its kind, and seemed to be looking for some particular item in its various compartments, but as he looked he also perused whatever else came to light. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask you, you mustn’t take it amiss,’ said Karl, and he went hurriedly across to Mr Pollunder, and to be as close as possible to him he laid his hand on the armrest of his chair. ‘What favour is that?’ asked Mr Pollunder, looking candidly at Karl. ‘Of course it’s already granted,’ and he put his arm round Karl, and made him stand between his legs. Karl didn’t mind, although he thought he was generally a little too old for such treatment. But it made it harder to ask the favour. ‘How do you like it here with us?’ asked Mr Pollunder. ‘wouldn’t you agree that the country has a liberating effect, when you come here from the city. In general’ – and he sent an unambiguous look at Mr Green, half-obscured by Karl’s body – ‘in general I feel like that every time I come here in the evening.’ ‘The way he talks,’ thought Karl, ‘it’s as though he didn’t know about the big house, the endless corridors, the chapel, the empty rooms, the darkness everywhere.’ ‘Now then!’ said Mr Pollunder. ‘That favour!’ and he gave Karl a friendly shake as he stood there silently. ‘The favour,’ said Karl, and however much he tried to lower his voice, he was unable to prevent everything he said from being overheard by Green, who might construe his request as an insult to Pollunder so that Karl would have dearly liked to keep it from him – ‘the favour I want to ask is to let me go home right now, tonight.’ And since the worst had been spoken, everything else tumbled out too, he spoke, without any recourse to lying, things he hadn’t even thought previously. ‘More than anything I want to go home. I will be happy to come on another occasion, because anywhere you are, Mr Pollunder, I am glad to be myself. Only today I can’t stay. You know that my uncle didn’t willingly give me permission for this visit. He must have had his reasons too, as he does for everything, but I ventured, against his superior understanding, to force his permission. I simply abused his love for me. It doesn’t matter any more why he was against the visit, I just know that there was nothing in his reasons to cause you any offence, Mr Pollunder, because you are the best, the very best of my uncle’s friends. None of my uncle’s other friends can remotely compare with you. That’s the only excuse for my disobeying him, but it’s not a sufficient excuse. Your understanding of the relationship between my uncle and me may not be very thorough, so let me just mention some salient points. Until my English studies are complete, and I have seen something of the workings of business, I am utterly dependent on the kindness of my uncle, which as a blood-relation I have a certain right to enjoy. You must bear in mind that I am as yet unable to make my own way in life respectably – and may God save me from all else. Unfortunately my education has been too unpractical for that. I have had four years as a middling pupil at a European secondary school, and in terms of a qualification for earning money, that means less than nothing, because our schools follow a very antiquated syllabus. If I told you what I’d studied it would only make you laugh. If you continue, and finish the secondary school and go on to university, then everything probably balances out somehow and you end up with a decent education that is of some use, and also gives you the resolve to go out and earn money. Unfortunately I was plucked out of such a coherent education prematurely, at times I believe I know nothing at all, and everything I might possibly know would still be too little for America. In my home country a few progressive secondary schools have recently been introduced, where modern languages and perhaps some business studies are taught, but at the time I left elementary school they didn’t yet exist. My father was keen for me to learn English, but firstly I had no way of knowing what catastrophe would befall me, and with what urgency I would need English, and secondly I had to study hard at secondary school, so that it didn’t leave me with much time for other pursuits – I tell you all this to show you how dependent on my uncle I am, and correspondingly how indebted to him. You will surely agree that under such circumstances I could not permit myself to do the slightest thing against his wishes, or even his presumed wishes. And that is why to try and partly atone for my transgression against him, I must go home right away.’ Mr Pollunder had listened carefully to Karl’s long speech, he had pressed Karl to himself imperceptibly, especially when the uncle was mentioned, and occasionally and as though expectantly and seriously looked over to Green, who continued to be engaged with his wallet. Karl though, the more his position towards his uncle had become clear to him as he spoke, had become more and more restless, and tried involuntarily to break away from Mr Pollunder’s hold, everything here was constricting him, the way to his uncle through the glass door, down the stairs, through the avenue, along the country roads, through the suburbs to the big thoroughfare, ending up in his uncle’s house, seemed to him to constitute an indivisible entity, lying empty, smooth and ready for him, and it called out to him in a loud voice. Mr Pollunder’s goodness and Mr Green’s vileness blurred together, and he wanted nothing more from this smoky room than permission to leave it. He felt impervious to Mr Pollunder and ready to fight Mr Green, and yet he was filled with the sensation all around him of a vague fear, whose throbbings dimmed his eyes.

He took a step back and was now equidistant from Mr Pollunder and Mr Green. ‘Didn’t you have something to say to him?’ Mr Pollunder asked Mr Green, as though imploringly taking Mr Green’s hand. ‘I wouldn’t know what I had to say to him?’ said Mr Green, finally pulling a letter from his wallet, and laying it on the table. ‘It’s all very laudable of him to want to go back to his uncle, and one might go so far as to predict that he will give his uncle great pleasure by so doing. Unless, that is, he has previously so angered his uncle by his disobedience, which is also possible. In that case, he would be better advised to stay here. It’s difficult to say anything definite, both of us are friends of his uncle’s, and it would be a tricky thing to establish some pecking order between my friendship with his uncle and Mr Pollunder’s, but finally we can’t see inside the uncle, least of all so many miles away from New York.’ ‘Mr Green, please,’ said Karl, and overcoming his reluctance, he approached Mr Green, ‘I understand you to be suggesting that the best course for me would be to return right away as well.’ ‘That’s not what I meant at all,’ said Mr Green, and focused his attention on the letter, sliding two fingers up and down the edge of it. He seemed to be suggesting with that that he had been asked a question by Mr Pollunder and given him his reply, and that he had nothing to do really with Karl.

In the meantime Mr Pollunder had gone up to Karl and had gently pulled him away from Mr Green to one of the big windows. ‘Dear Mr Rossmann,’ he said, bending down to Karl’s ear, giving his face a preparatory wipe with his handkerchief, stopping at his nose, which he blew. ‘Surely you can’t believe that I want to detain you against your will. There’s no question of that. I am afraid I can’t put the car at your disposal, because it is kept at a public garage some way from here, as I have yet to build my own garage here, where everything is still at an early stage. Moreover, the chauffeur doesn’t sleep here either, but somewhere near the garage, I’m not exactly sure where myself. Besides it’s no part of his duties to be here, all he has to do is to pick me up at the right time each morning. But all of that needn’t impede your immediate return home in any way because, if you insist, I will accompany you straightaway to the nearest suburban line railway station, although that is actually so far away from here that you wouldn’t arrive home much earlier than if you came along with me in the morning – we leave by seven o’clock – in the car.’ ‘That being so, Mr Pollunder, I’d still like to take the train,’ said Karl. ‘I never thought of the train. You just said yourself that I’d get there quicker by train than if I came in the car in the morning.’ ‘It’s only a very tiny difference.’ ‘Never mind, Mr Pollunder, never mind that,’ said Karl, ‘remembering your kindness to me, I will always be very glad to come here, assuming of course that after my behaviour of today you will still want to invite me, and perhaps in the future I will better be able to explain why every minute by which I might see my uncle the sooner is so vital to me.’ And, as though he had already been granted permission to leave, he added: ‘But you mustn’t accompany me. It’s quite unnecessary. There is a servant outside who will be happy to walk me to the station. Now I just have to find my hat’ And with these last words, he started across the room, just for one last look to see where his hat might be. ‘Perhaps I could help you out with a cap,’ said Mr Green, pulling a cap out of his pocket, ‘maybe this one fits you.’ Karl stopped in astonishment and said: ‘I’m not about to deprive you of your cap. I can perfectly well go bareheaded. I don’t need anything.’ ‘It’s not my cap. Go on take it!’ ‘In that case, thank you,’ said Karl so as not to delay matters, and he took the cap. He pulled it on, and then he had to laugh because it fitted so well, then he took it in his hand and looked at it, but he couldn’t find whatever feature he was looking for; it was a completely new cap. ‘It fits so perfectly!’ he said. ‘Good, it fits!’ said Mr Green and pounded the table.

Karl was on his way to the door to fetch the servant when Mr Green got to his feet, stretched himself after the lavish meal and the long rest, noisily thumped his chest, and said in a tone couched between advice and command: ‘Before you leave, you must say goodbye to Miss Klara.’ ‘Yes, you must,’ concurred Mr Pollunder, who had also stood up. You could tell with him that the words didn’t come from his heart, he let his hands drop listlessly against his trouser seams, and he kept buttoning and unbuttoning his jacket, which, in the latest fashion was barely hip length, which on such a fat person as Mr Pollunder was unbecoming. One got the distinct impression, on seeing him standing alongside Mr Green, that Mr Pollunder’s fatness was no healthy fatness, his massive back was bowed, his belly looked soft and unsustainable, a real weight, while his face looked pale and anxious. Mr Green was perhaps even fatter than Mr Pollunder, but it was a convincing, mutually supportive fatness, his feet were together in soldierly fashion, he carried his head erect and swaying, he looked like a great gymnast, a real team leader.

‘So first you go and look in on Miss Klara,’ continued Mr Green. ‘That ought to be a pleasure for you, and it also fits in nicely with my own timetable. Because it so happens I have something interesting to tell you before you leave here, which may well affect your decision to return home. Only unfortunately I’m bound by a higher command not to reveal anything to you before midnight. You can imagine how I regret that, because it eats into my nighe’s sleep, but I must stick to my instructions. The time now is a quarter past eleven, therefore I can finish discussing my business with Mr Pollunder, where you would only be in the way, while you can spend an agreeable few minutes with Miss Klara. On the dot of twelve you present yourself back here, where you will be told all that is needful for you.’

Could Karl refuse this demand, which really asked of him only the minimum of politeness and gratitude towards Mr Pollunder, which, furthermore, was put to him by a coarse man who was unconcerned in the matter, whereas Mr Pollunder, whom it did concern, stayed out of it, in both word and look? What was the interesting news he would only be allowed to hear at midnight? Unless it speeded his return home by the three quarters of an hour by which it delayed him now, it was of little interest to him. But his greatest doubt was whether he could go to Miss Klara at all, seeing as she was his enemy. If only he’d had the life-preserver with him which his uncle had given him as a paperweight. Klarl’s room might be a dangerous den indeed. But now it was impossible to say the least thing against Klara, seeing as she was Pollunder’s daughter, and, it seemed, Mack’s betrothed as well. She would only have had to behave slightly differently towards him, and he would have openly admired her on account of such connections. He was still pondering all this when he realized that no further pondering was required of him because Green opened the door and said to the servant who sprang up from his plinth: ‘Take this young man to Miss Klara.’

‘That’s the way an order should be carried out,’ thought Karl, as the servant led him at a brisk trot, though groaning with old age, by some particularly short route to Klarl’s room. As Karl passed his own room, whose door was still open, he wanted to step inside for a moment, perhaps to calm himself a little. But the servant wouldn’t allow that. ‘No,’ he said, ‘you must go to Miss Klara. You heard it yourself.’ ‘I only wanted to stay there a minute,’ said Karl, and he thought he would throw himself on the sofa for a change, to while away some of the time to midnight. ‘Don’t make it any harder for me to carry out my instructions,’ said the servant. ‘He seems to think a visit to Miss Klara is a punishment for me,’ thought Karl. He took a few more steps, and then stubbornly stopped again. ‘Now come along, young sir,’ said the servant, ‘seeing as you’ve got this far already. I know you wanted to leave tonight but you can’t always have everything the way you want it. I told you right away that that would be very difficult.’ ‘Yes, I want to go away, and I will go away,’ said Karl, ‘and now I just want to say goodbye to Miss Klara.’ ‘There,’ said the servant, and Karl could tell he didn’t believe a word of what he’d just said, ‘so why are you so reluctant to say goodbye, come along.’

‘Who’s that in the corridor?’ Klara’s voice inquired, and she appeared leaning out of a nearby doorway, with a large table-lamp with a red shade in her hand. The servant rushed over to report to her, Karl dawdled along in his wake. ‘You’re late,’ said Klara. Without answering her for the moment, Karl said to the servant quietly, but, now knowing something of his character, in tones of strict command: ‘You’re to wait for me outside!’ ‘I was just going to bed,’ said Klara, putting the lamp down on the table. As he had downstairs with the dining-room door, the servant carefully closed the door from outside. ‘It’s gone half past eleven.’ ‘Gone half past eleven,’ Karl repeated doubtfully, as though alarmed by the numbers.

‘Then I have to say goodbye right away,’ said Karl, ‘because on the dot of twelve I have to be down in the dining-room.’ ‘What urgent business you have,’ said Klara, and absent-mindedly arranged the folds of her loose nightgown, her face glowed and she kept smiling. Karl sensed that there was no danger of a resumption of hostilities with Klara. ‘Couldn’t you play something for me on the piano, as Papa promised me yesterday and you yourself did earlier today?’ ‘Isn’t it too late for that?’ asked Karl. He would have liked to oblige her, because she was quite different from the way she had been before, as though she’d risen into the circle of Pollunder’s, and of Mack’s too. ‘Well, it is late,’ she said, and her desire for music seemed to have abated. ‘And then every note echoes through the whole house, if you did play I’m sure it would wake all the servants in the attic.’ ‘Then I’ll leave the piano-playing, I hope to come back sometime, and if it’s not out of your way, why don’t you visit my uncle some time, and then you could pop in and see me too. I’ve got a magnificent piano in my room. Uncle gave it to me. If you like, I could play you all my little pieces on it, unfortunately there aren’t very many of them, and they’re not really suitable for such a great instrument, on which only virtuosos should be heard. But you would be able to have that pleasure too, if you arrange your visit ahead of time, because uncle wants to hire a famous piano teacher for me – just imagine how much I’m looking forward to that – and his playing would be an inducement to you to visit me during a lesson. To be honest, I’m glad it’s too late to play now, because I can hardly play anything, you’d be amazed at how little I know. And now you must allow me to say. goodbye, after all it is your bedtime.’ And because Klara looked at him kindly, and seemed to bear him no ill will as a result of their fighting, he added with a smile as he gave her his hand: ‘As they say in my country: sleep well and sweet dreams.’

‘Wait,’ she said, without taking his hand, ‘maybe you should play after all,’ and she disappeared through a little side-door directly beside the piano. ‘What’s the matter?’ thought Karl, ‘I can’t wait much longer, however sweet she is.’ There was a knock on the outer door, and the servant, not quite daring to open the door, whispered through a crack in the door: ‘Excuse me, I’ve just been called away, so I can’t stay here any longer.’ ‘Off you go then,’ said Karl, who by now trusted himself to find the way to the dining-room unescorted, ‘just leave the lantern by the door for me. What time is it, by the way?’ ‘Almost a quarter to twelve,’ said the servant. ‘How slowly the time passes,’ said Karl. The servant was on the point of closing the door, when Karl remembered he hadn’t tipped him yet, took a schilling from his trouser pockets – he had acquired the American habit of carrying his loose change jingling in his trouser pocket, and banknotes in the pocket of his waistcoat – and handed it to the servant with the words: ‘This is for your services.’

Klara had come back in the meantime, her hands in her rigid coiffure, when it occurred to Karl that he shouldn’t have sent the servant away, because who would walk him to the suburban railway station now? Well, Mr Pollunder would probably be able to drum up a servant from somewhere, perhaps this very servant had been called down to the dining-room to be put at his disposal later. ‘I would like you to play something for me. We have so little music here, I don’t want to miss an opportunity of hearing some now.’ ‘Then it’s high time,’ said Karl, and without further ado he sat down at the piano. ‘Would you like some sheet music?’ asked Klara. ‘No thank you, I can’t even read music properly,’ replied Karl, and began playing. It was a little tune, which as Karl probably knew, was meant to be played quite slowly, particularly so that foreigners could understand it, but he hammered it out as mechanically as a march. When he’d finished, the shattered silence of the house slunk back. They sat there stunned and motionless. ‘Pretty good,’ said Klara, but there was no platitude that might have comforted Karl after playing like that. ‘How late is it?’ he asked. ‘A quarter to midnight.’ ‘Then I’ve still got a bit of time,’ he said, and privately he thought: It’s either or. I don’t have to play all ten of my tunes, but there is one I can try and play nicely. And he embarked on his beloved soldier’s song. So slowly that the hearer’s alerted expectations lengthened towards the next note, which Karl would hold back as long as he could before squeezing it out. As with all his tunes, he first had to locate the notes by eye, but he also felt sorrow being born within him that sought its definition beyond the end of the song and couldn’t find it. ‘I’m no good,’ Karl said when he’d finished this time, and looked at Klara with tear-filled eyes.

Then there came the sound of loud clapping from the next door room. ‘Someone else is listening!’ cried Karl in consternation. ‘Mack,’ said Klara quietly. And Mack’s voice rang out, calling: ‘Karl Rossmann, Karl Rossmann!’

Karl swung himself off the piano stool and opened the door. He saw Mack sprawling on a large four-poster bed, with the coverlet draped loosely over his legs. The blue silk canopy was the only thing remotely feminine about the angular, simple, heavy bed. There was a single candle burning on the bedside table, but the bedlinen and Mack’s shirt were so white that its light reflected off them in a dazzle; even the edges of the canopy gleamed with its slightly ruched, not quite stretched silk. Behind Mack the bed and everything else was lost in complete darkness. Klara leaned against the bedpost, and only had eyes for Mack.

‘Hello there,’ said Mack, and gave Karl his hand. ‘You play pretty well, so far I’ve only known your horsemanship.’ ‘I do equally badly at both,’ said Karl. ‘If I’d known you were listening, I would certainly not have played. But your’ – he broke off, as he was reluctant to say ‘betrothed’ since Mack and Klara were obviously already sleeping together. ‘I thought so,’ said Mack, ‘that’s why Klara had to lure you away from New York, otherwise I’d never have got to hear you play. You’re only a beginner, and even in those pieces which you must have practised a lot, and which are in very rudimentary arrangements you made a few mistakes, but I was still very glad to hear you, quite apart from the fact that I despise no one’s playing. won’t you sit down and keep us company for a while. Klara, give him a chair.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Karl hesitantly. ‘But I can’t stay, however much I’d like to. I never knew this house had such cosy rooms.’ ‘I’m having everything converted to this style,’ said Mack.

At that moment, a bell chimed twelve times in quick succession, each ring falling into the noise of its predecessor. Karl felt the wind from those great bells brushing his cheeks. What village was it that could boast of such bells!

‘High time,’ said Karl, held his hands out to Mack and Klara without touching them, and ran out on to the corridor. There was no lantern there, and he was sorry he had tipped the servant too soon. He was feeling his way along the wall towards his own room, but was still only halfway there, when he saw Mr Green hurriedly swaying towards him with a candle held high in his hand. In the same hand he carried the letter.

‘Rossmann, why aren’t you coming? Why are you keeping me waiting? What have you been up to with Miss Klara?’ ‘Questions, questions!’ thought Karl, and now he’ll push me against the wall, because he was standing right in front of Karl, whose back was indeed against the wall. In this corridor Green took on a quite ridiculous size, and Karl was even wondering flippantly to himself whether he might not have eaten up nice Mr Pollunder.

‘It appears you are not a man of your word. You promise to come down at twelve o’clock, instead of which you’re prowling around Miss Klara’s door. I on the other hand promised you something interesting at midnight, and lo, here I am.’

And with that he handed Karl the letter. On the envelope it said: ‘To Karl Rossmann. To be delivered to him at midnight, wherever he may be met’. ‘Finally,’ said Mr Green, while Karl was opening the letter, ‘I think it’s noteworthy that I’ve driven all the way here from New York on your account, so you really shouldn’t make me chase you up and down corridors on top of that.’

‘It’s from my uncle!’ said Karl, no sooner than he’d opened the letter. ‘I was expecting it,’ he said, turning to Mr Green.

‘I really couldn’t care less whether you were expecting it or not. Just read it,’ he said, and held the candle up to Karl.

By its light Karl read: ‘Beloved Nephew! As you will have realized during our unfortunately far too brief life together, I am a man of principle. That is a very disagreeable and a very sad thing, not only for those around me, but for myself as well, however, I owe everything I am to my principles, and no one has the right to ask of me that I deny myself out of existence, no one, not even you, my dear nephew, though you should be the very first if it ever occurred to me to allow such a general assault on myself. Then I would love to take you with these same two hands that are holding and writing on this piece of paper, and lift you high up in the air. However, as there is no suggestion that this might ever occur, I am bound to send you away from me after what has happened today, and I must ask you neither to seek me out in person nor to attempt to communicate with me by letter or through an intermediary. Against my wishes, you decided to leave me this evening, so be true to your decision all your life, only then will it have been a manly decision. For the conveyor of this news, I chose my best friend, Mr Green, who will surely find sufficiently sparing words for yourself, I have none left in me at the moment. He is a man of influence, and will, for love of me, support your first independent steps by word and deed. In order to understand our separation, which as I end this letter seems to me once more unfathomable, I have to keep saying to myself: No good can come from your family, Karl. Should Mr Green forget to give you your suitcase and umbrella, then remind him to do so. With best wishes for your future well-being, I remain

Your faithful uncle Jakob.’

‘Have you finished?’ asked Green. ‘Yes’ said Karl, ‘have you got the suitcase and umbrella for me?’ asked Karl. ‘There you are,’ said Green, and set Karl’s old suitcase, which he had kept hidden behind his back in his left hand, on the floor beside Karl. ‘And the umbrella?’ asked Karl. ‘It’s all here,’ said Green, and pulled out the umbrella, which was dangling from a trouser pocket. ‘The things were brought in by one Schubal, a chief engineer with the Hamburg–America Line, he claims he found them on the ship. Thank him if you ever get the chance.’ ‘Well, at least I have my old things back,’ said Karl, and laid the umbrella on the suitcase. ‘The Senator suggests you might look after them better in future,’ remarked Mr Green, and then asked, obviously out of personal curiosity: ‘What kind of strange suitcase is that?’ ‘It’s a suitcase that soldiers in my home country enlist with,’ replied Karl, ‘it’s my father’s old army suitcase. It’s very practical.’ Smiling, he added: ‘If you remember not to leave it somewhere.’ ‘Well, you’ve had enough instructions now,’ said Mr Green, ‘and I don’t suppose you have another uncle in America. Lastly, here is a third-class ticket to San Francisco. I chose that as your destination, firstly because the chances of employment are far better for you in the east, and secondly because your uncle is involved in everything here that you might be considered for, and a meeting is to be avoided at all costs. In Frisco, you’ll be able to work undisturbed, just start at the bottom and gradually work your way up.’

Karl could hear no malice in these words, the bad news that had been inside Green all evening had been delivered, and now Green seemed a harmless man, one with whom it was perhaps possible to talk more openly than anyone else. The best of men, who through no fault of his own is made the bearer of such a secret and painful decision, is bound to be suspicious for as long as he contains it within himself. ‘I will leave the house at once,’ said Karl, expecting the confirmation of an experienced man, ‘because I was only invited into it as the nephew of my uncle, whereas as a stranger I have no business here. Would you be so good as to show me the way out, and point me in the direction of the nearest inn.’ ‘Will you get on with it,’ said Green, ‘you’re putting me to a great deal of trouble.’ On seeing the enormous stride that Green had taken right away Karl stopped, such haste was suspicious, and he grabbed Green by the coat-tails and said, suddenly grasping the true state of things: ‘There is one more thing you must explain to me. On the envelope of the letter you were told to give me, it just says that I am to be given it at midnight wherever I am met. Why, then, pleading those instructions, did you detain me here when I wanted to leave at a quarter past eleven? You went beyond your instructions.’ Green introduced his reply with a gesture indicating in an exaggerated way the fatuity of Karl’s observation, and then said: ‘Does it say anywhere on the envelope that I am to be rushed into an early grave on your account, and do the contents of the letter allow one to conclude that the instructions are to be taken in such a way? If I hadn’t detained you, then I would just have had to give you the letter at midnight on the highway somewhere.’ ‘No,’ Karl insisted, ‘not quite. If you were too tired, you might not even have been able to set off after me, or, though Mr Pollunder denies it, I might have been back with my uncle by midnight, or it might have been your duty even to drive me back to my uncle in your automobile – which seems to have been unaccountably ignored – seeing as I was insistent on returning. Don’t the words on the envelope declare quite unambiguously that midnight was the deadline for me? And you must take the blame for making me miss it.’

Karl looked hard at Green, and he saw that shame at his unmasking was struggling in him with joy at the success of his project. Finally he pulled himself together and said in a tone as if he were cutting off Karl in mid-flow, though he had been silent for some time: ‘Not another word,’ and propelled Karl, who had taken up his suitcase and umbrella, through a little door which he had pushed open for him.

Karl stood in the open, astonished. A flight of stairs without a railing led downwards. He needed only to go down it, and then turn right on to the avenue which led to the road. In the bright moonlight it was impossible to go wrong. Down in the garden he heard the barking of dogs running around in the shadow of the trees. There was silence otherwise, so that one could hear the sound of their impacts on the grass as they leapt about.

Without being molested by these dogs, Karl emerged from the garden. He couldn’t say with any certainty in which direction New York lay, on the way here he had paid little attention to details which might have been useful to him now. Finally he told himself he didn’t necessarily have to go to New York where no one was expecting him, and one person definitely was not. So he chose a direction at random, and set off.