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- 930
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-27T20:59:33.327Z
- extracted_by
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- 869
- text
- There were times when he simply became too tired to continue listening,
when his head would fall wearily against the door and he would pull it
up again with a start, as even the slightest noise he caused would be
heard next door and they would all go silent. “What’s that he’s doing
now”, his father would say after a while, clearly having gone over to
the door, and only then would the interrupted conversation slowly be
taken up again.
When explaining things, his father repeated himself several times,
partly because it was a long time since he had been occupied with these
matters himself and partly because Gregor’s mother did not understand
everything the first time. From these repeated explanations Gregor
learned, to his pleasure, that despite all their misfortunes there was
still some money available from the old days. It was not a lot, but it
had not been touched in the meantime and some interest had accumulated.
Besides that, they had not been using up all the money that Gregor had
been bringing home every month, keeping only a little for himself, so
that that, too, had been accumulating. Behind the door, Gregor nodded
with enthusiasm in his pleasure at this unexpected thrift and caution.
He could actually have used this surplus money to reduce his father’s
debt to his boss, and the day when he could have freed himself from
that job would have come much closer, but now it was certainly better
the way his father had done things.
This money, however, was certainly not enough to enable the family to
live off the interest; it was enough to maintain them for, perhaps, one
or two years, no more. That’s to say, it was money that should not
really be touched but set aside for emergencies; money to live on had
to be earned. His father was healthy but old, and lacking in self
confidence. During the five years that he had not been working—the
first holiday in a life that had been full of strain and no success—he
had put on a lot of weight and become very slow and clumsy. Would
Gregor’s elderly mother now have to go and earn money? She suffered
from asthma and it was a strain for her just to move about the home,
every other day would be spent struggling for breath on the sofa by the
open window. Would his sister have to go and earn money? She was still
a child of seventeen, her life up till then had been very enviable,
consisting of wearing nice clothes, sleeping late, helping out in the
business, joining in with a few modest pleasures and most of all
playing the violin. Whenever they began to talk of the need to earn
money, Gregor would always first let go of the door and then throw
himself onto the cool, leather sofa next to it, as he became quite hot
with shame and regret.
He would often lie there the whole night through, not sleeping a wink
but scratching at the leather for hours on end. Or he might go to all
the effort of pushing a chair to the window, climbing up onto the sill
and, propped up in the chair, leaning on the window to stare out of it.
He had used to feel a great sense of freedom from doing this, but doing
it now was obviously something more remembered than experienced, as
what he actually saw in this way was becoming less distinct every day,
even things that were quite near; he had used to curse the ever-present
view of the hospital across the street, but now he could not see it at
all, and if he had not known that he lived in Charlottenstrasse, which
was a quiet street despite being in the middle of the city, he could
have thought that he was looking out the window at a barren waste where
the grey sky and the grey earth mingled inseparably. His observant
sister only needed to notice the chair twice before she would always
push it back to its exact position by the window after she had tidied
up the room, and even left the inner pane of the window open from then
on.
- title
- Chunk 4