I

When Gregor Samsa woke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. He lay on his armor-hard back and, raising his head a little, saw his vaulted brown belly, divided by arched stiffenings, on whose height the bedcover, ready to slide off completely, could scarcely remain in place. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the rest of his girth, flickered helplessly before his eyes.

"What has happened to me?" he thought. It was no dream. His room, a proper human room though somewhat too small, lay quietly between the four familiar walls. Above the table, on which an unpacked sample collection of cloth goods was spread out—Samsa was a traveling salesman—hung the picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and placed in a pretty gilded frame. It depicted a lady, seated upright, wearing a fur hat and a fur boa, who lifted a heavy fur muff, into which her whole forearm had disappeared, toward the viewer.

Gregor's gaze then turned to the window, and the dreary weather—one could hear raindrops striking the window ledge—made him quite melancholy. "Would it not be better if I slept a little longer and forgot all this foolishness," he thought, but that was entirely impossible, for he was used to sleeping on his right side, yet in his present state could not bring himself into that position. However forcefully he threw himself onto his right side, he always rocked back into his supine position. He tried it perhaps a hundred times, closed his eyes so as not to see the twitching legs, and only desisted when he began to feel in his side a slight, dull pain such as he had never felt before.

"Oh God," he thought, "what a strenuous profession I have chosen! Day in, day out on the road. The business excitements are much greater than in the actual business at home, and besides I am burdened with this plague of traveling, the worries about train connections, the irregular, bad food, an ever-changing, never enduring, never cordial human intercourse. The devil take it all!" He felt a slight itch on top of his belly; slowly slid himself on his back closer to the bedpost so as to be able to lift his head better; found the itchy spot, which was covered with many tiny white dots whose meaning he could not judge; and wanted to touch the spot with one leg, but drew it back at once, for on contact a chill ran through him.

He slid back into his former position. "This early rising," he thought, "makes one quite idiotic. A man must have his sleep. Other traveling men live like harem women. If, for example, I return to the inn during the course of the morning to copy out the orders obtained, those gentlemen are only just sitting down to breakfast. I should try that with my chief; I would be thrown out on the spot. Who knows, though, whether that would not be very good for me. If I were not restrained on account of my parents, I would have given notice long ago; I would have stepped before the chief and told him my opinion from the bottom of my heart. He would have had to fall from his desk! It is also a strange way, to sit on the desk and speak down from on high to the employee, who moreover, because of the chief's hardness of hearing, must step quite close.

"Now, the hope is not entirely given up; once I have the money together to pay off my parents' debt to him—that should take another five or six years—I will do the thing without fail. Then the great cut will be made. For the present, however, I must get up, for my train leaves at five."

And he looked over at the alarm clock ticking on the chest. "Heavenly Father!" he thought. It was half past six, and the hands moved calmly onward; it was even past half past, it was already approaching a quarter to seven. Had the alarm not rung? One could see from the bed that it was correctly set for four o'clock; certainly it had rung. Yes, but was it possible to sleep quietly through that furniture-shaking ringing? Well, he had not slept quietly, but probably all the more soundly. But what should he do now? The next train left at seven; to catch it he would have had to hurry insanely, and the sample collection was not yet packed, and he himself felt by no means especially fresh and agile. And even if he caught the train, a thunderstorm from the chief was unavoidable, for the office servant had waited for him at the five o'clock train and had long since reported his absence. He was a creature of the chief's, without backbone or understanding. What if he called in sick? That would be extremely embarrassing and suspicious, for Gregor had not been ill even once during his five years of service. Certainly the chief would come with the health-insurance doctor, would reproach the parents on account of the lazy son, and cut off all objections by referring to the health-insurance doctor, for whom there are, of course, only perfectly healthy but work-shy people. And would he, incidentally, be so very wrong in this case? Gregor felt, apart from a sleepiness really superfluous after such long sleep, quite well, and even had a particularly strong hunger.

As he considered all this in the greatest haste, without being able to decide to leave the bed—just then the alarm struck a quarter to seven—there came a cautious knock at the door at the head of his bed. "Gregor," called a voice—it was his mother—"it is a quarter to seven. Did you not want to leave?" That gentle voice! Gregor was frightened when he heard his own answering voice, which was unmistakably his former one, but into which, as if from below, an irrepressible, painful squeaking had mingled, which left the words in their clarity only for the first moment, only to destroy them in the echo so that one did not know whether one had heard rightly. Gregor had wanted to answer at length and explain everything, but under these circumstances confined himself to saying: "Yes, yes, thank you, Mother, I am already getting up." Because of the wooden door, the change in Gregor's voice was probably not noticeable outside, for the mother calmed down at this explanation and shuffled away. But through the little conversation the other family members had been made aware that Gregor, contrary to expectation, was still at home, and already the father was knocking at one side door, weakly, but with his fist. "Gregor, Gregor," he called, "what is the matter?" And after a short while he admonished again in a deeper voice: "Gregor! Gregor!" At the other side door, however, the sister whispered softly: "Gregor? Are you not well? Do you need anything?" To both sides Gregor answered: "Already finished," and took pains, through the most careful enunciation and by inserting long pauses between the individual words, to remove all that was striking from his voice. The father also returned to his breakfast, but the sister whispered: "Gregor, open up, I beseech you." Gregor, however, had no thought of opening, but praised the caution acquired from traveling, of locking all doors at night even at home.

First he wanted to get up quietly and undisturbed, dress, and above all eat breakfast, and only then consider what further to do, for, he well noticed, in bed he would come to no sensible end with his thinking. He remembered having often felt in bed some slight pain, perhaps produced by awkward lying, which then on getting up proved to be pure imagination, and he was curious how his present fancies would gradually dissolve. That the change in his voice was nothing other than the precursor of a good cold, an occupational illness of traveling men, he did not in the least doubt.

Throwing off the coverlet was quite simple; he needed only to puff himself up a little and it fell off by itself. But further on it became difficult, particularly because he was so exceedingly broad. He would have needed arms and hands to raise himself; instead, however, he had only the many little legs, which were in constant, most varied motion and which, moreover, he could not control. If he wanted to bend one of them, the first thing was that it stretched itself; and if he finally managed with this leg to do what he wanted, meanwhile all the others worked, as if released, in the highest, painful excitement. "Only do not lie uselessly in bed," Gregor told himself.

First he wanted to get the lower part of his body out of bed, but this lower part, which he had not yet seen and of which he could form no proper conception, proved too heavy to move; it went so slowly; and when he finally, almost wild, with gathered force, pushed himself forward without care, he had chosen the wrong direction, struck hard against the lower bedpost, and the burning pain he felt taught him that just this lower part of his body was perhaps at the moment the most sensitive.

He therefore tried to get the upper body out of bed first, and carefully turned his head toward the edge of the bed. This also succeeded easily, and despite its breadth and weight the mass of his body finally followed the turning of the head. But when he held his head at last outside the bed in the free air, he grew afraid to advance further in this way, for if he finally let himself fall like that, a miracle would have to happen if the head were not injured. And he must on no account lose consciousness just now; rather would he remain in bed.

But as he lay again sighing after the same exertion as before, and again saw his little legs, if possible, fighting even worse against one another, and found no way to bring order and calm into this caprice, he told himself again that he could not possibly remain in bed and that it was most sensible to sacrifice everything, if only the smallest hope existed of thereby freeing himself from the bed. At the same time, however, he did not forget now and then to remind himself that calm and calmest reflection were far better than desperate resolutions. In such moments he directed his eyes as sharply as possible at the window, but unfortunately little confidence and cheer was to be gained from the sight of the morning mist, which even hid the other side of the narrow street. "Already seven o'clock," he said to himself at the renewed striking of the alarm, "already seven and still such fog." And for a while he lay quietly with faint breath, as if perhaps expecting from the complete stillness the return of the real and self-evident conditions.

Then, however, he said to himself: "Before it strikes a quarter past eight I must absolutely have left the bed completely. Besides, by then someone from the business will come to ask after me, for the business is opened before seven." And he now set about rocking the whole length of his body completely evenly out of the bed. If he let himself fall out of bed in this way, the head, which he wanted to lift sharply at the fall, would presumably remain uninjured. The back seemed hard; that would probably suffer nothing from the fall onto the carpet. His greatest misgiving was the consideration of the loud crash that must result and that would probably arouse behind all doors, if not terror, then at least anxieties. But that had to be risked.

When Gregor was already protruding half out of the bed—the new method was more a play than an exertion, he needed only to rock jerkily—it occurred to him how simple everything would be if someone helped him. Two strong people—he thought of his father and the maid—would have been entirely sufficient; they would only have had to slip their arms under his vaulted back, peel him out of bed like that, bend down with the load, and then merely have to tolerate carefully that he completed the swing on the floor, where then the little legs would hopefully acquire some sense. Now, quite apart from the fact that the doors were locked, should he really have called for help? Despite all distress he could not suppress a smile at this thought.

He was already so far that with stronger rocking he could scarcely maintain his balance, and very soon he had to decide definitively, for in five minutes it would be a quarter past eight—when the doorbell rang in the apartment. "That is someone from the business," he said to himself and froze almost, while his little legs danced all the more eagerly. For a moment everything remained still. "They are not opening," Gregor told himself, caught in some senseless hope. But then, of course, as always, the maid went with firm steps to the door and opened. Gregor needed only to hear the visitor's first greeting to know who it was—the chief clerk himself. Why was Gregor alone condemned to serve in a firm where at the slightest absence one immediately conceived the greatest suspicion? Were all employees without exception rogues, was there among them not one faithful, devoted person who, even if he had not used a few morning hours for the business, was driven mad by pangs of conscience and was simply unable to leave the bed? Did it really not suffice to send a junior apprentice to inquire—if this questioning was necessary at all—must the chief clerk himself come, and must the whole innocent family be shown thereby that the investigation of this suspicious matter could be entrusted only to the chief clerk's understanding? And more because of the agitation into which Gregor was thrown by these reflections than because of any real resolution, he swung himself with all his might out of the bed. There was a loud thud, but it was not an actual crash. The fall was somewhat cushioned by the carpet, also the back was more elastic than Gregor had thought, hence the not so conspicuous dull sound. Only he had not held his head carefully enough and had struck it; he turned it and rubbed it on the carpet out of annoyance and pain.

"Something fell in there," said the chief clerk in the adjoining room to the left. Gregor tried to imagine whether something similar might not also happen to the chief clerk some time, as today to him; one really had to admit the possibility of that. But as a rough answer to this question, the chief clerk now took a few determined steps in the adjoining room and let his patent-leather boots creak. From the adjoining room to the right the sister whispered, to make Gregor understand: "Gregor, the chief clerk is here." "I know," Gregor said to himself; but he did not dare raise his voice so loud that the sister could have heard it.

"Gregor," said now the father from the adjoining room to the left, "the gentleman chief clerk has come and inquires why you did not leave on the early train. We do not know what to tell him. Besides, he wishes to speak with you personally. So please open the door. He will have the kindness to excuse the disorder in the room." "Good morning, Mr. Samsa," the chief clerk called amiably in between. "He is not well," said the mother to the chief clerk, while the father was still speaking at the door, "he is not well, believe me, Mr. Chief Clerk. How else would Gregor miss a train! The boy has nothing in his head but the business. I am almost vexed that he never goes out evenings; now he was in town eight days, but every evening he was at home. There he sits with us at the table and reads the newspaper quietly or studies timetables. It is already a diversion for him when he occupies himself with fretwork. For example, in the course of two or three evenings he carved a little frame; you will be astonished how pretty it is; it hangs in there in the room; you will see it at once when Gregor opens. I am, incidentally, glad that you are here, Mr. Chief Clerk; we alone would not have brought Gregor to open the door; he is so stubborn; and certainly he is not well, despite his having denied it this morning." "I am coming at once," said Gregor slowly and deliberately and did not move, so as not to lose a word of the conversations. "Otherwise, gracious lady, I cannot explain it either," said the chief clerk, "hopefully it is nothing serious. Although I must say on the other hand that we men of business—as one will, unfortunately or fortunately—a slight indisposition we very often simply have to overcome for business reasons." "So may the chief clerk come in to you?" asked the impatient father and knocked again at the door. "No," said Gregor. In the adjoining room to the left an embarrassing silence ensued; in the adjoining room to the right the sister began to sob.

Why did the sister not go to the others? She had probably only just gotten up from bed and had not yet begun to dress at all. And why was she crying, then? Because he did not get up and did not let the chief clerk in, because he was in danger of losing his post and because then the chief would again pursue the parents with the old demands? Those were, for the present, surely needless worries. Gregor was still here and did not in the least think of leaving his family. At the moment he lay there on the carpet, and no one who had known his condition would in earnest have demanded that he let the chief clerk in. But because of this small incivility, for which a fitting excuse could easily be found later, Gregor could not well be dismissed at once. And it seemed to Gregor that it would be far more sensible to leave him now in peace, rather than disturb him with weeping and exhortation. But it was precisely the uncertainty that oppressed the others and excused their behavior.

"Mr. Samsa," the chief clerk now called with raised voice, "what is the matter? You barricade yourself in your room, answer only yes and no, cause your parents heavy, needless worry, and neglect—this only mentioned in passing—your business duties in a truly unheard-of manner. I speak here in the name of your parents and your chief and beg you most seriously for an immediate, clear explanation. I am astonished, I am astonished. I believed I knew you as a calm, reasonable man, and now you seem suddenly to want to begin parading with strange whims. The chief, it is true, hinted to me this morning a possible explanation for your absence—it concerned the collection of money entrusted to you recently—but I almost gave my word of honor that this explanation could not be correct. Now, however, I see here your incomprehensible obstinacy and lose all desire to stand up for you even in the slightest. And your position is by no means the firmest. I originally had the intention of saying all this to you in private, but since you let me waste my time here uselessly, I do not know why your honored parents should not also learn it. Your performance in the last period has thus been very unsatisfactory; it is true it is not the season to make special business, we recognize that; but a season to make no business at all does not exist, Mr. Samsa, must not exist."

"But Mr. Chief Clerk," cried Gregor beside himself and forgot everything else in his agitation, "I am opening at once, this very moment. A slight indisposition, a fit of dizziness, prevented me from getting up. I am still lying in bed now. But now I am already quite fresh again. Even now I am climbing out of bed. Only a little moment of patience! It is not going as well as I thought. But I am already well. How such a thing can overcome a person! Only last evening I was quite well, my parents know it, or rather, already last evening I had a slight premonition. One should have seen it in me. Why did I not report it in the business! But one always thinks one will overcome the illness without staying home. Mr. Chief Clerk! Spare my parents! For all the reproaches you now make there is no ground; indeed no word of it was said to me. You have perhaps not read the last orders I sent. Besides, I am traveling on the eight o'clock train; these few hours of rest have strengthened me. Do not delay, Mr. Chief Clerk; I shall be in the business myself directly, and have the kindness to say that and recommend me to the gentleman chief!"

And while Gregor burst out all this hastily and scarcely knew what he spoke, he had, lightly, probably owing to the practice already gained in bed, approached the chest and now tried to raise himself up at it. He actually wanted to open the door, actually to show himself and speak with the chief clerk; he was curious to learn what the others, who now demanded him so, would say at the sight of him. Would they be frightened, then Gregor had no more responsibility and could be calm. Would they, however, accept everything quietly, then he also had no reason to get agitated, and could, if he hurried, actually be at the station by eight. First he slipped several times off the smooth chest, but finally he gave himself a last swing and stood upright; he paid no attention at all to the pains in his lower belly, however much they burned. Then he let himself fall against the backrest of a nearby chair, at whose edges he held fast with his little legs. But thereby he had also gained mastery over himself and fell silent, for now he could listen to the chief clerk.

"Did you understand even a word?" the chief clerk asked the parents, "surely he is not making a fool of us?" "For God's sake," cried the mother already amid weeping, "he is perhaps seriously ill, and we are tormenting him. Grete! Grete!" she then shouted. "Mother?" called the sister from the other side. They communicated through Gregor's room. "You must go for the doctor at once. Gregor is ill. Quick, the doctor. Did you hear Gregor speak now?" "That was an animal's voice," said the chief clerk, remarkably quietly compared with the mother's screaming. "Anna! Anna!" the father called through the anteroom into the kitchen and clapped his hands, "fetch a locksmith at once!" And already the two girls ran with rustling skirts through the anteroom—how had the sister dressed so quickly?—and tore open the apartment door. One did not even hear the door slam; they had probably left it open, as is customary in apartments where a great misfortune has occurred.

Gregor, however, had become much calmer. One no longer understood his words, it is true, although they had seemed to him clear enough, clearer than before, probably owing to the ear's habituation. But nevertheless one now already believed that something was not quite right with him, and was ready to help him. The confidence and certainty with which the first orders had been given did him good. He felt himself again included in the human circle and hoped from both, from the doctor and from the locksmith, without really distinguishing them, for grand and surprising achievements. In order to get as clear a voice as possible for the approaching decisive discussions, he coughed a little, to be sure taking care to do so quite muffled, since possibly this sound too might not ring like human coughing, which he no longer dared to decide himself. In the adjoining room it had meanwhile become quite silent. Perhaps the parents sat with the chief clerk at the table and whispered, perhaps all leaned against the door and listened.

Gregor pushed himself slowly with the chair toward the door, let it go there, threw himself against the door, held himself upright on it—the soles of his little legs had a little adhesive—and rested there a moment from the exertion. But then he set about turning the key in the lock with his mouth. It seemed, unfortunately, that he had no real teeth—with what should he grasp the key?—but for that the jaws were certainly very strong, and with their help he actually set the key in motion and paid no attention to the fact that he was undoubtedly doing himself some injury, for a brown fluid came from his mouth, flowed over the key and dripped onto the floor. "Listen," said the chief clerk in the adjoining room, "he is turning the key." That was a great encouragement for Gregor; but all should have called to him, also the father and the mother: "Courage, Gregor," they should have called, "always at it, firmly against the lock!" And in the notion that all his efforts were followed with tension, he bit, with all the force he could muster, unconscious, into the key. According as the turning of the key progressed he danced around the lock, now held himself upright only with his mouth, and according to need hung on the key or pressed it down again with the whole weight of his body. The brighter sound of the lock finally snapping back aroused Gregor as if from a dream. Breathing a sigh of relief he said to himself: "So I did not need the locksmith," and laid his head on the handle to open the door completely.

Since he had to open the door in this way, it was already quite wide open, and he himself not yet visible. He first had to turn slowly around one door leaf, and very carefully, if he did not want to plump onto his back right before entering the room. He was still occupied with that difficult movement and had no time to attend to anything else, when he already heard the chief clerk utter a loud "Oh!"—it sounded like the wind rushing—and now he also saw him, how he, who was nearest the door, pressed his hand against his open mouth and slowly withdrew, as if an invisible, uniformly continuing force were driving him away. The mother—she stood here despite the presence of the chief clerk with hair still disheveled from the night, standing up stiffly—first looked at the father with folded hands, then took two steps toward Gregor and sank down amid her skirts spreading around her, her face quite lost, sunk to her breast. The father balled his fist with hostile expression, as if he would thrust Gregor back into his room, then looked uncertainly about the living room, shaded his eyes with his hands and wept, so that his mighty chest shook.

Gregor now did not step into the room at all, but leaned from inside against the bolted door leaf, so that only half his body and above it his sideways inclined head were visible, with which he peered over at the others. In the meantime it had become much brighter; clearly stood on the other side of the street a section of the opposite, endless, gray-black house—it was a hospital—with its windows hard breaking through the front in regular rows; the rain still fell, but only in large, individually visible drops that seemed to be thrown down onto the earth one by one. The breakfast dishes stood in excessive number on the table, for for the father breakfast was the most important meal of the day, which he drew out for hours with the reading of various newspapers. Right on the opposite wall hung a photograph of Gregor from his military time, which depicted him as a lieutenant, how he, hand on sword, smiling carelessly, demanded respect for his bearing and uniform. The door to the anteroom was open, and since the apartment door was also open, one looked out onto the landing of the apartment and the beginning of the descending staircase.

"Well," said Gregor, well aware that he was the only one who had kept his composure, "I will dress at once, pack the samples and leave. Do you want, do you want to let me leave? Now, Mr. Chief Clerk, you see, I am not stubborn and I work gladly; traveling is troublesome, but I could not live without traveling. Where are you going, Mr. Chief Clerk? To the business? Yes? Will you report everything truthfully? One can at the moment be incapable of working, but then is precisely the right time to remember former achievements and consider that later, after removal of the obstacle, one will certainly work all the more diligently and collectedly. I am, after all, so much obliged to the gentleman chief, you know that quite well. On the other hand I have the care for my parents and the sister. I am in a fix, but I will work myself out again. But do not make it more difficult for me than it already is. Hold my side in the business! One does not like the traveling man, I know. One thinks he earns a devil's money and leads a fine life besides. One simply has no special occasion to think this prejudice through better. You, however, Mr. Chief Clerk, you have a better overview of the circumstances than the rest of the personnel, yes even, quite confidentially said, a better overview than the gentleman chief himself, who in his capacity as employer can easily be misled in his judgment to the disadvantage of an employee. You also know very well that the traveling man, who is almost the whole year outside the business, can so easily become a victim of gossip, coincidences and groundless complaints, against which it is quite impossible for him to defend himself, since he mostly learns nothing of them at all and only when he has finished a journey exhausted, at home feels the bad consequences, no longer to be traced to their causes, on his own body. Mr. Chief Clerk, do not go away without having said a word to me that shows me you grant me right at least to a small part!"

But the chief clerk had already turned away at Gregor's first words, and only over his twitching shoulder he looked back at Gregor with pursed lips. And during Gregor's speech he stood not a moment still, but withdrew, without taking his eyes off Gregor, toward the door, but quite gradually, as if there were a secret prohibition against leaving the room. Already he was in the anteroom, and after the sudden movement with which he drew his foot for the last time out of the living room, one could have believed he had just burned the sole of his foot. In the anteroom, however, he stretched his right hand far from him toward the staircase, as if an almost otherworldly deliverance awaited him there.

Gregor saw that in this mood he must on no account let the chief clerk go away, if his position in the business was not to be endangered to the utmost. The parents did not understand all this so well; in the long years they had formed the conviction that Gregor was provided for life in this business, and besides now had so much to do with the immediate worries that all foresight had deserted them. But Gregor had this foresight. The chief clerk must be held, calmed, convinced and finally won; the future of Gregor and his family depended on it! If only the sister had been here! She was clever; she had already wept when Gregor still lay quietly on his back. And certainly the chief clerk, this friend of ladies, would have let himself be guided by her; she would have closed the apartment door and talked the fright out of him in the anteroom. But the sister was just not there, Gregor himself had to act. And without thinking that he did not yet know his present abilities to move at all, without thinking either that his speech had possibly—nay probably—again not been understood, he left the door leaf; pushed himself through the opening; wanted to go to the chief clerk, who already held himself ridiculously with both hands at the railing of the landing; but fell at once, seeking a hold, with a small cry onto his many little legs. Scarcely had this happened when he felt for the first time this morning a physical well-being; the little legs had firm ground under them; they obeyed completely, as he noticed to his joy; even strove to carry him off, wherever he wanted; and already he believed the final amelioration of all suffering was immediately at hand. But at the same moment, as he lay there rocking with suppressed motion, not far from his mother, directly opposite her on the floor, she, who had seemed so entirely lost in herself, suddenly sprang up, arms outstretched, fingers spread, cried: "Help, for God's sake, help!", held her head inclined as if she wanted to see Gregor better, but ran, contradictorily, senselessly backward; had forgotten that behind her stood the laid table; sat down, when she had reached it, as in absentmindedness, hastily on it, and seemed not to notice at all that beside her from the overturned large pot the coffee poured in full stream onto the carpet.

"Mother, Mother," said Gregor quietly and looked up at her. The chief clerk had for a moment quite slipped his mind; but he could not refrain, at the sight of the flowing coffee, from snapping several times with his jaws into empty air. At that the mother screamed anew, fled from the table and fell into the arms of the father hurrying toward her. But Gregor now had no time for his parents; the chief clerk was already on the stairs; chin on the railing, he still looked back for the last time. Gregor took a run to catch him as surely as possible; the chief clerk must have suspected something, for he made a leap over several steps and disappeared; "Huh!" he still cried, it sounded through the whole stairwell. Unfortunately this flight of the chief clerk now also completely confused the father, who had hitherto been relatively composed, for instead of himself running after the chief clerk or at least not hindering Gregor in the pursuit, he seized with his right hand the chief clerk's cane, which the latter had left on a chair with hat and overcoat, took a large newspaper from the table with his left, and set about driving Gregor back into his room by waving the cane and the newspaper, stamping his feet. No entreaty of Gregor helped, no entreaty was understood either; however humbly he turned his head, the father only stamped harder. Over there the mother, despite the cool weather, had torn open a window, and leaning out pressed her face far outside the window into her hands. Between alley and stairwell arose a strong draft, the window curtains flew up, the newspapers on the table rustled, individual sheets wafted over the floor. Relentlessly the father pressed and uttered hissing sounds like a savage. Now Gregor had no practice at all in going backward, it went really very slowly. If Gregor had only been allowed to turn around, he would have been in his room at once, but he feared making the father impatient by the time-consuming turning, and every moment the cane in the father's hand threatened him with a deadly blow on the back or head. Finally, however, Gregor had no choice, for he noticed with horror that he did not even know how to keep his direction in going backward; and so he began, with constant anxious sidelong glances at the father, to turn around as fast as possible, in reality, however, still very slowly. Perhaps the father noticed his good will, for he did not disturb him therein, but even from afar directed the turning movement now and then with the tip of his cane. If only it had not been for that unbearable hissing of the father! Gregor lost his head completely over it. He was already almost turned around, when, always listening to this hissing, he even erred and turned back a bit. But when he was at last happily with his head before the door opening, it showed that his body was too broad to get through without more ado. It naturally did not occur to the father in his present state to open the other door leaf to make a sufficient passage for Gregor. His fixed idea was merely that Gregor must get into his room as fast as possible. Never would he have permitted the cumbersome preparations Gregor needed to raise himself and perhaps in this way get through the door. Perhaps he now drove Gregor forward with particular noise, as if there were no obstacle; behind Gregor it already sounded no longer like the voice of merely a single father; now there was really no joking, and Gregor squeezed—come what may—into the door. One side of his body lifted, he lay askew in the door opening, one flank quite raw from rubbing, on the white door remained ugly spots, soon he stuck fast and could not have moved alone, the little legs on one side hung trembling in the air above, those on the other were painfully pressed to the floor—then the father gave him from behind a truly liberating strong push, and he flew, bleeding heavily, far into his room. The door was slammed shut with the cane, then at last it was quiet.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”