The Meowmorphosis (3 page)

While Gregor was quickly blurting all this out, hardly aware of what he was meowing, he found that he had somehow moved close to the chest of drawers without effort, probably as a result of the practice he had already had in bed, and now he was trying to scramble up to the top of it. Actually, he wanted to open the door. He really wanted to let himself be seen by and to speak with the manager; he was keen to find out what they all would say when they saw him. If they were startled, then Gregor had no more responsibility and could be calm. But if they accepted everything quietly, then he would have no reason to get excited and, if he got a move on, could really be at the station around eight o’clock.

At first he slid down a few times on the smooth chest of drawers. But at last he gave himself a final swing and stood upright there. He was no longer at all aware of the pains in his lower body, no matter how they might still sting. Now he let himself fall against the back of a nearby chair, on the edge of
which he braced himself with his striped limbs. By doing this he gained control over himself and kept quiet, for he could now hear the manager.

“BUT, SIR,” CALLED GREGOR, “I’M OPENING THE DOOR IMMEDIATELY, THIS VERY MOMENT.”

“Did you understand a single word?” the manager asked his parents. “Is he playing the fool with us?”

“For God’s sake,” cried his mother, already in tears, “Gregor is never so silly. Perhaps he’s very ill and we’re upsetting him. Grete! Grete!” she yelled at that point.

“Mother?” called his sister from the other side. They were making themselves understood through Gregor’s room.

“You must go to the doctor right away. Gregor is sick. Hurry to the doctor. Have you heard Gregor speak yet?”

“That was an animal’s voice,” said the manager, remarkably quietly compared to the mother’s cries.

“Anna! Anna!” yelled Gregor’s father through the hall to the servant girl in the kitchen, clapping his hands. “Fetch a locksmith right away!” The two young women were already running through the hall with swishing skirts—how had his sister dressed herself so quickly?—and yanked open the doors of the apartment. Gregor couldn’t hear the doors closing at all. They had probably left them open, as is customary in an apartment where a huge misfortune has taken place.

However, Gregor had become much calmer. All right, people did not understand his words anymore, although they
seemed clear enough to him, clearer than previously, perhaps because his ears had gotten used to them. But at least people now understood that things were not all right with him and were prepared to help him. The confidence and assurance with which the first arrangements had been carried out made him feel good. He felt himself included once again in the circle of humanity and was expecting from both the doctor and the locksmith, without differentiating between them with any real precision, splendid and surprising results. In addition, he felt sure that one or the other of them might scratch him behind the ears, or stroke his fur, and he looked forward to that with great anticipation. In order to get as clear a voice as possible for the critical conversation that was imminent, he coughed a little, and certainly took the trouble to do this in a really subdued way, since it was possible that even this noise sounded somewhat different from a human cough. He no longer trusted himself to decide anymore. Meanwhile in the next room it had become really quiet. Perhaps his parents were sitting with the manager at the table whispering; perhaps they were all leaning against the door listening.

Gregor crept slowly toward the door, as if stalking it, with the help of the easy chair, behind which he hid before throwing himself against the door. He held himself upright against it—the balls of his tiny paws had a little sticky stuff on them—
and rested there momentarily from his exertion. Then he made an effort to turn the key in the lock with his mouth. Unfortunately it seemed that he had no real facility with his feline mouth. His rough tongue lapped uselessly at the key, and his kitten-teeth slid off its brass handle. How was he to grab hold of the key? But then he realized that, as if to make up for his tiny teeth, his jaws were naturally very strong; with their help he managed to get the key really moving. He didn’t notice that he was obviously inflicting some damage on himself, for a trickle of blood came out of his mouth, flowed over the key, and dripped onto the floor.

“Just listen for a moment,” said the manager in the next room. “He’s turning the key.” For Gregor that was a great encouragement. But they all should’ve called out to him, including his father and mother. “Come on, Gregor,” they should’ve shouted, “keep going, keep working on the lock.” Imagining that all his efforts were being observed with suspense, he bit down frantically on the key with all the force he could muster. As the key turned more, he danced around the lock. Now he was holding himself upright only with his mouth, and to continue turning the key he had to hang onto it and press down on it with the whole weight of his body. The quite distinct click of the lock as it finally snapped really woke Gregor up. Breathing heavily, he said to himself, “So I didn’t need the locksmith,”
and he set his furry brown head against the door handle to open the door completely.

Because he had to open the door in this way, it was already open very wide without him yet being really visible. He first had to turn himself slowly around the edge of the door, very carefully, of course, if he didn’t want to fall awkwardly on his back right at the entrance into the room. He was still preoccupied with this difficult movement, and had no time to pay attention to anything else, when he heard the manager exclaim a loud “Oh!”—it sounded like the wind whistling—and now he saw him, nearest to the door, pressing his hand against his open mouth and moving slowly back, as if an invisible constant force was pushing him away. His mother—in spite of the manager’s presence she was standing here with her hair sticking up on end, still a mess from the night—was looking at his father with her hands clasped. She then went two steps toward Gregor and collapsed right in the middle of her skirts, which were spread out all around her, her face sunk on her breast, peering at him with large and delighted eyes. She held out her arms and Gregor leapt happily into them, propelled toward her lap by some ancient instinct he could not suppress. His bulk was too great for her to embrace wholly, however, and Gregor wondered at how large he had already grown, so that his mother could scarcely get her arms around his prodigious girth. His
father clenched his fist with a hostile expression, as if he wished to push Gregor away from his wife, then looked uncertainly around the living room, covered his eyes with his hands, and cried so that his mighty belly shook.

At this point Gregor did not take one step off his mother’s lap, but leaned his body against the firm solidity of her breast, so that only half his body was visible, as well as his head, tilted sideways, with which he peeped over her elbow at the others. Meanwhile it had become much brighter outside. Standing out clearly from the other side of the street was a part of the endless gray-black house situated opposite—it was a hospital—with its severe regular windows breaking up the facade. The rain was still coming down, but only in large individual drops visibly and firmly thrown down one by one onto the ground. The breakfast dishes were standing piled around on the table, because for his father breakfast was the most important meal of the day, which he prolonged for hours by reading various newspapers. Directly across on the opposite wall hung a photograph of Gregor from the time of his military service; it was a picture of him as a lieutenant, smiling and worry free, with his hand on his sword, demanding respect for his bearing and uniform. The door to the hall was ajar, and since the door to the apartment was also open, one could see out into the landing of the apartment and the start of the staircase going down.

“Now,” said Gregor, well aware that he was the only one who had kept his composure. “I’ll get dressed right away, pack up the collection of samples, and set off. You’ll allow me to set out on my way, will you not? You see, sir, I’m not pigheaded, and I am happy to work. Traveling is exhausting, but I couldn’t live without it. Where are you going—to the office, yes? Will you report everything fairly? A person can be incapable of work momentarily, but that’s precisely the best time to remember his earlier achievements and to consider that later, after the obstacles have been shoved aside, that person will work all the more eagerly and intensely. I am really so indebted to our chief—you know that perfectly well. On the other hand, I’m concerned for the well-being of my parents and my sister. I’m in a fix here, but I’ll work myself out of it again. Don’t make things more difficult for me than they already are; please, speak up on my behalf in the office! People don’t like traveling salesmen; I know that. People think we earn pots of money and thus lead a fine life. They don’t have any special reason, I know, to think through this prejudice more carefully. But you, sir, you have a better perspective on what’s involved than other people—even, I tell you in total confidence, a better perspective than the chairman himself, who in his capacity as our employer may sometimes make casual misjudgments of an employee. You also know well enough that the traveling salesman, who’s
outside the office almost the entire year, can become so easily a victim of gossip, coincidences, and groundless complaints, against which it’s impossible for him to defend himself, since for the most part he doesn’t hear about them at all, unless it’s when he’s finally home after finishing a trip, exhausted, and then feels in his bones the nasty consequences, which he can’t even trace back to their origins. Please, sir, don’t leave without saying something, without telling me you’ll at least concede that I’m at least somewhat right!”

SHE HELD OUT HER ARMS AND GREGOR LEAPT HAPPILY INTO THEM, PROPELLED BY SOME ANCIENT INSTINCT.

But at Gregor’s first words the manager had turned away, looking with pursed lips over his twitching shoulders at Gregor. During Gregor’s speech he did not stay still for a moment but kept moving away toward the door, painstakingly slowly, without taking his eyes off Gregor, as if trying to escape some secret ban on leaving the room. He now reached the hall, and given the sudden movement with which he finally pulled his foot out of the living room, one could have believed that he had just burned it. There in the hall, he stretched his right hand out toward the staircase, as if some truly supernatural relief awaited him there.

Gregor realized that he must not under any circumstances allow the manager to leave in this frame of mind—especially if his position in the firm was not to be placed in the greatest danger. His parents did not understand all this very well. Over
the long years, they had developed the conviction that Gregor was set for life in his firm, and, in addition, they had so many immediate troubles to worry about nowadays that they’d been unable to spare a thought for the future. But Gregor did have such foresight. The manager must be held back, calmed down, convinced, and ultimately won over. The future of Gregor and his family truly depended on it! Oh, if only his sister would show her face! She was clever. She had already giggled while Gregor was still lying quietly on his belly, purring, and Gregor expected this meant he had one ally, at least. The manager, who was fond of the ladies, would certainly let himself be guided by her. She would have closed the door to the apartment and talked the man out of his fright in the hall. But his sister did not come rescue him. Gregor must deal with it himself.

Forgetting that he still didn’t know much about his present ability to move and that his speech possibly—indeed, probably—had once again not been understood, Gregor pushed back out of his mother’s embrace, intending to approach the manager, who was already holding tight onto the handrail with both hands on the landing in a ridiculous way. But as Gregor looked for something against which he could hold himself upright, with a small yowl he scrabbled and immediately fell down onto his four little legs. Scarcely had this happened when he felt for the first time that morning a general physical
well-being. His small limbs had firm, thickly carpeted floor under them; they obeyed perfectly, as he noticed to his joy, and strove to carry him forward in the direction he wanted. Right away he believed that the final relief from all his suffering was at hand. But at that very moment, as he lay on the floor kneading the carpet in a restrained manner quite close to his mother, who had apparently forgotten her initial delight at the appearance of a large kitten in place of a son, she suddenly sprang right up with her arms spread far apart and her fingers extended, crying out, “Help, for God’s sake, help!” She held her head bowed down, as if she wanted to view Gregor better, but ran senselessly back, contradicting that gesture, forgetting that behind her stood the table with all the dishes on it. When she reached the table, she sat down heavily on it, as if absent-mindedly, and did not appear to notice at all that next to her coffee was pouring out onto the carpet in a full stream from the large overturned container.