send a pair of partridges and four kilos of flour to Max and Oscar. Even in farm country, it’s hard to find meat or butter at this point. Eggs are scarce too.
He rereads
David Copperfield
, to which “The Stoker,” the first chapter of his American novel, owes so much, as he freely admits. He dreams of his father, of the battle ofTagliamento, which was fought the previous month, of Franz Werfel. He writes letters to his parents, his friends, and to Max, who is facing a marital crisis.
He composes a letter breaking off his relationship with Felice but decides it is even more equivocal than his feelings and does not send it.
He observes the peasants whom he sees around him: “They are nobles who have found refuge in agriculture, they have organized their work with such wisdom and humility that they are protected from all upheavals, true citizens of the earth.”
His illness? He is hardly aware of it. He has no fever, hardly coughs, admittedly sweats and is short of breath, but he has gained some weight back and he is sleeping better. His sister is glad to have him around. When he sees her at nightfall coming toward him with a blanket or a bowl of hot broth, he says: “We make an ideal couple. I’ve never felt so well as living alone with you.”
Felice announces her intention to visit. Franz tries to talk her out of it, such a long journey, so many transfers from train to train … She insists. All right, then let her come! She arrives on September 21 after a trip lasting thirty hours. Weariness and emotional distress are stamped on her face. Her presence awakens nothing in him but guilt. He looks at her, surprised at feeling noemotion except anxiety at having his routine disrupted. He finds nothing to say to her, relying on Ottla to keep the conversation going and lead Felice on a tour. That evening, under his sister’s gaze and solely to be agreeable to everyone, he manages to play his part, he hasn’t lost his talents as an actor. Felice relaxes, perhaps even starts to hope again. Franz seems in such good health!
She leaves the next day in the late afternoon. He watches her climb into a carriage with Ottla and start off around the pond. He takes a straight line and finds himself once more in front of the woman he has pursued with his love for five years. Today, his face impassive, he waves at her listlessly. Farewell!
The following Sunday, he goes to the train station to meet his mother, who has come down for the day. She is unaware of her son’s illness, delighted only to know that he is resting at Ottla’s, in the countryside, far from the horrors of war. Stepping off the train, she exclaims, “My, how healthy you look!”
Seeing him smile, she adds that two or three days before she asked Felice whether her son was in a better mood: “And do you know what she answered? That she hadn’t noticed!”
He avoids looking directly at his mother, who has never had the time to think of herself. She is puffy anddistended from her six confinements, a lifetime of toil, and a total lack of care. He thinks of his oldest sister, a slender young woman just three or four years ago, who now, after giving birth to two children, has a swollen body that is already starting to look like his mother’s. He feels so much distress on their account that he wants to avoid burdening them with his illness. As far as his family is concerned, he is resting. Nothing more.
Hermann Kafka is not so easily fooled. He asks Ottla repeatedly: “Why is your brother extending his vacation week after week? Just because he is tired? It doesn’t seem possible.”
On a visit to Prague on November 22, Ottla takes advantage of her mother’s being busy in the kitchen to tell her father briefly about Franz. The mention of tuberculosis makes a strong impression on him, he says nothing to his daughter but his face registers a change of expression.
She reassures him: “In Zürau, Franz is putting on weight, he is sleeping well, he has
He rereads
David Copperfield
, to which “The Stoker,” the first chapter of his American novel, owes so much, as he freely admits. He dreams of his father, of the battle ofTagliamento, which was fought the previous month, of Franz Werfel. He writes letters to his parents, his friends, and to Max, who is facing a marital crisis.
He composes a letter breaking off his relationship with Felice but decides it is even more equivocal than his feelings and does not send it.
He observes the peasants whom he sees around him: “They are nobles who have found refuge in agriculture, they have organized their work with such wisdom and humility that they are protected from all upheavals, true citizens of the earth.”
His illness? He is hardly aware of it. He has no fever, hardly coughs, admittedly sweats and is short of breath, but he has gained some weight back and he is sleeping better. His sister is glad to have him around. When he sees her at nightfall coming toward him with a blanket or a bowl of hot broth, he says: “We make an ideal couple. I’ve never felt so well as living alone with you.”
Felice announces her intention to visit. Franz tries to talk her out of it, such a long journey, so many transfers from train to train … She insists. All right, then let her come! She arrives on September 21 after a trip lasting thirty hours. Weariness and emotional distress are stamped on her face. Her presence awakens nothing in him but guilt. He looks at her, surprised at feeling noemotion except anxiety at having his routine disrupted. He finds nothing to say to her, relying on Ottla to keep the conversation going and lead Felice on a tour. That evening, under his sister’s gaze and solely to be agreeable to everyone, he manages to play his part, he hasn’t lost his talents as an actor. Felice relaxes, perhaps even starts to hope again. Franz seems in such good health!
She leaves the next day in the late afternoon. He watches her climb into a carriage with Ottla and start off around the pond. He takes a straight line and finds himself once more in front of the woman he has pursued with his love for five years. Today, his face impassive, he waves at her listlessly. Farewell!
The following Sunday, he goes to the train station to meet his mother, who has come down for the day. She is unaware of her son’s illness, delighted only to know that he is resting at Ottla’s, in the countryside, far from the horrors of war. Stepping off the train, she exclaims, “My, how healthy you look!”
Seeing him smile, she adds that two or three days before she asked Felice whether her son was in a better mood: “And do you know what she answered? That she hadn’t noticed!”
He avoids looking directly at his mother, who has never had the time to think of herself. She is puffy anddistended from her six confinements, a lifetime of toil, and a total lack of care. He thinks of his oldest sister, a slender young woman just three or four years ago, who now, after giving birth to two children, has a swollen body that is already starting to look like his mother’s. He feels so much distress on their account that he wants to avoid burdening them with his illness. As far as his family is concerned, he is resting. Nothing more.
Hermann Kafka is not so easily fooled. He asks Ottla repeatedly: “Why is your brother extending his vacation week after week? Just because he is tired? It doesn’t seem possible.”
On a visit to Prague on November 22, Ottla takes advantage of her mother’s being busy in the kitchen to tell her father briefly about Franz. The mention of tuberculosis makes a strong impression on him, he says nothing to his daughter but his face registers a change of expression.
She reassures him: “In Zürau, Franz is putting on weight, he is sleeping well, he has
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