Free Amerika by Franz Kafka Page A

you see, seduced by Johanna Brummer, a servant girl, who’s about thirty-five years old. In using the word
seduced,
I certainly don’t wish to hurt my nephew, but it’s hard to come up with a term that’s just as apt.”
    Karl, who had moved close to his uncle, turned around to gauge the impact of the story from the expressions of all present. Nobody laughed, everyone listened patiently and in earnest. Well, one doesn’t laugh at the nephew of the state counselor the first time one gets a chance to do so. But the stoker seemed to be smiling at Karl, even if only faintly, which was, first, a welcome new sign of life and, second, excusable, for this matter which now was being discussed so openly was one that earlier in the cabin Karl had sought to keep a special secret.
    â€œWell, this Brummer woman,” his uncle continued, “had a child by my nephew, a healthy boy, who was given the name Jakob at baptism, no doubt in honor of my humble self, and even though any references to me could only have been very casual they must nonetheless have left a big impression on the girl. And I’d say that was quite fortunate. For to avoid paying child support or whatever part of the scandal touched them directly—and here I should emphasize that I have no knowledge of the laws there nor of his parents’ circumstances in other respects, and that everything I know comes from two begging letters I received from his parents a number of years ago, which I kept but never answered, and this was the only, and naturally one-sided, correspondence I’ve had with them the entire time—well, to avoid those child support payments and the whole scandal, his parents shipped off their son, my dear nephew, to America and, as one can see, made such inadequate and indeed irresponsible provision for him that if the boy had been left to fend for himself in this manner—leaving aside the omens and wonders one can still encounter, especially here in America—he would no doubt have gone to seed quickly in some alleyway or other in New York Harbor if the servant girl hadn’t given me a complete account along with a description of my nephew and also, very cleverly, the ship’s name in a letter that after various lengthy detours reached me only the day before yesterday. If my main intention was to entertain you, gentlemen, there are several passages in this letter”—from his pocket he drew two enormous sheets of paper filled with cramped writing and waved them about—“that I could certainly read aloud. It would definitely leave an impression on you, for it is written with a rather artless, if always well-meant, cunning and with much love for the father of her child. But I don’t wish to entertain you more than is necessary for the sake of clarification; nor do I wish to hurt any feelings my nephew may still have for the girl, especially just as he’s being made welcome here; if he wishes, he may for his edification read this letter in the quiet of his room, which is now ready to receive him.”
    Karl, however, had no feelings for that girl. Amid the crush of a past that he had pushed back ever further, she sat in the kitchen beside the cabinet, with her elbows resting on the counter top. She would look at him when he went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for his father or to run an errand for his mother. Sometimes she would be sitting beside the cabinet in that same awkward position, writing a letter and drawing inspiration from Karl’s face. Sometimes she would hide her eyes with her hand, and then no greeting could reach her. Sometimes she would be kneeling in her narrow little room next to the kitchen, praying to a wooden cross, and at such moments when he walked past, Karl would merely watch her timidly through the slightly open door. Sometimes she would race around the kitchen, and whenever Karl happened to get in her way, she would shrink back, breaking out