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Franz Kafka
In the Penal Colony
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This translation by Ian Johnston of Vancouver
Island University, Nanaimo, BC, Canada has certain copyright restrictions.
For information please use the following link: Copyright. For comments or question please contact Ian Johnston.
This text was last revised on June 6, 2015.
For more links to Kafka e-texts in English
click here.
IN THE PENAL COLONY
“It’s a remarkable apparatus,” said the Officer to the Explorer and
gazed with a certain look of admiration at the device, with which he was, of
course, thoroughly familiar. It appeared that the Traveler 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. Interest in this execution was not really 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 Traveler 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 Traveler 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 jobs that really 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 there was some other
reason why the work could not be entrusted 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 ladies’
handkerchiefs under the collar of his uniform at the back. “These uniforms are
really too heavy for the tropics,” the Traveler 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 at the same
time pointing to the apparatus. “Up to this point I still had to do some work
by hand, but from now on the apparatus works entirely on its own.” The Traveler
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 them. The apparatus is supposed to keep going for twelve hours
without interruption. But if any breakdowns occur, they are only very minor,
and will be dealt with right away.”
“Don’t you want to sit down?” he asked finally. Out of a pile of
cane chairs, he pulled one out and offered it to the Traveler. The
latter could not refuse. He was now sitting on the edge of a 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 Traveler made a 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 entirely to him alone. Have you
heard of our previous Commandant? No? Well, I’m not exaggerating 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-sufficient 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 Traveler 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, in addition, while he was talking, still kept adjusting screws
here and there with a screwdriver. The Soldier appeared to be in a state
similar to the Traveler. 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 Traveler 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 certainly all the more striking that the
Condemned Man, in spite of that, did what he could to follow the Officer’s
explanations. 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
Traveler interrupted the Officer, the Condemned Man looked at the Traveler,
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. Anyway, you’ll
understand in a moment. The condemned is laid out here on the Bed. I’ll
describe the apparatus first and only then let the procedure perform on its
own. That way you’ll be able to follow it better. Also a gear wheel 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 this
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 will break his neck.” “That’s cotton wool?” asked
the Traveler and bent down. “Yes, it is,” said the Officer smiling, “feel it
for yourself.” He took the Traveler’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 discussing its purpose in a
moment.” The Traveler 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 meters above the Bed, and the two were joined together
at the corners by four brass rods, which almost sparkled in the rays of the
sun. The Harrow hung between the chests on a band of steel.
The Officer had hardly noticed the earlier indifference of the Traveler
but now had a sense of the latter’s growing interest. So he paused in his
explanation in order to allow the Traveler time to observe the apparatus undisturbed.
The Condemned Man imitated the Traveler, 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 Traveler. He leaned back in his
chair and crossed his legs.
“Yes,” said the Officer. He pushed his cap back a little and ran 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 Traveler 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 honorable duty. However, the fact that with such
an eminent visitor”—the Traveler tried to deflect the honor 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 Traveler. “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 that 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, ‘Honor your
superiors!’”
The Traveler 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 pouting
lips, which were pressed close together, showed clearly that he was incapable
of understanding anything. The Traveler 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 Traveler interrupted him: “He doesn’t know his own
sentence?” “No,” said the Officer once more. He then paused for a moment, as if
he were requesting from the Traveler 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 Traveler 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 Traveler, 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 Traveler,
as if he were still waiting for some strange revelations from him. “No?” said
the Traveler, wiping his forehead, “So the man does not yet know even at this
point how his defense was received?” “He has had no opportunity to defend
himself,” said the Officer and looked away, as if he were talking to himself
and did not wish to embarrass the Traveler with an explanation of matters he
would find so self-evident. “But he must have had a chance to defend himself,”
said the Traveler 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 Traveler, 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 previous
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 wanted this case explained. It’s
so 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 duty 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 already, and I haven’t finished explaining the apparatus yet.” He
urged the Traveler 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 Traveler in a friendly way, ready to give the
most comprehensive explanation.
The Traveler 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 accept. Following this train of thought, the Traveler asked, “Will the
Commandant be present at the execution?” “That is not certain,” said the
Officer, embarrassed by the sudden question, and his friendly expression became
a grimace. “That is 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
more detailed explanation. So now, only the most
essential 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 position, this steel cable tightens up immediately 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 in it 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 Traveler 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 into small grooves and finally
flows into these main gutters, and their outlet pipe takes it to the pit.” The
Officer indicated with his finger the exact path which the bloody water would
take. As he began formally to demonstrate with both hands at the mouth of the
outlet pipe, in order to make his account as clear as possible, the Traveler
raised his head and, feeling behind him with his hand, sought 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 Traveler
wanted to push him back, for what he was doing was probably punishable. But the
Officer held the Traveler 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 and, when he saw what the Condemned Man had dared to do, let
his weapon fall, braced his heels in the earth, and jerked 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 Traveler too much. The
latter was even leaning out away from the Harrow, without paying any attention
to it, and wanted merely 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, straightened up the man, whose feet kept slipping.
“Now I know all about it,” said the Traveler, as the Officer turned back
to him again. “Except the most important thing,” said the latter. He grabbed
the Traveler by the arm and pointed 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 them to you
from this distance. Then you’ll be able to see it all well.” He showed the
first sheet. The Traveler would have been happy to say something appreciative,
but all he saw was a labyrinthine series of lines, crisscrossing each other in
all sorts 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 Traveler. “But it’s clear,” said the Officer.” “It’s very
elaborate,” said the Traveler evasively, “but I can’t decipher it.” “Yes,” said
the Officer, laughing and putting the folder back again, “it’s not calligraphy
for school children. One has to read it a long time. You, too, would 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 of 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 out to the Traveler, apologized, 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
Traveler’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 merely 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 begins to understand. It starts around the eyes and spreads
out from there. A look that could tempt one to lie down
with him 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 is 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 out completely 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 Traveler 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. As he
bent forward a little and followed the moving needles, the Soldier, after a
signal from the Officer, cut through the back of his shirt and trousers with a
knife, 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 high 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 still, for he 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 Traveler was
standing. The Officer kept looking at the Traveler 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 Traveler, “The machine is very complicated. Now and
then something inevitably tears or breaks. 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
oscillations for the right arm.” And while he put the chain in place, he still
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 set
aside specially for this purpose. There was a storeroom 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 then 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 Traveler thought about the situation: 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 this execution or even hinder it, people could say to him: You are a
foreigner—keep quiet. He would have nothing to say 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 Traveler 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 Traveler 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 court. This was all the more likely since the Commandant, as he had now
had heard only too clearly, was no supporter of this process and maintained an
almost hostile relationship with the Officer.
Then the Traveler 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 tried 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 as he mindlessly rattled the brass rods at the front.
“My machine’s as filthy as a pigsty.” With trembling hands he indicated to the
Traveler 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 ladies 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
more than a hundred men have sucked and bitten on 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 Traveler, 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 Traveler and listened with his eyes lowered.
“This process and this execution, which you now have an opportunity to
admire, have at present no more open supporters in our colony. I am its single defender and at the same time 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 anyone let that happen? Even if one is
only a foreigner on our island for a couple of days? But there is no time to
lose. People are already preparing something against my judicial proceedings.
Discussions, to which I am not invited, are already taking place in the
Commandant’s headquarters. 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 ladies. 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 leftover 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
tiptoe 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 honor for me. And
then the execution began! No discordant note disturbed the work of the machine.
Many people did not look anymore at all, but lay down in the sand with closed
eyes. 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 out of the condemned man a groan
stronger than the felt is capable of smothering. But back then the needles
which made the inscription dripped a caustic liquid which today we are not
permitted to use anymore. 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 Traveler and laid his head on his shoulder. The
Traveler 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, the way the
Soldier to reached in and grabbed some food with his dirty hands and ate it in
front of the famished Condemned Man.
The Officer quickly collected himself. “I didn’t mean 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 Traveler 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 Traveler 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 Traveler 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 biased in your 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 machine which is already somewhat damaged. Now, if we take all this
together (so the Commandant thinks) surely one could easily imagine that that
you would not consider my procedure appropriate? 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 apparently corresponds to his wishes. I’m certain he will use all his
shrewdness to interrogate you. And his ladies 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
‘With us the accused hears the judgment,’ or ‘With us there are punishments
other than the death penalty,’ or ‘With us there was torture only in the Middle
Ages.’ For you all 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 onto the balcony—I see his
ladies, how they stream after him. I hear his voice—the ladies 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 this 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 the 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 ladies. 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 Traveler 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 layperson, 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 surely come for this procedure to end, without any need for my
humble assistance.”
Did the Officer understand by now? No, he did not yet grasp 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 Traveler, without looking into his face,
but gazing at parts of his jacket, and said more quietly 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 arrangement of the Commandant was
aimed at me, but now I’m turning 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 still
remain, witnessing the execution will remove them. And now I’m asking you—help
me against the Commandant!”
The Traveler 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 Traveler
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, is it not necessary to try every means
of saving this procedure, even those methods which may possibly 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 has become 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 meetings 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 make me shiver 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 ladies in the Commandant’s box. With frequent
upward glances he reassures himself that you are there. After various trivial
and ridiculous agenda items designed only for the spectators—mostly harbor
construction, always harbor construction!—the judicial process also 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 the news
of today’s execution. Really briefly—just this
announcement. True, such a report is not customary there; 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 honor on our colony, as you all know. Even the
significance of our meeting today has been increased by his presence. Do we not
now wish to 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 tense moments up to that point. 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 homeland 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
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 Traveler 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 Traveler, still chewing.
From the very start the Traveler 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 Traveler. “Would you like an explanation?” asked the Traveler. The
Officer nodded dumbly. “I am opposed to this procedure,” said the Traveler.
“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 even a small 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 have 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 silent, turned towards the machine, grabbed one of
the brass rods, and then, leaning back a little, looked up at the Inscriber, as
if he were 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 Traveler 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 and smiled 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
Traveler with bright eyes which contained some sort of demand, some appeal for
participation. “Time for what?” asked the Traveler 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
Traveler 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 laughed quietly to himself. At times he
turned his face to the Officer on the left and at times to the Soldier on the
right, without ignoring the Traveler.
“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 no more attention to him.
He went up to the Traveler, pulled out the small leather folder once more,
leafed through it, finally found the sheet he was looking for, and showed it to
the Traveler. “Read that,” he said. “I can’t,” said the Traveler. “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
Traveler 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 he might make the task of reading easier for the
Traveler. The Traveler also made an effort, hoping to satisfy the Officer at
least, but it was impossible for him. At that point the Officer began to spell
out the inscription, and then he read out once again the joined up letters.
“‘Be just!’ it states,” he said. “Now you can read it.” The Traveler bent so
low over the paper that the Officer, afraid that he might touch it, moved it
further away. The Traveler 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 Traveler. “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. The
Officer had to inspect the gears so closely that sometimes his head disappeared
completely into the Inscriber.
The Traveler 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 in front of the Soldier, who crouched down on the ground, laughed, and
slapped his knees. But they still 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 his clothes had been hauled out, 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 ladies’ 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
Traveler 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, then 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 Traveler 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
canceled—possibly as a result of the intervention of the Traveler, something to
which he for his part felt duty-bound—then the Officer’s actions were now
completely correct. In his place, the Traveler would not have acted any
differently.
At first, the Soldier and the Condemned Man 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 was not permitted to enjoy them
very long, because 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 watching carefully. 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 Traveler had probably given the order for it. 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 never
went away.
The Officer, however, had turned towards the machine. If earlier on it
had already become clear that he understood the machine thoroughly, one could
well be 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 be able to find it, and the Traveler was determined not to touch it. But
that was unnecessary. Hardly were the straps attached when the machine started
working: the Bed quivered, the needles danced on his skin, and the Harrow swung
up and down. The Traveler 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 Traveler 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 Traveler
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 perhaps have been ready to do that, but the Condemned Man took
the order as a direct punishment. With his hands folded he pleaded to be
allowed to stay there and, when the Traveler shook his head and was unwilling
to give in, he even knelt down. Seeing that orders were of no help here, the
Traveler was about to go over and chase the two away. Then he heard a noise
from up in the Inscriber. He looked up. Was a gear wheel still causing trouble?
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 immense force was compressing
the Inscriber, so that there was no longer sufficient room left for this wheel.
The wheel rolled all the way to the edge of the Inscriber, fell off, 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 already 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 Traveler’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 Traveler, 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 Traveler 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 failed to
work this time, as well. Then one last thing went wrong: the body would not
come loose from the long 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 Traveler yelled out to the Soldier and the Condemned
Man, and he himself 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 lifted off the needles. But now the two men could not
make up their minds whether to come or not. The Condemned Man turned away at
once. The Traveler had to go over to him and drag him to the Officer’s head by
force. At this point, almost against his will, the Traveler looked at the face
of the corpse. It was as it had been in 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 Traveler, 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 the house 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 Traveler was nonetheless 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, musty 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 while 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 Traveler, who could not believe the Soldier. At once 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 Traveler 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, humble people. As the Traveler came
closer, a few got up, leaned against the wall, and looked at him. A whisper
went up around the Traveler: “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 to remain hidden under a table. It bore an
inscription in very small letters which the Traveler had to kneel down in order
to read. 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 reconquer the colony. Have faith and
wait!” When the Traveler 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 Traveler 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
harbor.
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
quickly, because by the time the Traveler reached the middle of the long
staircase which led to the boats, they were already running after him. They
probably wanted to force the Traveler at the last minute to take them with him.
While the Traveler 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
Traveler was already in the boat, and the sailor was just casting off from shore. They could still have jumped into the boat,
but the Traveler picked up a heavy knotted rope from the boat bottom,
threatened them with it, and thus prevented them from jumping in.
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