Chapter I · III

But the chief clerk had already turned away at Gregor’s very first words, and only looked back at Gregor over his twitching shoulder with curled lips. And during Gregor’s speech he did not stand still for a single moment, but retreated towards the door without ever taking his eyes off Gregor, yet very gradually, as though there were some secret ban against leaving the room. Already he was in the hall, and to judge by the sudden jerk with which he drew his foot from the living room for the last time, one might have thought he had just burned the sole of his shoe. In the hall, however, he stretched his right hand far out towards the stairs, as if some downright unearthly deliverance were awaiting him there.

Gregor realized that he must on no account let the chief clerk leave in this frame of mind, if his position at the firm was not to be jeopardized in the extreme. His parents did not understand all this so well; in the course of the long years they had formed the conviction that Gregor was provided for in this firm for life, and moreover they were so busy with their immediate worries just now that they had lost all foresight. But Gregor possessed this foresight. The chief clerk had to be held back, calmed down, convinced, and finally won over; after all, the future of Gregor and his family depended on it! If only his sister had been here! She was clever; she had already begun to cry when Gregor was still lying quietly on his back. And surely the chief clerk, this ladies’ man, would have let himself be guided by her; she would have shut the apartment door and talked him out of his terror in the hall. But his sister simply was not there; Gregor had to act for himself. And without considering that he did not yet know his present capacities for movement at all, without even considering that his speech had possibly—indeed, probably—not been understood once again, he let go of the door leaf; pushed himself through the opening; meant to make his way to the chief clerk, who was already absurdly clinging with both hands to the landing railing; but immediately, groping for a hold, fell down with a little cry onto his many little legs. No sooner had this happened than he felt, for the first time that morning, a sense of physical well-being; the little legs had solid ground beneath them; they obeyed him completely, as he noticed to his delight; they even strove to carry him wherever he wished; and already he believed that the final relief from all his suffering was close at hand. But at that very moment, as he lay on the floor rocking with suppressed movement, not far from his mother and directly opposite her, she, who had seemed so utterly sunk within herself, suddenly leapt into the air, her arms spread wide, her fingers splayed, and cried: “Help, for God’s sake, help!” She held her head tilted down as if to see Gregor better, but, in contradiction to this, ran senselessly backwards; had forgotten that the set table stood behind her; sat down on it hastily, as if in distraction, when she reached it, and seemed not to notice at all that beside her the coffee was pouring out in a full stream onto the rug from the overturned large pot.

“Mother, mother,” said Gregor softly, looking up at her. The chief clerk had slipped entirely from his mind for an instant; on the other hand, at the sight of the flowing coffee, he could not resist snapping his jaws in the air several times. At this, his mother screamed anew, fled from the table, and fell into the arms of his father, who was hurrying towards her. But Gregor had no time for his parents now; the chief clerk was already on the stairs; with his chin on the banister, he was looking back for the last time. Gregor took a run to be as sure as possible of catching up with him; the chief clerk must have sensed something, for he made a leap over several steps and vanished; yet he still cried: “Huh!”, and it echoed through the entire stairwell. Unfortunately, this flight of the chief clerk now seemed to utterly confuse his father as well, who until then had been relatively composed, for instead of running after the chief clerk himself, or at least not hindering Gregor in his pursuit, he seized the chief clerk’s walking stick with his right hand—which the latter had left behind on an armchair along with his hat and overcoat—fetched a large newspaper from the table with his left, and, stamping his feet, set about driving Gregor back into his room by brandishing the stick and the newspaper. None of Gregor’s entreaties helped, no entreaty was even understood; no matter how humbly he turned his head, his father only stamped his feet all the harder. Over on the other side, his mother, despite the cool weather, had flung open a window, and leaning out, pressed her face into her hands far outside the casement. A strong draft arose between the street and the stairwell, the window curtains billowed, the newspapers on the table rustled, and stray sheets fluttered across the floor. Relentlessly his father pressed on, uttering hissing sounds like a savage. Now Gregor had no practice at all in walking backwards; it went very slowly indeed. If only Gregor had been allowed to turn around, he would have been in his room at once, but he was afraid of making his father impatient with the time-consuming turn, and at every moment the lethal blow to his back or head from the stick in his father’s hand threatened him. In the end, however, Gregor was left with no other choice, for he noticed with horror that in moving backwards he was not even able to keep his direction; and so, casting incessant, anxious sidelong glances at his father, he began to turn around as fast as possible, though in reality very slowly indeed. Perhaps his father noticed his good intention, for he did not disturb him in this, but even directed the turning movement from afar now and then with the tip of his stick. If only there had not been that unbearable hissing of his father’s! It made Gregor lose his head completely. He had almost finished turning when, listening all the while to this hissing, he even made a mistake and turned back a little way again. But when at last he successfully had his head in front of the door opening, it turned out that his body was too broad to pass through without more ado. Naturally, in his present state of mind, it did not even remotely occur to the father to open the other door leaf as well, in order to make a sufficient passage for Gregor. His fixed idea was merely that Gregor must get into his room as quickly as possible. Nor would he ever have permitted the complicated preparations Gregor required to rear himself up and perhaps get through the door that way. Instead, he now drove Gregor forward with exceptional noise, as though there were no obstacle at all; behind Gregor it no longer sounded like the voice of merely a single father; there was really no joking anymore, and Gregor forced himself into the doorway—come what may. One side of his body rose, he lay tilted in the door opening, one of his flanks was rubbed raw, ugly stains were left on the white door, soon he was stuck fast and could not have moved on his own any longer, the little legs on one side hung trembling high in the air, those on the other were pressed painfully against the floor—then his father gave him a truly liberating, powerful shove from behind, and, bleeding profusely, he flew far into his room. The door was slammed shut with the stick, and then at last it was quiet.