Metamorphosis and Other Stories

  The traveller reflected: intervening in other people’s affairs is always fraught with risks. He wasn’t a citizen of the penal colony, or of the state to which it belonged. If he wanted to condemn this execution, or even seek to obstruct it, he laid himself open to the objection: you’re a stranger, what do you know? To which he would have had no reply; at most he could have added that he was a little surprised at himself, because he was travelling with the desire to see things for himself, and not at all to meddle in foreign notions of justice. Here, though, things looked rather enticing. The injustice of the procedure and the inhumanity of the execution were incontestable. No one could claim any self-interest on the part of the traveller, because the condemned man was a stranger to him, not a compatriot, and by no means a sympathetic fellow either. The traveller himself carried letters from high officials, had been received here with great politeness, and the fact that he had been asked to witness this execution even seemed to suggest that his opinion on this justice was being sought. This was all the more probable as the commandant, as he had already heard almost ad nauseam, was no advocate of this justice, and seemed to be behaving almost as a personal enemy of the officer.

  At that moment the traveller heard the officer give a cry of rage. He had just, not without some trouble, forced the felt knob into the condemned man’s mouth, when the condemned man closed his eyes in a spasm of nausea and vomited. Hastily the officer snatched him up from the knob into the air, to turn his head to the pit; but it was too late and the spew was already all over the machine. ‘All the commandant’s fault!’ screamed the officer, and shook the brass rods in a fury, ‘the way the machine is being treated like a cowshed.’ With shaking hands, he showed the traveller what had happened. ‘And haven’t I just spent hours trying to get the commandant to understand that prisoners shouldn’t be fed on the eve of an execution. But no, with their new mild approach they do things differently. The commandant’s ladies stuff the man full of sugary sweet things on the eve of his marching off. All his life he’s fed on stinking fish, and now he’s made to eat confectionery! But hey, why not, I wouldn’t really have any objections, but why have I not got a new felt, as I’ve been asking for for the past three months. How can a man take that felt in his mouth without nausea anyway, when over a hundred men have sucked and bitten on it in their death throes?’

  The condemned man had dropped his head again and looked calm, the soldier was busy swabbing the machine with the condemned man’s shirt. The officer went over to the traveller, who, half suspecting something, had taken a step back, but the officer took him by the hand, and pulled him aside. ‘I’d like to have a word with you in confidence,’ he said, ’if you’ll allow?’ ‘Of course,’ said the traveller, and listened with lowered eyes.

  ‘This procedure and this execution, which you now have an opportunity to admire, currently has no public supporters in our colony. I am its sole defender, and the sole defender of the former commandant’s legacy. I no longer have the leisure to devise elaborations or refinements of the process — it’s all I can do to preserve it as presently constituted. While the old commandant was alive, the whole colony was full of his supporters; I may have some of his persuasive gift, but I don’t have his authority; and therefore his supporters have melted away, there are still plenty of them around, but no one will admit to being one. Today, an execution day, if you were to go to a tea-house and listen around, you might hear only ambivalent opinions expressed. They are all supporters, but given the current commandant and his current views, they are completely useless to me. So now I’m turning to you: Do you think it’s right that purely because of this commandant and the women who dominate him, do you think it’s right that such a lifework’ — he pointed to the machine — ‘should be allowed to rot? Is that permissible? Even if you’re just a stranger, spending a couple of days on our island? There’s no time to lose, procedures are already afoot against my justiciary authority; consultations are held in the commandant’s office, to which I am not invited; even your visit today strikes me as typical for the situation; they’re cowards, and they prefer to send you, a foreigner. — How different executions used to be! Even the day before, the whole valley was packed with visitors; everyone came to spectate; early in the morning, the commandant appeared with his ladies; the whole camp was woken by fanfares; I reported that everything was ready; the best people — not one senior official was ever missing — stood around the machine; this pile of bamboo chairs is a pathetic memento of those days. The machine gleamed with polish, for almost every execution I availed myself of some spare parts. In front of hundreds of pairs of eyes — the spectators stood on tiptoe all the way up to those heights — the condemned man was laid under the harrow by the commandant in person. The work that today is done by a common soldier was in those days done by me, the president of the court, and it honoured me. And then the execution began! There were no discordant squeaks to interfere with the smooth running of the machine. Some of the crowd didn’t even bother to watch, they lay there in the sand with eyes shut; but they all knew: justice is being enacted. In the silence, nothing was audible but the sighing of the condemned man, muffled by the felt. Today the machine isn’t able to get a stronger sigh from the condemned than the felt is capable of suppressing; but in those days the engraving needles exuded an acid which is no longer permitted today. Well, and then the sixth hour came around! It was impossible to find room for all those who wanted to view the proceedings from close to. With his typical insight, the commandant decreed that children should be given priority; thanks to my job, I was always able to stand nearby; often I would hunker down, with two children either side of me, my arms around them. How we watched the transfiguration in the tormented faces, how we held our cheeks in the glow of this arduously achieved and already passing justice! I tell you, comrade, those were times!’ The officer had clearly forgotten who he was talking to; he had thrown his arm around the traveller, and had pressed his head against his shoulder. The traveller didn’t know quite what to do, impatiently he gazed past the officer. The soldier was done with his swabbing, and poured rice porridge from a can into the little dish. No sooner had the condemned man noticed this — he seemed to have recovered himself — than he put out his tongue and began to lap at it. The soldier kept pushing him away, because the porridge was supposed to be reserved for some later time, but it didn’t make a particularly good impression either when the soldier reached in with his dirty hands in front of the hungry condemned man, to help himself.

  The officer quickly recovered himself. ‘I wasn’t trying to move you,’ he said, ‘I know it’s not possible to make those times comprehensible now. At least the machine is still working and speaking for itself. It speaks for itself, even if it’s all alone in the valley. And, at the end, the body still lurches with the same unfathomably gentle fall into the pit, even if there are no longer, as there were then, hundreds of flies collected round the pit. Back then, we had to put up a stronger rail around the pit, but it’s long since collapsed.’

  The traveller wanted to turn his face from the officer, and looked aimlessly round. The officer supposed he was looking at the desert valley; he therefore seized his hands, moved round to catch his eye, and asked him: ‘Do you feel it then, the disgrace?’

  But the traveller didn’t speak. The officer let him go a moment; with legs apart, and hands on his hips he stood still and stared at the ground. Then he smiled encouragingly at the traveller and said: ‘I happened to be near you yesterday when the commandant invited you to come. I heard the invitation. I know the commandant. I understood the point of the invitation straightaway. Even though his power is such that he might easily take steps against me directly, he doesn’t dare, he prefers to offer me up to the judgement of a respected stranger like yourself. Everything is nicely calculated; it’s your second day on the island, you never knew the old commandant and his philosophy, you are caught up in European perspectives, perhaps you are a principled opponent of the death penalty in general
, and of such an execution machine in particular, moreover you can see how the process has sadly degenerated, without official sanction, on a somewhat impaired facility — would it not be highly likely in view of all these factors (thus the commandant) that you disapprove of my work? And if you do disapprove of it, will you really keep your views to yourself (still the commandant), as you will certainly set great store by your oft-tested convictions? Then again, you have learned to see and to respect many oddities of many peoples, probably you will not speak out explicitly against the procedure, in the way you would, were you at home. But the commandant doesn’t even need that. A fleeting, even a careless word, will suffice. It need not accord with your convictions, so long as it chimes with his ideas. I am quite sure he will interrogate you as cunningly as only he can. His womenfolk will sit around in a ring, and prick up their ears; I could imagine you saying, for instance: “With us, justice is performed differently,” or “Where I come from, the condemned man is acquainted with the judgement,” or “We don’t just have the death penalty,” or “We only used torture till the Middle Ages.” All these are true observations, innocent remarks that do not concern my procedure. But how will the commandant react to them? I see him, the good commandant, quickly push his chair aside and rush out on to the balcony, I see his womenfolk streaming after him, I hear his voice — a voice of thunder, as the ladies are pleased to call it — and he says: “A great savant from the west, in the course of a study of various forms of justice in all countries of the world, has just declared that our traditional form is inhuman. Following the judgement of such a man, it is evidently no longer possible for me to countenance this process. With immediate effect, I therefore, etc. etc.” You try to intervene, you never said what he claims, you never described my process as inhuman; on the contrary, according to your profound insight you find it all too human and absolutely in accord with human dignity, and you admire the machinery — but it’s too late; you don’t even get out on to the balcony, which is full of ladies; you try to get attention; you raise your voice; but a lady’s hand covers your mouth — and I and the work of the old commandant are both doomed.’

  The traveller suppressed a smile; that was how easy the task was that had struck him as so difficult. He said evasively: You overestimate my importance; the commandant read my letter of introduction, he knows I am not an expert in legal procedures. If I were to give an opinion, it would be that of a private individual, no more qualified than anyone else, and certainly much less significant than the opinion of the commandant, who, it appears, has very far-reaching powers here in this penal colony. If his opinion on this procedure is indeed as fixed as you seem to think, then I am afraid the procedure will soon be wound up, albeit without any intervention on my part.’

  Did the officer understand? No, he did not understand. He shook his head energetically, looked briefly in the direction of the condemned man and the soldier, who both jumped and stopped eating their rice, stepped right up to the traveller, looked not at his face, but at some point on his jacket, and, more quietly than before, said: ‘You don’t know the commandant; but your view of him and of all of us is bound to be — if you don’t mind my saying so — a little naïve. Believe me, your influence cannot be overstated. I was delighted when I heard that you were going to come to the execution on your own. That order of the commandant was intended to hurt me, but now I can turn it to my advantage. Undistracted by the lying whispers and contemptuous demeanours of others — both of which there would certainly have been in the case of a broader participation — you have listened to my explanations, you have seen the machine and are now about to witness the execution. I expect your mind is already made up; if there are any little grey areas of indecision, the sight of the execution will clear them up. And now I beg you: please give me your support with the commandant!’

  The traveller cut him off. ‘But how could I,’ he exclaimed, ‘it’s completely impossible. I am as little able to help you as I am to harm you.’

  ‘No, but you can,’ said the officer. The traveller noticed to his alarm that the officer had clenched his fists. ‘You can, the officer repeated more urgently. ‘I have a plan that is bound to succeed. You think you have insufficient influence. I know it’s sufficient. But even if I were to allow you were right, isn’t it the case that everything, even possibly inadequate means, must be tried in the preservation of the procedure? So listen, here’s the plan. The most important thing is that you refrain from expressing a judgement on the procedure as long as you possibly can. If you’re not asked flat out, you should avoid giving a view; your remarks should be brief and vague; people should have the impression that you’re embittered, that, if you were to allow yourself to speak, you would have little option but to start cursing. I don’t ask you to lie; not at all; just short factual replies, “Yes, I witnessed the execution,” or “Yes, I listened to all his explanations.” No more than that. There is more than enough reason for you to be evidently bitter, although it’s not the reason the commandant would necessarily expect. He will completely misunderstand it, and interpret it to his way of thinking. That’s the essence of my plan. Tomorrow morning there’s a big meeting of all the senior administrative personnel at headquarters, under the chairmanship of the commandant. The commandant has of course learned to turn such meetings into a personal charade. He has had a gallery built, which is always full of spectators. I am forced to attend the meetings, though they make me shudder with disgust. I am sure you will be invited along to the session; if you behave in the way my plan envisages, the invitation will become an urgent request. But if, for some inexplicable reason, you should fail to be invited, then you would have to solicit an invitation yourself; there is no question then of your not being given one. So there you are tomorrow morning, along with the ladies, on the commandant’s balcony. He shoots regular glances up, to check that you really are there. After sundry trivial, frivolous subjects, included merely for the sake of the public — generally it’s port construction, you wouldn’t believe all the port construction talk! — our legal procedure will be on the agenda. If it should turn out not to be, or not to be high enough on the agenda, then I will see to it that it is. I will get up and report on the execution today. Very briefly, just that single item. Such a report is not customary at those sessions, but I make it anyway. The commandant thanks me, as ever, with a friendly smile, and then — he won’t be able to help himself — he seizes the opportunity. “We have just had presented to us,” or words to that effect, “an account of the execution. I would merely like to add to that account, the fact that this execution was witnessed by the great researcher, of whose prestigious visit to our colony you all will have been apprised. Our session today also gains in importance from his personal attendance. Should we not therefore now turn to the great researcher, and ask him for his view of this traditional execution, and the hearing that preceded it?” Applause breaks out, universal agreement, the loudest voice is mine. The commandant bows before you, and says, “Well, on behalf of us all, I should like to ask you that question.” And then you step up to the railing. In plain view of everyone, you clasp it with your hands, otherwise the ladies would take hold of them and start toying with your fingers. — And then you speak. I don’t know how I’ll survive the tension of so many hours to get through first. In your speech you must let rip, let the truth speak full volume, lean down over the rails and bellow, yes bellow your views, your implacable views, down to the commandant. But maybe you don’t want to do that, perhaps it’s not in your nature, perhaps people go about things differently where you come from, and that’s fine too, that’s perfectly in order, maybe you won’t even have to stand, you just say a very few words, whisper them barely loudly enough for the administrative staff below to hear you, that’s enough, you don’t need to speak about the inadequate attendance, the squeaky wheels, the torn straps, the revolting felt, no, I’ll take care of all of that, and believe me, if I don’t send him fleeing out of the room with my speech, then I’ll for
ce him down on his knees so that he will confess: Old commandant, great predecessor, I bow down before you. — That’s my plan; will you help me put it into effect? But of course you will, you must.’ And the officer grasped the traveller by both arms, and, breathing heavily, gazed into his face. He had yelled the last sentences at such a pitch that the soldier and the condemned man had also been alerted; they hadn’t understood what he was talking about, but they did at least stop eating and, still chewing, looked over at the traveller.

  The answer he had to give was not at any time in doubt for the traveller; he had experienced too much in the course of a lifetime for him to start vacillating now; he was basically an honest man, and he knew no fear. Even so, he hesitated for a moment as he looked at the soldier and the condemned man. And then he said what he had to say: ‘No.’ The officer blinked several times, but without looking away from him. ‘Do you want an explanation?’ asked the traveller. The officer nodded mutely. ‘I am opposed to this process,’ the traveller said. ‘Even before you took me into your confidence — of course I will not break this confidence in any way — I was already considering whether I would be justified in taking steps against it, and whether my taking steps could have the least prospect of making a difference. The party I would first turn to was clear to me too: I mean the commandant, of course. You made it even clearer to me, without in the least cementing my resolve; on the contrary, your honest conviction moves me, while not shaking my opinion.’