pants, he did so under the eyes of a hundred curious inmates, adults and children, lining the fence on either side of the gate.
By the gate stood a little hut with a covered porch on which identical grey-green succulents grew out of two tubs of earth. On the porch waited a stout man in military uniform. K recognized the blue beret of the Free Corps. The policeman greeted him and they retired together into the hut. With his parcel under his arm K was left to endure the inspection of the crowd. He stared first into the distance, then at his feet; he did not know what expression to wear. ‘Where did you steal those pants?’ called out someone. ‘Off Sarge’s line!’ came another voice, and there was a ripple of laughter.
Then a second Free Corps man emerged from the hut. He unlocked the camp gate and conducted K through the crowd, crossing the bare earth of the assembly square to one of the wood-and-iron buildings. It was dark inside, there were no windows. He indicated an empty bunk. ‘That’s your home from now on,’ he said. ‘It’s the only home you’ve got, keep it clean.’ K clambered up and stretched out on the bare foam rubber no more than anarmslength from the iron roof. In the dim light, in the stifling heat he waited for the guard to leave.
All afternoon he lay on his bunk listening to the sounds of camp life outside. Once a troop of children rushed in and chased one another noisily over and under the bunks; when they left they slammed the door shut. He tried to sleep but could not. His throat was parched. He thought of the cool of his cave up in the mountains, of the streams that never stopped running. This is like Huis Norenius, he thought: I am back in Huis Norenius a second time, only now I am too old to bear it. He took off the khaki shirt and shorts and opened the package; but the clothes whose smell used to be simply his own smell had in the space of a few days grown stale and frowzy and alien. Spreadeagled on the hot mattress in his undershorts, he waited for the afternoon to pass.
Someone opened the door and tiptoed across the floor. K pretended to be asleep. Fingers touched his bare arm. He flinched at the touch. ‘Are you all right?’ said a man’s voice. Against the dazzle of light from the doorway he could not make out the face, ‘I’m fine,’ he said: the words seemed to come from far away. The stranger tiptoed off again. K thought: I needed more warning, I should have been told I was going to be sent back amongst people.
Later he put on the khaki clothes and went outside. The sun baked down, there was no breath of wind. Two women lay together on a blanket in the shade of a tent. One was asleep, the other had a sleeping child at her breast. She gave K a smile; he nodded and passed. He found the cistern and drank copiously. On his return he addressed her. ‘Is there anywhere I can wash some clothes?’ he asked. She pointed out the washhouse. ‘Have you got soap?’ she said. ‘Yes,’ he lied.
In the washhouse were two basins and two showers. He wanted to have a shower, but when he tried the shower tap there wasno water. He washed the white St John’s jacket, the black trousers, the yellow shirt and underpants with the sagging elastic; he found pleasure in soaking and wringing, in standing with his eyes shut and his arms plunged to the elbows in cold water. He put on his own shoes. Afterwards, when he went to drape his clothes over the washline, he saw the painted sign against the wall: JAKKALSDRIF RELOCATION CAMP / BATH TIMES / MALES 6–7 AM / FEMALES 7.30–8.30 AM / BY ORDER / SAVE WATER / BE SPARING. Following the line of the waterpipe from the cistern, he saw it run under the camp fence and then on to a pump on high ground some distance away.
The woman with the baby stopped him as he passed. ‘You leave your clothes there,’ she warned, ‘they’ll be gone in the morning.’ So he fetched the damp clothing back and spread it over his bunk.
The sun was setting; there
By the gate stood a little hut with a covered porch on which identical grey-green succulents grew out of two tubs of earth. On the porch waited a stout man in military uniform. K recognized the blue beret of the Free Corps. The policeman greeted him and they retired together into the hut. With his parcel under his arm K was left to endure the inspection of the crowd. He stared first into the distance, then at his feet; he did not know what expression to wear. ‘Where did you steal those pants?’ called out someone. ‘Off Sarge’s line!’ came another voice, and there was a ripple of laughter.
Then a second Free Corps man emerged from the hut. He unlocked the camp gate and conducted K through the crowd, crossing the bare earth of the assembly square to one of the wood-and-iron buildings. It was dark inside, there were no windows. He indicated an empty bunk. ‘That’s your home from now on,’ he said. ‘It’s the only home you’ve got, keep it clean.’ K clambered up and stretched out on the bare foam rubber no more than anarmslength from the iron roof. In the dim light, in the stifling heat he waited for the guard to leave.
All afternoon he lay on his bunk listening to the sounds of camp life outside. Once a troop of children rushed in and chased one another noisily over and under the bunks; when they left they slammed the door shut. He tried to sleep but could not. His throat was parched. He thought of the cool of his cave up in the mountains, of the streams that never stopped running. This is like Huis Norenius, he thought: I am back in Huis Norenius a second time, only now I am too old to bear it. He took off the khaki shirt and shorts and opened the package; but the clothes whose smell used to be simply his own smell had in the space of a few days grown stale and frowzy and alien. Spreadeagled on the hot mattress in his undershorts, he waited for the afternoon to pass.
Someone opened the door and tiptoed across the floor. K pretended to be asleep. Fingers touched his bare arm. He flinched at the touch. ‘Are you all right?’ said a man’s voice. Against the dazzle of light from the doorway he could not make out the face, ‘I’m fine,’ he said: the words seemed to come from far away. The stranger tiptoed off again. K thought: I needed more warning, I should have been told I was going to be sent back amongst people.
Later he put on the khaki clothes and went outside. The sun baked down, there was no breath of wind. Two women lay together on a blanket in the shade of a tent. One was asleep, the other had a sleeping child at her breast. She gave K a smile; he nodded and passed. He found the cistern and drank copiously. On his return he addressed her. ‘Is there anywhere I can wash some clothes?’ he asked. She pointed out the washhouse. ‘Have you got soap?’ she said. ‘Yes,’ he lied.
In the washhouse were two basins and two showers. He wanted to have a shower, but when he tried the shower tap there wasno water. He washed the white St John’s jacket, the black trousers, the yellow shirt and underpants with the sagging elastic; he found pleasure in soaking and wringing, in standing with his eyes shut and his arms plunged to the elbows in cold water. He put on his own shoes. Afterwards, when he went to drape his clothes over the washline, he saw the painted sign against the wall: JAKKALSDRIF RELOCATION CAMP / BATH TIMES / MALES 6–7 AM / FEMALES 7.30–8.30 AM / BY ORDER / SAVE WATER / BE SPARING. Following the line of the waterpipe from the cistern, he saw it run under the camp fence and then on to a pump on high ground some distance away.
The woman with the baby stopped him as he passed. ‘You leave your clothes there,’ she warned, ‘they’ll be gone in the morning.’ So he fetched the damp clothing back and spread it over his bunk.
The sun was setting; there
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