“So high!” he said to himself, and without any thought of disembarking, he was pushed farther and farther along, all the way to the railing, by the constantly swelling throng of porters pressing past him.

On his way by, a young man with whom he had been briefly acquainted during the voyage said to him: “Well, don’t you feel like going ashore yet?” “Oh yes, I’m ready,” said Karl, laughing, and out of sheer joy and youthful strength, he hoisted his trunk onto his shoulder. But as he looked beyond his acquaintance, who was already moving off and lightly swinging his stick, he remembered with dismay that he had left his own umbrella below deck. He hastily begged his acquaintance, who seemed none too pleased, to be kind enough to watch his trunk a moment; he surveyed his surroundings to regain his bearings and hurried off. Down below he was disappointed to find that a passageway that would have shortened his route considerably was barred now for the first time, probably because of all the disembarking passengers, and he had to arduously make his way through a long series of small rooms, down countless short staircases, one after another, through continually winding corridors, past a room with a deserted desk, until finally, as he had only gone this way once or twice before and always in a large group, he was utterly lost. In his bewilderment he came to a stop by a small door, and because he encountered no one and could hear only the endless trampling of thousands of human feet overhead, and from a distance like a sigh the final whine of the engines shutting down, he began, without consideration, to pound on the door.

“It’s open,” a voice called from inside, and Karl opened the door with a genuine sigh of relief. “Why are you pounding on the door like a madman?” asked a huge man, barely glancing at Karl. Through some kind of overhead hatch murky light, long stale from its use on the decks above, seeped into the miserable cabin, where a bed, a closet, a chair, and the man were crowded together side by side as if stowed there. “I’ve lost my way,” said Karl. “I never really noticed it during the voyage, but this is an awfully large ship.” “Yes, you’re right about that,” the man said with a certain degree of pride but did not stop fiddling with the lock of a small footlocker that he kept pressing shut with both hands to hear the catch snap home. “But come on in!” the man continued. “You don’t want to stand around outside!” “Am I intruding?” asked Karl. “No, how would you be intruding!” “Are you German?” Karl tried to reassure himself further because he had heard a lot about the dangers that threatened newcomers to America, from the Irish especially.¹⁴ “That I am, yes indeed,” said the man. Karl still hesitated. Then the man unexpectedly seized the door handle and swiftly shut the door, sweeping Karl into the cabin. “I can’t stand being peered at from the corridor,” he said, fiddling with the chest again; “they all run by and peer in, who can put up with it!” “But the corridor is totally empty now,” said Karl, who was pressed uncomfortably against the bedpost. “Yes, now,” said the man. “But we’re talking about now,” thought Karl; “this is a difficult man to talk to.” “Why don’t you lie down on the bed, you’ll have more room,” said the man. Karl crawled in as best he could and chuckled loudly at his first unsuccessful attempt to pitch himself across the bed. But as soon as he was in the bed he exclaimed: “Good God, I’ve completely forgotten my trunk!” “Well, where is it?” “Up on deck, someone I met is watching it. Now what was his name?” And from a secret pocket that his mother had sewn into his jacket lining specially for this voyage, he fished out a visiting card. “Butterbaum, Franz Butterbaum.” “Is your trunk really necessary?” “Of course.” “Well then, why did you give it to a complete stranger?” “I had forgotten my umbrella down below and ran to get it, but I didn’t want to lug my trunk along. And then I got lost too.” “Are you alone? No one accompanying you?” “Yes, I’m alone.”—“Maybe I should stick with this man,” went through Karl’s mind, “where could I find a better friend?” “And now you’ve also lost your trunk. Not to mention the umbrella.” And the man sat down on the chair as if he had developed some interest in Karl’s problem. “But I don’t believe the trunk is really lost yet.” “Believe what you want,” said the man, vigorously scratching his short, dark thatch of hair, “on a ship the morals change as often as the ports. In Hamburg, your Butterbaum might have guarded your trunk; here there’s most likely no trace left of either of them.” “Then I must go look for it immediately,” said Karl, looking around to see how he could leave. “Stay where you are,” the man said, and thrust a hand against Karl’s chest, pushing him roughly back onto the bed. “But why?” Karl asked peevishly. “Because it makes no sense,” said the man; “in a little while I’m going and then we can go together. Either the trunk is stolen and there’s no help for it, or the man has left it there and we’ll find it all the more easily when the ship is empty. The same goes for your umbrella.” “Do you know your way around the ship?” asked Karl warily, as it seemed to him that there must be some catch in the otherwise convincing notion that his things would be best found on an empty ship. “Well, I’m a stoker,”^f the man said. “You’re a stoker!” Karl cried happily, as if this exceeded all expectation and, propping himself up on his elbows, he inspected the man more closely. “Just outside the cabin where I slept with the Slovak there was a porthole through which you could see into the engine room.” “Yes, that’s where I worked,” said the stoker. “I have always been interested in technology,” said Karl, pursuing his own train of thought, “and would surely have become an engineer later on if I hadn’t had to leave for America.” “Why did you have to leave, then?” “Oh, that!” said Karl, waving away the whole business with his hand. At the same time he looked at the stoker with a smile as if asking his indulgence for what he hadn’t even admitted. “I’m sure there was some reason,” said the stoker, and it was hard to tell whether he was demanding or dismissing the story behind that reason. “Now I could become a stoker too,” said Karl, “my parents don’t care what becomes of me.” “My job will be free,” said the stoker, and as a show of this he put his hands in the pockets of his creased and leathery, iron gray trousers and flung his legs across the bed in order to stretch them out. Karl had to move over closer to the wall. “Are you leaving the ship?” “Yes, we’re moving out today.” “But why? Don’t you like it?” “Well, that’s the way things go, it’s not always a matter of what pleases you or not. But as a matter of fact you’re right, I don’t like it. You’re probably not seriously thinking of becoming a stoker, but that’s exactly when it’s easiest to become one. So, I strongly advise you against it. If you wanted to study in Europe, why don’t you want to study here? The American universities are incomparably better than the European ones.” “It’s certainly possible,” said Karl, “but I have almost no money for a university. I did read about someone who worked all day and studied at night until he got a doctorate and became a mayor, I believe, but that requires a lot of perseverance, doesn’t it? I’m afraid that’s something I lack. Anyway, I was never a very good student, and leaving school was not particularly hard on me. And perhaps the schools here will be even more stringent. I speak almost no English. And besides, I think people here are prejudiced against foreigners.” “So you’ve found that out already? Well, that’s good. Then you’re my man. Look, we’re on a German ship, it belongs to the Hamburg-America line, so why aren’t we all Germans here? Why is the chief engineer a Romanian? His name is Schubal. It’s beyond belief. And that villain makes us slave away on a German ship! Don’t go thinking”—he was out of breath and flailing his hand—“that I’m complaining just to complain. I know you have no influence and are just a poor young lad yourself. But it’s a shame!” And he beat the table repeatedly, his eyes fixed on his fist as he banged. “I’ve served on so many ships”—and he fired off twenty names as if they were one word, making Karl dizzy—“and I’ve always excelled, I was praised, the captains always liked my work, I even worked for several years on the same merchant ship”—he stood up as if this had been the high point of his life—“and here on this tub, where everything is done by the book and no brains are required, here I’m no good, here I’m always in Schubal’s way, I’m a lazybones who deserves to be thrown out and only get his pay out of mercy. Can you understand that? I can’t.” “You shouldn’t put up with that,” said Karl heatedly. He felt so at home here on the stoker’s bed that he had almost lost any sense of being on the unsteady ground of a ship off the coast of an unknown continent. “Have you been to see the captain? Have you asked him to see to your rights?” “Oh, go away, just go away. I don’t want you here. You don’t listen to what I say and then you give me advice. How am I supposed to go to the captain?” And the stoker wearily sat down again and buried his face in both hands.

“I can’t give him any better advice,” Karl said to himself. And the overwhelming thought occurred to him that he would have been better off going after his trunk instead of staying here and offering advice that was only considered stupid. When his father had handed over the trunk to him for good he had jokingly asked: “How long will you keep it?” and now this precious trunk might already be well and truly lost. His sole consolation was that his father, even if he did make inquiries, could hardly find out about his present situation. The shipping company could only say that he had gotten as far as New York. But Karl was sorry that he had hardly used the items in the trunk, though he ought to have, for instance, long since changed his shirt. So he had economized in the wrong place, and now, at the very start of his career, when it was necessary to arrive neatly dressed, he would have to appear in a dirty shirt. Otherwise the loss of the trunk would not have been so bad, as the suit he was wearing was actually better than the one in the trunk, which was only an emergency suit that his mother had had to mend just before his departure. Now he also remembered that a piece of Verona salami was still in his trunk; his mother had packed this as a special treat, but he had eaten only the tiniest bit of it because he had had no appetite during the voyage and the soup served in steerage^g amply sufficed. But he would gladly have that sausage in hand now, so that he could present it to the stoker. For people such as this are easily won over if one slips them any old trifle; Karl had learned that from his father, who by distributing cigars won over all the underlings with whom he had to do business. At present all Karl had to give away was his money, and he did not want to touch that for the moment, considering he might have already lost his trunk. Again his thoughts returned to the trunk, and now he could not understand why he had kept watch over it so vigilantly during the voyage that it had almost cost him his sleep, when he had later allowed the same trunk to be taken from him so easily. He remembered the five nights during which he had incessantly suspected a little Slovak, lying two berths to his left, of having designs on the trunk. This Slovak had merely been waiting for Karl to be overcome by fatigue and nod off for a moment so that he could hook the trunk and pull it over to him with a long pole that he played or practiced with all day long. During the day the Slovak seemed innocent enough, but as soon as night fell he would periodically rise from his berth and mournfully eye Karl’s trunk. Karl could see him quite clearly, for there was always someone lighting a lamp here or there, even though this was forbidden by the ship’s regulations, with the restless anxiety of an emigrant trying to decipher the incomprehensible brochures from the emigration agencies. If such a light was nearby, Karl could doze off for a while; but if the light was far away or it was totally dark, then he had to keep his eyes open. This strain had thoroughly exhausted him and now it may have all been in vain. Oh, that Butterbaum, if he ever saw him again somewhere!

At that instant the absolute silence was broken by brief little thuds in the distance like children’s footsteps; they came nearer and grew louder until it was the steady tread of men marching. They were evidently walking single file as was natural in the narrow passage, and a clattering sound like weapons could be heard. Karl, who had been on the verge of stretching out on the bed and sleeping, free from worry over trunks and Slovaks, started up and nudged the stoker to fully alert him, as the head of the procession seemed to have just reached the door. “That’s the ship’s band,” said the stoker, “they’ve been playing on deck and now they’re going to pack up. It’s all clear now and we can go. Come on!” He seized Karl by the hand, took a framed picture of the Madonna off the wall at the last moment and stuffed it in his breast pocket, grabbed his footlocker, and hastily left the cabin with Karl.

“Now I’m going to the office and giving those gentlemen a piece of my mind. There are no more passengers, so I don’t have to mince words.” The stoker kept repeating variations of this, and as he went along he kicked out sideways, attempting to stomp on a rat that scurried across their path but only driving it faster into a hole that it reached in the nick of time. The stoker was generally slow in his movements, for while his legs were long they were just too heavy.

They passed through a section of the kitchen where some girls in dirty aprons—they were deliberately splashing themselves—were washing dishes in large tubs. The stoker called over a girl named Line, put his arm around her waist, and led her a ways away while she pressed herself coquettishly against his arm. “It’s time to get our pay, do you want to come along?” he asked. “Why should I bother; bring the money back here,” she replied, and slipped under his arm and ran away. “Where did you pick up that beautiful boy?” she called back, but did not wait for an answer. There was laughter from all of the girls, who had stopped their work.

But Karl and the stoker kept walking until they came to a door with a small pediment over it supported by little gilded caryatids. It looked quite extravagant for a ship’s decor. Karl realized that he had never been in this area of the ship, which had probably been reserved for first- and second-class passengers during the voyage, whereas now all the partitions had been removed for the scouring of the ship. In fact, they had already run into some men with brooms on their shoulders, who had greeted the stoker. Karl marveled at the intense flurry of activity; he knew little of it, of course, in steerage. Running along the passageways there were also wires from electrical lines, and a little bell could be heard ringing constantly.

The stoker respectfully knocked at the door, and when a voice called, “Come in,” he motioned at Karl with a wave of his hand to be brave and enter. This he did, but then remained standing by the door. Beyond the three windows of the room he saw the waves of the ocean, and his heart soared as he took in their buoyant motion, as if he had not been looking incessantly at the ocean for five long days. Immense ships were crossing in front of one another, yielding to the swell of the waves only as much as their tonnage allowed. Through narrowed eyes the ships appeared to be staggering under their own massive weight. Their masts bore slim but elongated flags which were drawn taut by the ships’ movement yet kept fluttering to and fro. Salvos, probably fired from warships, rang out; one such ship was passing fairly nearby and its gun barrels were glinting in the sunlight, seemingly enveloped by the sure, smooth, but rippling glide of the ship through the water. The smaller ships and boats, from the doorway at least, could only be seen in the distance as swarms of them darted through the gaps between the larger ships. But beyond all this towered New York, examining Karl with the hundred thousand windows of its skyscrapers. Yes, in this room one knew where one was.

Three gentlemen were sitting at a round table, one a ship’s officer in a blue naval uniform and the other two, officials of the harbor authority, in black American uniforms. On the table lay a mountainous stack of different documents, which the first officer skimmed through with pen in hand, then turned over to the other two, who read them, made excerpts, then filed them away in their briefcases, except when one of the two officials, who was almost constantly clacking his teeth, dictated something for his colleague to record.

A small man sat at a desk by one window with his back to the door and fussed over weighty ledgers, which were arranged side by side on a solid bookcase just in front of him. Beside him lay an open cash box, which appeared empty at first glance.

The second window was clear and provided the best view. But two gentlemen stood by the third window, conversing in low tones. One of them, who was leaning against the window, also wore a naval uniform and was toying with the hilt of a sword. The man with whom he was speaking was facing the window, and every so often his movements partially revealed a row of medals on the other man’s chest. He was dressed in civilian clothes and held a thin bamboo cane which, since he stood with his hands on his hips, also jutted out like a sword.

Karl did not have much time to ingest all this, for an attendant quickly stepped up to them and asked the stoker, with a purposeful look conveying that he had no business here, what it was he wanted. Responding as softly as he had been asked, the stoker replied that he wished to speak to the chief purser.^h The attendant, for his part, dismissed this request with a wave of his hand but nevertheless tiptoed, giving the round table a wide berth, over to the man with the ledgers. This gentleman—as was obvious—abruptly stiffened at the attendant’s words but eventually turned to face the man who wanted to speak to him and proceeded to gesticulate furiously at the stoker to ward him off and then, as a further precaution, at the attendant too. The attendant returned to the stoker and said in a confidential manner: “Get out of this room at once!”

Upon receiving this response, the stoker looked down at Karl as if Karl were his heart to which he was silently bemoaning his sorrows. Without further thought Karl charged forward and ran straight across the room, brushing the officer’s chair on his way past; the attendant also set off running, crouching low with arms spread wide and ready to scoop, as if he were hunting some sort of vermin, but Karl was the first to reach the chief purser’s desk, which he held on to tightly in case the attendant should try to drag him away.

Naturally the whole room came immediately to life. The ship’s officer at the table sprang to his feet; the men from the harbor authority looked on calmly but attentively; the two gentlemen by the window had moved side by side; the attendant, feeling out of place now that his superiors were interested, stepped back. The stoker waited anxiously by the door for the moment when his help would be needed. The purser finally swung his armchair forcefully around to the right.

Karl, rummaging in his secret pocket, which he had no qualms about revealing to these people, pulled out his passport, which he opened and laid on the desk in lieu of further introduction. The purser seemed to consider the passport irrelevant, for he flicked it aside with two fingers, whereupon Karl, as if this formality had been concluded to his satisfaction, put it back in his pocket.

“Please allow me to say,” he then began, “that in my opinion the stoker has been done an injustice. There is a certain Schubal on board who’s on his case. The stoker has worked on many ships, all of which he can name and all of which were very satisfactorily served; he is industrious and serious about his work, and it’s difficult to comprehend why his performance would not be up to standard on this ship, where the duties are not nearly so taxing as they are, for example, on a merchant ship. Therefore it can only be slander that prevents his advancement and robs him of the reward that would otherwise assuredly be his. I have only outlined this matter in general terms, he can enumerate his specific grievances for you himself.” Karl had directed his remarks to all the gentlemen present because they were all in fact listening, and it seemed much more likely that a just man could be found among all of them than that this just man should be the purser. Karl had also been clever enough to conceal the fact that he had known the stoker only a short time. But he would have spoken more effectively if he had not been disconcerted by the red face of the man with the bamboo cane as he first viewed it from his current position.

“Every single word is true,” said the stoker before anyone asked him anything or even looked in his direction. This over zealousness would have been a gross error if the gentleman with the medals, who, it suddenly dawned on Karl, was obviously the captain, had not clearly made up his mind already to hear the stoker out. For he extended a hand and called to the stoker: “Come here!” with a voice firm enough to be hit with a hammer. Now everything hinged upon the stoker’s conduct, for Karl did not doubt the justness of his cause.

Fortunately it became evident at this point that the stoker was an experienced man of the world. With perfect calm he reached into his little chest and unerringly pulled out a small bundle of papers and a notebook, and then, as if it were the most natural thing to do, he completely ignored the purser, walked directly to the captain, and spread out his evidence on the windowsill. Having no choice, the purser was forced to make his own way across. “The man is a known whiner,” he said by way of explanation. “He spends more time in my office than the engine room. He has driven that poor, calm Schubal to distraction. Now listen for once!” He turned to the stoker. “This time you’re really taking your obtrusiveness too far. How many times have you already been thrown out of pay rooms, and it served you right with your demands, which are without exception totally and completely unjustified! How many times have you then come running to the purser’s office! How many times have you been told nicely that Schubal is your immediate superior, with whom you have to come to terms yourself! And now you even have the gall to come in here when the captain’s present and you have no shame about pestering him; you even have the effrontery to go so far as to bring this boy along, whom you’ve trained as the mouthpiece for your ridiculous accusations, and yet this is the first time I have ever seen him on this ship!”

Karl had to forcibly restrain himself from jumping forward. But the captain had already intervened, saying: “Let’s listen to what the man has to say. In any case Schubal is becoming much too independent for my liking, by which, however, I don’t mean to imply anything in your favor.” These last words were directed to the stoker; it was only natural that the captain could not immediately take his side, but everything appeared to be moving in the right direction. The stoker began his explanations and was in control of himself enough at the start to give Schubal the title of “Mister.” How Karl rejoiced, standing at the purser’s abandoned desk, where he took great pleasure in pressing down on a postal scale again and again.—Mr. Schubal is unfair! Mr. Schubal prefers foreigners! Mr. Schubal had ordered the stoker out of the engine room and made him clean toilets, which was certainly not the stoker’s job!—At one point, Mr. Schubal’s competence was challenged as being more apparent than actual. At that moment Karl eyed the captain very closely and openly, as if they were colleagues, to ensure that the captain would not be unfavorably influenced by the stoker’s somewhat awkward manner of expression. Still, nothing tangible emerged from the stream of words, and even though the captain’s gaze was still fixed ahead of him as a sign of his resolve to hear the stoker through to the end this time, the other gentlemen were growing impatient and soon the stoker’s voice no longer dominated the room unquestionably, which was disturbing to Karl. First, the gentleman in civilian clothes started playing with his bamboo cane, tapping it, albeit softly, against the parquet floor, and the other gentlemen naturally looked his way from time to time. The harbor officials, who were obviously in a hurry, took up their documents again and began, if somewhat distractedly, to look through them; the ship’s officer edged closer to his table, and the chief purser, believing he had won this round, heaved a deep and ironic sigh. Only the attendant seemed exempt from the gathering lack of interest; sympathetic to the sufferings of a poor man surrounded by the great, he nodded earnestly at Karl as if he wanted to explain something.

Meanwhile, outside the windows, life in the harbor continued: A flat barge with a mountain of barrels, which must have been ingeniously stowed because none of them rolled around, tugged past and almost completely darkened the room; small motor-boats, which Karl could have minutely examined if he had had the time, roared by in straight lines, each obeying the jerking hands of a man standing upright at the wheel; here and there peculiar bobbing objects surfaced on their own from the restless waves and were submerged just as quickly, sinking before Karl’s astonished eyes; boats from the ocean liners surged past, rowed by furiously working sailors and full of still, expectant passengers sitting exactly as they had been squeezed in, although some of them could not resist turning their heads to look at the shifting scenery. An endless movement, a restlessness passed from the element of restlessness to the helpless human beings and their works!

But everything called for haste, for clarity, for accurate description, and what was the stoker doing? He was certainly talking up a storm, his trembling hands were long past being able to hold the papers on the windowsill, complaints about Schubal came flooding into his mind from all directions, and in his opinion, each and every one would have sufficed to bury Schubal forever, but all he could present to the captain was a pitiful tangle of everything jumbled together. For a long time the gentleman with the bamboo cane had been whistling up at the ceiling, the harbor officials had already detained the ship’s officer at their table and showed no signs of releasing him, the chief purser was visibly held back from an outburst only by the calmness of the captain, and the attendant was standing at the ready, awaiting at any moment the captain’s orders concerning the stoker.

Karl could remain idle no longer. Therefore he approached the group slowly, considering all the quicker how to tackle the situation as cleverly as possible. It was now or never, it could not be long before they were both thrown out of the office. The captain might well be a good man and in addition he might, or so it seemed to Karl, have some special reason for demonstrating that he was a fair superior at present, but in the end he was not an instrument that one could play into the ground—and that was just how the stoker was treating him, although it was only out of his profound sense of indignation.

So Karl said to the stoker: “You must tell the story more simply, more clearly; the captain can’t fully appreciate it the way you’re telling it now. Does he know all the engineers and cabin boys by their last names, let alone by their first names, so that you just mention such a name and he instantly knows who it is? Sort out your complaints and tell him the most important first and then the others in descending order; perhaps then you won’t even have to voice most of them. You’ve always explained it to me so clearly!” “If one could steal trunks in America, one could also lie now and again,” he thought to justify himself.

If only it would help! Might it not be too late already? The stoker did fall silent upon hearing the familiar voice, but his eyes were so blinded by tears of wounded pride, awful memories, and the extreme distress of the moment that he could barely recognize Karl anymore. How could he now—and Karl privately realized this upon seeing his silent friend—how could he suddenly change his tack now when he felt that he had already said all there was to say without receiving the slightest acknowledgment, and yet on the other hand he had really not said anything at all and could hardly expect these gentlemen to listen to everything again. And at this particular point Karl, his sole supporter, steps in wanting to give good advice but instead shows him that everything, absolutely everything is lost.

“If only I’d come forward sooner instead of staring out the window,” Karl said to himself, bowing his head before the stoker and slapping his hands on his thighs to signal that all hope had vanished.

But the stoker misinterpreted this, probably sensing that Karl was secretly reproaching him, and with the honest intention of convincing him otherwise, he superseded all his previous deeds by starting to argue with Karl. Now of all times—when the gentlemen at the round table had long since grown aggravated by the pointless barrage that was disrupting their important work, when the chief purser had gradually found the captain’s patience incomprehensible and was on the verge of exploding, when the attendant, by now fully reestablished within the sphere of his superiors, was measuring the stoker with menacing looks, and when the gentleman with the bamboo cane, to whom even the captain was sending friendly glances now and then, was completely inured to and even disgusted by the stoker and pulled out a small notebook and, evidently preoccupied with other matters, let his eyes wander back and forth between the notebook and Karl.

“Yes, I know, I know,” said Karl, who was having difficulty fighting off the stoker’s tirade yet still managed to keep up a friendly smile throughout the quarreling, “you’re right, quite right, I’ve never once doubted it.” He would have liked to restrain the stoker’s flailing hands for fear of being struck, or better yet, he would have liked to press him into a corner and whisper a few calm, soothing words that no one else need hear. But the stoker was beyond the pale. Karl began to take some comfort in the thought that, if necessary, the stoker could overpower all seven men present with the strength of his despair. However, on the desk, as a peek in that direction informed him, there lay a panel crammed with push buttons connected to electrical wires: One hand simply pressing them down could turn the entire ship rebellious, its passages full of hostile men.

Here, the seriously indifferent gentleman with the bamboo cane stepped up to Karl and asked, not too loudly but audibly enough to be heard above all the stoker’s racket: “So what is your name?” At that moment, as if someone behind the door were awaiting this remark, there came a knock. The attendant looked over to the captain, who nodded. At this the attendant went to the door and opened it. Outside, in an old imperial coat, stood a man of medium build who, judging by his appearance, did not seem suited to engine work but was nevertheless—Schubal. If Karl had not inferred this from the look in everyone’s eyes, which exuded a certain satisfaction that even the captain was not immune to, then he would have been horrified to realize it by looking at the stoker, who clenched his fists at the end of his stiffened arms as if this concentration of force were the most important thing to him, something for which he was willing to sacrifice the very life in his body. All his strength, even the power to keep himself upright, was concentrated in his fists.

And so here was the enemy, jaunty and fresh in his festive dress, a ledger under one arm—probably records of the stoker’s work and pay—making it unabashedly clear by scanning each face in turn that it was his intention to ascertain the mood of each individual. All seven were already friends of his, for even if the captain had had reservations about him, or perhaps had only pretended to, he could probably not find fault with Schubal after all the pain he had just been subjected to by the stoker. A man like the stoker could not be dealt with severely enough, and if Schubal were to be reproached for anything at all it was for failing to succinctly and sufficiently subdue the stoker’s recalcitrance and thus prevent him from having the audacity to appear before the captain today.

Now one might still assume that the confrontation between the stoker and Schubal could not fail to have the same effect upon men as it would certainly have before a higher tribunal; for even if Schubal could disguise himself well, he might not be able to keep up this ruse to the very end. A single flash of his wicked temperament would be enough to enlighten these gentlemen, and Karl wanted to make sure of that. He already had some insight into the acumen, the weaknesses, the moods of these men individually, and from that standpoint the time he had already spent here had not been wasted. If only the stoker were in better shape, but he seemed entirely incapable of fighting. If Schubal were held in front of him, he would probably have battered that hated skull with his fists. But even the few steps separating them were most likely more than the stoker could manage. Why had Karl not foreseen the so easily foreseeable: That Schubal was bound to turn up in the end, if not of his own accord, then summoned by the captain? Why had he not discussed a plan of action with the stoker on the way here instead of simply marching, hopelessly unprepared, through a random door, which in fact is what they did? Was the stoker still capable of speech, of saying yes and no as would be necessary during the cross-examination, which, however, would only happen in the most hopeful scenario? The stoker stood there, his legs spread apart, his knees slightly bent, his head half raised, and the air flowing through his open mouth as if he had no lungs within to process it.

Karl on the other hand felt more vigorous and alert than he had perhaps ever been at home. If only his parents could see him now: fighting the good fight in a foreign country before highly respected persons, and although not yet triumphant, entirely prepared for the ultimate conquest! Would they revise their opinion of him? Sit him down between them and praise him? Look once, just once, into his devoted eyes? Uncertain questions, and the most inappropriate moment to ask them!

“I have come here because I believe the stoker is accusing me of some sort of dishonesty. A girl from the kitchen told me she’d seen him on his way here. Captain, sir, and the rest of you gentlemen, I am ready to refute any charge with my own documents and, if necessary, with statements by impartial and unbiased witnesses who are waiting outside the door.” So spoke Schubal. This was indeed the clear speech of a man, and from the change in the listeners’ faces one might have thought that these were the first human sounds they had heard in a long time. They failed to notice, of course, that even this eloquent speech had holes in it. Why was the first word that occurred to him “dishonesty”? Should the accusations have started here, rather than with his national prejudices? A girl from the kitchen had seen the stoker on his way to the office and had understood immediately? Was it not a sense of guilt that sharpened his mind? And he had automatically brought witnesses along with him and then called them impartial and unbiased? A fraud, nothing but a fraud! And these gentlemen tolerated it and even acknowledged it as proper conduct? Why had he apparently let so much time elapse between the kitchen girl’s message and his arrival here? Evidently it was for the purpose of allowing the stoker to weary the men to the point where they would gradually lose their capacity for clear judgment, which Schubal had most to fear. Had he not, obviously having stood behind the door for a long time, only knocked after the gentleman asked his casual question and when he had reason to hope that the matter of the stoker was disposed of?

It was all very clear and that was how it was unwittingly presented by Schubal, but it had to be clarified for these gentlemen in a different, more tangible manner. They needed to be jolted awake. So Karl, quick, at least take advantage of what time is left to you before the witnesses arrive and take over everything.

At that moment, however, the captain waved off Schubal, who—since his affair appeared to be momentarily postponed—immediately stepped aside and was joined in quiet conversation by the attendant; the two men kept leering at the stoker and gesturing emphatically, and it seemed to Karl that Schubal was rehearsing his next grand speech.

“Didn’t you wish to ask the young man something, Mr. Jakob?” the captain said to the gentleman with the bamboo cane amid general silence.

“Indeed,” he said, acknowledging this courtesy with a slight bow. And then he asked Karl once more: “So what is your name?”

Karl, who believed the main issue would best be served by dispensing with the stubborn inquisitor quickly, answered tersely and without his usual custom of presenting his passport, which he would have had to hunt for first: “Karl Rossmann.”

“Well,” said the man addressed as Mr. Jakob, taking a step backward at first with an almost incredulous smile. The captain too, the chief purser, the ship’s officer, and even the attendant were all extremely astonished upon hearing Karl’s name. Only the men from the harbor authority and Schubal remained indifferent.

“Well,” repeated Mr. Jakob, approaching Karl somewhat stiffly, “then I am your Uncle Jakob and you are my dear nephew. I suspected it all along!” he said to the captain before he embraced and then kissed Karl, who suffered all this in silence.

“And what is your name?” Karl asked very politely, yet wholly unmoved after he felt himself released; he struggled to foresee the consequences this latest development might have for the stoker. For the moment, there was no indication that Schubal could derive any benefit from it.

“You don’t seem to understand your luck,” said the captain, believing that Karl’s question had wounded Mr. Jakob’s personal dignity, since he had withdrawn to the window, evidently to conceal his agitated face, which he kept dabbing at with a handkerchief. “That’s Senator Edward Jakob who has just introduced himself to you as your uncle. Now a brilliant career awaits you, no doubt completely contrary to your previous expectations. Try to grasp this as best you can right now and pull yourself together!”

“Indeed I do have an Uncle Jakob in America,” said Karl, turning to the captain, “but if I understood correctly, Jakob is merely the Senator’s surname.”

“So it is,” said the captain expectantly.

“Well, my Uncle Jakob, who is my mother’s brother, has Jakob for his Christian name, but his surname would naturally be the same as my mother’s, whose maiden name is Bendelmayer.”

“Gentlemen!” exclaimed the Senator, reacting to Karl’s statement as he cheerfully returned from his recuperative break at the window. Everyone present, except for the harbor officials, burst out laughing, some as if moved to do so, others for no apparent reason.

“But what I said was by no means ridiculous,” thought Karl.

“Gentlemen,” repeated the Senator, “you are taking part, contrary to both my intentions and yours, in a little family scene, and therefore I cannot avoid providing you with an explanation, since I believe only the captain”—at this mention they exchanged bows—“is completely informed of the circumstances.”

“Now I must really pay attention to every word,” Karl told himself, and was delighted to note, from a sideways glance, that life was beginning to return to the stoker.

“During all the long years of my sojourn in America—although the word ‘sojourn’ is hardly fitting for an American citizen, which I am heart and soul—well, during all these long years, I have been living entirely without contact with my European relatives for reasons that, in the first place, have no business here, and secondly, would truly be too painful to discuss. I actually dread the moment when I may be forced to explain them to my dear nephew, and unfortunately it will be impossible to avoid frank references to his parents and their nearest and dearest.”

“He is my uncle, no question,” Karl told himself as he listened; “he’s probably changed his name.”

“My dear nephew is now—let us use the proper word—quite simply cut off by his parents, the same as a cat tossed out the door when it has become annoying. I wish by no means to gloss over what my nephew did to be so punished, but his fault was such that its mere mention is absolution enough.”

“That sounds fair enough,” thought Karl, “but I don’t want him to tell everyone the story. Besides, he can’t possibly know about it. Who could have told him?”

“He was, in fact,” his uncle continued, occasionally rocking forward on his bamboo cane, whereby he did indeed successfully avoid the unnecessary solemnity the situation was otherwise bound to assume, “in fact, he was seduced by a maidservant, Johanna Brummer, a woman of thirty-five. I do not mean to offend my nephew by using the word ‘seduced,’ but it is difficult to find another word equally suitable.”

Karl, who had moved much closer to his uncle, turned around at this point to gauge the reactions on the faces of those present. No one was laughing, they were all listening patiently and earnestly. After all, one does not laugh at a senator’s nephew at the first opportunity that presents itself. The most that could be said was that the stoker was smiling at Karl, albeit faintly, which was encouraging in the first place as a sign of renewed life and pardonable in the second as Karl, in the stoker’s cabin, had tried to keep secret this very same affair that was now being made public.

“Now, this Brummer woman,” his uncle went on, “had a child by my nephew, a healthy boy who was christened Jakob, no doubt after my humble self, who I’m sure was casually mentioned by my nephew but made a great impression on the girl. Fortunately, I may add. For the parents, in order to avoid paying for child support or being further involved in personal scandal—I must emphasize that I am not familiar with either the laws over there or the parents’ situation—therefore, so as to avoid paying for child support and their son’s scandal, they shipped my dear nephew off to America miserably unprovided for, as one can see, so that he would soon, without the miracles that still happen, at least in America, in all likelihood have met his lonely end in some alley near New York harbor if that maid hadn’t sent me a letter, which reached me the day before yesterday after a long odyssey and which provided me with the whole story, a personal description of my nephew, and also, very sensibly, the name of the ship. If my purpose here were to entertain you gentlemen, I could read a few passages of this letter”—he pulled out and flourished two huge, densely written pages from his pocket. “It would surely affect you, as it was written with a somewhat simple yet well intentioned cleverness and with much love for the father of the child. But I wish neither to entertain you anymore than is necessary to enlighten you nor to potentially wound any feelings my nephew may still harbor; he can, if he so desires for his own information, read the letter in the privacy of the room that already awaits him.”

Karl however had no feelings for that girl. In the rush of memories from an ever-dimming past, she sat in her kitchen, with her elbows propped up on the kitchen cupboard. She would stare at him whenever he would come into the kitchen for a glass of water for his father or to pass on some instructions from his mother. Sometimes she would be writing a letter, awkwardly sitting beside the kitchen cupboard and drawing her inspiration from Karl’s face. Sometimes she would hide her eyes behind her hands, and then no words could get through to her. Sometimes she would kneel in her narrow little room next to the kitchen, praying before a wooden cross; Karl would then shyly watch her from the passage through the narrow crack of the door. Sometimes she raced around the kitchen and jumped back, laughing like a witch, if Karl got in her way. Sometimes she would shut the kitchen door after Karl came in and hold on to the latch until he demanded to leave. Sometimes she brought him things he did not at all desire and pressed them silently into his hands. But one time she said, “Karl,” and led him, still shocked at the unexpected familiarity, into her little room, which she then locked with much grimacing and sighing. She almost choked him as she clung to his neck, and while asking him to undress her, she actually undressed him and put him into her bed as if she wanted no one else to have him from now on and wished to caress him and coddle him until the end of the world. “Karl, oh, my Karl!” she cried, as if by gazing at him she were confirming her possession, while Karl saw absolutely nothing and felt uncomfortable in the warm bedding that she seemed to have piled up specially for his benefit. Then she lay down next to him and wanted to extract some secrets from him, but he could tell her none and she was annoyed, either in jest or in earnest; she shook him, she listened to his heart beating, she offered her own breast for him to do the same, but she could not induce Karl to do so; she pressed her naked belly against his body, fondled him between the legs so repulsively that Karl thrust his head and neck from the pillows, then ground her belly against him a few times—it felt as if she were part of him, and perhaps this was the reason he was seized by a dreadful helplessness. He was weeping when he finally reached his own bed, after she entreated him repeatedly to visit her again. That was all it was and yet his uncle had succeeded in making a grand story out of it. And that cook¹⁵ had evidently been thinking of him and notified his uncle of his arrival. That was very kind of her and he hoped to one day repay her¹⁶.

“And now,” cried the Senator, “I would like to hear loud and clear whether I am your uncle or not.”

“You are my uncle,” said Karl, kissing his hand and receiving a kiss on the forehead in return. “I’m very glad to have met you, but you are mistaken if you believe that my parents speak only ill of you. But aside from that, your speech contained several errors, that is to say, I mean, everything didn’t really happen like that. But you can’t judge things so well from here, and besides, I don’t think it will cause any great harm if these gentlemen are slightly misinformed about the details of a matter that could hardly interest them very much.”

“Well said,” remarked the Senator, guiding Karl over to the visibly sympathetic captain and asking: “Don’t I have a splendid nephew?”

“I am happy,” said the captain, with a bow that only a militarily trained person can execute, “to have made your nephew’s acquaintance, Mr. Senator. It is a particular honor for my ship to have provided the setting for such a meeting. But the voyage in steerage must have been less than pleasant, it’s difficult to know who’s traveling down there. Of course we do everything possible to make the passengers in steerage as comfortable as possible, much more, for example, than the American lines, but we have not succeeded yet in making this excursion a pleasure.”

“It did me no harm,” said Karl.

“It did him no harm!” the Senator repeated, laughing loudly.

“Only I’m afraid I’ve lost my trunk—” and with this he was reminded of everything that had happened and all that still remained to be done; he looked around him and saw all those present, still in their former positions, ogling him and struck dumb with awe and amazement. Only the harbor official, as much as their harsh complacent faces could be read, betrayed regret at having come at such an inopportune time, and the pocket watch they had now laid before them was probably more important to them than anything that was happening or might still happen in the room.

The first person to express his sympathy, after the captain, was oddly enough the stoker. “I heartily congratulate you,” he said, and shook Karl’s hand, trying to impart something like appreciation with this gesture. When he attempted to turn and address the same words to the Senator, the Senator pulled back as if the stoker were overstepping his bounds, and the stoker left off immediately.

But the others now understood what was expected of them and formed a huddle around Karl and the Senator at once. And so it happened that Karl received congratulations from Schubal, which he accepted and thanked him for. The last to step in, once order was somewhat restored, were the harbor officials, who said a couple of words in English that made an absurd impression.

The Senator was now well disposed to make the most of this pleasurable occasion by recalling, for his own benefit and that of the others, some of the more incidental details, which were naturally not only tolerated but greeted with interest. Thus he pointed out that he had recorded in his notebook, should he need them on short notice, Karl’s most distinguishing features as listed in the cook’s letter. And then, during the stoker’s unbearable rambling, he had taken out the notebook for no other purpose than to distract himself and tried, for the sake of amusement, to compare Karl’s appearance with the cook’s observations, which were naturally not up to the standards of a detective. “And that is how one finds one’s nephew!” he concluded, in a tone that seemed to invite further congratulations.

“What will happen to the stoker now?” asked Karl, ignoring his uncle’s latest anecdote. He believed his new position gave him the freedom to express whatever crossed his mind.

“The stoker will get what he deserves,” said the Senator, “and what the captain deems appropriate. I believe we have had enough and more than enough of the stoker, and I’m sure that every gentleman present here will agree.”

“But that’s not the point in a matter of justice,” said Karl. He stood between his uncle and the captain and believed, perhaps because of this position, that he could influence a decision.

And yet the stoker seemed to have abandoned all hope. His hands were shoved halfway into his trouser belt, which had been exposed along with a strip of checked shirt due to his agitated movements. This did not trouble him in the least: He had vented all his woes and now they might as well see the few rags that covered his body, after which they could carry him away. He imagined that Schubal and the attendant, being the two lowest in rank of those present, should perform this final kindness. Schubal would have his peace then and no longer be driven to distraction, as the chief purser had put it. The captain would be free to hire no one but Romanians, Romanian would be spoken everywhere, and maybe everything really would run smoother that way. No stoker would be yammering away in the purser’s office; only his last yammering would be fondly remembered since, as the Senator had explicitly stated, it led indirectly to the recognition of his nephew. This nephew, by the way, had previously attempted to help him a number of times and had been more than fully repaid by the stoker’s aid in the recognition; it did not even occur to the stoker to ask anything further of him now. Besides, even if he were the Senator’s nephew, he was still a long way from being a captain and it was from the captain’s lips that the foul verdict must fall.—And in accordance with this view, the stoker did his best to avoid looking at Karl but, unfortunately, in this room full of enemies there was no other place to rest his eyes.

“Do not misunderstand the situation,” the Senator said to Karl; “it may be a matter of justice, but at the same time it is a matter of discipline as well. Both matters, especially the latter, are for the captain to decide in this case.”

“So it is,” murmured the stoker. Those who heard and understood this smiled uneasily.

“In any event, we have kept the captain from his official duties far too long, and these undoubtedly accumulate immeasurably upon arriving in New York, so now it is high time we left the ship rather than make matters worse by turning this petty squabble between two engineers into a bigger incident through our completely unnecessary intervention. And I do understand your conduct perfectly, my dear nephew, but that is precisely what gives me the right to take you away from here posthaste.”

“I will have a boat lowered for you immediately,” said the captain, without, to Karl’s utter amazement, raising the least objection to the uncle’s words, although these could unquestionably be considered self-abasement on his uncle’s part. The chief purser raced to his desk and telephoned the captain’s order to the boatswain.

“Time’s running out,” Karl said to himself, “but I can do nothing without offending everyone. I can’t desert my uncle after he’s just found me again. The captain is certainly polite, but that’s where it ends. When it comes to discipline, his courtesy stops, and I’m sure my uncle spoke from the captain’s soul. I don’t want to speak to Schubal and I regret I ever shook his hand. And all the other people here aren’t worth a hill of beans.”

And with these thoughts in his mind, Karl walked slowly over and drew the stoker’s right hand out of his belt, gently cupping it in his own. “Why don’t you say anything?” he asked. “Why do you take everything lying down?”

The stoker merely furrowed his brow, as if searching for the right words to express what he had to say. Meanwhile he gazed down at Karl’s hand and his own.

“You’ve been wronged like no one else on this ship, that I know.” And Karl ran his fingers to and fro between the fingers of the stoker, who peered around with gleaming eyes as if he were experiencing a joy that no one ought to begrudge him.

“But you must defend yourself, say yes and no; otherwise people will have no idea of the truth. You must promise me that you will do as I say, for I have every reason to fear that I will no longer be able to help you.” And now Karl wept as he kissed the stoker’s hand, and then took that cracked and almost lifeless hand and pressed it to his cheeks like a treasure that must be forsaken. —But his uncle the Senator was already at his side, leading him away, if only with the gentlest of pressures.

“The stoker seems to have cast a spell over you,” he said, glancing knowingly at the captain over Karl’s head. “You felt lost, then you found the stoker, and now you feel grateful, that’s all very commendable. But don’t go too far, if only for my sake, and please try to understand your position.”

Noises erupted outside the door and shouts were heard, it even sounded as if someone were being brutally shoved against the door. A sailor entered in a rather disheveled state and had a girl’s apron tied around his waist. “There’s a crowd of people out there,” he yelled, swinging his elbows as if he were still in the crowd. He finally collected himself and was about to salute the captain when he noticed the apron, ripped it off, threw it to the floor, and shouted: “This is disgusting, they’ve tied a girl’s apron on me.” Then he clicked his heels together and saluted. Someone almost laughed, but the captain said severely: “That’s what I call a good mood. Just who is it outside?”

“They’re my witnesses,” said Schubal, stepping forward. “I humbly beg your pardon for their improper behavior. When the crew has the voyage behind them, they sometimes go a little crazy.”

“Call them in immediately!” commanded the captain, and turning directly to the Senator, politely but rapidly said: “Please be so good as to take your nephew and follow this sailor, who will bring you to the boat, Mr. Senator, sir. I hardly need say what an honor and a pleasure it has been, Mr. Senator, to have met you in person. I only hope to have the opportunity soon to continue our interrupted conversation about the state of the American fleet, sir, and that it may be interrupted in as agreeable a manner as today.”

“This one nephew is enough for now,” said Karl’s uncle, laughing. “And now please accept my deep gratitude for your kindness, and I bid you farewell. It is by no means impossible, after all, that we”—he hugged Karl closely to himself—“might be able to spend a longer time with you on our next journey to Europe.”

“That would please me greatly,” said the captain. The two gentlemen shook hands, Karl could only mutely grasp the captain’s hand, for the captain was already preoccupied with the fifteen or so people led by Schubal, who were pouring into the room slightly cowed but still very noisy. The sailor asked the Senator if he could be permitted to lead the way, and then he cleared a path through the crowd for the Senator and Karl, who passed easily through the bowing people. It was apparent that these people, a good-natured bunch in general, regarded Schubal’s quarrel with the stoker as a joke that was still amusing even in the presence of the captain. Among them, Karl noticed Line the kitchen maid, who, winking gaily at him, put on and tied the apron the sailor had thrown down, for it belonged to her.

Still following the sailor, they left the office and turned into a short pasageway, which, after a few steps, brought them to a smaller door from which a short ladder led down to the boat that had been made ready for them. The sailors in the boat, into which their guide had leapt in a single bound, stood up and saluted. The Senator was just admonishing Karl to exercise caution in climbing down when Karl, still on the topmost rung, burst into violent sobs. The Senator put his right hand under Karl’s chin and held him tight, stroking him with his left hand. Clinging together in this way, they slowly descended step-by-step and landed in the boat, where the Senator selected a comfortable seat for Karl just opposite himself. At a sign from the Senator the sailors pushed off from the ship and were immediately rowing at full steam. They were hardly a few yards from the ship when Karl made the unexpected discovery that they were on the same side of the ship as the windows of the office. All three windows were filled by Schubal’s witnesses, who greeted them with friendly waves; even Karl’s uncle acknowledged them with a wave, and a sailor accomplished the feat of blowing them a kiss without ever breaking his even stroke. It was truly as if the stoker no longer existed. Karl more closely examined his uncle, whose knees were almost touching his, and he began to doubt whether, for him, this man could ever replace the stoker. And his uncle, avoiding his gaze, stared out at the waves jostling their boat.