Click Here to Download the Text
Franz
Kafka
Translation by Ian Johnston
“It’s a peculiar apparatus,” said the
Officer to the Traveller, gazing with a certain admiration at the device, with
which he was, of course, thoroughly familiar. It appeared that the Traveller
had responded to the invitation of the Commandant only out of politeness, when
he had been asked to attend the execution of a soldier condemned for disobeying
and insulting his superior. Of course, interest in the execution was not very
high even in the penal colony itself. At least, here in the small, deep, sandy
valley, closed in on all sides by barren slopes, apart from the Officer and the
Traveller there were present only the Condemned, a vacant-looking man with a
broad mouth and dilapidated hair and face, and the Soldier, who held the heavy
chain to which were connected the small chains which bound the Condemned Man by
his feet and wrist bones, as well as by his neck, and which were also linked to
each other by connecting chains. The Condemned Man, incidentally, had an
expression of such dog-like resignation that it looked as if one could set him
free to roam around the slopes and would only have to whistle at the start of
the execution for him to return.
The Traveller had little interest in the
apparatus and walked back and forth behind the Condemned Man, almost visibly
indifferent, while the Officer took care of the final preparations. Sometimes
he crawled under the apparatus, which was built deep into the earth, and
sometimes he climbed up a ladder to inspect the upper parts. These were really
jobs which could have been left to a mechanic, but the Officer carried them out
with great enthusiasm, maybe because he was particularly fond of this apparatus
or maybe because there was some other reason why one could not trust the work
to anyone else. “It’s all ready now!” he finally cried and climbed back down
the ladder. He was unusually tired, breathing with his mouth wide open, and he
had pushed two fine lady’s handkerchiefs under the collar of his uniform.
“These uniforms are really too heavy for
the tropics,” the Traveller said, instead of asking some questions about the
apparatus, as the Officer had expected. “That’s true,” said the Officer. He
washed the oil and grease from his dirty hands in a bucket of water standing
ready, “but they mean home, and we don’t want to lose our homeland.” “Now, have
a look at this apparatus,” he added immediately, drying his hands with a towel
and pointing to the device. “Up to this point I had to do some work by hand, but
from now on the apparatus should work entirely on its own.” The Traveller
nodded and followed the Officer. The latter tried to protect himself against
all eventualities by saying, “Of course, breakdowns do happen. I really hope
none will occur today, but we must be prepared for it. The apparatus is
supposed to keep going for twelve hours without interruption.
But if any breakdowns do occur, they’ll
only be very minor, and we’ll deal with them right away.”
“Don’t you want to sit down?” he asked
finally, as he pulled out a chair from a pile of cane chairs and offered it to
the Traveller. The latter could not refuse. He sat on the edge of the pit, into
which he cast a fleeting glance. It was not very deep. On one side of the hole
the piled earth was heaped up into a wall; on the other side stood the
apparatus. “I don’t know,” the Officer said, “whether the Commandant has
already explained the apparatus to you.” The Traveller made an vague gesture
with his hand. That was good enough for the Officer, for now he could explain
the apparatus himself.
“This apparatus,” he said, grasping a
connecting rod and leaning against it, “is our previous Commandant’s invention.
I also worked with him on the very first tests and took part in all the work
right up to its completion. However, the credit for the invention belongs to
him alone. Have you heard of our previous Commandant? No? Well, I’m not
claiming too much when I say that the organization of the entire penal colony
is his work. We, his friends, already knew at the time of his death that the
administration of the colony was so self-contained that even if his successor
had a thousand new plans in mind, he would not be able to alter anything of the
old plan, at least not for several years. And our prediction has held. The New
Commandant has had to recognize that. It’s a shame that you didn’t know the
previous Commandant!”
“However,” the Officer said,
interrupting himself, “I’m chattering, and his apparatus stands here in front
of us. As you see, it consists of three parts. With the passage of time certain
popular names have been developed for each of these parts. The one underneath
is called the Bed, the upper one is called the Inscriber, and here in the
middle, this moving part is called the Harrow.” “The Harrow?” the Traveller
asked. He had not been listening with full attention. The sun was excessively
strong, trapped in the shadowless valley, and one could hardly collect one’s
thoughts. So the Officer appeared to him all the more admirable in his tight
tunic weighed down with epaulettes and festooned with braid, ready to go on
parade, as he explained the matter so eagerly and, while he was talking,
adjusted screws here and there with a screwdriver.
The Soldier appeared to be in a state
similar to the Traveller. He had wound the Condemned Man’s chain around both
his wrists and was supporting himself with his hand on his weapon, letting his
head hang backward, not bothering about anything. The Traveller was not
surprised at that, for the Officer spoke French, and clearly neither the
Soldier nor the Condemned Man understood the language. So it was all the more
striking that the Condemned Man, in spite of that, did what he could to follow
the Officer’s explanation.
With a sort of sleepy persistence he
kept directing his gaze to the place where the Officer had just pointed, and
when a question from the Traveller interrupted the Officer, the Condemned Man
looked at the Traveller, too, just as the Officer was doing.
“Yes, the Harrow,” said the Officer.
“The name fits. The needles are arranged as in a harrow, and the whole thing is
driven like a harrow, although it stays in one place and is, in principle, much
more artistic. You’ll understand in a moment. The condemned is laid out here on
the Bed. First, I’ll describe the apparatus and only then let the procedure go
to work. That way you’ll be able to follow it better. Also a sprocket in the
Inscriber is excessively worn. It really squeaks. When it’s in motion one can
hardly make oneself understood. Unfortunately replacement parts are difficult
to come by in this place. So, here is the Bed, as I said. The whole thing is completely
covered with a layer of cotton wool, the purpose of which you’ll find out in a
moment. The condemned man is laid out on his stomach on the cotton wool—naked,
of course. There are straps for the hands here, for the feet here, and for the
throat here, to tie him in securely. At the head of the Bed here, where the
man, as I have mentioned, first lies face down, is this small protruding lump
of felt, which can easily be adjusted so that it presses right into the man’s
mouth. Its purpose is to prevent him screaming and biting his tongue to pieces.
Of course, the man has to let the felt in his mouth—otherwise the straps around
his throat would break his neck.” “That’s cotton wool?” asked the Traveller and
bent down. “Yes, it is,” said the Officer smiling, “feel it for yourself.”
He took the Traveller’s hand and led him
over to the Bed. “It’s a specially prepared cotton wool. That’s why it looks so
unrecognizable. I’ll get around to mentioning its purpose in a moment.” The
Traveller was already being won over a little to the apparatus. With his hand
over his eyes to protect them from the sun, he looked up at the height of the
apparatus. It was a massive construction. The Bed and the Inscriber were the
same size and looked like two dark chests. The Inscriber was set about two metres
above the Bed, and the two were joined together at the corners by four brass
rods, which almost reflected the sun. The Harrow hung between the chests on a
band of steel.
The Officer had hardly noticed the
earlier indifference of the Traveller, but he did have a sense now of how the
latter’s interest was being aroused for the first time. So he paused in his
explanation in order to allow the Traveller time to observe the apparatus
undisturbed. The Condemned Man imitated the Traveller, but since he could not
put his hand over his eyes, he blinked upward with his eyes uncovered.
“So now the man is lying down,” said the
Traveller. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
“Yes,” said the Officer, pushing his cap
back a little and running his hand over his hot face. “Now, listen.
Both the Bed and the Inscriber have
their own electric batteries. The Bed needs them for itself, and the Inscriber
for the Harrow. As soon as the man is strapped in securely, the Bed is set in
motion. It quivers with tiny, very rapid oscillations from side to side and up
and down simultaneously. You will have seen similar devices in mental
hospitals. Only with our Bed all movements are precisely calibrated, for they
must be meticulously coordinated with the movements of the Harrow. But it’s the
Harrow which has the job of actually carrying out the sentence.”
“What is the sentence?” the Traveller
asked. “You don’t even know that?” asked the Officer in astonishment and bit
his lip. “Forgive me if my explanations are perhaps confused. I really do beg
your pardon. Previously it was the Commandant’s habit to provide such
explanations. But the New Commandant has excused himself from this honourable
duty. The fact that with such an eminent visitor”—the Traveller tried to
deflect the honour with both hands, but the Officer insisted on the
expression—“that with such an eminent visitor he didn’t even once make him
aware of the form of our sentencing is yet again something new, which . . . .”
He had a curse on his lips, but controlled himself and said merely: “I was not
informed about it. It’s not my fault. In any case, I am certainly the person
best able to explain our style of sentencing, for here I am carrying”—he patted
his breast pocket—“the relevant diagrams drawn by the previous Commandant.”
“Diagrams made by the Commandant
himself?” asked the Traveller. “Then was he in his own person a combination of
everything? Was he soldier, judge, engineer, chemist, and draftsman?”
“He was indeed,” said the Officer,
nodding his head with a fixed and thoughtful expression. Then he looked at his
hands, examining them. They didn’t seem to him clean enough to handle the
diagrams. So he went to the bucket and washed them again. Then he pulled out a
small leather folder and said, “Our sentence does not sound severe. The law
which a condemned man has violated is inscribed on his body with the Harrow.
This Condemned Man, for example,” and the Officer pointed to the man, “will
have inscribed on his body, ‘Honour your superiors.’”
The Traveller had a quick look at the
man. When the Officer was pointing at him, the man kept his head down and
appeared to be directing all his energy into listening in order to learn
something. But the movements of his thick pouting lips showed clearly that he
was incapable of understanding anything. The Traveller wanted to raise various
questions, but after looking at the Condemned Man he merely asked, “Does he
know his sentence?” “No,” said the Officer. He wished to get on with his
explanation right away, but the Traveller interrupted him: “He doesn’t know his
own sentence?” “No,” said the Officer once more.
He then paused for a moment, as if he
was asking the Traveller for a more detailed reason for his question, and said,
“It would be useless to give him that information. He experiences it on his own
body.” The Traveller really wanted to keep quiet at this point, but he felt how
the Condemned Man was gazing at him—he seemed to be asking whether he could
approve of the process the Officer had described. So the Traveller, who had up
to this point been leaning back, bent forward again and kept up his questions,
“But does he nonetheless have some general idea that he’s been condemned?” “Not
that either,” said the Officer, and he smiled at the Traveller, as if he was
still waiting for some strange revelations from him. “No?” said the Traveller,
wiping his forehead, “Then does the man also not yet know how his defence was
received?” “He has had no opportunity to defend himself,” said the Officer and
looked away, as if he was talking to himself and wished not to embarrass the
Traveller with an explanation of matters so self-evident to him. “But he must
have had a chance to defend himself,” said the Traveller and stood up from his
chair.
The Officer recognized that he was in
danger of having his explanation of the apparatus held up for a long time. So
he went to the Traveller, took him by the arm, pointed with his hand at the
Condemned Man, who stood there stiffly now that the attention was so clearly
directed at him—the Soldier was also pulling on his chain—and said, “The matter
stands like this. Here in the penal colony I have been appointed judge. In
spite of my youth. For I stood at the side of our Old Commandant in all matters
of punishment, and I also know the most about the apparatus. The basic
principle I use for my decisions is this: Guilt is always beyond a doubt. Other
courts could not follow this principle, for they are made up of many heads and,
in addition, have even higher courts above them. But that is not the case here,
or at least it was not that way with the previous Commandant. It’s true the New
Commandant has already shown a desire to get mixed up in my court, but I’ve
succeeded so far in fending him off. And I’ll continue to be successful. You
want this case explained. It’s simple—just like all of them. This morning a
captain laid a charge that this man, who is assigned to him as a servant and
who sleeps before his door, had been sleeping on duty. For his task is to stand
up every time the clock strikes the hour and salute in front of the captain’s
door. That’s certainly not a difficult duty—and it’s necessary, since he is
supposed to remain fresh both for guarding and for service. Yesterday night the
captain wanted to check whether his servant was fulfilling his duty. He opened
the door on the stroke of two and found him curled up asleep. He got his
horsewhip and hit him across the face. Now, instead of standing up and begging
for forgiveness, the man grabbed his master by the legs, shook him, and cried
out, ‘Throw away that whip or I’ll eat you up.’ Those are the facts.
The captain came to me an hour ago. I
wrote up his statement and right after that the sentence. Then I had the man
chained up. It was all very simple. If I had first summoned the man and
interrogated him, the result would have been confusion. He would have lied, and
if I had been successful in refuting his lies, he would have replaced them with
new lies, and so forth. But now I have him, and I won’t release him again. Now,
does that clarify everything? But time is passing. We should be starting the
execution, and I haven’t finished explaining the apparatus yet.”
He urged the Traveller to sit down in
his chair, moved to the apparatus again, and started, “As you see, the shape of
the Harrow corresponds to the shape of a man. This is the harrow for the upper
body, and here are the harrows for the legs. This small cutter is the only one
designated for the head. Is that clear to you?” He leaned forward to the
Traveller in a friendly way, ready to give the most comprehensive explanation.
The Traveller looked at the Harrow with
a wrinkled frown. The information about the judicial procedures had not
satisfied him. However, he had to tell himself that here it was a matter of a
penal colony, that in this place special regulations were necessary, and that
one had to give precedence to military measures right down to the last detail.
Beyond that, however, he had some hopes in the New Commandant, who obviously,
although slowly, was intending to introduce a new procedure which the limited
understanding of this Officer could not cope with.
Following this train of thought, the
Traveller asked, “Will the Commandant be present at the execution?” “That is
not certain,” said the Officer, embarrassingly affected by the sudden question,
and his friendly expression made a grimace. “That’s why we need to hurry up. As
much as I regret the fact, I’ll have to make my explanation even shorter. But
tomorrow, once the apparatus is clean again—the fact that it gets so very dirty
is its only fault—I could add a detailed explanation. So now, only the most
important things. When the man is lying on the Bed and it starts quivering, the
Harrow sinks onto the body. It positions itself automatically in such a way
that it touches the body only lightly with the needle tips. Once the machine is
set in this position, this steel cable tightens up into a rod. And now the
performance begins. Someone who is not an initiate sees no external difference
among the punishments. The Harrow seems to do its work uniformly. As it
quivers, it sticks the tips of its needles into the body, which is also
vibrating from the movement of the bed. Now, to enable someone to check on how
the sentence is being carried out, the Harrow is made of glass. That gave rise
to certain technical difficulties with fastening the needles securely, but after
several attempts we were successful. We didn’t spare any efforts.
And now, as the inscription is made on
the body, everyone can see through the glass. Don’t you want to come closer and
see the needles for yourself.”
The Traveller stood slowly, moved up,
and bent over the Harrow. “You see,” the Officer said, “two sorts of needles in
a multiple arrangement. Each long needle has a short one next to it. The long
one inscribes, and the short one squirts water out to wash away the blood and
keep the inscription always clear. The bloody water is then channeled here in
small grooves and finally flows into these main gutters, and the outlet pipe
takes it to the pit.” The Officer pointed with his finger to the exact path
which the bloody water had to take. As he began to demonstrate with both hands
at the mouth of the outlet pipe, in order to make his account as clear as
possible, the Traveller raised his head and, feeling behind him with his hand,
wanted to return to his chair. Then he saw to his horror that the Condemned Man
had also, like him, accepted the Officer’s invitation to inspect the
arrangement of the Harrow up close. He had pulled the sleeping Soldier holding
the chain a little forward and was also bending over the glass. One could see
how with a confused gaze he also was looking for what the two gentlemen had
just observed, but how he didn’t succeed because he lacked the explanation. He
leaned forward this way and that. He kept running his eyes over the glass again
and again. The Traveller wanted to push him back, for what he was doing was
probably punishable. But the Officer held the Traveller firmly with one hand,
and with the other he took a lump of earth from the wall and threw it at the
Soldier. The latter opened his eyes with a start, saw what the Condemned Man
had dared to do, let his weapon fall, braced his heels in the earth, and pulled
the Condemned Man back, so that he immediately collapsed. The Soldier looked
down at him, as he writhed around, making his chain clink. “Stand him up,”
cried the Officer, for he noticed that the Condemned Man was distracting the
Traveller too much. The latter was even leaning out away from the Harrow,
without paying any attention to it, wanting to find out what was happening to
the Condemned Man. “Handle him carefully,” the Officer yelled again. He ran
around the apparatus, personally grabbed the Condemned Man under the armpits
and, with the help of the Soldier, stood the man, whose feet kept slipping,
upright.
“Now I know all about it,” said the
Traveller, as the Officer turned back to him again. “Except the most important
thing,” said the latter, grabbing the Traveller by the arm and pointing up
high. “There in the Inscriber is the mechanism which determines the movement of
the Harrow, and this mechanism is arranged according to the diagram on which
the sentence is set down. I still use the diagrams of the previous Commandant.
Here they are.” He pulled some pages out of the leather folder. “Unfortunately
I can’t hand them to you.
They are the most cherished thing I
possess. Sit down, and I’ll show you them from this distance. Then you’ll be
able to see it all well.” He showed the first sheet. The Traveller would have
been happy to say something appreciative, but all he saw was a labyrinthine
series of lines, criss-crossing each other in all sort of ways. These covered
the paper so thickly that only with difficulty could one make out the white
spaces in between. “Read it,” said the Officer. “I can’t,” said the Traveller.
“But it’s clear,” said the Officer.” “It’s very elaborate,” said the Traveller
evasively, “but I can’t decipher it.”
“Yes,” said the Officer, smiling and
putting the folder back again, “it’s not calligraphy for school children. One
has to read it a long time. You too will finally understand it clearly. Of
course, it has to be a script that isn’t simple. You see, it’s not supposed to
kill right away, but on average over a period of twelve hours. The turning
point is set for the sixth hour. There must also be many, many embellishments surrounding
the basic script. The essential script moves around the body only in a narrow
belt. The rest of the body is reserved for decoration. Can you now appreciate
the work of the Harrow and the whole apparatus? Just look at it!” He jumped up
the ladder, turned a wheel, and called down, “Watch out—move to the side!”
Everything started moving. If the wheel had not squeaked, it would have been
marvelous. The Officer threatened the wheel with his fist, as if he was
surprised by the disturbance it created. Then he spread his arms, apologizing
to the Traveller, and quickly clambered down, in order to observe the operation
of the apparatus from below.
Something was still not working
properly, something only he noticed. He clambered up again and reached with
both hands into the inside of the Inscriber. Then, in order to descend more
quickly, instead of using the ladder, he slid down on one of the poles and, to
make himself understandable through the noise, strained his voice to the limit
as he yelled in the Traveller’s ear, “Do you understand the process? The Harrow
is starting to write. When it’s finished with the first part of the script on
the man’s back, the layer of cotton wool rolls and turns the body slowly onto
its side to give the Harrow a new area. Meanwhile those parts lacerated by the
inscription are lying on the cotton wool which, because it has been specially
treated, immediately stops the bleeding and prepares the script for a further
deepening. Here, as the body continues to rotate, prongs on the edge of the
Harrow then pull the cotton wool from the wounds, throw it into the pit, and
the Harrow goes to work again. In this way it keeps making the inscription
deeper for twelve hours. For the first six hours the condemned man goes on
living almost as before. He suffers nothing but pain. After two hours, the felt
is removed, for at that point the man has no more energy for screaming.
Here at the head of the Bed warm rice
pudding is put in this electrically heated bowl. From this the man, if he feels
like it, can help himself to what he can lap up with his tongue. No one passes
up this opportunity. I don’t know of a single one, and I have had a lot of
experience. He first loses his pleasure in eating around the sixth hour. I
usually kneel down at this point and observe the phenomenon. The man rarely
swallows the last bit. He turns it around in his mouth and spits it into the
pit. When he does that, I have to lean aside or else he’ll get me in the face.
But how quiet the man becomes around the sixth hour! The most stupid of them
begin to understand. It starts around the eyes and spreads out from there. A
look that could tempt one to lie down under the Harrow. Nothing else happens.
The man simply begins to decipher the inscription. He purses his lips, as if he
is listening. You’ve seen that it’s not easy to figure out the inscription with
your eyes, but our man deciphers it with his wounds. True, it takes a lot of
work. It requires six hours to complete. But then the Harrow spits him right out
and throws him into the pit, where he splashes down into the bloody water and
cotton wool. Then the judgment is over, and we, the Soldier and I, quickly bury
him.”
The Traveller had leaned his ear towards
the Officer and, with his hands in his coat pockets, was observing the machine
at work. The Condemned Man was also watching, but without understanding. He
bent forward a little and followed the moving needles, as the Soldier, after a
signal from the Officer, cut through his shirt and trousers with a knife from
the back, so that they fell off the Condemned Man. He wanted to grab the
falling garments to cover his bare flesh, but the Soldier held him up and shook
the last rags from him. The Officer turned the machine off, and in the silence
which then ensued the Condemned Man was laid out under the Harrow. The chains
were taken off and the straps fastened in their place. For the Condemned Man it
seemed at first glance to signify almost a relief. And now the Harrow sunk down
a stage lower, for the Condemned was a thin man. As the needle tips touched
him, a shudder went over his skin. While the Soldier was busy with the right
hand, the Condemned Man stretched out his left, with no sense of its direction.
But it was pointing to where the Traveller was standing. The Officer kept
looking at the Traveller from the side, without taking his eyes off him, as if
he was trying to read from his face the impression he was getting of the
execution, which he had now explained to him, at least superficially.
The strap meant to hold the wrist ripped
off. The Soldier probably had pulled on it too hard. The Soldier showed the
Officer the torn-off piece of strap, wanting him to help. So the Officer went
over to him and said, with his face turned towards the Traveller, “The machine
is very complicated.
Now and then something has to tear or
break. One shouldn’t let that detract from one’s overall opinion. Anyway, we
have an immediate replacement for the strap. I’ll use a chain—even though that
will affect the sensitivity of the movements for the right arm.” And while he
put the chain in place, he kept talking, “Our resources for maintaining the
machine are very limited at the moment. Under the previous Commandant, I had free
access to a cash box specially set aside for this purpose. There was a store
room here in which all possible replacement parts were kept. I admit I made
almost extravagant use of it. I mean earlier, not now, as the New Commandant
claims. For him everything serves only as a pretext to fight against the old
arrangements. Now he keeps the cash box for machinery under his own control,
and if I ask him for a new strap, he demands the torn one as a piece of
evidence, the new one doesn’t arrive for ten days, and it’s an inferior brand,
of not much use to me. But how I am supposed to get the machine to work in the
meantime without a strap—no one’s concerned about that.”
The Traveller was thinking: it is always
questionable to intervene decisively in strange circumstances. He was neither a
citizen of the penal colony nor a citizen of the state to which it belonged. If
he wanted to condemn the execution or even hinder it, people could say to him:
You are a foreigner—keep quiet. He would have nothing in response to that, but
could only add that he did not understand what he was doing on this occasion,
for the purpose of his traveling was merely to observe and not to alter other
people’s judicial systems in any way. True, at this point the way things were
turning out it was very tempting. The injustice of the process and the
inhumanity of the execution were beyond doubt. No one could assume that the
Traveller was acting out of any sense of his own self-interest, for the
Condemned Man was a stranger to him, not a countryman and not someone who
invited sympathy in any way. The Traveller himself had letters of reference
from high officials and had been welcomed here with great courtesy. The fact
that he had been invited to this execution even seemed to indicate that people
were asking for his judgment of this trial. This was all the more likely since
the Commandant, as he had now heard only too clearly, was no supporter of this
process and maintained an almost hostile relationship with the Officer.
Then the Traveller heard a cry of rage
from the Officer. He had just shoved the stub of felt in the Condemned Man’s
mouth, not without difficulty, when the Condemned Man, overcome by an
irresistible nausea, shut his eyes and threw up. The Officer quickly yanked him
up off the stump and wanted to turn his head aside toward the pit. But it was
too late. The vomit was already flowing down onto the machine. “This is all the
Commandant’s fault!” cried the Officer and mindlessly rattled the brass rods at
the front.
“My machine’s as filthy as a pigsty.”
With trembling hands he showed the Traveller what had happened. “Haven’t I
spent hours trying to make the Commandant understand that a day before the
execution there should be no more food served. But the new lenient
administration has a different opinion. Before the man is led away, the
Commandant’s women cram sugary things down his throat. His whole life he’s fed
himself on stinking fish, and now he has to eat sweets! But that would be all
right—I’d have no objections—but why don’t they get a new felt, the way I’ve
been asking him for three months now? How can anyone take this felt into his
mouth without feeling disgusted—something that a hundred man have sucked and
bitten on it as they were dying?”
The Condemned Man had laid his head down
and appeared peaceful. The Soldier was busy cleaning up the machine with the
Condemned Man’s shirt. The Officer went up to the Traveller, who, feeling some
premonition, took a step backwards. But the Officer grasped him by the hand and
pulled him aside. “I want to speak a few words to you in confidence,” he said.
“May I do that?” “Of course,” said the Traveller and listened with his eyes
lowered.
“This process and execution, which you
now have an opportunity to admire, have no more open supporters in our colony.
I am its only defender, just as I am the single advocate for the legacy of the
Old Commandant. I can no longer think about a more extensive organization of
the process—I’m using all my powers to maintain what there is at present. When
the Old Commandant was alive, the colony was full of his supporters. I have
something of the Old Commandant’s persuasiveness, but I completely lack his power,
and as a result the supporters have gone into hiding. There are still a lot of
them, but no one admits to it. If you go into a tea house today—that is to say,
on a day of execution—and keep your ears open, perhaps you’ll hear nothing but
ambiguous remarks. They are all supporters, but under the present Commandant,
considering his present views, they are totally useless to me. And now I’m
asking you: Should such a life’s work,” he pointed to the machine, “come to
nothing because of this Commandant and the women influencing him? Should people
let that happen? Even if one is a foreigner and on our island only for a couple
of days? But there’s no time to lose. People are already preparing something
against my judicial proceedings. Discussions are already taking place in the
Commandant’s headquarters, to which I am not invited. Even your visit today
seems to me typical of the whole situation. People are cowards and send you
out—a foreigner. You should have seen the executions in earlier days! The
entire valley was overflowing with people, even a day before the execution.
They all came merely to watch. Early in the morning the Commandant appeared
with his women. Fanfares woke up the entire campsite. I delivered the news that
everything was ready.
The whole society—and every high
official had to attend—arranged itself around the machine. This pile of cane
chairs is a sorry left over from that time. The machine was freshly cleaned and
glowed. For almost every execution I had new replacement parts. In front of
hundreds of eyes—all the spectators stood on tip toe right up to the hills
there—the condemned man was laid down under the Harrow by the Commandant
himself. What nowadays has to be done by a common soldier was then my work as
the senior judge, and it was an honour for me. And then the execution began! No
discordant note disturbed the work of the machine. Many people did not look any
more at all, but lay down with closed eyes in the sand. They all knew: now
justice was being carried out. In the silence people heard nothing but the
groans of the condemned man, muffled by the felt. These days the machine no
longer manages to squeeze a strong groan out of the condemned man—something the
felt is not capable of smothering. But back then the needles which made the
inscription dripped a caustic liquid which we are not permitted to use any more
today. Well, then came the sixth hour. It was impossible to grant all the
requests people made to be allowed to watch from up close. The Commandant, in
his wisdom, arranged that the children should be taken care of before all the
rest. Naturally, I was always allowed to stand close by, because of my official
position. Often I crouched down there with two small children in my arms, on my
right and left. How we all took in the expression of transfiguration on the
martyred face! How we held our cheeks in the glow of this justice, finally
attained and already passing away! What times we had, my friend!”
The Officer had obviously forgotten who
was standing in front of him. He had put his arm around the Traveller and laid
his head on his shoulder. The Traveller was extremely embarrassed. Impatiently
he looked away over the Officer’s head. The Soldier had ended his task of
cleaning and had just shaken some rice pudding into the bowl from a tin. No
sooner had the Condemned Man, who seemed to have fully recovered already,
noticed this than his tongue began to lick at the pudding. The Soldier kept
pushing him away, for the pudding was probably meant for a later time, but in
any case it was not proper for the Soldier to reach in and grab some food with
his dirty hands and eat it in front of the famished Condemned Man.
The Officer quickly collected himself.
“I didn’t want to upset you in any way,” he said. “I know it is impossible to
make someone understand those days now. Besides, the machine still works and
operates on its own. It operates on its own even when it is standing alone in
this valley. And at the end, the body still keeps falling in that incredibly
soft flight into the pit, even if hundreds of people are not gathered like
flies around the hole the way they used to be.
Back then we had to erect a strong
railing around the pit. It was pulled out long ago.”
The Traveller wanted to turn his face
away from the Officer and looked aimlessly around him. The Officer thought he
was looking at the wasteland of the valley. So he grabbed his hands, turned him
around in order to catch his gaze, and asked, “Do you see the shame of it?”
But the Traveller said nothing. The
Officer left him alone for a while. With his legs apart and his hands on his
hips, the Officer stood still and looked at the ground. Then he smiled at the
Traveller cheerfully and said, “Yesterday I was nearby when the Commandant
invited you. I heard the invitation. I know the Commandant. I understood right
away what he intended with his invitation. Although his power might be
sufficiently great to take action against me, he doesn’t yet dare to. But my
guess is that with you he is exposing me to the judgment of a respected
foreigner. He calculates things with care. You are now in your second day on
the island. You didn’t know the Old Commandant and his way of thinking. You are
trapped in a European way of seeing things. Perhaps you are fundamentally
opposed to the death penalty in general and to this kind of mechanical style of
execution in particular. Moreover, you see how the execution is a sad procedure,
without any public participation, using a partially damaged machine. Now, if we
take all this together (so the Commandant thinks) surely one could easily
imagine that that you would not consider my procedure proper? And if you didn’t
consider it right, you wouldn’t keep quiet about it—I’m still speaking the mind
of the Commandant—for you no doubt have faith that your tried-and-true
convictions are correct. It’s true that you have seen many peculiar things
among many peoples and have learned to respect them. Thus, you will probably
not speak out against the procedure with your full power, as you would perhaps
in your own homeland. But the Commandant doesn’t really need that. A casual
word, merely a careless remark, is enough. It doesn’t have to match your
convictions at all, so long as it corresponds to his wishes. I’m certain he
will use all his shrewdness to interrogate you. And his women will sit around
in a circle and perk up their ears. You will say something like, ‘Among us the
judicial procedures are different,’ or ‘With us the accused is questioned
before the verdict,’ or ‘We had torture only in the Middle Ages.’ For you these
observations appear as correct as they are self-evident—innocent remarks which
do not impugn my procedure. But how will the Commandant take them? I see him,
our excellent Commandant—the way he immediately pushes his stool aside and
hurries out to the balcony—I see his women, how they stream after him. I hear
his voice—the women call it a thunder voice.
And now he’s speaking: ‘A great Western
explorer who has been commissioned to inspect judicial procedures in all
countries has just said that our process based on old customs is inhuman. After
the verdict of such a personality it is, of course, no longer possible for me
to tolerate this procedure. So from this day on I am ordering . . . and so
forth.’ You want to intervene—you didn’t say what he is reporting—you didn’t
call my procedure inhuman; by contrast, in keeping with your deep insight, you
consider it most humane and most worthy of human beings. You also admire this
machinery. But it is too late. You don’t even go onto the balcony, which is
already filled with women. You want to attract attention. You want to cry out.
But a lady’s hand is covering your mouth, and I and the Old Commandant’s work are
lost.”
The Traveller had to suppress a smile.
So the work which he had considered so difficult was easy. He said evasively,
“You’re exaggerating my influence. The Commandant has read my letters of
recommendation. He knows that I am no expert in judicial processes. If I were
to express an opinion, it would be that of a lay person, no more significant
than the opinion of anyone else, and in any case far less significant than the
opinion of the Commandant, who, as I understand it, has very extensive powers
in this penal colony. If his views of this procedure are as definite as you
think they are, then I’m afraid the time has come for this procedure to end,
without any need for my humble opinion.”
Did the Officer understand by now? No,
he did not yet get it. He shook his head vigorously, briefly looked back at the
Condemned Man and the Soldier, who both flinched and stopped eating the rice,
went up really close up to the Traveller, without looking into his face, but
gazing at parts of his jacket, and said more gently than before: “You don’t
know the Commandant. Where he and all of us are concerned you are—forgive the
expression—to a certain extent innocent. Your influence, believe me, cannot be
overestimated. In fact, I was blissfully happy when I heard that you were to be
present at the execution by yourself. This order of the Commandant was aimed at
me, but now I’ll turn it to my advantage. Without being distracted by false
insinuations and disparaging looks—which could not have been avoided with a
greater number of participants at the execution—you have listened to my
explanation, looked at the machine, and are now about to view the execution.
Your verdict is no doubt already fixed. If some small uncertainties remain,
witnessing the execution will remove them. And now I’m asking you—help me with
the Commandant!”
The Traveller did not let him go on
talking. “How can I do that,” he cried. “It’s totally impossible. I can help
you as little as I can harm you.”
“You could do it,” said the Officer.
With some apprehension the Traveller observed that the Officer was clenching
his fists. “You could do it,” repeated the Officer, even more emphatically. “I
have a plan which must succeed. You think your influence is insufficient. I
know it will be enough.
But assuming you’re right, doesn’t saving this whole procedure
require one to try even those methods which may be inadequate? So listen to my
plan. To carry it out, it’s necessary, above all, for you to keep as quiet as
possible today in the colony about your verdict on this procedure. Unless
someone asks you directly, you should not express any view whatsoever. But what
you do say must be short and vague. People should notice that it’s difficult
for you to speak about the subject, that you feel bitter, that, if you were to
speak openly, you’d have to burst out cursing on the spot. I’m not asking you
to lie, not at all. You should give only brief answers—something like, ‘Yes,
I’ve seen the execution’ or ‘Yes, I’ve heard the full explanation.’ That’s all—nothing
further. For that will be enough of an indication for people to observe in you
a certain bitterness, even if that’s not what the Commandant will think.
Naturally, he will completely misunderstand the issue and interpret it in his
own way. My plan is based on that. Tomorrow a large meeting of all the higher
administrative officials takes place at headquarters under the chairmanship of
the Commandant. He, of course, understands how to turn such a meeting into a
spectacle. A gallery has been built, which is always full of spectators. I’m
compelled to take part in the discussions, though they fill me with disgust. In
any case, you will certainly be invited to the meeting. If you follow my plan
today and behave accordingly, the invitation will become an emphatic request.
But should you for some inexplicable reason still not be invited, you must make
sure you request an invitation. Then you’ll receive one without question. Now,
tomorrow you are sitting with the women in the Commandant’s box. With frequent
upward glances he reassures himself that you are there. After various trivial
and ridiculous agenda items designed for the spectators—mostly harbour
construction, always harbour construction—the judicial process comes up for
discussion. If it’s not raised by the Commandant himself or does not occur soon
enough, I’ll make sure that it comes up. I’ll stand up and report on today’s
execution. Really briefly—just an announcement. Such a report is not really
customary; however, I’ll do it, nonetheless. The Commandant thanks me, as
always, with a friendly smile. And now he cannot restrain himself. He seizes
this excellent opportunity. ‘The report of the execution,’ he’ll say, or
something like that, ‘has just been given. I would like to add to this report
only the fact that this particular execution was attended by the great explorer
whose visit confers such extraordinary honour on our colony, as you all know.
Even the significance of our meeting today has been increased by his presence.
Should we not now ask this great
explorer for his appraisal of the execution based on old customs and of the
process which preceded it?’ Of course, there is the noise of applause
everywhere, universal agreement. And I’m louder than anyone. The Commandant
bows before you and says, ‘Then in everyone’s name, I’m putting the question to
you.’ And now you step up to the railing. Place your hands where everyone can
see them. Otherwise the ladies will grab them and play with your fingers. And
now finally come your remarks. I don’t know how I’ll bear the tension up to
then. In your speech you mustn’t hold back. Let truth resound. Lean over the
railing and shout it out—yes, yes, roar your opinion at the Commandant, your
unshakeable opinion. But perhaps you don’t want to do that. It doesn’t suit
your character. Perhaps in your country people behave differently in such
situations. That’s all right. That’s perfectly satisfactory. Don’t stand up at
all. Just say a couple of words. Whisper them so that only the officials
underneath you can just hear them. That’s enough. You don’t even have to say
anything at all about the lack of attendance at the execution or about the
squeaky wheel, the torn strap, the disgusting felt. No. I’ll take over all
further details, and, believe me, if my speech doesn’t chase him out of the
room, it will force him to his knees, so he’ll have to admit it: ‘Old
Commandant, I bow down before you.’ That’s my plan. Do you want to help me
carry it out? But, of course, you want to. More than that—you have to.”
And the Officer gripped the Traveller by
both arms and looked at him, breathing heavily into his face. He had yelled the
last sentences so loudly that even the Soldier and the Condemned Man were
paying attention. Although they couldn’t understand a thing, they stopped
eating and looked over at the Traveller, still chewing.
From the start the Traveller had had no
doubts about the answer he must give. He had experienced too much in his life
to be able to waver here. Basically he was honest and unafraid. Still, with the
Soldier and the Condemned Man looking at him, he hesitated a moment. But
finally he said, as he had to, “No.” The Officer’s eyes blinked several times,
but he did not take his eyes off the Traveller. “Would you like an
explanation,” asked the Traveller. The Officer nodded dumbly. “I am opposed to
this procedure,” said the Traveller. “Even before you took me into your
confidence—and, of course, I will never abuse your confidence under any
circumstances—I was already thinking about whether I was entitled to intervene
against this procedure and whether my intervention could have the smallest
chance of success. And if that was the case, it was clear to me whom I had to
turn to first of all—naturally, to the Commandant. You clarified the issue for
me even more, but without reinforcing my decision in any way—quite the reverse.
I find your conviction genuinely moving, even if it cannot deter me.
The Officer remained quiet, turned
toward the machine, grabbed one of the brass rods, and then, leaning back a
little, looked up at the Inscriber, as if he was checking that everything was
in order. The Soldier and the Condemned Man seemed to have made friends with
each other. The Condemned Man was making signs to the Soldier, although, given
the tight straps on him, this was difficult for him to do. The Soldier was
leaning into him. The Condemned Man whispered something to him, and the Soldier
nodded. The Traveller went over to the Officer and said, “You don’t yet know
what I’ll do. Yes, I will tell the Commandant my opinion of the procedure—not
in a meeting, but in private. In addition, I won’t stay here long enough to be
able to get called in to some meeting or other. Early tomorrow morning I leave,
or at least I go on board ship.”
It did not look as if the Officer had
been listening. “So the process has not convinced you,” he said to himself,
smiling the way an old man smiles over the silliness of a child, concealing his
own true thoughts behind that smile.
“Well then, it’s time,” he said finally
and suddenly looked at the Traveller with bright eyes which contained some sort
of demand, some appeal for participation. “Time for what?” asked the Traveller
uneasily. But there was no answer.
“You are free,” the Officer told the
Condemned Man in his own language. At first the man did not believe him. “You
are free now,” said the Officer. For the first time the face of the Condemned
Man showed signs of real life. Was it the truth? Was it only the Officer’s
mood, which could change? Had the foreign Traveller brought him a reprieve?
What was it? That is what the man’s face seemed to be asking. But not for long.
Whatever the case might be, if he could he wanted to be truly free, and he
began to shake back and forth, as much as the Harrow permitted.
“You’re tearing my straps,” cried the
Officer. “Be still! We’ll undo them right away.” And, giving a signal to the
Soldier, he set to work with him. The Condemned Man said nothing and smiled
slightly to himself. He turned his face to the Officer and then to the Soldier
and then back again, without ignoring the Traveller.
“Pull him out,” the Officer ordered the
Soldier. This process required a certain amount of care because of the Harrow.
The Condemned Man already had a few small wounds on his back, thanks to his own
impatience.
From this point on, however, the Officer
paid him hardly any attention. He went up to the Traveller, pulled out the
small leather folder once more, leafed through it, finally found the sheet he
was looking for, and showed it to the Traveller. “Read that,” he said. “I
can’t,” said the Traveller. “I’ve already told you I can’t read these pages.”
“But take a close look at the page,” said the Officer and moved up right next
to the Traveller in order to read with him. When that didn’t help, he raised
his little finger high up over the paper, as if the page must not be touched
under any circumstances, so that using this he might make the task of reading
easier for the Traveller.
The Traveller also made an effort so
that at least he could satisfy the Officer, but it was impossible for him. Then
the Officer began to spell out the inscription and then read out once again the
joined up letters. “‘Be just!’ it states,” he said. “Now you can read it.” The
Traveller bent so low over the paper that the Officer, afraid that he might
touch it, moved it further away. The Traveller didn’t say anything more, but it
was clear that he was still unable to read anything. “ ‘Be just!’ it says,” the
Officer remarked once again.
“That could be,” said the Traveller. “I
do believe that’s written there.” “Good,” said the Officer, at least partially
satisfied. He climbed up the ladder, holding the paper. With great care he set
the page in the Inscriber and appeared to rotate the gear mechanism completely
around. This was very tiring work. It must have required him to deal with
extremely small wheels. He had to inspect the gears so closely that sometimes
his head disappeared completely into the Inscriber.
The Traveller followed this work from
below without looking away. His neck grew stiff, and his eyes found the
sunlight pouring down from the sky painful. The Soldier and the Condemned Man
were keeping each other busy. With the tip of his bayonet the Soldier pulled
out the Condemned Man’s shirt and trousers which were lying in the hole. The
shirt was horribly dirty, and the Condemned Man washed it in the bucket of
water. When he was putting on his shirt and trousers, the Soldier and the
Condemned Man had to laugh out loud, for the pieces of clothing were cut in two
up the back. Perhaps the Condemned Man thought that it was his duty to amuse
the Soldier. In his ripped-up clothes he circled around the Soldier, who
crouched down on the ground, laughed, and slapped his knees. But they
restrained themselves out of consideration for the two gentlemen present.
When the Officer was finally finished up
on the machine, with a smile he looked over the whole thing and all its parts
once more, and this time closed the cover of the Inscriber, which had been open
up to this point. He climbed down, looked into the hole and then at the
Condemned Man, observed with satisfaction that he had pulled out his clothes,
then went to the bucket of water to wash his hands, recognized too late that it
was disgustingly dirty, and was upset that now he could not wash his hands. Finally
he pushed them into the sand. This option did not satisfy him, but he had to do
what he could in the circumstances. Then he stood up and began to unbutton the
coat of his uniform. As he did this, the two lady’s handkerchiefs, which he had
pushed into the back of his collar, fell into his hands. “Here you have your
handkerchiefs,” he said and threw them over to the Condemned Man. And to the
Traveller he said by way of an explanation, “Presents from the ladies.
In spite of the obvious speed with which
he took off the coat of his uniform and then undressed himself completely, he
handled each piece of clothing very carefully, even running his fingers over
the silver braids on his tunic with special care and shaking a tassel into
place. But in great contrast to this care, as soon he was finished handling an
article of clothing, he immediately flung it angrily into the hole. The last
items he had left were his short sword and its harness. He pulled the sword out
of its scabbard, broke it in pieces, gathered up everything—the pieces of the
sword, the scabbard, and the harness—and threw them away so forcefully that
they rattled against each other down in the pit.
Now he stood there naked. The Traveller
bit his lip and said nothing. For he was aware what would happen, but he had no
right to hinder the Officer in any way. If the judicial process to which the
Officer clung was really so close to the point of being cancelled—perhaps as a
result of the intervention of the Traveller, something to which he for his part
felt duty-bound—then the Officer was now acting in a completely correct manner.
In his place, the Traveller would not have acted any differently.
The Soldier and the Condemned Man at
first did not understand a thing. To begin with they did not look, not even
once. The Condemned Man was extremely happy to get the handkerchiefs back, but
he could not enjoy them very long, for the Soldier snatched them from him with
a quick grab, which he had not anticipated. The Condemned Man then tried to
pull the handkerchiefs out from the Soldier’s belt, where he had put them for
safe keeping, but the Soldier was too wary. So they were fighting, half in
jest. Only when the Officer was fully naked did they start to pay attention.
The Condemned Man especially seemed to be struck by a premonition of some sort
of significant transformation. What had happened to him was now taking place
with the Officer. Perhaps this time the procedure would play itself out to its
conclusion. The foreign Traveller had probably given the order. So that was
revenge. Without having suffered all the way to the end himself, nonetheless he
would be completely avenged. A wide, silent laugh now appeared on his face and
did not go away.
The Officer, however, had turned towards
the machine. If earlier on it had already become clear that he understood the
machine thoroughly, one might well get alarmed now at the way he handled it and
how it obeyed. He only had to bring his hand near the Harrow for it to rise and
sink several times, until it had reached the correct position to make room for
him. He only had to grasp the Bed by the edges, and it already began to quiver.
The stump of felt moved up to his mouth. One could see how the Officer really
did not want to accept it, but his hesitation was only momentary—he immediately
submitted and took it in. Everything was ready, except that the straps still
hung down on the sides. But they were clearly unnecessary.
The Officer did not have to be strapped
down. When the Condemned Man saw the loose straps, he thought the execution
would be incomplete unless they were fastened. He waved eagerly to the Soldier,
and they ran over to strap in the Officer. The latter had already stuck out his
foot to kick the crank designed to set the Inscriber in motion. Then he saw the
two men coming. So he pulled his foot back and let himself be strapped in. But
now he could no longer reach the crank. Neither the Soldier nor the Condemned
Man would find it, and the Traveller was determined not to touch it. But that
was unnecessary. Hardly were the straps attached when the machine already
started working. The Bed quivered, the needles danced on his skin, and the
Harrow swung up and down. The Traveller had already been staring for some time
before he remembered that a wheel in the Inscriber was supposed to squeak. But
everything was quiet, without the slightest audible hum.
Because of its silent working, the
machine did not really attract attention. The Traveller looked over at the
Soldier and the Condemned Man. The Condemned Man was the livelier of the two.
Everything in the machine interested him. At times he bent down, at other times
he stretched up, always pointing with his forefinger in order to show something
to the Soldier. For the Traveller it was embarrassing. He was determined to
remain here until the end, but he could no longer endure the sight of the two
men. “Go home,” he said. The Soldier might have been ready to do that, but the
Condemned Man took the order as a direct punishment. With his hands folded he
begged and pleaded to be allowed to stay there. And when the Traveller shook
his head and was unwilling to give in, he even knelt down. Seeing that orders
were of no help here, the Traveller wanted to go over and chase the two away.
Then he heard a noise from up in the
Inscriber. He looked up. So was the gear wheel going out of alignment? But it
was something else. The lid on the Inscriber was lifting up slowly. Then it
fell completely open. The teeth of a cog wheel were exposed and lifted up. Soon
the entire wheel appeared. It was as if some huge force was compressing the
Inscriber, so that there was no longer sufficient room for this wheel. The
wheel rolled all the way to the edge of the Inscriber, fell down, rolled
upright a bit in the sand, and then fell over and lay still. But already up on
the Inscriber another gear wheel was moving upwards. Several others
followed—large ones, small ones, ones hard to distinguish. With each of them
the same thing happened. One kept thinking that now the Inscriber must surely
be empty, but then a new cluster with lots of parts would move up, fall down,
roll in the sand, and lie still. With all this going on, the Condemned Man
totally forgot the Traveller’s order. The gear wheels completely delighted him.
He kept wanting to grab one, and at the same time he was urging the Soldier to
help him.
But he kept pulling his hand back
startled, for immediately another wheel followed, which, at least in its
initial rolling, surprised him.
The Traveller, by contrast, was very
upset. Obviously the machine was breaking up. Its quiet operation had been an
illusion. He felt as if he had to look after the Officer, now that the latter
could no longer look after himself. But while the falling gear wheels were
claiming all his attention, he had neglected to look at the rest of the
machine. However, when he now bent over the Harrow, once the last gear wheel
had left the Inscriber, he had a new, even more unpleasant surprise. The Harrow
was not writing but only stabbing, and the Bed was not rolling the body, but
lifting it, quivering, up into the needles. The Traveller wanted to reach in to
stop the whole thing, if possible. This was not the torture the Officer wished
to attain. It was murder, pure and simple. He stretched out his hands. But at
that point the Harrow was already moving upwards and to the side, with the
skewered body—just as it did in other cases, but only in the twelfth hour.
Blood flowed out in hundreds of streams, not mixed with water—the water tubes
had also failed to work this time. Then one last thing went wrong: the body
would not come loose from the needles. Its blood streamed out, but it hung over
the pit without falling. The Harrow wanted to move back to its original
position, but, as if realizing that it could not free itself of its load, it
remained over the hole.
“Help,” the Traveller yelled out to the
Soldier and the Condemned Man and grabbed the Officer’s feet. He wanted to push
against the feet himself and have the two others grab the Officer’s head from
the other side, so he could be slowly taken off the needles. But now the two
men could not make up their mind whether to come or not. The Condemned Man
turned away at once. The Traveller had to go over to him and drag him to the
Officer’s head by force. At this point, almost against his will, he looked at
the face of the corpse. It was as it had been in his life. He could discover no
sign of the promised transfiguration. What all the others had found in the
machine, the Officer had not. His lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes
were open and looked as they had when he was alive, his gaze was calm and
convinced. The tip of a large iron needle had gone through his forehead.
* * *
As the Traveller, with the Soldier and
the Condemned Man behind him, came to the first houses in the colony, the
Soldier pointed to one and said, “That’s the tea house.”
On the ground floor of one of the houses
was a deep, low room, like a cave, with smoke-covered walls and ceiling. On the
street side it was open along its full width.
Although there was little difference
between the tea house and the rest of the houses in the colony, which were all
very dilapidated, except for the Commandant’s palatial structure, the Traveller
was struck by the impression of historical memory, and he felt the power of
earlier times. Followed by his companions, he walked closer, going between the
unoccupied tables, which stood in the street in front of the tea house, and
took a breath of the cool, stuffy air which came from inside. “The old man is
buried here,” said the Soldier; “a place in the cemetery was denied him by the
chaplain. For a long time people were undecided where they should bury him.
Finally they buried him here. Of course, the Officer explained none of that to
you, for naturally he was the one most ashamed about it. A few times he even
tried to dig up the old man at night, but he was always chased off.” “Where is
the grave?” asked the Traveller, who could not believe the Soldier. Instantly
both men, the Soldier and the Condemned Man, ran in front of him and with hands
outstretched pointed to the place where the grave was located. They led the
Traveller to the back wall, where guests were sitting at a few tables. They
were presumably dock workers, strong men with short, shiny, black beards. None
of them wore coats, and their shirts were torn. They were poor, oppressed
people. As the Traveller came closer, a few got up, leaned against the wall,
and looked at him. A whisper went up around the Traveller—“It’s a foreigner. He
wants to look at the grave.” They pushed one of the tables aside, under which
there was a real grave stone. It was a simple stone, low enough for it to
remain hidden under a table. It bore an inscription in very small letters. In order
to read it the Traveller had to kneel down. It read, “Here rests the Old
Commandant. His followers, who are now not permitted to have a name, buried him
in this grave and erected this stone. There exists a prophecy that the
Commandant will rise again after a certain number of years and from this house
will lead his followers to a re-conquest of the colony. Have faith and wait!”
When the Traveller had read it and got
up, he saw the men standing around him and smiling, as if they had read the
inscription with him, found it ridiculous, and were asking him to share their
opinion. The Traveller acted as if he had not noticed, distributed some coins
among them, waited until the table was pushed back over the grave, left the tea
house, and went to the harbour.
In the tea house the Soldier and the
Condemned Man had come across some people they knew who detained them. However,
they must have broken free of them soon, because by the time the Traveller
found himself in the middle of a long staircase which led to the boats, they
were already running after him. They probably wanted to force the Traveller at
the last minute to take them with him.
While the Traveller was haggling at the bottom of the stairs
with a sailor about his passage out to the steamer, the two men were racing
down the steps in silence, for they did not dare cry out. But as they reached
the bottom, the Traveller was already in the boat, and the sailor at once cast
off from shore. They could still have jumped into the boat, but the Traveller
picked up a heavy knotted rope from the boat bottom, threatened them with it,
and thus prevented them from jumping in.
~x~
No comments:
Post a Comment