Amerika (32 page)

Immersed in such thoughts, Karl fell asleep, and his initially light sleep was disturbed only by the mighty sighing of Brunelda, who, evidently tormented by heavy dreams, tossed and turned on her bed.

“G
et up! Up!” cried Robinson the moment Karl opened his eyes. The curtain on the door had not yet been opened, but one could tell from the steady sunlight falling through the chinks how late in the morning it already was. Robinson ran zealously back and forth, looking very preoccupied; first he carried a towel, then a bucket of water, then a few pieces of underwear and some clothing, and whenever he passed Karl, he tried to persuade him to get up by nodding his head and holding up in the air whatever he happened to be carrying, so as to show how hard he was toiling one last time on behalf of Karl, who could naturally not be expected on his first morning there to understand the specific requirements of the service.

But Karl soon realized whom Robinson was actually serving. In a space Karl had not yet seen, partitioned from the rest of the room by two closets, a great washing was under way. One could see Brunelda's head, bare neck—her hair had just been flung into her face—and the nape of her neck rise above the closet, and every now and then Delamarche's hand held up the dripping bath sponge with which he was washing and scrubbing Brunelda. One could hear the curt commands that Delamarche now gave Robinson, who, unable to hand the objects through the regular entrance to the alcove because it had been blocked off, had to make do with a little gap between a closet and a folding screen, holding out his arm and averting his face every time he handed in an item. “The towel! The towel!” cried Delamarche. No sooner had Robinson, who was still searching for some other object under the table and now withdrew his head, been startled by this demand than there came another cry: “What the devil happened to the water,” and Delamarche's enraged face peered over the closet. There were repeated demands in every conceivable sequence for all sorts of things that would, to Karl's mind, only be needed once while washing and dressing. There was always a bucket with water heating up on a small electric stove, and Robinson repeatedly carried the heavy burden between his parted legs to the washroom. Given the amount of work to be done, it was understandable that he did not always stick to his orders and once, when a towel was requested, simply took a camisole from the great bedstead in the middle of the room and threw it in over the closets in one great ball.

Delamarche, however, was also hard at work and was perhaps annoyed at Robinson—so annoyed that he had forgotten all about Karl—only because he could not satisfy Brunelda himself. “Oh,” she shouted in such a way that even Karl, who felt largely indifferent, shuddered, “you're hurting me! Go away! I would rather wash myself than suffer like this! I can't even lift my arm again. I'm getting very sick from the way you're squeezing me. My back must be covered in bruises. But of course you're not about to tell me. Wait a moment, I shall get Robinson to have a look at me, or our little fellow there. No, I won't really do so, but be a little more gentle. And show me some consideration, Delamarche, but I can say this every morning as often as I like, and yet you will never, ever show me the slightest consideration; Robinson,” she called out suddenly, waving little lace underpants above her head: “Come and help me, see how I'm suffering, that Delamarche likes to call this torment a scrubbing. Robinson, Robinson, where are you, are you heartless too?” Karl silently motioned to Robinson with his finger that he should approach her, but Robinson lowered his eyes and shook his head disdainfully; he knew better. “What's come over you?” said Robinson, bending down to whisper in Karl's ear, “that's not what she means. I only went in once, and never again. Both of them grabbed me and dunked me in the tub till I almost drowned. For days afterward Brunelda accused me of being shameless and kept on saying, ‘It's been ages since you've been in the bath with me' or ‘Tell me, when are you coming to have another look at me in the bath?' Only when I went down on my knees to implore her did she stop. I'll never forget it.” And as Robinson spoke, Brunelda cried out repeatedly: “Robinson! Robinson! What's keeping that Robinson!”

Although no one came to her aid and her cry went unanswered—Robinson had sat down beside Karl and both gazed silently at the dresser, above which one could now see the heads of Brunelda and Delamarche—Brunelda nevertheless did not cease complaining loudly about Delamarche. “But Delamarche,” she cried, “I can't even feel your scrubbing. What have you done with the sponge? Well, get a move on! If only I could bend, if only I could move! Then I would show you how to scrub. Where now are those days on my parents' estate when, as a young girl, I used to go swimming every morning in the Colorado, and to think I was the most agile of all my girlfriends! And now! But when will you learn how to give me a good scrubbing, Delamarche, you keep on waving the sponge about, making a great effort, and I can feel nothing. When I said you shouldn't rub me till I'm sore, I certainly didn't mean I'd like to stand around and catch a cold. So now I must jump out of the tub and run off as I am.”

But she did not carry out this threat—which she would have been completely incapable of doing—and Delamarche, anxious lest she catch a cold, evidently caught her and pushed her into the tub, for there was a great splash.

“You're good at it, Delamarche,” said Brunelda, a little more softly, “flattering me over and over again whenever you've made a mess of something.” Then for a moment there was silence. “He's kissing her,” said Robinson, raising his eyebrows.

“What do we do next?” asked Karl. Since he had after all finally decided to stay, he wanted to assume his duties right away. Leaving behind Robinson, who did not answer, on the settee, he began to pull apart the great encampment, which was still compressed from the heavy weight of the sleepers in the course of that long night, so as to take each item from this massive heap and fold it neatly, which had probably not happened for weeks.

“Take a look next door, Delamarche,” said Brunelda, “I think they're pulling our bed apart. I always have to think of everything and never have a moment's peace. You must be stricter with those two, for if not they'll simply do as they please.” “That must be the little fellow who's so damned eager,” cried Delamarche, evidently intending to rush out from the washroom; Karl immediately threw away everything he had in his hands; fortunately, Brunelda then said: “Don't go, Delamarche, don't go. Oh, the water is hot, it makes one so weary. Stay with me, Delamarche.” Only then did Karl notice the steam continually rising from behind the closets. Robinson, who looked shocked, put his hand on his cheek as if Karl had done something wrong. “Just leave everything as it was,” Delamarche's voice rang out, “how come you didn't even realize that Brunelda always rests for an hour after her bath? What a wretched household! Just wait until I get to you. Robinson, you must be daydreaming again. You, and you alone, are responsible for everything that happens here. You've simply got to restrain that boy—this place isn't run according to his lights. When one wants something, one cannot get it from you, and then when there's no need to do anything, you are diligent. Just crawl away into some corner now and wait until you're needed.”

But all this was immediately forgotten, for Brunelda whispered very wearily, as if she were being deluged by the hot water: “The perfume! Bring the perfume!” “The perfume,” shouted Delamarche. “Get a move on.” Yes, but where was the perfume? Karl glanced at Robinson, Robinson in turn at Karl. Karl realized that he would have to take charge of everything himself; Robinson had no idea where the perfume was but merely lay down on the floor and waved both arms under the settee, which yielded only balls of dust and women's hair. First Karl rushed to the washstand next to the door, but all he could find were various old novels in English and some magazines and sheet music, since the drawers were so overstuffed that when one finally managed to open them, it was impossible to get them to close again. “The perfume,” sighed Brunelda. “It's taking you so long! Will I even get my perfume today!” Karl could not conduct a proper search since Brunelda was so impatient that he had to rely on a cursory first glance. The bottle was not in the washstand; it merely contained some old medicine and ointment bottles, for everything else had been taken in to the washroom. Perhaps the bottle lay in a drawer of the dining room table. But on his way to the table—Karl thought only of the perfume and of nothing else—he collided with Robinson, who had finally given up searching under the settee and who, overcome by a sudden intuition about the whereabouts of the perfume, ran toward Karl, as though he were blind. One could clearly hear their heads collide; Karl remained silent, and though Robinson did not cease running, he sought to ease his pain by continually shouting out in an exaggeratedly loud voice.

“Instead of looking for the perfume, they're fighting,” said Brunelda. “Delamarche, this whole mess is making me ill, and I'll certainly die in your arms. I must have that perfume,” she cried, rousing herself. “I must absolutely have it. I'm not getting out of this tub until they bring it in to me, even if I have to stay here till this evening.” And with her fist she hit the water—one could hear it splashing.

However, the perfume was not in the dining table drawer either, for the contents consisted exclusively of Brunelda's toiletries, such as old powder puffs, small makeup jars, hairbrushes, locks of hair, and many other small items, all matted and stuck together. There was no sign of the perfume. And Robinson too, who was still shouting and now stood in a corner made up of a hundred or so piled-up boxes and small crates, opened them one by one, rifled through them, causing half the contents—mostly sewing items and letters—to fall on the floor, and left them lying there without managing to find anything, as he occasionally indicated to Karl by shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders.

Just then Delamarche jumped out of the washroom in his underwear, while Brunelda could be heard weeping convulsively. Karl and Robinson ceased to look and glanced at Delamarche, who was completely drenched, the water was even running down his face and hair, and who cried: “Kindly start searching right away!” First he ordered Karl to look by saying, “Here!” then told Robinson, “There!” Karl did look, inspecting even the places where Robinson had been ordered to search, but he had no more luck finding the perfume than did Robinson, who was less intent on searching than on glancing sideways at Delamarche, who stomped up and down in the room, insofar as he could in the tight space, and would certainly have preferred to give both Karl and Robinson a beating.

“Delamarche, come here,” cried Brunelda, “and at least make an effort to dry me off. Those two certainly won't find the perfume and are making a complete mess of everything. They should stop looking right away. This instant! And they must drop everything. And not touch anything else! They sure seem to want to turn this apartment into a barn. Delamarche, grab them by the collar if they don't stop! But they're still at it—a box has just fallen down out there. They shouldn't pick it up but simply leave everything as it is and get out of the room! Then latch the door after them and come to me. I've lain in this water too long, my legs are chilly.” “I'm coming, Brunelda, I'm coming,” cried Delamarche, rushing to the door with Karl and Robinson. Before releasing them, however, he asked them to fetch breakfast and, if possible, to borrow a good perfume somewhere for Brunelda.

“Your place is so messy and dirty,” said Karl, once they were out in the corridor, “after we get back with the breakfast, we'll have to tidy up.”

“If only I weren't so ill,” said Robinson. “And then all this mistreatment!”

Robinson was surely offended that Brunelda had not distinguished in any way between himself, who had already been serving for months, and Karl, who had only appeared the day before. But he deserved no better, and Karl said: “You've got to pull yourself together a little.” But then, so as not to abandon him entirely to his despair, Karl went on: “It's a task that only needs to be done once. I'll set up a sleeping place for you behind the closets, and once the room is pretty much tidied up, you can lie there all day without having to take care of anything and will soon recover.”

“So you do understand the state I'm in,” said Robinson, averting his face from Karl so that he could be alone with his sorrows. “But will they ever let me lie there quietly?”

“If you like, I shall bring this up with Delamarche and Brunelda.”

“Does Brunelda ever show the slightest consideration?” cried Robinson, and without giving Karl any advance warning, he held out his fist and pushed open a door that they had just reached.

They entered a kitchen with a faulty oven that emitted little black clouds. Before the oven doors knelt one of the women whom Karl had seen in the corridor the day before and who was using her bare hands to put large pieces of coal into the fire, which she inspected from every angle. She sighed, kneeling in a position that was no doubt uncomfortable for such an old woman.

“Of course, that pest would have to come too,” she said on catching sight of Robinson, and she rose laboriously, keeping one hand on the coal bucket, then shut the oven door after first covering the handle with her apron. “It's now four o'clock in the afternoon”—Karl gazed at the kitchen clock in astonishment—“and you still need breakfast? What riffraff!

“Sit down,” she said, “and wait till I've time for you.”

Robinson drew Karl onto a little bench by the door and whispered to him: “We must do as she says. You see, we're dependent on her. We rent our room from her, and at any moment she can give us notice. After all, we cannot move to another apartment—how could we possibly get all those things out again, especially since Brunelda isn't transportable.”

“And there's no other room to be had on this corridor?” Karl asked.

“Well, no one will take us in,” Robinson answered, “no one in this entire building will take us in.”