Amerika (20 page)

Karl considered all of this, thought about Delamarche too, and otherwise performed his duties as usual. Toward midnight he had a little diversion, for Therese, who often surprised him with little presents, brought him a large apple and a chocolate bar. They talked for a while, scarcely disturbed by the interruptions caused by his trips up and down in the elevator. The conversation turned to Delamarche, and Karl noticed that for some time now he had let himself be influenced by Therese and had begun to regard Delamarche as a dangerous person, for that was certainly how he seemed to Therese from Karl's stories. But on the whole Karl considered him a mere wretch who had let himself be spoiled by misfortune and with whom one could nonetheless get along. Therese disputed this vigorously, though, insisting in lengthy speeches that Karl should promise her that he would never say a word to Delamarche again. Instead of making such a promise, he urged her repeatedly to go to sleep, and when she refused to do so, he threatened to leave his post and escort her back to her room. When she was at last ready to leave, he said: “Therese, why burden yourself with such unnecessary worries? In the hope of helping you sleep better, I'll gladly promise you that I shall speak to Delamarche, but only if there's no other way.” He then had to make numerous trips, since the youth in the adjacent lift was engaged in some other errand and Karl had to attend to both lifts. There were some guests who spoke of a great mess, and one gentleman, accompanied by a lady, gave Karl a little tap with his walking stick, prompting him to hurry up, but this admonition was quite uncalled for. If, after noticing that one of the lifts was unattended, the guest had only gone over to Karl's lift right away—but no, instead of doing so, they went to the adjacent lift and stood there, holding the door handle or even stepping into the elevator, even though this was something that—according to the most severe paragraph in the service regulations—the lift boys were supposed to prevent at all cost. Karl therefore had to run back and forth wearily without even having the satisfaction of knowing that he was carrying out his duties exactly as intended. And then on top of it all, toward three in the morning a porter, an old man with whom he was on fairly friendly terms, wanted some help from him, but Karl certainly could not help him now, for there were guests standing before both of his lifts, and it took considerable presence of mind to select one group and stride toward it. So he was glad when the other lift boy resumed his duties, and he shouted a few words of reproach at him over his lengthy absence, even though he was probably not to blame. After about four in the morning things quieted down a little, but by then Karl urgently needed some rest. Leaning heavily on the balustrade by his elevator, he slowly ate the apple, which even after the first bite gave off a strong fragrance, and gazed down into one of the light shafts, which was surrounded by the great windows of the pantries, behind which hung masses of bananas that still shimmered in the dark.

VI

THE ROBINSON AFFAIR

___________

J
ust then someone tapped him on the shoulder. Thinking that it must of course be a guest, Karl quickly put the apple in his pocket and, after scarcely looking at the man, rushed over to the elevator. “Good evening, Mr. Rossmann,” said the man, “it's me, Robinson.” “But you've changed,” said Karl, shaking his head. “Yes, I'm doing well,” said Robinson, glancing down at his clothing, which, although perhaps comprised of fairly elegant items, was so jumbled that it looked downright shabby. Most striking was a white waistcoat obviously worn for the first time, with four little pockets bordered in black, which Robinson sought to accentuate by sticking out his chest. “You certainly have expensive clothes,” said Karl, and he had a fleeting memory of the beautiful simple suit in which he could have held his own even alongside Renell but that had been sold by his two bad friends. “Yes,” said Robinson, “I buy something almost every day. How do you like my waistcoat?” “Quite nice,” said Karl. “The pockets aren't real, though, they're just made for show,” said Robinson, and he took Karl's hand so that the latter could convince himself of this. Karl, however, shrank back, since Robinson's mouth smelled unbearably of brandy. “You've begun to drink heavily again,” said Karl, who had returned to the balustrade. “Not heavily,” said Robinson, and, contradicting his previous remark about being so satisfied, he went on: “What else has a man got in this world.” A trip interrupted this conversation, and no sooner had Karl reached the ground floor than the telephone rang, and he was informed that he should fetch the hotel doctor since a lady up on the seventh floor had fainted. As he went about this task, Karl hoped secretly that Robinson would already be gone, for he had no desire to be seen in his company and, remembering Therese's warning, did not wish to hear anything from Delamarche either. Robinson, however, was still waiting in the stiff posture of a completely intoxicated person, and just then a high-ranking hotel official in a black frock coat and cylinder hat passed by, fortunately without seeming to pay special attention to Robinson. “Rossmann, wouldn't you like to come and visit us sometime; we're living in style now,” said Robinson, directing an enticing glance at Karl. “Are you inviting me or is Delamarche?” asked Karl. “Delamarche and I. Both of us see eye to eye on this,” said Robinson. “Then there's something I wish you to know and would ask that you pass it on to Delamarche: just in case this wasn't already sufficiently clear, when we said goodbye it was for the last time. The two of you have given me more grief than anyone else. Do you really want to go on pestering me like this?” “But we are your comrades,” said Robinson, his eyes filling with vile tears of intoxication. “Delamarche would like you to know he wants to make amends for everything that happened earlier. We're living with Brunelda, she's such a marvelous singer.” And he would have sung a song in a high-pitched voice had Karl not managed to hiss at him just in time: “Be quiet this instant, don't you realize where you are?” “Rossmann,” said Robinson, who was intimidated only concerning his singing, “after all, no matter what you say, I'm still your comrade. And since you've now got such a fine position here, could you let me have some money?” “But you'll just drink it all away again,” said Karl. “I can even see some kind of brandy bottle sticking from your pocket; you must have drunk from it while I was away, for at first you were still fairly coherent.” “It's just to fortify me on the road,” Robinson said apologetically. “I don't want to reform you anymore, that's for sure,” said Karl. “But what about the money!” said Robinson, with wide-open eyes. “Delamarche must have told you to bring back some money. Fine, I'll give you some money, but only on condition that you leave at once and never visit me here again. If there's something you want to let me know, you can write to me. Karl Rossmann, elevator boy, Occidental Hotel, that should suffice as an address. But I'll say it again, you may not come to see me anymore. I'm on duty and don't have time for visitors. So are you going to accept the money on that condition?” Karl asked, reaching into his waistcoat pocket, for he had decided to part with that night's tips. In response, Robinson merely nodded and breathed deeply. Karl interpreted this incorrectly and asked again: “Yes or no?”

Just then Robinson waved him over and whispered amid gagging motions that were already quite unmistakable: “Rossmann, I feel very sick.” “What the devil,” Karl exclaimed involuntarily, and then with both hands he seized Robinson and dragged him over to the balustrade.

And now it flowed out of Robinson's mouth, down into the depths. Between bouts of sickness, he groped at Karl, helplessly and blindly. “You're really a good boy,” he said continually, or “It's about to stop,” which was far from true, or “What sort of stuff did those dogs pour down my throat!” Out of unease and disgust Karl could not tolerate being so close to him and began to walk up and down. Here in the corner beside the elevator Robinson was of course somewhat hidden, but what if someone were to notice him, one of those rich nervous guests who simply cannot wait to complain to a rapidly approaching hotel official, who then wreaks furious vengeance on the entire household staff, or if one of those constantly changing hotel detectives—whom nobody, aside from the management, knows and whom one sees of course in every passerby—gives probing looks, perhaps only because he happens to be shortsighted. And of course, since the restaurant was open at night, all it would take would be for someone to go into the pantries in the dining rooms below, notice that abominable mess in the light shaft, and telephone Karl, demanding to know what in heaven's name was going on up there. And could Karl truthfully deny all knowledge of Robinson? And if he did, wouldn't Robinson decide not to apologize and in his idiocy and despair simply mention Karl's name? And wouldn't Karl have to be dismissed on the spot, for something truly outrageous had happened, a lift boy, the lowest and most dispensable employee in the huge hierarchy of hotel servants, had through his friend's behavior led to the hotel being fouled up, the guests startled and perhaps even driven away? Could one continue to tolerate a lift boy who had such friends and who, moreover, let his friends visit him while he was on duty? Mustn't such a lift boy be a drinker or possibly even worse, and didn't it look as if he had so overfed his friends with the hotel's provisions that they had finally perpetrated a certain deed, like Robinson's only a moment ago, in some corner of that same, always meticulously maintained hotel? And why should such a youth confine himself to stealing food when there were actually countless opportunities to steal, thanks to the notorious carelessness of the guests who leave closets open everywhere, valuables lying about on the tables, boxes torn open, and keys strewn about so thoughtlessly?

Just then from afar Karl saw guests emerge from a cellar bar, in which a variety performance had just ended. Karl took up his post at his elevator, without even daring to turn toward Robinson for fear of what he might see. It was scarcely reassuring that there was not a sound, let alone a sigh, coming from that direction. Although he attended to his guests and rode up and down with them, he could not altogether conceal his distraction, and on each downward trip he was prepared to encounter an embarrassing surprise below.

At last he found time to check up on Robinson, who was crouched in his corner, head pressed against his knees. He had pushed his hard round hat up off his forehead. “Away you go,” said Karl, softly and decisively, “here's the money. If you hurry up, I can show you the shortest way.” “I can't go,” said Robinson, wiping his forehead with a tiny handkerchief, “I'll die here. You can't possibly imagine how ill I feel. Delamarche takes me to all of the fine restaurants, but I cannot stand such dainty fare; I say this to Delamarche every day.” “Well, you certainly can't stay here,” said Karl, “do remember where you are. If you're found here, you'll be punished and I'll lose my position. Is that what you want?” “I can't go,” said Robinson, “I'd rather jump down there,” and he pointed between the bars of the balustrade and down into the light shaft. “I can manage to sit here like this but can't stand up; I did give it a try while you were away.” “Then I'll get a cab and you will go to the hospital,” said Karl, giving Robinson's leg a little shake, for there were alarming indications that he could at any moment lapse into utter apathy. But no sooner had Robinson heard the word
hospital,
which seemed to awaken dreadful fears in him, than he began to weep loudly and to hold out his hands toward Karl, beseeching mercy.

“Be quiet,” said Karl, and after slapping Robinson's hands aside, he ran to the lift boy for whom he had substituted that night, asked him to return the favor, hurried back, and pulling the still-sobbing Robinson to his feet with all his might, whispered to him: “Robinson, if you want me to look after you, make an effort and walk just a little bit of the way. You see, I'll take you to my bed and you may stay there until you're better. You'll be amazed how soon you'll recover. But do behave sensibly, since the corridors are crowded, and my bed is in a dormitory. If anyone notices you, even if only barely, I won't be able to do anything more for you. And you must keep your eyes open; I can't carry you around like some deathly ill person.” “I certainly want to do everything you think is right,” said Robinson, “but you can't carry me all by yourself. Couldn't you get Renell to help?” “Renell isn't here,” said Karl. “Oh, of course,” said Robinson, “Renell is with Delamarche. It was, of course, those two who sent me to fetch you. I'm getting everything mixed up.” Taking advantage of this rambling statement and several other incomprehensible monologues, Karl pushed him forward, and in this way they arrived unscathed in a rather poorly lit corridor that led to the lift boys' dormitory. Just then a lift boy came running toward them, only to pass them at top speed. All such previous encounters had been quite harmless; between four and five o'clock was the quietest time, and Karl surely knew that unless he succeeded now in getting rid of Robinson, there could be no question of doing so at dawn amid the early rush.

A great fight, or some such event, was under way at the other end of the dormitory; one could hear rhythmical clapping, agitated foot tapping, and sporting cheers. In the beds on the side closest to the door one could see only a few resolute sleepers; most lay on their backs staring into space while every now and then one would jump out of bed, dressed or unclothed as he was, so as to gauge the situation at the other end of the dormitory. Almost unobserved, Karl led Robinson, who could now walk a little better, to Renell's bed, since it was near the door and fortunately unoccupied, whereas even from a distance he could see that his own bed was occupied by a strange boy, whom he didn't know at all and who was still sound asleep. Robinson no sooner felt a bed under him than he fell asleep at once, one leg still dangling from the bed. Karl pulled the blanket up over his face in the belief that he would not have to worry about Robinson, at least not for now, since he would certainly not wake up before six in the morning, and by then he himself would have returned and, possibly with the help of Renell, found a way to take Robinson away. It was only in exceptional cases that inspections of the dormitory were carried out by some of the higher authorities; some years ago the lift boys had managed to get rid of the once-customary general inspection, and so from that side too there was nothing to be feared.

When Karl reached his elevator again, he saw that both his elevator and that of his neighbor were ascending. Uneasily, he awaited an explanation. His own elevator came down first, and he could see emerging from the other the youth who had just run down the corridor. “Well, where have you been, Rossmann,” he asked. “Why did you go off? Why didn't you notify the authorities about your absence?” “But I told him he should fill in for me briefly,” Karl answered, and he pointed at the youth who was approaching from the neighboring lift. “I was his substitute for two hours at the busiest time of day.” “That's all very well,” said his interlocutor, “but it's really not good enough. Don't you realize that even such brief absences must be reported to the head waiter's office? After all, that's what you have a telephone for. I'd have been happy to fill in for you, but as you know, it isn't so easy. Just then there were new guests from the four-thirty express standing in front of both lifts. I couldn't run to your lift first and keep my own guests waiting, so I went up first in my own lift.” “Well?” Karl asked expectantly, since both youths had fallen silent. “Well,” said the youth from the neighboring lift, “the head waiter, who was passing by, sees people waiting at your lift who aren't being helped, and this makes his blood boil, and he asks me, who has just run over, where you are; I haven't a clue since you didn't say a word about where you were going, so he telephones the dormitory at once to tell them that another boy should come over right away.” “I ran into you in the corridor,” said the youth who had filled in for Karl. Karl nodded. “Of course,” insisted the other youth, “I said at once that you had asked me to fill in for you, but does he ever listen to such excuses? You probably don't know him yet. And we're supposed to tell you that you should go to his office at once. So don't stand around here, just run over to him. He may forgive you, you were actually only gone for two minutes. Feel free to use my name and to mention that you asked me to fill in for you. It'd be best not to mention your having filled in for me, and do take my advice on this, though there's no way I can get into trouble since I had permission to leave; all the same, it's not a good idea to talk about that sort of thing and confuse it with this entirely unrelated affair.” “It's the first time I ever left my post,” said Karl. “That's always the way, except nobody believes that is so,” said the youth, and ran to his lift, since there were people approaching. Karl's substitute was a boy of about fourteen who, evidently feeling pity for Karl, said: “We've had many cases in which people were forgiven such things. They usually get transferred to other jobs. So far as I know, only one person has been dismissed for anything of that sort. You must simply come up with a good excuse. Under no circumstances should you say that you were suddenly taken ill, since he would just laugh at you. It would be better if you said that one of the guests gave you an urgent message to take to another and that you no longer know who the first was and weren't able to find the second.” “Well,” said Karl, “it won't be that bad”; however, after everything he had heard, he no longer believed in a favorable outcome. And even if he were forgiven this dereliction of duty, Robinson, the very embodiment of his guilt, still lay in the dormitory, and it was only too probable, given the head waiter's choleric temperament, that they would not be content with a superficial investigation and would eventually succeed in tracking down Robinson. There was probably no express prohibition against taking strangers into the dormitory, but that was only because that which is inconceivable is never prohibited.