The Road to Rameses Amerika

In the small inn which Karl reached after a short walk and which was merely a last little eating-house for New York car and lorry drivers and so very seldom used as a night lodging, he asked for the cheapest bed that could be had, since he thought he had better begin to save at once. In keeping with his request, the landlord waved him up a stair as if he were a menial, and at the top of the stair a dishevelled old hag, peevish at being roused from her sleep, received him almost without listening to him, warning him all the time to tread softly, and conducted him into a room whose door she shut on him, but not before giving him a whispered:

Karl could not make out at first whether the window curtains had merely been drawn or whether there was no window in the room at all, it was so dark; but in the end he noticed a skylight, whose covering he drew aside, whereupon a little light came in. There were two beds in the room, both of them already occupied. He saw two young men lying there in a heavy sleep; they did not look very trustworthy, chiefly because without any understandable reason they were sleeping in their clothes; one of them actually had his boots on.

At the moment when Karl uncovered the skylight one of the sleepers raised his arms and legs a little way in the air, which was such a curious sight that in spite of his cares Karl laughed to himself.

He soon realized that, quite apart from the absence of anything to sleep on, there being neither a couch nor a sofa,

he would not be able to get any sleep here, since be could not risk losing his newly recovered box and the money he was carrying on him. But he did not want to go away either, for he did not know how he was to get past the old woman and the landlord if he left the house so soon. After all, he was perhaps just as safe here as on the open road. It was certainly strange that no sign of luggage was to be seen in the whole room, so far as he could make out in the half light. But perhaps, indeed very probably, the two young men were servants who had to get up early because of the boarders and for that reason slept with their clothes on. In that case it was no great honour, certainly, to sleep in their room, but it was all the less risky. Yet he must not fall asleep on any account until he was certain of this beyond all doubt.

Under the bed a candle was standing, along with matches. Karl softly crept over and fetched them. He had no scruples about lighting the candle, for on the landlord’s authority the room belonged as much to him as to the other two men, who besides had already enjoyed half a night’s sleep and being in possession of the beds held an immeasurable advantage over him. However, by moving about as quietly as possible, he naturally took every care not to waken them.

First of all he wanted to examine his box, so as to survey his things, of which by this time he had only a vague memory, and the most precious of which might well have disappeared. For once Schubal got his hands on anything there was little hope that you would get it back unscathed. Of course, he might have been counting on a big tip from Uncle Jacob, but on the other hand if anything were missing, he could easily shift the blame on to the original guardian of the box, Mr Butterbaum.

Karl’s first glance inside the box horrified him. How many hours had he spent during the voyage in arranging and rearranging the things in this box, and now everything was in such wild confusion that as soon as he turned the key the lid sprang up of itself.

But soon he realized to his delight that the sole cause of the disorder was that someone had added the suit he had worn during the voyage, which the box, of course, was not intended to hold. Not the slightest thing was missing. In the secret pocket of his jacket he found not only his passport but also the money which his parents had given him, so that, including what he had upon him, he was amply furnished with money for the time being. Even the underclothes which he had worn on arriving were there, freshly washed and ironed. He at once put his watch and his money in the trusty secret pocket. The only regrettable thing was that the Veronese salami, which was still there too, had bestowed its smell upon everything else. If he could not find some way of eliminating that smell, he had every prospect of walking about for months enveloped in it.

As he was searching for some things at the very bottom - a pocket Bible, some letter paper and some photographs of his parents - the cap fell from his head into the box. In its old surroundings he recognized it at once; it was his own cap, the cap which his mother had given him to wear during the voyage. All the same, out of prudence he had not worn the cap on the boat, for he knew that in America everybody wore caps instead of hats, so that he did not want to wear his cap out before arriving. And Mr Green had used it simply to make a fool of him. Could Uncle Jacob have instructed him to do that as well? And with an involuntary wrathful movement he gripped the lid of the box, which shut with a bang.

Now there was no help for it; the two sleepers were aroused. First one of them stretched and yawned, and then the other immediately followed suit. Almost all the contents of the box were lying in a heap on the table; if these men were thieves, they merely had to walk across the room and take what they fancied. Both to forestall this possibility and to know where he stood, Karl went 'over with the candle in his hand to the beds and explained how he happened to be

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there. They did not seem to have expected any explanation, for, still far too sleepy to talk, they merely gazed at him without any sign of surprise. They were both young men, but heavy work or poverty had prematurely sharpened the bones of their faces; unkempt beards hung from their chins; their hair, which had not been cut for a long time, lay matted on their heads; and they rubbed and knuckled their deep-set eyes, still heavy with sleep.

Karl resolved to take every advantage of their momentary weakness and so he said : ‘My name is Karl Rossmann and I am a German. Please tell me, as we are occupying the same room, what your names are and what country you came from. I may as well say that I don’t expect a share of your beds, for I was late in arriving and in any case I have no intention of sleeping. And you mustn’t draw the wrong conclusions from the good suit I have on; I am quite poor and without any prospects.’

The smaller of the two men - the one with his boots on - indicating by his arms, legs and general demeanour that he was not interested in all this and had no time for such remarks, lay down again and immediately went to sleep; the other, a dark-skinned man, also lay down again, but before falling asleep said with a languid wave of the hand: That chap there is called Robinson, and he’s an Irishman, I’m called Delamarche and I’m a Frenchman, and now please be quiet.’ Scarcely had he said this when with a great puff he blew out Karl's candle and fell back on the pillow.

‘Well, that danger is averted for the moment,' Karl told himself, turning back to the table. If their sleepiness was not a pretext, everything was all right. The only disagreeable thing was that one of them was an Irishman. Karl could no longer remember in what book he had once read at home that if you went to America you must be on your guard against the Irish. While he was staying with his uncle he certainly had had an excellent opportunity to go thoroughly into the question of the Irish danger, but because he believed he was

now well provided for to the end of his life he had completely neglected it. So he resolved that he would at least have a good look at this Irishman by the help of the candle, which he lit again, and found that the man really looked more bearable than the Frenchman. His cheeks had still a trace of roundness and he smiled in his sleep in quite a friendly way, so far as Karl could make out, standing at a distance on tiptoe.

Firmly resolved in spite of everything not to go to sleep, Karl sat down on the only chair in the room, postponed packing his box for the time being, since* the whole night still lay before him in which to do it, and turned the leaves of his Bible for a little while, without reading anything. Then he took up a photograph of his parents, in which his small father stood very erect behind his mother, who sat in an easy-chair slightly sunk into herself. One of his father’s hands lay on the back of the chair, the other, which was clenched to a fist, rested on a picture-book lying open on a fragile table beside him. There was another photograph in which Karl had been included together with his parents. In it his father and mother were eyeing him sharply, while he was staring at the camera, as the photographer bade him. But he had not taken this photograph with him on the voyage.

He gazed all the more attentively now at the one lying before him and tried to catch his father’s eye from various angles. But his father refused to come to life, no matter how much his expression was modified by shifting the candle into different positions; nor did his thick, horizontal moustache look in the least real; it was not a good photograph. His mother, however, had come out better; her mouth was twisted as if she had been hurt and were forcing herself to smile. It seemed to Karl that anyone who saw the photograph must be so forcibly struck with this that he would begin immediately to think it an exaggerated, not to say foolish, interpretation. How could a photograph convey with such

complete certainty the secret feelings of the person shown in it? And he looked away from the photograph for a little while. When he glanced at it again he noticed his mother’s hand, which dropped from the arm of the chair in the foreground, near enough to kiss. He wondered if it might not be better to wnte to his parents, as both of them (and his father very strictly on leaving him at Hamburg) had enjoined him. On that terrible evening when his mother, standing by the window, had told him he was to go to America, he had made a fixed resolution never to write; but what did the resolve of an inexperienced boy matter here, in these new surroundings? He might as well have vowed then that two months in America would see him commanding the American Militia, instead of which here he was in a garret beside two vagrants, in an eating-house outside New York, the right place for him, too, as he could not but admit. And with a smile he scrutinized his parents’ faces, as if to read in them whether they still wanted to hear news of their son.

Thus preoccupied, he soon became aware that he was very tired after all and would scarcely manage to keep awake all night. The photograph fell from his hands, and he laid his face on it, finding the coolness pleasant to his cheek; and with a comfortable feeling he fell asleep.

He was awakened early in the morning by someone tickling him under the armpit. It was the Frenchman who had taken that liberty. But the Irishman too was standing beside Karl’s table, and both were staring at him with no less interest than he had shown in them during the night. Karl was not surprised that in getting up they had not wakened him; there was no need to impute evil intentions to their stealthy movements, for he had been sleeping heavily, and they had not had much to do in the way of dressing, or, from all appearances of washing either.

Now they introduced themselves properly, with a certain formality, and Karl learned that they were both mechanics who had been out of work for a long time in New York and

so had come down in the world considerably. In proof of this Robinson unbuttoned his jacket to show that he had no shirt on, but one might have guessed that from the loose fit of the collar which was merely fastened to the neck of his jacket. They were making their way to the little town of Butterford, two days on foot from New York, where it was rumoured that work was to be had. They had no objection to Karl’s accompanying them, and promised to take turns at carrying his box, and also, if they got work themselves, to find him a job as an apprentice, an easy matter when work was to be had at all. Karl had scarcely agreed to this when they advised him in a friendly manner to get out of his good suit, which would only be a hindrance to him in looking for a job. In that very house there was an excellent chance to dispose of the suit, for the old woman dealt in old clothes. They helped Karl, who had not yet quite decided what to do about the suit, to take it off, and then they carried it away. Left to himself Karl, still heavy with sleep, slowly put on his old travelling suit, reproaching himself meanwhile for having sold the good one, which might perhaps hinder him from getting an apprentice’s job but would be a good recommendation in looking for a better situation, and he had just opened the door to call the two men back when he met them face to face, furnished with half a dollar which they laid on the table as the proceeds of the sale, looking at the same time so gleeful that it was difficult to believe they had not raked off a profit for themselves - and a disgustingly big profit, too.

But there was not time to tell them off about that, for the old woman came in, just as sleepy as she had been the night before, and drove all three of them out into the passage with the explanation that the room had to be got ready for new occupants. There was no question of that, needless to say; she did it out of mere malice. Karl, who had started to pack his box, had to look on while she grabbed his things with both hands and flung them into the box with such violence that they might have been wild animals she was determined

to master. The two mechanics kept dodging round her, tugging at her skirt, clapping her on the back, but if they fancied they were helping Karl at all they were quite mistaken. When the old woman had shut the box, she thrust the handle into Karl's fingers, shook off the mechanics, and drove all three from the room with the threat that if they did not get out there would be no coffee for them. Obviously she had quite forgotten that Karl had not been with the mechanics from the start, for she lumped the three of them together. After all, the mechanics had sold her Karl's suit, which argued a certain solidarity.

They had to walk up and down the passage for a long time, and the Frenchman, who had taken Karl by the arm, swore with great fluency, threatening to knock down the landlord if he dared to show himself and furiously beating his clenched fists together as if in preparation for the encounter. At last an innocent little boy appeared, who was so small that he had to stand on tiptoe to hand the coffee-can to the Frenchman. Unluckily there was nothing but a can, and they could not make the boy understand that glasses were also needed. So only one of them could drink at a time, while the other two stood by and waited. Karl could not bring himself to drink coffee in this way, but he did not want to offend the other two, and so, when his turn came, though he raised the can to his lips he drank nothing.

As a parting gesture the Irishman flung the can on the stone flags. Observed by no one, they left the house and stepped out into the thick, yellowish morning mist. They walked on in silence side by side at the edge of the road; Karl had to carry his box, since the others were not likely to relieve him unless he asked them. Now and then an automobile shot out of the mist and all three turned their heads to gaze after the large monsters, which were so remarkable to look at and passed so quickly that they never even noticed whether anyone was sitting inside. Later they began to meet columns of vehicles bringing provisions to New York, which

streamed past in live rows taking up the whole breadth of the road and so continuously that no one could have got across to the other side. At intervals the road widened into a kind of a square, in the middle of which rose a structure like a tower, where a policeman was stationed to supervise everything, directing with a little staff the traffic of the main road and of the adjoining side roads, the only supervision the traffic received until it reached the next square and the next policeman, although meanwhile it was adequately and gratuitously controlled by the silent vigilance of the lorrymen and chauffeurs. Karl was surprised most of all by the general quiet. Had it not been for the bellowing of the careless cattle bound for the slaughter-house, you would probably have heard nothing but the clatter of hoofs and the whirring of motor vehicles. Of course the speed at which they went was not always the same. At some of the squares, because of a great rush of traffic from the side roads, large-scale adjustments had to be made and then whole rows of vehicles came to a standstill, jerking forward by inches, but after that for a little while everything would fly past at lightning speed again until, as if governed by a single brake, the traffic slowed down once moie. And yet no trace of dust rose from the road; all this speeding went on in perfectly limpid air. There were no pedestrians, no market women straggling singly along the road towards the town, as in Karl's country, but every now and then appeared great, flat motor-trucks, on which stood some twenty women with baskets on their backs, perhaps market women after all, craning their necks to oversee the traffic in their impatience for a quicker journey. There were also similar trucks on which a few men lounged about with their hands in their trousers pockets. These trucks all bore different inscriptions, and on one of them Karl read with an ejaculation of surprise: ‘Dock labourers wanted by the Jacob Despatch Agency.' The truck happened to be going rather slowly and a lively little stoOp-shouldered man standing on the step invited the three wanderers to hop in. Karl

dodged behind the mechanics, as if his uncle were on the truck and might catch sight of him. He was glad that his two companions refused the invitation, though he found some grounds for offence in the scornful way they did so. They had no business to think they were too good to work for his uncle. He immediately let them know it, though not of course in so many words. Delamarche turned on him and told him not to interfere in things which he did not understand; this way of taking on men was a scandalous fraud and the firm of Jacob was notorious throughout the whole United States. Karl made no reply, but from that moment kept close to the Irishman and begged him to carry the box for a little while, which he actually did, after Karl had asked him several times. But he kept grumbling about the weight of the box, until it turned out that all he wanted was to relieve it of the Veronese salami, to which it seemed he had taken a fancy before he left the inn. Karl had to unpack it, but the Frenchman grabbed it and, with a knife somewhat like a dagger, sliced it up and ate almost the whole of it himself. Robinson got only a piece now and then and Karl, who had been forced to carry the box again, seeing that he did not want to leave it standing on the road, got nothing at all, as if he had had his share beforehand. It seemed too silly to beg for a piece, but he began to feel bitter.

The mist had already vanished; in the distance gleamed a high mountain, which receded in wave-like ridges towards a still more distant summit, veiled in a sunlit haze. By the side of the road were badly tilled fields clustered round big factories which rose up blackened with smoke in the open country. Isolated blocks of tenements were set down at random, and their countless windows quivered with manifold movement and light, while on all the flimsy little balconies women and children were busy in numberless ways, half concealed and half revealed by washing of all kinds, hung up or spread out to dry, which fluttered around them in the morning wind and billowed mightily. If one’s eyes strayed

from the houses one saw larks high in the heavens and lower down the swallows, darting not very far above the heads of the wayfarers.

There was much that reminded Karl of his home, and he could not decide whether he was doing well in leaving New York and going into the interior. New York had the sea, which meant the opportunity to return at any moment to his own country. And so he came to a standstill and said to his two companions that he felt like going back to New York after all. And when Delamarche simply made as if to drive him on, he refused to be driven and protested that it was his business to decide for himself. The Irishman had to intervene and explain that Butterford was a much finer place than New York, and both had to coax him insistently for a while before he would go on again. And even then he would not have consented had he not told himself that it would probably be better for him to reach a place where it would not be so easy to think of returning home. He would certainly work and push his fortune all the better there, if he were not hindered by idle thoughts of home.

And now it was he who led the two others, and they were so delighted by his enthusiasm that, without even being asked, they carried the box in turns and Karl simply could not make out in what way he had caused them such happiness. They npw came to rising country, and when they stopped here and there they could see on looking back the panorama of New York and its harbour, extending more and more spaciously below them. The bridge connecting New York with Brooklyn hung delicately over the East River, and if one half-shut one’s eyes it seemed to tremble. It appeared to be quite bare of traffic, and beneath it stretched a smooth empty tongue of water. Both the huge cities seemed to stand there empty and purposeless. As for the houses, it was scarcely possible to distinguish the large ones from the small. In the invisible depths of the streets life probably went on after its own. fashion, but above them nothing was discernible

save a light fume, which though it never moved seemed the easiest thing in the world to dispel. Even to the harbour, the greatest in the world, peace had returned, and only now and then, probably influenced by some memory of an earlier view close at hand, did one fancy that one saw a ship cutting the water for a little distance. But one could not follow it for long; it escaped one’s eyes and was no more to be found.

Delamarche and Robinson clearly saw much more; they pointed to right and left and their outstretched hands gestured over squares and gardens which they named by their names. They could not understand how Karl could stay for two months in New York and yet see hardly anything of the city but one street. And they promised, when they had made enough money in Butterford, to take him to New York with them and show him all the sights worth seeing, above all, of course, the places where you could enjoy yourself to your heart’s content. Thinking that, Robinson began to sing at the top of his voice a song which Delamarche accompanied by clapping his hands; Karl recognized it as an operatic melody of his own country, which pleased him more in the English version than it had ever pleased him at home. So there followed a little open-air concert, in which all took part; though the city at their feet, which was supposed to enjoy that melody so much, remained apparently indifferent.

Once Karl asked where Jacob’s Despatch Agency lay, and Delamarche and Robinson at once stabbed the air with their forefingers, indicating perhaps the same point and perhaps points miles asunder. When they went on again, Karl asked how soon they would be able to return to New York if they got good jobs? Delamarche said they could easily do it in a month, for there was a scarcity of labour in Butterford and wages were high. Of course they would put their money into a common fund, so that chance differences in their earnings might be equalized as among friends. The common fund did not appeal to Karl, although as an apprentice he would

naturally earn less than a skilled worker. In any case, Robinson went on, if there was no work in Butterford they would of course have to wander farther and either get jobs as workers on the land, or perhaps try panning for gold in California, which, to judge from Robinson's circumstantial tales, was the plan that appealed to him most.

‘But why did you turn mechanic if you want to go looking for gold?’ asked Karl, who was reluctant to admit the necessity for more distant and uncertain journeys.

‘Why a mechanic?' said Robinson. ‘Certainly not to let my mother's son die of hunger. There's big money in the gold-fields.'

‘Was at one time,’ said Delamarche.

‘Still is,' said Robinson, and he told of countless people he knew who had grown rich there, who were still there, but of course did not need to lift a finger now, yet for old friendship’s sake would help him to wealth and any friends of his too, naturally.

‘We’ll squeeze jobs out of Butterford all right,' said Delamarche, and in saying this he uttered Karl’s dearest wish; yet it could hardly be called a confident statement.

During the day they stopped only once at an eating-house, and in front of it in the open air, at a table which to Karl’s eyes seemed to be made of iron, ate almost raw flesh which could not be cut but only hacked with their knives and forks. The bread was baked in a cylindrical shape and in each of the loaves was stuck a long knife. With this meal a black liquor was supplied, which burnt one’s * throat. But Delamarche and Robinson liked it; they kept raising their glasses to the fulfilment of various toasts, clinking them together high in the air for a minute at a time. At a neighbouring table workmen in lime-stained blouses were sitting, all drinking the same liquor. Cars passing in great numbers flung swathes of dust over the table. Enormous newspapers were being handed round and there was excited talk of a strike among the building workers: the name Mack was often

mentioned. Karl inquired regarding him and learned that he was the father of the Mack he knew, and the greatest building contractor in New York. The strike was supposed to be costing him millions and possibly endangering his financial position. Karl did not believe a word of what was said by these badly informed and spiteful people.

The meal was spoiled even more for Karl by the doubt in his mind how it was going to be paid for. The natural thing would have been for each to pay his shot, but both Delamarche and Robinson casually remarked that the price of their last night's lodging had emptied their pockets. Watch, ring or anything else that could be sold, was to be seen on neither of them. And Karl could hardly point out that they had lined their pockets over the sale of his suit; that would be an insult, and good-bye for ever. But the astonishing thing was that neither Delamarche nor Robinson bothered themselves about the payment; on the contrary they were in such good spirits that they kept trying to make up to the waitress, who moved with heavy stateliness from table to table. Her hair was loosened at the sides and tumbled over her brow and cheeks; she kept putting it back by pushing it up with her hand. At last, just when they thought they were going to get a friendly word from her, she came up to their table, planted both hands on it and asked: ‘Who is paying?' Never did hands shoot out more quickly than those of Delamarche and Robinson as they pointed at Karl. Karl was not taken aback, for he had foreseen this, and he saw no harm in paying a trifling bill for his comrades, from whom he expected assistance in turn, although it would certainly have been more decent of them to discuss the matter frankly before the crucial moment. All that troubled him was that he would first have to fish the money out of the secret pocket. His original intention had been to save up his money in case of extreme need and for the time being to put himself, as it were, on a level with his friends. The advantage which he held over them through possessing that money and above all

through concealing it was easily outweighed by the fact that they had lived in America since their childhood, that they had ample skill and experience for wage-earning, and finally that they were not accustomed to anything better than their present circumstances. Karl’s original intention to save his money, then, need not be affected by his paying the bill now, since after all he could spare a quarter of a dollar; he could simply lay a quarter on the table and tell them that that was all he had, and that he was willing to part with it to get them all to Butterford. For a journey on foot a quarter should be ample. But he did not know whether he had enough small change, and anyhow his change was beside the wad of banknotes in the recesses of his secret pocket, where it was difficult to get hold of anything without emptying the whole lot on to the table. Besides, it was quite unnecessary for his companions to know anything about the secret pocket at all. By good luck, however, his friends seemed to be much more interested in the waitress than in how Karl was to produce the money for the bill. Delamarche, under cover of asking her to make out the bill, had lured her in between himself and Robinson, an.d the only way in which she could repel their familiarities was by pushing their faces away with the flat of her hand. Meantime, sweating with the effort, Karl gathered in one hand under the table the money he felt for and extracted, coin by coin, from the secret pocket with the other. At long last, although he was not yet familiar with American money, he judged that he had enough small coins to make up the sum and laid them all on the table. The clink of money at once put an end to all by-play. To Karl’s annoyance and to the general surprise it turned out that almost a whole dollar was lying there. No one asked why Karl had said nothing about this money, which would have been sufficient for a comfortable railway journey to Butterford; yet Karl felt deeply embarrassed all the same. After paying the bill, he slowly pocketed the coins again, but from his very fingers Delamarche snatched one of them, as a special

tip for the waitress, whom he embraced ardently with one hand while giving her the coin with the other.

Karl felt grateful to them for not saying anything about his money as they walked away together, and for a while he actually considered confessing his whole wealth to them, but then refrained, as he could not find a suitable opportunity. Towards evening they came to a more rustic, fertile neighbourhood. All around they could see endless fields stretching across gentle hills in their first green; rich country villas bordered the road on either side, and for hours they walked between gilded garden railings; several times they crossed the same slow stream, and often they heard above them trains thundering over the lofty viaducts.

The sun was just setting behind the level edge of distant woods when they mounted a gentle rise crowned with a clump of trees and flung themselves on the grass so as to rest from their travels. Delamarche and Robinson lay flat and stretched themselves mightily. Karl sat up and gazed at the road a few yards below, on which motor-cars flew lightly past one another as they had done the whole day, as if a certain number of them were always being despatched from some distant place and the same number were being awaited in another place equally distant. During the whole day since early morning Karl had seen not a single car stopping, not a single passenger getting out.

Robinson proposed that they should spend the night here, since they were all very tired and would be able to start all the earlier in the morning; besides, they would scarcely find a cheaper and more suitable place to spend the night before complete darkness fell. Delamarche was of the same mind, but Karl felt obliged to remark that he had enough money to pay for a night's lodgings for them all in some hotel. Delamarche replied that they might still need the money; better to save it for the present. He made no concealment of the fact that they were counting on Karl's money. As his first proposal had been accepted, Robinson went on to suggest

that before going to sleep they should have a good meal to strengthen them for the morning, and that one of them should fetch food for all three from the hotel close by on the main road, which bore the lighted sign : ‘Hotel Occidental'. As he was the youngest and nobody else offered to go, Karl had no hesitation in volunteering for the job, and after the others had announced that they wanted bacon, bread and beer, he went arross to the hotel.

It seemed that they must be near a big town, for the very first room of the hotel that Karl entered was filled with a noisy crowd,, and at the buffet, which ran 'along the whole length and two sides of the room, a host of waiters with white aprons kept rushing about yet could not satisfy their impatient customers, for loud cursing and the pounding of fists on tables sounded unceasingly from all quarters. No one paid any attention to Karl; in the body of the saloon itself there was no service; the customers, crowded at tiny tables scarcely big enough for three people, had to fetch everything they wanted from the buffet. On each table stood a big bottle of oil, vinegar or something of the kind, and all the food that was brought from the buffet was liberally dosed from the bottle before being eaten. If Karl was to reach the buffet at all, where his. real difficulties would probably begin because of the huge crowd standing at it, he would have to squeeze his way between the countless tables, and this of course, in spite of every care, could not be done without rudely disturbing the customers, who, however, accepted every inconvenience apathetically, even when Karl cannoned violently into a table - through no fault of his own, certainly - and almost knocked it over. He apologized, but obviously without being understood ; nor could he for his part make out any of the remarks that were shouted at him.

* At the buffet he found with difficulty a few inches of free space, where his view was obscurec for a long time by the elbows of the men standing on either side of him. It seemed a universal custom here to plant your elbow on the counter

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and rest your head on your hand. Karl could not help remembering how his Latin teacher Doctor Krumpal had hated that posture, and how he would steal up silently and unexpectedly and knock your elbow off the desk with a playful rap of a ruler which suddenly appeared from nowhere.

Karl was squeezed close against the counter, for scarcely had he reached it when a table was set up behind him, and a wide hat kept brushing against his back whenever the customer sitting there leaned backwards a little in talking. Also there seemed to be little hope of his getting anything out of the waiters, even after his two unmannerly neighbours had gone away satisfied. Once or twice Karl snatched at a waiter s apron across the counter, but the waiter always tore himself away with a grimace. Not one of them would stop; they did nothing but rush to and fro. If there had even been anything suitable to eat near at hand Karl would have grabbed it, inquired what the price was, laid down the money and taken himself off with relief. But in front of him there were only dishes of fish which looked like herring, with dark scales gleaming golden at the edges. They might be very dear and would probably sate nobody's hunger. There were also small casks of rum within reach, but he did not want to bring his friends rum ; as it was, whenever they had the chance they seemed to drink only concentrated alcohol, and he had no wish to encourage them in that.

So nothing remained for Karl but to find another point of vantage and start all over again. But by now the hour had considerably advanced. The clock at the other end of the room, whose hands could still just be discerned through the smoke if one looked very intently, showed that it was after nine. Yet the rest of the counter was even more crowded than the first place he had found, which was in a retired corner. Also the room was filling up more and more, as the evening went on. New customers kept pushing through the main door with loud halloos. At several places customers had autocratically cleared the counter and seated themselves

upon it and were drinking to one another; that was the best position of all, you could overlook the whole room.

Karl still pressed forward, but any real hope of achieving anything had vanished. He blamed himself for having volunteered to run this errand without knowing anything of the local conditions. His friends would swear at him, with perfect right, and might perhaps even think that he had brought nothing back simply in order to save his money. He had now reached a part of the room where hot meat-dishes and fine yellow potatoes were being devoured at all the tables; it was incomprehensible to him how the customers had got hold of them.

Then a few steps in front of him he saw an elderly woman who clearly belonged to the hotel staff and was talking and laughing with a customer. As she talked she kept poking at her hair with a hair-pin. Karl at once decided to confide his wants to this woman, mainly because as the only woman in the room she stood out as an exception in the general hubbub, and also for the simple reason that she was the only hotel employee he could get hold of, that is to say, if she did not rush away on her own business at the first word he addressed to her. But quite the opposite happened. Karl had not even spoken to her, he had only dodged round her for a little while, when, as often happens in the middle of a conversation, sh.e looked aside and caught sight of him and, interrupting what she was saying, asked him kindly and in English as clear as the grammar-book if he wanted anything.

‘Yes, indeed,' said Karl, T can't get a single thing anywhere in the place/

‘Then come with me, my boy,' she said, and she said good-bye to her acquaintance, who raised his hat, which in this room seemed an incredible mark of politeness; then taking Karl by the hand she went up to the counter, pushed a customer aside, lifted a flap-door, went along a passage behind the counter, where they had\o side-step the tirelessly rushing waiters, and opened a double door concealed in the

wall, which led straight into a large, cool store-room. Toil have to know the workings of these places/ Karl said to himself.

‘Well now, what do you want?’ she asked, bending down to him kindly. She was very fat, so that her body quivered, but by comparison her face was almost delicately modelled. Karl felt almost tempted, gazing at the great variety of eatables neatly set out on shelves and tables, to invent a more elegant supper on the spur of the moment and order that instead, especially as he might get it more cheaply from this influential lady; but in the end he mentioned nothing but bacon, bread and beer after all, as he could not think of anything more suitable.

‘Nothing more?’ asked the woman.

‘No, thanks,' said Karl, ‘but enough for three people/

When the woman inquired who the two others were, Karl told her in a few brief words about his companions; he felt glad to be asked some questions.

‘But that’s prison fare,' said the woman, obviously expecting Karl to order something else. But Karl was now afraid that she might bestow the food on him as a gift and refuse to accept any money and so he kept silent. ‘That won’t take long to get ready,' said the woman, and she walked over to a table with an agility wonderful in one so fat, cut with a long, thin, saw-edged knife a great piece of bacon richly streaked with lean, took a loaf from a shelf, lifted three bottles of beer from the floor, and put them all in a light straw basket, which she handed to Karl. As she was doing this she explained to him that she had brought him here because the food in the buffet, though it was quickly replenished, always lost its freshness in the smoke and all the steam. Still, for the people out there anything was good enough. This struck Karl quite dumb, for he could not see how he had earned such special treatment. He thought of his companions who, in spite of all their American experience, would probably never have reached this store-room, but

would have had to be content with the stale food in the buffet. No sound from the saloon could be heard here; the walls must be very thick to keep this vaulted chamber so cool. Karl had already been holding the straw basket in his hand for some time, yet he thought neither of paying nor of going away. Not until the woman made to put in the basket, as an extra, a bottle similar to those standing on the table outside, did he make a move, refusing it with a shiver.

‘Have you much farther to go?’ asked the woman.

To Butterford/ replied Karl.

That’s a long way still,’ said the woman. •

‘Another day’s journey,’ said Karl.

‘Isn’t it more than that?’ asked the woman.

‘Oh no,' said Karl.

The woman rearranged some things on the tables; a waiter came in, looked round interrogatively, and was directed by her to a huge platter, on which lay a large heap of sardines lightly strewn with parsley, which he then bore in his raised hands into the saloon.

‘Why should you spend the night in the open air?’ asked the woman. ‘We have room enough here. Come and sleep here with us in the hotel.’

The thought was very tempting to Karl, particularly as he had slept so badly the previous night.

‘I have my luggage out there,’ he said hesitatingly and not without a certain pride.

Then just bring it here,' said the woman, ‘that’s no hindrance.’

‘But what about my friends?’ said Karl, realizing at once that they were certainly a hindrance.

They can spend the night here too, of course,' said the woman. ‘Do come ! Don’t be so difficult.’

‘My friends are first-rate comrades,' said Karl, ‘but they’re not exactly clean.’

‘Haven’t you seen the dirt in the saloon ?’ asked the woman with a grimace. ‘We can well take in the hardest cases. All

right, I’ll have three beds got ready at once. Only in an attic. I’m afraid, for the hotel is full; I’ve had to move into an attic myself, but at any rate it’s better than sleeping out.’

‘I can’t bring my friends here,' said Karl. He pictured to himself the row the two of them would make in the passages of this fine hotel; Robinson would dirty everything and Delamarche would not fail to molest the woman herself.

‘I don’t see why that should be impossible,' said she, ‘but if you insist on it, then leave your friends behind and come without them/

That wouldn’t do,' said Karl. They’re my friends and I must stick to them/

‘You’re very obstinate,' said the woman, turning her eyes away, ‘when people mean well by you and try to do you a good turn, you do your best to hinder them.’ Karl realized all this, but he saw no way out, so he merely said : ‘My best thanks to you for your kindness/ Then he remembered that he had not paid her yet, and he asked what he owed.

‘You can pay me when you bring the basket back,' said the woman, ‘I must have it tomorrow morning at the latest/

Thank you,' said Karl. She opened a door which led straight into the open air and said, as he stepped out with a bow : ‘Good night. But you’re not doing the right thing.’ He was already a few yards away when she cried after him again: Till tomorrow morning !’

Hardly was he outside when he heard again the undiminished roar of the saloon, with which was now mingled the blare of wind instruments. He was glad that he had not to go out through the saloon. All five floors of the hotel were now illuminated and made the road in front of it bright from one side to the other. Automobiles were still careering along the road, although more intermittently, looming into sight more rapidly than by day, feeling for the road before them with the white beams of their headlights, which paled as they crossed the lighted zone of the hotel only to blaze out again as they rushed into the farther darkness.

Karl found his friends sleeping soundly; but then he had been far too long away. He was just preparing to set out temptingly on paper the food he had brought, making all ready before waking his companions, when to his horror he saw his box, which he had left securely locked and whose key he had in his pocket, standing wide open and half its contents scattered about on the grass.

'Get up ! ’ he cried. 'There have been thieves here, and you lying sleeping !’

'Why, is anything missing?’ asked Delamarche. Robinson was not quite awake, yet his hand was already reaching towards the beer.

'I don’t know/ cried Karl, 'but the box is open. It was very careless of you to go to sleep and leave the box here at anybody’s mercy/.

Delamarche and Robinson laughed, and Delamarche said: Then you’d better not stay away so long next time. It’s only a step or two to the hotel and yet you take three hours to go there and come back again. We were hungry, we thought that you might have something to eat in your box, so we just tickled the lock until it opened. But there was nothing in it after all and your stuff can easily go back again/

‘I see,' said Karl, staring at the quickly emptying basket and listening to the curious noise which Robinson made in drinking, for the beer seemed first to plunge right down into his throat and gurgle up again with a sort of whistle before finally pouring its flood into the deep.

‘Have you had enough now?’ he asked,. when the two of them paused to take breath for a moment.

‘Why, didn’t you have your supper in the hotel?' asked Delamarche, who thought that Karl was putting in a claim for his share.

'If you want any more, then hurry up,' said Karl, going over to his box.

'He seems to be in a huff,' said Delamarche to Robinson.

'I’m not in a huff,' said Karl, 'but do you think it’s right to

break open my box and fling out my things while I’m away? I know that one must put up with a lot from friends and I’ve been prepared to do that; but this is too much. I’m going to spend the night in the hotel, and I’m not going with you to Butterford. Finish youi supper quickly; I’ve got to take back the basket/

‘Just listen to him, Robinson,' said Delamarche. ‘That’s a fine way of talking. He’s a German all right. You did warn me against him at the beginning, but I’m a kind-hearted fool and so I let him come with us all the same. We’ve given him our confidence, we’ve dragged him with us all day and lost half a day at least on his account, and now - just because he’s chummed up with somebody in the hotel - he gives us the go-by, simply gives us the go-by. But because he’s a lying German he doesn’t do it frankly but makes his box a pretext, and being an ill-mannered German he can’t leave us without insulting our honour and calling us thieves, just because we had a little fun with his box.’

Karl, who was packing his things, said without turning round : The more you say, the easier you make it for me to leave you. I know quite well what friendship is. I have had friends in Europe too and none of them can accuse me of ever behaving falsely or meanly to him. I’m not in touch with them now, naturally, but if I ever go back to Europe again they’ll all be glad to see me, and they’ll welcome me at once as a friend. As for you, Delamarche and Robinson, I’m supposed to have betrayed you, am I, after you were so kind - and I’ll never forget that - as to let me join up with you and have a chance of an apprentice’s job in Butterford? But that isn’t how it is at all. I think none the less of you because you own nothing, but you grudge me my few possessions and try to humiliate me because of them, and that I cannot endure. And you break open my box and offer no word of excuse, but abuse me instead and my people as well - and that simply makes it impossible for me to stay with you. All the same, this doesn’t really apply to you, Robinson.

I have nothing against you except that you are far too dependent on Delamarche.’

‘So now we see,' said Delamarche, stepping over to Karl and giving him a slight push, as if to insist on his attention, ‘so now we see you at last in your true colours. All day you've trotted behind me, hanging on to my coat-tails and doing whatever I did and keeping as quiet as a mouse. But now that somebody in the hotel's backing you up, you begin to throw your weight about. You’re a little twister, and I’m not so sure that we’re going to put up with that kind of thing. I'm not so sure that we aren’t going to make you pay for what you’ve learned by watching us today. We envy him, Robinson - envy him, says he - because of his possessions. One day’s work in Butterford - not to mention California - and we’ll have ten times as much as anything you've shown us yet, or anything you’ve got hidden in the lining of that coat. So keep your tongue quiet !’

Karl had risen from his box and saw Robinson also advancing upon him, still sleepy but a little enlivened by the beer. ‘If I stay here longer,' he said, ‘I’ll maybe get some more surprises. It seems to me you want to beat me up.’

‘Nobody’s patience lasts for ever,' said Robinson.

‘You’d better keep out of it, Robinson,' said Karl, without taking his eyes from Delamarche, ‘in your heart you know that I’m right, but you’ve got to make a show of agreeing with Delamarche ! ’

‘Are you maybe thinking of bribing him?’ asked Delamarche.

‘Never occurred to me,' said Karl. ‘I’m glad to be going and I want to have nothing more to do with either of you. There’s only one thing more I want to say: you have reproached me for having money and concealing it from you. Granted that’s true, wasn’t it the right thing to do with people that I had known only for a few hours, and isn’t the way you’re carrying on now a proof of how right I was?’

‘Keep quiet,' said Delamarche to Robinson, though Robin-

son had not moved. Then he said to Karl : 'Seeing that you're making such a parade of honesty, why not stretch your honesty a little farther, now that we’re having a friendly heart-to-heart, and tell us why you really want to go to the hotel ? ’ Karl had to take a step back over the box, Delamarche had pushed up so close to him. But Delamarche was not to be deflected, he kicked the box aside, took another step forward, planting his foot on a white dickey that had been left lying on the grass, and repeated his question.

As if in answer a man with a powerful flash-lamp climbed up from the road towards the group. It was one of the waiters from the hotel. As soon as he caught sight of Karl he said: 'I’ve been looking for you for nearly half an hour. I’ve been hunting through all the bushes on both sides of the road. The Manageress sent me to tell you that she needs that straw basket she lent you.’

‘Here it is,’ said Karl in a voice trembling with agitation. Delamarche and Robinson had drawn aside in pretended humility, as they always did when decent-looking strangers appeared. The waiter picked up the basket and said: ‘The Manageress also told me to ask you whether you haven’t changed your mind and would like to sleep in the hotel after all. The other two gentlemen would be welcome too, if you care to bring them with you. The beds are all ready for you. It’s warm enough tonight, but it’s far from safe to sleep in this place; you often come across snakes.’

'Since the Manageress is so kind. I’ll accept her invitation after all,’ said Karl, and waited for his companions to say something. But Robinson stood there quite dumb and Delamarche was looking up at the stars with his hands in his trousers pockets. Both were obviously expecting Karl to take them with him without further ado.

‘In that case,’ said the waiter, ‘I have orders to take you to the hotel and carry your luggage there.’

'Then please just wait a moment,’ said Karl, bending down to put in his box the few things which were still lying about.

Suddenly he straightened himself. The photograph, which had been lying on the very top, was missing and nowhere to be found. Everything else was there, except the photograph. 'I can't find the photograph,' he said to Delamarche imploringly.

'What photograph?' asked Delamarche.

The photograph of my parents,' said Karl.

'We haven't seen any photograph in the box, Mr Rossmann,' said Rohinson.

‘But that's quite impossible,' said Karl, and his beseeching glances brought the waiter nearer. ‘It was, lying on the top and now it’s gone. I do wish you hadn’t played about with my box.'

‘We’re not making any mistake,' said Delamarche, ‘there was no photograph in the box.'

‘It was more important to me than all the other things in the box,' said Karl to the waiter, who was walking about looking in the grass. ‘For it's irreplaceable; I can't get another one,' And when the waiter gave up the hopeless search, Karl added: ‘It was the only photograph of my parents that I possessed.’

Then the waiter said aloud, without any attempt to mitigate the words: ‘Maybe we could run through these gentlemen’s pockets.'

Tes,' said Karl at once, ‘I must find the photograph. But before searching their pockets, let me say this, that whoever gives me the photograph of his own accord can have my box and everything in it.’ After a moment of general silence Karl said to the waiter : ‘It seems my friends prefer to have their pockets searched. But even now I promise the box and everything in it to anyone in whose pocket the photograph is found. More I can't do.'

The waiter immediately set about searching Delamarche, who seemed to him more difficult to handle than Robinson, whom he left to Karl. He impressed upon Karl that they must both be searched simultaneously, otherwise one of them

might get rid of the photograph unobserved. As soon as he put his hand into Robinson’s pocket, Karl found a scarf belonging to himself, but he refrained from taking it and called to the waiter: ‘Whatever you find on Delamarche, let him keep it. I want nothing but the photograph, only the photograph/

In searching the breast pocket of Robinson’s coat Karl’s hand came in contact with the man’s hot, flabby chest and he became aware that he might be doing his companions a great injustice. That made him hurry as fast as he could. But all was in vain; no photograph was to be found either on Robinson or on Delamarche.

‘It’s no good,’ said the waiter.

They’ve probably torn up the photograph and flung the pieces away,’ said Karl. T thought they were friends, but in their hearts they only wished me ill. Not so much Robinson; it would never have occurred to him that I set such store on the photograph; that’s more like Delamarche.’ Karl could now see only the waiter, whose flash-lamp lit up a tiny circle, while everything else, including Delamarche and Robinson, lay in deep darkness.

There was naturally no question now of the two men going to the hotel with Karl. The waiter swung the box on to his shoulder, Karl picked up the straw basket, and they set off. Karl had already reached the road when, starting out of his thoughts, he stopped and shouted up into the darkness : ‘Listen to me. If either of you has the photograph and will bring it to me at the hotel, he can still have the box, and I swear that I won’t make any charge against him.’ No actual answer came, only a stifled word could be heard, the beginning of a shout from Robinson, whose mouth was obviously stopped at once by Delamarche. Karl waited for a long time, in case the men above him might change their minds. He shouted twice, at intervals: ‘I’m still here!’ But no sound came in reply, except that a stone rolled down the slope, perhaps a chance stone, perhaps a badly aimed throw.