Amerika by Franz Kafka Page A

out his passport, and rather than saying a few words by way of introduction, simply laid it down open on the table. The chief bursar seemed to attach little significance to the passport, for he flicked it aside with two fingers, whereupon Karl put it away, as though the formality had been satisfactorily resolved. “If I may say so,” he began, “I believe that the stoker has been treated unjustly. There’s a certain Schubal on board, who’s been giving him trouble. He’s served in a most satisfactory manner on many ships—he can give you their names—is diligent, does his work in good faith, and so it’s rather difficult to understand how he could possibly be ill suited for a job on this particular ship, where the work is not so exceedingly difficult as, say, on merchant vessels. So those slanderous allegations are all that stands between him and the advancement and recognition that would otherwise be his due. I’ve addressed this matter only in the most general terms, he himself will inform you about his specific complaints.” Karl had directed his remarks at all of the gentlemen, since everybody was indeed listening, and it seemed much more likely that there should be a fair-minded person in their midst than that the fair-minded one should happen to be the chief bursar. Karl had, to be sure, neglected to mention that he had not known the stoker long. Also, he would have come up with an even better speech had he not been distracted by the red face of that gentleman with the little bamboo stick, and indeed it was only now from this new vantage point that he had first noticed him.
    â€œIt’s all true, word for word,” said the stoker, before anyone had asked him a question, let alone glanced in his direction. The impulsiveness of the stoker would have been a grave mistake if the gentleman with the decorations—who, as Karl now realized, was indeed the captain—had not already decided to hear out the stoker. The captain reached out his hand and called to the stoker: “Come here!” in a voice so firm that one could have almost hit it with a hammer. And now everything depended on how the stoker conducted himself, for Karl had no doubt about the justice of his case.
    Fortunately, it soon became clear that the stoker was a man who had seen a great deal of the world. With exemplary composure he reached into his little suitcase and on his first attempt pulled out a little bundle of papers and a notebook, and then, as if this were the most obvious course of action, completely ignoring the chief bursar, he went over to the captain and spread out his evidence on the windowsill. The chief bursar had no alternative but to join them. “That fellow is a notorious crank,” he said by way of explanation, “he spends more time in the bursar’s office than in the machine room and has driven even Schubal, who’s such a calm man, to despair. Now listen to me once and for all!” he said, addressing the stoker, “you’ve been far too intrusive. How often have you been justifiably thrown out of the disbursement rooms for continually making such demands, which always turn out to be completely unreasonable! How often have you run over from those rooms to the main cash office! How often were you politely informed that Schubal is your immediate superior and that you, as his subordinate, must learn to live with him! And you even come in here when the captain is present; you’re not ashamed to disturb him and dare to bring along this little fellow, whom you’ve taught to reel off your fatuous accusations and whom I’m now seeing for the first time on board.”
    Karl had to restrain himself from intervening. However, the captain had already approached them and said: “But let’s listen to what the man has to say. In any case I think Schubal has become much too independent of late, though this doesn’t necessarily speak in your