through the sheer force of his despair. In any case, as a quick glance at the desk showed, it had a panel for the electric current with far too many buttons on it, and a single hand pressing down on them could make the entire ship, and all its passageways filled with hostile people, rise up in rebellion.
The seemingly indifferent gentleman with the little bamboo stick then approached Karl, and asked quite softly, though loudly enough to be clearly overheard over the shouting from the stoker: âSo whatâs your name?â At that moment, as if someone had waited behind the door until the gentleman uttered those words, there was a knock. In response the servant looked at the captain; the latter nodded. Whereupon the servant went to the door and opened it. In an old imperial frock coat stood a man of medium build, who judging by his appearance was not especially cut out for working with machines, yet it was indeed Schubal. Had Karl not been able to gather as much from the hint of satisfaction in everyoneâs eyes, to which not even the captain was immune, he would inevitably, and much to his dismay, have recognized it in the posture of the stoker, who had clenched his fists at the end of his stiffened arms, as if this clenching were paramount, and as if he were prepared to sacrifice his entire life for its sake. All of his strength was concentrated there, even that which held him erect.
And so there stood the enemy, looking sovereign and fresh in his fancy suit, with an account book under his arm, probably the stokerâs pay dockets and work records, andâwithout making the slightest effort to conceal that his foremost desire was to gauge everyoneâs moodâhe looked each person in the eye, one by one. All seven were his friends, for even if the captain had had reservations about him earlier or had perhaps merely feigned to have had, after all the trouble the stoker had caused him, he would surely no longer have the slightest objection to Schubal. One could not be sufficiently severe with a man such as the stoker, and if Schubal could be reproached in any way it was for not having succeeded over time in reining in the stokerâs obstinacy well enough to ensure that he would not have the audacity to appear before the captain as he had just done.
Well, perhaps one could still assume that the effect that this juxtaposition of the stoker and Schubal would have on a higher forum would not be lost on human beings, for even if Schubal managed to put on a sham, he could not necessarily keep it up indefinitely. His vileness need only peek through for a moment, and the gentlemen would notice it; Karl would make sure that would happen. After all, he had more than a passing acquaintance with the shrewdness, weaknesses, and moods of the various gentlemen, and so at least from that point of view, the time he had spent here had not been wasted. If the stoker had only stood his ground, but he seemed absolutely unable to fight. Had they dangled Schubal before him, he might have taken his fist and split that hated skull, like a thin-shelled nut. But even those few steps toward Schubal would probably be beyond him. Why had Karl not foreseen something so easily foreseen, namely, that Schubal would finally be obliged to come, if not on his own initiative then on a summons from the captain? Why hadnât he devised a precise battle plan as he walked over with the stoker instead of entering mercilessly unprepared simply because there was a door there? Could the stoker still speak, say yes and no, as he would be required to do in the cross-examination that would take place only if everything turned out for the best. The stoker stood there, legs apart, knees slightly bowed, head raised slightly, and the air went in and out of his open mouth as if he had no lungs left inside to handle his breathing.
Still, Karl felt stronger and more alert than he had perhaps ever felt at home. If only his parents could have seen him
The seemingly indifferent gentleman with the little bamboo stick then approached Karl, and asked quite softly, though loudly enough to be clearly overheard over the shouting from the stoker: âSo whatâs your name?â At that moment, as if someone had waited behind the door until the gentleman uttered those words, there was a knock. In response the servant looked at the captain; the latter nodded. Whereupon the servant went to the door and opened it. In an old imperial frock coat stood a man of medium build, who judging by his appearance was not especially cut out for working with machines, yet it was indeed Schubal. Had Karl not been able to gather as much from the hint of satisfaction in everyoneâs eyes, to which not even the captain was immune, he would inevitably, and much to his dismay, have recognized it in the posture of the stoker, who had clenched his fists at the end of his stiffened arms, as if this clenching were paramount, and as if he were prepared to sacrifice his entire life for its sake. All of his strength was concentrated there, even that which held him erect.
And so there stood the enemy, looking sovereign and fresh in his fancy suit, with an account book under his arm, probably the stokerâs pay dockets and work records, andâwithout making the slightest effort to conceal that his foremost desire was to gauge everyoneâs moodâhe looked each person in the eye, one by one. All seven were his friends, for even if the captain had had reservations about him earlier or had perhaps merely feigned to have had, after all the trouble the stoker had caused him, he would surely no longer have the slightest objection to Schubal. One could not be sufficiently severe with a man such as the stoker, and if Schubal could be reproached in any way it was for not having succeeded over time in reining in the stokerâs obstinacy well enough to ensure that he would not have the audacity to appear before the captain as he had just done.
Well, perhaps one could still assume that the effect that this juxtaposition of the stoker and Schubal would have on a higher forum would not be lost on human beings, for even if Schubal managed to put on a sham, he could not necessarily keep it up indefinitely. His vileness need only peek through for a moment, and the gentlemen would notice it; Karl would make sure that would happen. After all, he had more than a passing acquaintance with the shrewdness, weaknesses, and moods of the various gentlemen, and so at least from that point of view, the time he had spent here had not been wasted. If the stoker had only stood his ground, but he seemed absolutely unable to fight. Had they dangled Schubal before him, he might have taken his fist and split that hated skull, like a thin-shelled nut. But even those few steps toward Schubal would probably be beyond him. Why had Karl not foreseen something so easily foreseen, namely, that Schubal would finally be obliged to come, if not on his own initiative then on a summons from the captain? Why hadnât he devised a precise battle plan as he walked over with the stoker instead of entering mercilessly unprepared simply because there was a door there? Could the stoker still speak, say yes and no, as he would be required to do in the cross-examination that would take place only if everything turned out for the best. The stoker stood there, legs apart, knees slightly bowed, head raised slightly, and the air went in and out of his open mouth as if he had no lungs left inside to handle his breathing.
Still, Karl felt stronger and more alert than he had perhaps ever felt at home. If only his parents could have seen him
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