Amerika by Franz Kafka

millionaires’ sons whose parents consider them misfits and who lead their lives in such a way that no ordinary person could observe any day in the life of this young man without feeling sad. And as if he were aware of this or at least suspected as much and were trying to counteract it, at least insofar as lay within his power, a happy smile played constantly on his lips and around his eyes, which seemed to be directed at himself, his interlocutor, and the world at large.
    With his uncle’s unconditional approval Karl spoke with this young man, a Mr. Mak, about riding together at half past five in the morning, either at the riding school or out in open country. However, Karl was initially reluctant to give his consent, for he had never sat on a horse before and first wanted to learn how to ride, but since his uncle and Mak tried to talk him into it by presenting riding as a source of pleasure and a means of healthy exercise rather than as an artistic performance, he finally consented. Now he had to rise as early as half past four, which he often found painful, for probably on account of having to stay alert all day, he suffered from real lethargy: but once in his bathroom he instantly shed all such regrets. The shower head extended over the entire length and breadth of the tub—at home, which of his fellow students, no matter how rich, had anything the like of this and, what’s more, all to himself?—and now Karl lay sprawled out there; in this tub he could spread out his arms and let the now lukewarm, now hot, now lukewarm again, and finally icy spurts of water pour down on him, over part of his body or all over, as he chose. As if still experiencing the bliss of the last few moments of sleep, he continued to lie there, taking special pleasure in catching with his closed eyelids the last separate drops, which then opened and streamed over his face.
    On being dropped off by his uncle’s towering automobile at the riding school, the English teacher would already be waiting for him, whereas Mak always came late. But he didn’t have to worry about getting there late, for the lively riding began only after he arrived. When he entered, didn’t the horses rear up from their half-sleep; didn’t the whip crack more loudly through the hall; and didn’t a number of individuals, spectators, grooms, riding students, or whoever they might be suddenly appear on the surrounding gallery? Karl, however, used the time before Mak’s arrival to practice at least a few riding exercises, elementary though they were. A tall man, who could almost reach the withers of the biggest horses without raising his arm, gave Karl riding lessons that always only lasted barely a quarter of an hour. Karl met with only modest success and was able to learn English cries of distress, which he shouted out breathlessly to his English teacher, who always leaned against the same doorpost, often greatly in need of sleep. But once Mak arrived, almost all of his dissatisfaction with riding disappeared. The tall man was dismissed, and soon all one could hear in the still half-dark hall were the galloping horses’ hooves, and all one could see was the raised arm with which Mak gave orders to Karl. After engaging in such pleasure for half an hour, which passed by as if in one’s sleep, they stopped; in a great rush Mak said goodbye, tapped Karl on the cheek if he was especially satisfied with his riding, and in his haste disappeared without even waiting to accompany Karl through the door. Karl then took the teacher along in the automobile, and they drove to their English lesson, mostly via detours, since they would have lost too much time going through the bustle of the main street, which led directly from Uncle’s house to the riding school. In any case the English teacher soon ceased to accompany him, since Karl, who reproached himself for unnecessarily dragging that weary man out to the riding school, asked his uncle