The Sons by Franz Kafka Read Free Book Online Page A

of some trifle or other; Karl had learned that from his father, who slipped cigars into the pockets of the subordinate functionaries with whom he did business, and so won them over. Yet all that Karl now had in the way of possible gifts was his money, and he did not want to touch that for the time being, in the event that he really had lost his trunk. Again his thoughts turned back to the trunk, and he simply could not understand why he should have watched it so vigilantly during the voyage that he had practically lost sleep over it, only to let that same trunk be filched from him so easily now. He remembered the five nights during which he had kept a suspicious eye on a little Slovak, whose bunk was two places away from him on the left, and who had designs, he was sure, on the trunk. This Slovak was merely waiting for Karl to be overcome by sleep and doze off for a minute, so that he could maneuver the box away with a long, pointed stick which he was always playing or practicing with during the day. By day the Slovak looked innocent enough, but hardly did night come on than he kept rising up from his bunk to cast melancholy glances at Karl’s trunk. Karl had seen this quite clearly, for every now and then someone would light a little candle, though it was forbidden by the ship’s regulations, and with the anxiety of the emigrant would strain to decipher the incomprehensible prospectus of some emigration agency or other. If one of these candles was burning near him, Karl could doze off for a little, but if it was farther away or if the place was quite dark, he had to keep his eyes open. The strain of this task had quite exhausted him, and now perhaps it had all been in vain. Oh, that Butterbaum, if ever he met him again!
    At that moment the unbroken silence was disturbed by a series of small, short taps in the distance, like the tapping of children’s feet; they came nearer, growing louder, until they sounded like the tread of quietly marching men. They were evidently proceeding in single file, as was natural in the narrow passage; and a clatter, as of weapons, could be heard. Karl, who had been on the point of relaxing into a sleep free of all worries about trunks and Slovaks, started up and nudged the stoker to draw his attention, for the head of the procession seemed just to have reached the door. “That’s the ship’s band,” said the stoker, “they’ve been playing up above and have come back to pack up. All’s clear now, and we can go. Come on!” He took Karl by the hand, at the last moment snatched a framed picture of the Madonna from the wall above his bed, stuck it into his breast pocket, grabbed his sea chest, and hastily left the cabin with Karl.
    “I’m going up to the office now to give them a piece of my mind. All the passengers are gone; I don’t have to worry about what I do.” The stoker kept repeating this theme with variations, and as he walked he kicked out sideways at a rat that crossed his path, but only succeeded in driving it more quickly into its hole, which it reached just in time. He was slow in all his movements, for though his legs were long they were massive.
    They went through part of the kitchen where some girls in dirty aprons—which they seemed to splash deliberately—were washing dishes in large tubs. The stoker hailed a girl called Lina, put his arm around her waist, and, as she snuggled up against him coquettishly, led her part of the way with him. “It’s pay day; aren’t you coming along?” he asked. “Why bother; you can bring me the money here,” she replied, squirming out from under his arm and running away. “Where did you pick up that pretty boy?” she cried after him, but without waiting for an answer. They could hear thelaughter of the other girls, who had all stopped working.
    But they went on and came to a door above which there was a little pediment, supported by small, gilded caryatids. For a ship’s fitting it looked extravagantly sumptuous. Karl