Read Online Amerika by Franz Kafka - Free Book Online Page B

defending a good cause before respected figures in a foreign land, and even if he had still not achieved victory, he was fully prepared to embark on the final conquest. Would they change their mind about him? Set him down between them and praise him? And then once, only once, take a look into these eyes, eyes that were so devoted to them? What uncertain questions, and what an inappropriate moment to be asking them!
    â€œI’ve come because I think the stoker is accusing me of some kind of dishonesty. A girl from the kitchen told me she had seen him heading this way. Captain, all you gentlemen, I’m ready to refute each such accusation by drawing on my papers and, if necessary, on statements from independent and impartial witnesses, who are standing outside.” Those were Schubal’s words. He had certainly given a clear, manly speech, and one might have assumed from the changed expressions on his audience’s faces that it had been quite some time since they had last heard a human voice. So of course they failed to notice that this fine speech had a few holes in it. Why was “dishonesty” the first pertinent word he came up with? Wouldn’t it have been better to start off with that accusation rather than with his nationalistic prejudices? A girl from the kitchen had seen the stoker going toward the office, and Schubal had immediately understood what was going on? Mustn’t his wits have been sharpened by guilt? And hadn’t he brought along witnesses and even called them unprejudiced and impartial. It was a scam, nothing but a scam, and weren’t the gentlemen not only tolerating it but even recognizing it as proper conduct? Why had he let so much time slip by after being told by the kitchen girl, if not simply to let the stoker wear down the gentlemen and thereby ensure that they would slowly lose their ability to make clear judgments, from which Schubal had most to fear? After standing outside the door, no doubt for some time, had he not waited to knock until after the gentleman had asked that trivial question and he could with good reason hope that the stoker had already been dispatched?
    All this was very clear and indeed that is how Schubal had presented it, quite against his will, but one had to tell the story to the gentlemen in a different way, even more explicitly. They had to be given a jolt. So get moving, Karl, and at least take advantage of the time before the witnesses enter and inundate everything.
    Just then, however, the captain waved away Schubal, who stepped aside at once—for his affair seemed to have been put off for a while—and, turning to the servant, who had just joined him, he began a muttered conversation, underscored by the most emphatic gestures and frequent sidelong glances at the stoker and at Karl. Schubal seemed to be preparing in this way for his next great speech.
    â€œMr. Jakob, wasn’t there something you wanted to ask this young man?” the captain said to the gentleman with the bamboo stick amid general silence.
    â€œCertainly,” said the latter, thanking the captain for his attentiveness with a little bow. And he reiterated the question that he had asked Karl: “So what’s your name?”
    Karl, who believed that the important matter at stake could be best served by getting rid of this stubborn questioner as quickly as possible, answered briefly, without, as was his custom, introducing himself by producing his passport, which he would in any case have first needed to find: “Karl Rossmann.”
    â€œBut,” said the man who had been addressed as Jakob, smiling almost incredulously, and he withdrew a few steps. On hearing Karl’s name, the captain, the chief bursar, the ship’s officer, and even the servant clearly showed excessive astonishment. Only the gentlemen from the harbor authority and Schubal responded with indifference.
    â€œBut,” repeated Mr. Jakob, approaching Karl with a rather