Collected Stories (17 page)

‘That’s not too bad,’ thought Karl, ‘but I hope he won’t tell the whole story. Anyhow, he can’t know much about it. Who would tell him?’

‘For he was,’ Uncle Jacob went on, rocking himself a little on the bamboo cane which was braced in front of him, a gesture that actually succeeded in deprecating any unnecessary solemnity which otherwise must have characterized his statement, ‘for he was seduced by a maidservant, Johanna
Brummer, a person of round about thirty-five. It is far from my wishes to offend my nephew by using the word “seduced”, but it is difficult to find another and equally suitable word.’

Karl, who had moved up quite close to his uncle, turned round to read from the gentlemen’s faces the impression the story had made. None of them laughed, all were listening patiently and seriously. After all, one did not laugh at the nephew of a Senator on the first possible opportunity. It was rather the stoker who now smiled at Karl, though very faintly, but that was satisfactory in the first place, as a sign of reviving life, and excusable in the second place, since in the stoker’s bunk Karl had tried to make an impenetrable mystery of this very story which was now being made so public.

‘Now this Brummer,’ Uncle Jacob went on, ‘had a child by my nephew, a healthy boy, who was given the baptismal name of Jacob, evidently in memory of my unworthy self, since my nephew’s doubtless quite casual references to me had managed to make a deep impression on the woman. Fortunately, let me add. For the boy’s parents, to avoid alimony or being personally involved in any scandal – I must insist that I know neither how the law stands in their district nor their general circumstances – to avoid the scandal, then, and the payment of alimony, they packed off their son, my dear nephew, to America, shamefully unprovided for, as you can see, and the poor lad, but for the signs and wonders which still happen in America if nowhere else, would have come to a wretched end in New York, being thrown entirely on his own resources, if this servant girl hadn’t written a letter to me, which after long delays reached me the day before yesterday, giving me the whole story, along with a description of my nephew and, very wisely, the name of the ship as well. If I were setting out to entertain you, gentlemen, I could read a few passages to you from this letter’ – he pulled out and flourished before them two huge, closely written sheets of letter-paper. ‘You would certainly be interested, for the letter is written with somewhat simple but
well-meant cunning and with much loving care for the father of the child. But I have no intention either of entertaining you for longer than my explanation needs, or of wounding at the very start the perhaps still sensitive feelings of my nephew, who if he likes can read the letter for his own instruction in the seclusion of the room already waiting for him.’

But Karl had no feelings for Johanna Brummer. Hemmed in by a vanishing past, she sat in her kitchen beside the kitchen dresser, resting her elbows on top of it. She looked at him whenever he came to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for his father or do some errand for his mother. Sometimes, awkwardly sitting sideways at the dresser, she would write a letter, drawing her inspiration from Karl’s face. Sometimes she would sit with her hand over her eyes, heeding nothing that was said to her. Sometimes she would kneel in her tiny room next the kitchen and pray to a wooden crucifix; then Karl would feel shy if he passed by and caught a glimpse of her through the crack of the slightly open door. Sometimes she would bustle about her kitchen and recoil, laughing like a witch, if Karl came near her. Sometimes she would shut the kitchen door after Karl entered, and keep hold of the door-handle until he had to beg to be let out. Sometimes she would bring him things which he did not want and press them silently into his hand. And once she called him ‘Karl’ and, while he was still dumbfounded at this unusual familiarity, led him into her room, sighing and grimacing, and locked the door. Then she flung her arms round his neck, almost choking him, and while urging him to take off her clothes, she really took off his and laid him on her bed, as if she would never give him up to anyone and would tend and cherish him to the end of time. ‘Oh Karl, my Karl!’ she cried; it was as if her eyes were devouring him, while his eyes saw nothing at all and he felt uncomfortable in all the warm bedclothes which she seemed to have piled up for him alone. Then she lay down by him and wanted some secret from him, but he could tell her none,
and she showed anger, either in jest or in earnest, shook him, listened to his heart, offered her breast that he might listen to hers in turn, but could not bring him to do it, pressed her naked belly against his body, felt with her hand between his legs, so disgustingly that his head and neck started up from the pillows, then thrust her body several times against him – it was as if she were part of himself, and for that reason, perhaps, he was seized with a terrible feeling of yearning. With the tears running down his cheeks he reached his own bed at last, after many entreaties from her to come again. That was all that had happened, and yet his uncle had managed to make a great song out of it. And it seemed the cook had also been thinking about him and had informed his uncle of his arrival. That had been very good of her and he would make some return for it later, if he could.

‘And now,’ cried the Senator, ‘I want you to tell me candidly whether I am your uncle or not?’

‘You are my uncle,’ said Karl, kissing his hand and receiving a kiss on the brow. ‘I’m very glad to have found you, but you’re mistaken if you think my father and mother never speak kindly of you. In any case, you’ve got some points quite wrong in your story; I mean that it didn’t all happen like that in reality. But you can’t really be expected to understand things at such a distance, and I fancy it won’t do any great harm if these gentlemen are somewhat incorrectly informed about the details of an affair which can’t have much interest for them.’

‘Well spoken,’ said the Senator, leading Karl up to the Captain, who was visibly sympathetic, and asking: ‘Haven’t I a splendid nephew?’

‘I am delighted,’ said the Captain, making a bow which showed his military training, ‘to have met your nephew, Mr. Senator. My ship is highly honored in providing the scene for such a reunion. But the voyage in the steerage must have been very unpleasant, for we have, of course, all kinds of people traveling steerage. We do everything possible to make conditions tolerable, far more, for instance, than the
American lines do, but to turn such a passage into pleasure is more than we’ve been able to manage yet.’

‘It did me no harm,’ said Karl.

‘It did him no harm!’ repeated the Senator, laughing loudly.

‘Except that I’m afraid I’ve lost my box –’ and with that he remembered all that had happened and all that remained to be done, and he looked round him and saw the others still in the same places, silent with respect and surprise, their eyes fixed upon him. Only the harbor officials, insofar as their severe, self-satisfied faces were legible, betrayed some regret at having come at such an unpropitious time, and the watch which they had laid on the table before them was probably more important to them than everything that had happened in the room or might still happen there.

The first to express his sympathy, after the Captain, was curiously enough the stoker. ‘I congratulate you heartily,’ he said, and shook Karl’s hand, making the gesture a token of something like gratitude. Yet when he turned to the Senator with the same words the Senator drew back, as if the stoker were exceeding his rights; and the stoker immediately retreated.

But the others now saw what should be done and at once pressed in a confused throng round Karl and the Senator. So it happened that Karl actually received Schubal’s congratulations, accepted them and thanked him for them. The last to advance in the ensuing lull were the harbor officials, who said two words in English, which made a ludicrous impression.

The Senator now felt moved to extract the last ounce of enjoyment from the situation by refreshing his own and the others’ minds with the less important details, and this was not merely tolerated but of course welcomed with interest by everyone. So he told them that he had entered in his notebook, for consultation in a possible emergency, his nephew’s most distinctive characteristics as enumerated by the cook in her letter. Bored by the stoker’s ravings, he had
pulled out the notebook simply to distract himself, and had begun for his own amusement to compare the cook’s descriptions, which were not so exact as a detective might wish, with Karl’s appearance. ‘And that’s how to find a nephew!’ he concluded proudly, as if he wanted to be congratulated all over again.

‘What will happen to the stoker now?’ asked Karl, ignoring his uncle’s last remarks. In his new circumstances he thought he was entitled to say whatever came into his mind.

‘The stoker will get what he deserves,’ said the Senator, ‘and what the Captain considers to be right. I think we have had enough and more than enough of the stoker, a view in which every gentleman here will certainly concur.’

‘But that’s not the point in a question of justice,’ said Karl. He was standing between his uncle and the Captain, and, perhaps influenced by his position, thought that he was holding the balance between them.

And yet the stoker seemed to have abandoned hope. His hands were half stuck into the belt of his trousers, which together with a strip of checked shirt had come prominently into view during his excited tirade. That did not worry him in the least; he had displayed the misery of his heart, now they might as well see the rags that covered his body, and then they could thrust him out. He had decided that the attendant and Schubal, as the two least important men in the room, should do him that last kindness. Schubal would have peace then and no longer be driven to desperation, as the Head Purser had put it. The Captain could take on crowds of Roumanians; Roumanian would be spoken all over the ship; and then perhaps things would really be all right. There would be no stoker pestering the head office any more with his ravings, yet his last effort would be held in almost friendly memory, since, as the Senator expressly declared, it had been the direct cause of his recognizing his nephew. The nephew himself had several times tried to help him already and so had more than repaid him beforehand for his services in the recognition scene; it did not even occur to the stoker
to ask anything else from him now. Besides, even if he were the nephew of a senator, he was far from being a captain yet, and it was from the mouth of the Captain that the stern verdict would fall. And thinking all this, the stoker did his best not to look at Karl, though unfortunately in that roomful of enemies there was no other resting-place for his eyes.

‘Don’t mistake the situation,’ said the Senator to Karl, ‘this may be a question of justice, but at the same time it’s a question of discipline. On this ship both of these, and most especially the latter, are entirely within the discretion of the Captain.’

‘That’s right,’ muttered the stoker. Those who heard him and understood smiled uneasily.

‘But we have already obstructed the Captain far too long in his official duties, which must be piling up considerably now that he has reached New York, and it’s high time we left the ship, instead of adding to our sins by interfering quite unnecessarily in this petty quarrel between two mechanics and so making it a matter of importance. I understand your attitude perfectly, my dear nephew, but that very fact justifies me in hurrying you away from here immediately.’

‘I shall have a boat lowered for you at once,’ said the Captain, without deprecating in the least the Senator’s words, to Karl’s great surprise, since his uncle could be said to have humbled himself. The Head Purser rushed hastily to his desk and telephoned the Captain’s order to the bos’un. ‘There’s hardly any time left,’ Karl told himself, ‘but I can’t do anything without offending everybody. I really can’t desert my uncle now, just when he’s found me. The Captain is certainly polite, but that’s all. In matters of discipline his politeness fades out. And my uncle certainly meant what he said. I don’t want to speak to Schubal; I’m sorry that I even shook hands with him. And the other people here are of no consequence.’

Thinking these things he slowly went over to the stoker, pulled the man’s right hand out of his belt and held it gently in his.

‘Why don’t you say something?’ he asked. ‘Why do you put up with everything?’

The stoker merely knitted his brows, as if he were seeking some formula for what he had to say. While doing this he looked down at his own hand and Karl’s.

‘You’ve been unjustly treated, more than anyone else on this ship; I know that well enough.’ And Karl drew his fingers backward and forward between the stoker’s, while the stoker gazed round him with shining eyes, as if blessed by a great happiness that no one could grudge him.

‘Now you must get ready to defend yourself, answer yes and no, or else these people won’t have any idea of the truth. You must promise me to do what I tell you, for I’m afraid, and I’ve good reason for it, that I won’t be able to help you anymore.’ And then Karl burst out crying and kissed the stoker’s hand, taking that seamed, almost nerveless hand and pressing it to his cheek like a treasure which he would soon have to give up. But now his uncle the Senator was at his side and very gently yet firmly led him away.

‘The stoker seems to have bewitched you,’ he said, exchanging an understanding look with the Captain over Karl’s head. ‘You felt lonely, then you found the stoker, and you’re grateful to him now; that’s all to your credit, I’m sure. But if only for my sake, don’t push things too far, learn to understand your position.’

Outside the door a hubbub had arisen, shouts could be heard; it sounded even as if someone were being brutally banged against the door. A sailor entered in a somewhat disheveled state with a girl’s apron tied round his waist. ‘There’s a mob outside,’ he cried, thrusting out his elbows as if he were still pushing his way through a crowd. He came to himself with a start and made to salute the Captain, but at that moment he noticed the apron, tore it off, threw it on the floor and shouted: ‘This is a bit too much; they’ve tied a girl’s apron on me.’ Then he clicked his heels together and saluted. Someone began to laugh, but the Captain said severely: ‘This is a fine state of things. Who is outside?’