The Meowmorphosis Read Free Page B

there. He was no longer at all aware of the pains in his lower body, no matter how they might still sting. Now he let himself fall against the back of a nearby chair, on the edge ofwhich he braced himself with his striped limbs. By doing this he gained control over himself and kept quiet, for he could now hear the manager.

    “BUT, SIR,” CALLED GREGOR, “I’M OPENING THE DOOR IMMEDIATELY, THIS VERY MOMENT.”
    “Did you understand a single word?” the manager asked his parents. “Is he playing the fool with us?”
    “For God’s sake,” cried his mother, already in tears, “Gregor is never so silly. Perhaps he’s very ill and we’re upsetting him. Grete! Grete!” she yelled at that point.
    “Mother?” called his sister from the other side. They were making themselves understood through Gregor’s room.
    “You must go to the doctor right away. Gregor is sick. Hurry to the doctor. Have you heard Gregor speak yet?”
    “That was an animal’s voice,” said the manager, remarkably quietly compared to the mother’s cries.
    “Anna! Anna!” yelled Gregor’s father through the hall to the servant girl in the kitchen, clapping his hands. “Fetch a locksmith right away!” The two young women were already running through the hall with swishing skirts—how had his sister dressed herself so quickly?—and yanked open the doors of the apartment. Gregor couldn’t hear the doors closing at all. They had probably left them open, as is customary in an apartment where a huge misfortune has taken place.
    However, Gregor had become much calmer. All right, people did not understand his words anymore, although theyseemed clear enough to him, clearer than previously, perhaps because his ears had gotten used to them. But at least people now understood that things were not all right with him and were prepared to help him. The confidence and assurance with which the first arrangements had been carried out made him feel good. He felt himself included once again in the circle of humanity and was expecting from both the doctor and the locksmith, without differentiating between them with any real precision, splendid and surprising results. In addition, he felt sure that one or the other of them might scratch him behind the ears, or stroke his fur, and he looked forward to that with great anticipation. In order to get as clear a voice as possible for the critical conversation that was imminent, he coughed a little, and certainly took the trouble to do this in a really subdued way, since it was possible that even this noise sounded somewhat different from a human cough. He no longer trusted himself to decide anymore. Meanwhile in the next room it had become really quiet. Perhaps his parents were sitting with the manager at the table whispering; perhaps they were all leaning against the door listening.
    Gregor crept slowly toward the door, as if stalking it, with the help of the easy chair, behind which he hid before throwing himself against the door. He held himself upright against it—the balls of his tiny paws had a little sticky stuff on them—and rested there momentarily from his exertion. Then he made an effort to turn the key in the lock with his mouth. Unfortunately it seemed that he had no real facility with his feline mouth. His rough tongue lapped uselessly at the key, and his kitten-teeth slid off its brass handle. How was he to grab hold of the key? But then he realized that, as if to make up for his tiny teeth, his jaws were naturally very strong; with their help he managed to get the key really moving. He didn’t notice that he was obviously inflicting some damage on himself, for a trickle of blood came out of his mouth, flowed over the key, and dripped onto the floor.
    “Just listen for a moment,” said the manager in the next room. “He’s turning the key.” For Gregor that was a great encouragement. But they all should’ve called out to him, including his father and mother. “Come on, Gregor,” they