Franz
Kafka
In the Penal Colony
(1919)
This translation by Ian Johnston of
Malaspina University-College, Nanaimo, BC, has certain copyright
restrictions. For information please use the following link: Copyright.
For comments or question please contact Ian
Johnston. For more links to Kafka e-texts in English click here]
[This text was last revised on February 19, 2007]
Franz Kafka
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 Traveller had responded to the invitation of the Commandant
only out of politeness, when he had been asked to attend the execution of a
soldier condemned for disobeying and insulting his superior. 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 Traveller there were present only the Condemned,
a vacant-looking man with a broad mouth and dilapidated hair and face, and the
Soldier, who held the heavy chain to which were connected the small chains
which bound the Condemned Man by his feet and wrist bones, as well as by his
neck, and which were also linked to each other by connecting chains. The
Condemned Man, incidentally, had an expression of such dog-like resignation
that it looked as if one could set him free to roam around the slopes and would
only have to whistle at the start of the execution for him to return.
The Traveller had
little interest in the apparatus and walked back and forth behind the Condemned
Man, almost visibly indifferent, while the Officer took care of the final
preparations. Sometimes he crawled under the apparatus, which was built deep
into the earth, and sometimes he climbed up a ladder to inspect the upper
parts. These were jobs which 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 because 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 lady’s
handkerchiefs under the collar of his uniform at the back. “These uniforms are
really too heavy for the tropics,” the Traveller said, instead of asking some
questions about the apparatus, as the Officer had expected. “That’s true,” said
the Officer. He washed the oil and grease from his dirty hands in a bucket of
water standing ready, “But they mean home, and we don’t want to lose our
homeland.” “Now, have a look at this apparatus,” he added immediately, drying
his hands with a towel and 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 Traveller nodded and followed the Officer. The latter
tried to protect himself against all eventualities by saying, “Of course,
breakdowns do happen. I really hope none will occur today, but we must be
prepared for 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. He pulled out a chair from a pile of cane chairs and offered it to the
Traveller. 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 Traveller made an vague gesture
with his hand. That was good enough for the Officer, for now he could explain
the apparatus himself. “This apparatus,” he said, grasping a connecting rod and
leaning against it, “is our previous Commandant’s invention. I also worked with
him on the very first tests and took part in all the work right up to its
completion. However, the credit for the invention belongs entirely to him
alone. Have you heard of our previous Commandant? No? Well, I’m not claiming
too much when I say that the organization of the entire penal colony is his
work. We, his friends, already knew at the time of his death that the
administration of the colony was so self-contained that even if his successor
had a thousand new plans in mind, he would not be able to alter anything of the
old plan, at least not for several years. And our prediction has held. The New
Commandant has had to recognize that. It’s a shame that you didn’t know the
previous Commandant!” “However,” the Officer said, interrupting himself, “I’m
chattering, and his apparatus stands here in front of us. As you see, it
consists of three parts. With the passage of time certain popular names have
been developed for each of these parts. The one underneath is called the Bed,
the upper one is called the Inscriber, and here in the middle, this moving part
is called the Harrow.” “The Harrow?” the Traveller asked. He had not been
listening with full attention. The sun was excessively strong, trapped in the
shadowless valley, and one could hardly collect one’s thoughts. So the Officer
appeared to him all the more admirable in his tight tunic weighed down with
epaulettes and festooned with braid, ready to go on parade, as he explained the
matter so eagerly and, 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 Traveller. He had wound the Condemned Man’s chain around both
his wrists and was supporting himself with his hand on his weapon, letting his
head hang backward, not bothering about anything. The Traveller was not
surprised at that, for the Officer spoke French, and clearly neither the
Soldier nor the Condemned Man understood the language. So it was 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 Traveller interrupted the Officer, the Condemned Man looked
at the Traveller, too, just as the Officer was doing.
“Yes, the Harrow,”
said the Officer. “The name fits. The needles are arranged as in a harrow, and
the whole thing is driven like a harrow, although it stays in one place and is,
in principle, much more artistic. 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 go to work. That way you’ll be able to follow it
better. Also a sprocket in the Inscriber is excessively worn. It really
squeaks. When it’s in motion one can hardly make oneself understood. Unfortunately
replacement parts are difficult to come by in this place. So, here is the Bed,
as I said. The whole thing is completely covered with a layer of cotton wool,
the purpose of which you’ll find out in a moment. The condemned man is laid out
on his stomach on 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 Traveller and bent down. “Yes, it is,” said the
Officer smiling, “feel it for yourself.” He took the Traveller’s hand and led
him over to the Bed. “It’s a specially prepared cotton wool. That’s why it looks
so unrecognizable. I’ll get around to mentioning its purpose in a moment.” The
Traveller was already being won over a little to the apparatus. With his hand
over his eyes to protect them from the sun, he looked up at the height of the
apparatus. It was a massive construction. The Bed and the Inscriber were the
same size and looked like two dark chests. The Inscriber was set about two
metres above the Bed, and the two were joined together at the corners by four
brass rods, which almost reflected rays from the sun. The Harrow hung between
the chests on a band of steel.
The Officer had
hardly noticed the earlier indifference of the Traveller, but he did have a
sense now of how the latter’s interest was being aroused now. So he paused in
his explanation in order to allow the Traveller time to observe the apparatus
undisturbed. The Condemned Man imitated the Traveller, but since he could not
put his hand over his eyes, he blinked upward with his eyes uncovered.
“So now the man is
lying down,” said the Traveller. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his
legs.
“Yes,” said the
Officer. 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 Traveller asked. “You don’t even know that?” asked the Officer
in astonishment and bit his lip. “Forgive me if my explanations are perhaps
confused. I really do beg your pardon. Previously it was the Commandant’s habit
to provide such explanations. But the New Commandant has excused himself from
this honourable duty. However, the fact that with such an eminent visitor”—the
Traveller tried to deflect the honour with both hands, but the Officer insisted
on the expression—“that with such an eminent visitor he didn’t even once make
him aware of the form of our sentencing is yet again something new, which. . .
.” He had a curse on his lips, but controlled himself and said merely: “I was
not informed about it. It’s not my fault. In any case, I am certainly the
person best able to explain our style of sentencing, for here I am carrying”—he
patted his breast pocket—“the relevant diagrams drawn by the previous
Commandant.”
“Diagrams made by
the Commandant himself?” asked the Traveller. “Then was he in his own person a
combination of everything? Was he soldier, judge, engineer, chemist, and
draftsman?”
“He was indeed,”
said the Officer, nodding his head with a fixed and thoughtful expression. Then
he looked at his hands, examining them. They didn’t seem to him clean enough to
handle the diagrams. So he went to the bucket and washed them again. Then he
pulled out a small leather folder and said, “Our sentence does not sound
severe. The law which a condemned man has violated is inscribed on his body
with the Harrow. This Condemned Man, for example,” and the Officer pointed to
the man, “will have inscribed on his body, ‘Honour your superiors!’”
The Traveller had a
quick look at the man. When the Officer was pointing at him, the man kept his head
down and appeared to be directing all his energy into listening in order to
learn something. But the movements of his pouting lips, which were pressed
close together, showed clearly that he was incapable of understanding anything.
The Traveller wanted to raise various questions, but after looking at the
Condemned Man he merely asked, “Does he know his sentence?” “No,” said the
Officer. He wished to get on with his explanation right away, but the Traveller
interrupted him: “He doesn’t know his own sentence?” “No,” said the Officer
once more. He then paused for a moment, as if he was requesting from the
Traveller a more detailed reason for his question, and said, “It would be
useless to give him that information. He experiences it on his own body.” The Traveller
really wanted to keep quiet at this point, but he felt how the Condemned Man
was gazing at him—he seemed to be asking whether he could approve of the
process the Officer had described. So the Traveller, who had up to this point
been leaning back, bent forward again and kept up his questions, “But does he
nonetheless have some general idea that he’s been condemned?” “Not that
either,” said the Officer, and he smiled at the Traveller, as if he was still
waiting for some strange revelations from him. “No?” said the Traveller, wiping
his forehead, “So the man does not yet know even at this point how his defence
was received?” “He has had no opportunity to defend himself,” said the Officer
and looked away, as if he was talking to himself and did not wish to embarrass
the Traveller with an explanation of matters so self-evident to him. “But he
must have had a chance to defend himself,” said the Traveller and stood up from
his chair.
The Officer
recognized that he was in danger of having his explanation of the apparatus
held up for a long time. So he went to the Traveller, took him by the arm,
pointed with his hand at the Condemned Man, who stood there stiffly now that
the attention was so clearly directed at him—the Soldier was also pulling on
his chain—and said, “The matter stands like this. Here in the penal colony I
have been appointed judge. In spite of my youth. For I stood at the side of our
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
Traveller to sit down in his chair, moved to the apparatus again, and started,
“As you see, the shape of the Harrow corresponds to the shape of a man. This is
the harrow for the upper body, and here are the harrows for the legs. This
small cutter is the only one designated for the head. Is that clear to you?” He
leaned forward to the Traveller in a friendly way, ready to give the most
comprehensive explanation.
The Traveller
looked at the Harrow with a wrinkled frown. The information about the judicial
procedures had not satisfied him. However, he had to tell himself that here it
was a matter of a penal colony, that in this place special regulations were
necessary, and that one had to give precedence to military measures right down
to the last detail. Beyond that, however, he had some hopes in the New
Commandant, who obviously, although slowly, was intending to introduce a new
procedure which the limited understanding of this Officer could not accept.
Following this train of thought, the Traveller asked, “Will the Commandant be
present at the execution?” “That is not certain,” said the Officer,
embarrassingly affected by the sudden question, and his friendly expression
made a grimace. “That 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 Traveller stood
slowly, moved up, and bent over the Harrow. “You see,” the Officer said, “two
sorts of needles in a multiple arrangement. Each long needle has a short one
next to it. The long one inscribes, and the short one squirts water out to wash
away the blood and keep the inscription always clear. The bloody water is then
channeled here 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 had to 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 Traveller raised his head and,
feeling behind him with his hand, wanted to return to his chair. Then he saw to
his horror that the Condemned Man had also, like him, accepted the Officer’s
invitation to inspect the arrangement of the Harrow up close. He had pulled the
sleeping Soldier holding the chain a little forward and was also bending over
the glass. One could see how with a confused gaze he also was looking for what
the two gentlemen had just observed, but how he didn’t succeed because he
lacked the explanation. He leaned forward this way and that. He kept running
his eyes over the glass again and again. The Traveller wanted to push him back,
for what he was doing was probably punishable. But the Officer held the
Traveller firmly with one hand, and with the other he took a lump of earth from
the wall and threw it at the Soldier. The latter opened his eyes with a start,
saw what the Condemned Man had dared to do, let his weapon fall, braced his
heels in the earth, and 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 Traveller 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 Traveller, as the Officer turned back to him again. “Except
the most important thing,” said the latter. He grabbed the Traveller 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 you them from this distance. Then
you’ll be able to see it all well.” He showed the first sheet. The Traveller
would have been happy to say something appreciative, but all he saw was a
labyrinthine series of lines, crisscrossing each other in all sort of ways.
These covered the paper so thickly that only with difficulty could one make out
the white spaces in between. “Read it,” said the Officer. “I can’t,” said the
Traveller. “But it’s clear,” said the Officer.” “It’s very elaborate,” said the
Traveller evasively, “but I can’t decipher it.” “Yes,” said the Officer,
smiling and putting the folder back again, “it’s not calligraphy for school
children. One has to read it a long time. You, too, 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 marvellous. 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 Traveller, 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 Traveller’s ear, “Do you understand
the process? The Harrow is starting to write. When it’s finished with the first
part of the script on the man’s back, the layer of cotton wool rolls and turns
the body slowly onto its side to give the Harrow a new area. Meanwhile those
parts lacerated by the inscription are lying on the cotton wool which, because
it has been specially treated, immediately stops the bleeding and prepares the
script for a further deepening. Here, as the body continues to rotate, prongs
on the edge of the Harrow then pull the cotton wool from the wounds, throw it
into the pit, and the Harrow goes to work again. In this way it keeps making
the inscription deeper for twelve hours. For the first six hours the condemned
man goes on living almost as before. He suffers nothing but pain. After two
hours, the felt is removed, for at that point the man has no more energy for
screaming. Here at the head of the Bed warm rice pudding is put in this
electrically heated bowl. From this the man, if he feels like it, can help
himself to what he can lap up with his tongue. No one passes up this
opportunity. I don’t know of a single one, and I have had a lot of experience.
He first loses his pleasure in eating around the sixth hour. I usually kneel
down at this point and observe the phenomenon. The man rarely swallows the last
bit. He 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 all of
him out and throws him into the pit, where he splashes down into the bloody
water and cotton wool. Then the judgment is over, and we, the Soldier and I,
quickly bury him.”
The Traveller had
leaned his ear towards the Officer and, with his hands in his coat pockets, was
observing the machine at work. The Condemned Man was also watching, but without
understanding. He bent forward a little and followed the moving needles, as the
Soldier, after a signal from the Officer, cut through 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 Traveller was standing. The Officer
kept looking at the Traveller from the side, without taking his eyes off him,
as if he was trying to read from his face the impression he was getting of the execution,
which he had now explained to him, at least superficially.
The strap meant to
hold the wrist ripped off. The Soldier probably had pulled on it too hard. The
Soldier showed the Officer the torn-off piece of strap, wanting him to help. So
the Officer went over to him and said, with his face turned towards the
Traveller, “The machine is very complicated. Now and then something has to tear
or break. One shouldn’t let that detract from one’s overall opinion. Anyway, we
have an immediate replacement for the strap. I’ll use a chain—even though that
will affect the sensitivity of the 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 specially set aside exclusively 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 Traveller
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 in response to that, but could only add that he
did not understand what he was doing on this occasion, for the purpose of his
traveling was merely to observe and not to alter other people’s judicial systems
in any way. True, at this point the way things were turning out it was very
tempting. The injustice of the process and the inhumanity of the execution were
beyond doubt. No one could assume that the Traveller was acting out of any
sense of his own self-interest, for the Condemned Man was a stranger to him,
not a countryman and not someone who invited sympathy in any way. The Traveller
himself had letters of reference from high officials and had been welcomed here
with great courtesy. The fact that he had been invited to this execution even
seemed to indicate that people were asking for his judgment of this 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 Traveller
heard a cry of rage from the Officer. He had just shoved the stub of felt in
the Condemned Man’s mouth, not without difficulty, when the Condemned Man,
overcome by an irresistible nausea, shut his eyes and threw up. The Officer
quickly yanked him up off the stump and wanted to turn his head aside toward
the pit. But it was too late. The vomit was already flowing down onto the
machine. “This is all the Commandant’s fault!” cried the Officer and mindlessly
rattled the brass rods at the front. “My machine’s as filthy as a pigsty.” With
trembling hands he indicated to the Traveller what had happened. “Haven’t I
spent hours trying to make the Commandant understand that a day before the
execution there should be no more food served. But the new, lenient
administration has a different opinion. Before the man is led away, the
Commandant’s women cram sugary things down his throat. His whole life he’s fed
himself on stinking fish, and now he has to eat sweets! But that would be all
right—I’d have no objections—but why don’t they get a new felt, the way I’ve
been asking him for three months now? How can anyone take this felt into his
mouth without feeling disgusted—something that more than a hundred man have sucked
and bitten on it as they were dying?”
The Condemned Man
had laid his head down and appeared peaceful. The Soldier was busy cleaning up
the machine with the Condemned Man’s shirt. The Officer went up to the
Traveller, who, feeling some premonition, took a step backwards. But the
Officer grasped him by the hand and pulled him aside. “I want to speak a few
words to you in confidence,” he said. “May I do that?” “Of course,” said the
Traveller and listened with his eyes lowered.
“This process and
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 people 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 are already taking place in the Commandant’s headquarters, to which
I am not invited. Even your visit today seems to me typical of the whole
situation. People are cowards and send you out—a foreigner. You should have
seen the executions in earlier days! The entire valley was overflowing with
people, even a day before the execution. They all came merely to watch. Early
in the morning the Commandant appeared with his women. Fanfares woke up the
entire campsite. I delivered the news that everything was ready. The whole
society—and every high official had to attend—arranged itself around the
machine. This pile of cane chairs is a sorry left over from that time. The
machine was freshly cleaned and glowed. For almost every execution I had new
replacement parts. In front of hundreds of eyes—all the spectators stood on tip
toe right up to the hills there—the condemned man was laid down under the
Harrow by the Commandant himself. What nowadays has to be done by a common
soldier was then my work as the senior judge, and it was an honour for me. And
then the execution began! No discordant note disturbed the work of the machine.
Many people did not look any more at all, but lay down with closed eyes in the
sand. They all knew: now justice was being carried out. In the silence people
heard nothing but the groans of the condemned man, muffled by the felt. These
days the machine no longer manages to squeeze 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 any more. Well, then came the sixth hour! It was impossible to
grant all the requests people made to be allowed to watch from up close. The
Commandant, in his wisdom, arranged that the children should be taken care of
before all the rest. Naturally, I was always allowed to stand close by, because
of my official position. Often I crouched down there with two small children in
my arms, on my right and left. How we all took in the expression of transfiguration
on the martyred face! How we held our cheeks in the glow of this justice,
finally attained and already passing away! What times we had, my friend!” The
Officer had obviously forgotten who was standing in front of him. He had put
his arm around the Traveller and laid his head on his shoulder. The Traveller
was extremely embarrassed. Impatiently he looked away over the Officer’s head.
The Soldier had ended his task of cleaning and had just shaken some rice
pudding into the bowl from a tin. No sooner had the Condemned Man, who seemed
to have fully recovered already, noticed this than his tongue began to lick at
the pudding. The Soldier kept pushing him away, for the pudding was probably
meant for a later time, but in any case it was not proper for the Soldier to
reach in and grab some food with his dirty hands and eat it in front of the
famished Condemned Man.
The Officer quickly
collected himself. “I didn’t want to upset you in any way,” he said. “I know it
is impossible to make someone understand those days now. Besides, the machine
still works and operates on its own. It operates on its own even when it is
standing alone in this valley. And at the end, the body still keeps falling in
that incredibly soft flight into the pit, even if hundreds of people are not
gathered like flies around the hole the way they used to be. Back then we had
to erect a strong railing around the pit. It was pulled out long ago.”
The Traveller
wanted to turn his face away from the Officer and looked aimlessly around him.
The Officer thought he was looking at the wasteland of the valley. So he
grabbed his hands, turned him around in order to catch his gaze, and asked, “Do
you see the shame of it?”
But the Traveller
said nothing. The Officer left him alone for a while. With his legs apart and
his hands on his hips, the Officer stood still and looked at the ground. Then
he smiled at the Traveller cheerfully and said, “Yesterday I was nearby when
the Commandant invited you. I heard the invitation. I know the Commandant. I
understood right away what he intended with his invitation. Although his power
might be sufficiently great to take action against me, he doesn’t yet dare to.
But my guess is that with you he is exposing me to the judgment of a respected
foreigner. He calculates things with care. You are now in your second day on
the island. You didn’t know the Old Commandant and his way of thinking. You are
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
women will sit around in a circle and perk up their ears. You will say
something like, ‘Among us the judicial procedures are different,’ or ‘With us
the accused is questioned before the verdict,’ or ‘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 women, how they stream after him. I hear
his voice—the women call it a thunder voice. And now he’s speaking: ‘A great
Western explorer who has been commissioned to inspect judicial procedures in
all countries has just said that our process based on old customs is inhuman.
After 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 women. You want to attract attention. You want to cry
out. But a lady’s hand is covering your mouth, and I and the Old Commandant’s
work are lost.”
The Traveller had
to suppress a smile. So the work which he had considered so difficult was easy.
He said evasively, “You’re exaggerating my influence. The Commandant has read
my letters of recommendation. He knows that I am no expert in judicial
processes. If I were to express an opinion, it would be that of a lay person,
no more significant than the opinion of anyone else, and in any case far less
significant than the opinion of the Commandant, who, as I understand it, has
very extensive powers in this penal colony. If his views of this procedure are
as definite as you think they are, then I’m afraid the time has 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 Traveller, without
looking into his face, but gazing at parts of his jacket, and said more gently
than before: “You don’t know the Commandant. Where he and all of us are
concerned you are—forgive the expression—to a certain extent innocent. Your
influence, believe me, cannot be overestimated. In fact, I was blissfully happy
when I heard that you were to be present at the execution by yourself. This
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 Traveller did
not let him go on talking. “How can I do that?” he cried. “It’s totally
impossible. I can help you as little as I can harm you.”
“You could do it,”
said the Officer. With some apprehension the Traveller observed that the
Officer was clenching his fists. “You could do it,” repeated the Officer, even
more emphatically. “I have a plan which must succeed. You think your influence
is insufficient. I know it will be enough. But assuming you’re right, doesn’t
saving this procedure require one to try everything, 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 women in the Commandant’s box.
With frequent upward glances he reassures himself that you are there. After
various trivial and ridiculous agenda items designed only for the
spectators—mostly harbour construction, always harbour 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 honour 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 Traveller by both arms and looked at him, breathing heavily
into his face. He had yelled the last sentences so loudly that even the Soldier
and the Condemned Man were paying attention. Although they couldn’t understand
a thing, they stopped eating and looked over at the Traveller, still chewing.
From the very start
the Traveller had had no doubts about the answer he must give. He had experienced
too much in his life to be able to waver here. Basically he was honest and
unafraid. Still, with the Soldier and the Condemned Man looking at him, he
hesitated a moment. But finally he said, as he had to, “No.” The Officer’s eyes
blinked several times, but he did not take his eyes off the Traveller. “Would
you like an explanation,” asked the Traveller. The Officer nodded dumbly. “I am
opposed to this procedure,” said the Traveller. “Even before you took me into
your confidence—and, of course, I will never abuse your confidence under any
circumstances—I was already thinking about whether I was entitled to intervene
against this procedure and whether my intervention could have 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 was checking
that everything was in order. The Soldier and the Condemned Man seemed to have
made friends with each other. The Condemned Man was making signs to the
Soldier, although, given the tight straps on him, this was difficult for him to
do. The Soldier was leaning into him. The Condemned Man whispered something to
him, and the Soldier nodded.
The Traveller went
over to the Officer and said, “You don’t yet know what I’ll do. Yes, I will
tell the Commandant my opinion of the procedure—not in a meeting, but in
private. In addition, I won’t stay here long enough to be able to get called in
to some meeting or other. Early tomorrow morning I leave, or at least I go on
board ship.”
It did not look as
if the Officer had been listening. “So the process has not convinced you,” he
said to himself 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 Traveller with bright eyes
which contained some sort of demand, some appeal for participation. “Time for
what?” asked the Traveller uneasily. But there was no answer.
“You are free,” the
Officer told the Condemned Man in his own language. At first the man did not
believe him. “You are free now,” said the Officer. For the first time the face
of the Condemned Man showed signs of real life. Was it the truth? Was it only
the Officer’s mood, which could change? Had the foreign Traveller brought him a
reprieve? What was it? That is what the man’s face seemed to be asking. But not
for long. Whatever the case might be, if he could he wanted to be truly free,
and he began to shake back and forth, as much as the Harrow permitted.
“You’re tearing my
straps,” cried the Officer. “Be still! We’ll undo them right away.” And, giving
a signal to the Soldier, he set to work with him. The Condemned Man said
nothing and smiled slightly to himself. At times he turned his face to the
Officer on the left and at times to the Soldier on the right, without ignoring
the Traveller.
“Pull him out,” the
Officer ordered the Soldier. This process required a certain amount of care
because of the Harrow. The Condemned Man already had a few small wounds on his
back, thanks to his own impatience.
From this point on,
however, the Officer paid any more attention to him. He went up to the
Traveller, pulled out the small leather folder once more, leafed through it,
finally found the sheet he was looking for, and showed it to the Traveller.
“Read that,” he said. “I can’t,” said the Traveller. “I’ve already told you I
can’t read these pages.” “But take a close look at the page,” said the Officer
and moved up right next to the Traveller in order to read with him. When that
didn’t help, he raised his little finger high up over the paper, as if the page
must not be touched under any circumstances, so that using this he might make the
task of reading easier for the Traveller. The Traveller also made an effort so
that at least he could satisfy the Officer, but it was impossible for him. 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 Traveller bent so low over the paper that the Officer, afraid
that he might touch it, moved it further away. The Traveller didn’t say
anything more, but it was clear that he was still unable to read anything. “‘Be
just!’ it says,” the Officer remarked once again. “That could be,” said the
Traveller. “I do believe that’s written there.” “Good,” said the Officer, at
least partially satisfied. He climbed up the ladder, holding the paper. With
great care he set the page in the Inscriber and appeared to rotate the gear
mechanism completely around. This was very tiring work. It must have required
him to deal with extremely small wheels. He had to inspect the gears so closely
that sometimes the Officer’s head disappeared completely into the Inscriber.
The Traveller
followed this work from below without looking away. His neck grew stiff, and
his eyes found the sunlight pouring down from the sky painful. The Soldier and
the Condemned Man were keeping each other busy. With the tip of his bayonet the
Soldier pulled out the Condemned Man’s shirt and trousers which were lying in
the hole. The shirt was horribly dirty, and the Condemned Man washed it in the
bucket of water. When he was putting on his shirt and trousers, the Soldier and
the Condemned Man had to laugh out loud, for the pieces of clothing were cut in
two up the back. Perhaps the Condemned Man thought that it was his duty to
amuse the Soldier. In his ripped-up clothes he circled 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 lady’s
handkerchiefs, which he had pushed into the back of his collar, fell into his
hands. “Here you have your handkerchiefs,” he said and threw them over to the
Condemned Man. And to the Traveller he said by way of an explanation, “Presents
from the ladies.”
In spite of the
obvious speed with which he took off the coat of his uniform and then undressed
himself completely, he handled each piece of clothing very carefully, even
running his fingers over the silver braids on his tunic with special care and
shaking a tassel into place. But in great contrast to this care, as soon he was
finished handling an article of clothing, he immediately flung it angrily into
the hole. The last items he had left were his short sword and its harness. He
pulled the sword out of its scabbard, broke it in pieces, 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 Traveller bit his lip and said nothing. For he was aware what would
happen, but he had no right to hinder the Officer in any way. If the judicial
process to which the Officer clung was really so close to the point of being
cancelled—possibly as a result of the intervention of the Traveller, something
to which he for his part felt duty-bound—then the Officer was now acting in a
completely correct manner. In his place, the Traveller would not have acted any
differently.
The Soldier and the
Condemned Man at first did not understand a thing. To begin with they did not
look, not even once. The Condemned Man was extremely happy to get the
handkerchiefs back, but he 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 Traveller
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 get alarmed now
at the way he handled it and how it obeyed. He only had to bring his hand near
the Harrow for it to rise and sink several times, until it had reached the
correct position to make room for him. He only had to grasp the Bed by the
edges, and it already began to quiver. The stump of felt moved up to his mouth.
One could see how the Officer really did not want to accept it, but his hesitation
was only momentary—he immediately submitted and took it in. Everything was
ready, except that the straps still hung down on the sides. But they were
clearly unnecessary. The Officer did not have to be strapped down. When the
Condemned Man saw the loose straps, he thought the execution would be
incomplete unless they were fastened. He waved eagerly to the Soldier, and they
ran over to strap in the Officer. The latter had already stuck out his foot to
kick the crank designed to set the Inscriber in motion. Then he saw the two men
coming. So he pulled his foot back and let himself be strapped in. But now he
could no longer reach the crank. Neither the Soldier nor the Condemned Man
would find it, and the Traveller was determined not to touch it. But that was unnecessary.
Hardly were the straps attached when the machine already started working: the
Bed quivered, the needles danced on his skin, and the Harrow swung up and down.
The Traveller had already been staring for some time before he remembered that
a wheel in the Inscriber was supposed to squeak. But everything was quiet,
without the slightest audible hum.
Because of its
silent working, the machine did not really attract attention. The Traveller
looked over at the Soldier and the Condemned Man. The Condemned Man was the
livelier of the two. Everything in the machine interested him. At times he bent
down; at other times he stretched up, always pointing with his forefinger in
order to show something to the Soldier. For the Traveller it was embarrassing.
He was determined to remain here until the end, but he could no longer endure
the sight of the two men. “Go home,” he said. The Soldier might 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 Traveller shook his head and was unwilling to give in, he even knelt
down. Seeing that orders were of no help here, the Traveller wanted to go over
and chase the two away. Then he heard a noise from up in the Inscriber. He
looked up. So was the gear wheel going out of alignment? But it was something
else. The lid on the Inscriber was lifting up slowly. Then it fell completely
open. The teeth of a cog wheel were exposed and lifted up. Soon the entire wheel
appeared. It was as if some huge force was compressing the Inscriber, so that
there was no longer sufficient room left for this wheel. The wheel rolled all
the way to the edge of the Inscriber, fell down, rolled upright a bit in the
sand, and then fell over and lay still. But already up on the Inscriber another
gear wheel was moving upwards. Several others followed—large ones, small ones,
ones hard to distinguish. With each of them the same thing happened. One kept
thinking that now the Inscriber must surely be 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 Traveller’s
order. The gear wheels completely delighted him. He kept wanting to grab one,
and at the same time he was urging the Soldier to help him. But he kept pulling
his hand back startled, for immediately another wheel followed, which, at least
in its initial rolling, surprised him.
The Traveller, by
contrast, was very upset. Obviously the machine was breaking up. Its quiet
operation had been an illusion. He felt as if he had to look after the Officer,
now that the latter could no longer look after himself. But while the falling
gear wheels were claiming all his attention, he had neglected to look at the
rest of the machine. However, when he now bent over the Harrow, once the last
gear wheel had left the Inscriber, he had a new, even more unpleasant surprise.
The Harrow was not writing but only stabbing, and the Bed was not rolling the
body, but lifting it, quivering, up into the needles. The Traveller wanted to
reach in to stop the whole thing, if possible. This was not the torture the
Officer wished to attain; it was murder, pure and simple. He stretched out his
hands. But at that point the Harrow was already moving upwards and to the side,
with the skewered body—just as it did in other cases, but only in the twelfth
hour. Blood flowed out in hundreds of streams, not mixed with water—the water
tubes had 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 Traveller 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 mind whether to come or not. The Condemned
Man turned away at once. The Traveller had to go over to him and drag him to
the Officer’s head by force. At this point, almost against his will, he looked
at the face of the corpse. It was as it had been in life. He could discover no
sign of the promised transfiguration. What all the others had found in the
machine, the Officer had not. His lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes
were open and looked as they had when he was alive, his gaze was calm and
convinced. The tip of a large iron needle had gone through his forehead.
* * *
As the Traveller,
with the Soldier and the Condemned Man behind him, came to the first houses in
the colony, the Soldier pointed to one and said, “That’s the tea house.”
On the ground floor
of 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 Traveller was nonetheless struck by the impression of historical
memory, and he felt the power of earlier times. Followed by his companions, he
walked closer inside, 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 Traveller, who could
not believe the Soldier. Instantly both men, the Soldier and the Condemned Man,
ran in front of him and with hands outstretched pointed to the place where the
grave was located. They led the Traveller to the back wall, where guests were
sitting at a few tables. They were presumably dock workers, strong men with
short, shiny, black beards. None of them wore coats, and their shirts were
torn. They were poor, humiliated people. As the Traveller came closer, a few
got up, leaned against the wall, and looked at him. A whisper went up around
the Traveller—“It’s a foreigner. He wants to look at the grave.” They pushed
one of the tables aside, under which there was a real grave stone. It was a
simple stone, low enough for it to remain hidden under a table. It bore an
inscription in very small letters. In order to read it the Traveller had to
kneel down. It read, “Here rests the Old Commandant. His followers, who are now
not permitted to have a name, buried him in this grave and erected this stone.
There exists a prophecy that the Commandant will rise again after a certain
number of years and from this house will lead his followers to a re-conquest of
the colony. Have faith and wait!” When the Traveller had read it and got up, he
saw the men standing around him and smiling, as if they had read the inscription
with him, found it ridiculous, and were asking him to share their opinion. The
Traveller acted as if he had not noticed, distributed some coins among them,
waited until the table was pushed back over the grave, left the tea house, and
went to the harbour.
In the tea house
the Soldier and the Condemned Man had come across some people they knew who
detained them. However, they must have broken free of them soon, because by the
time the Traveller found himself in the middle of a long staircase which led to
the boats, they were already running after him. They probably wanted to force
the Traveller at the last minute to take them with him. While the Traveller was
haggling at the bottom of the stairs with a sailor about his passage out to the
steamer, the two men were racing down the steps in silence, for they did not
dare cry out. But as they reached the bottom, the Traveller was already in the
boat, and the sailor at once cast off from shore. They could still have jumped
into the boat, but the Traveller picked up a heavy knotted rope from the boat
bottom, threatened them with it, and thus prevented them from jumping in.
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