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Page 8
II
It was not until it was getting dark that evening that
Gregor awoke from his deep and coma-like sleep. He would
have woken soon afterwards anyway even if he hadn't been
disturbed, as he had had enough sleep and felt fully rested.
But he had the impression that some hurried steps and the
sound of the door leading into the front room being
carefully shut had woken him. The light from the electric
street lamps shone palely here and there onto the ceiling
and tops of the furniture, but down below, where Gregor was,
it was dark. He pushed himself over to the door, feeling
his way clumsily with his antennae - of which he was now
beginning to learn the value - in order to see what had been
happening there. The whole of his left side seemed like
one, painfully stretched scar, and he limped badly on his
two rows of legs. One of the legs had been badly injured in
the events of that morning - it was nearly a miracle that
only one of them had been - and dragged along lifelessly.
It was only when he had reached the door that he realised
what it actually was that had drawn him over to it; it was
the smell of something to eat. By the door there was a dish
filled with sweetened milk with little pieces of white bread
floating in it. He was so pleased he almost laughed, as he
was even hungrier than he had been that morning, and
immediately dipped his head into the milk, nearly covering
his eyes with it. But he soon drew his head back again in
disappointment; not only did the pain in his tender left
side make it difficult to eat the food - he was only able to
eat if his whole body worked together as a snuffling whole -
but the milk did not taste at all nice. Milk like this was
normally his favourite drink, and his sister had certainly
left it there for him because of that, but he turned, almost
against his own will, away from the dish and crawled back
into the centre of the room.
Through the crack in the door, Gregor could see that the gas
had been lit in the living room. His father at this time
would normally be sat with his evening paper, reading it out
in a loud voice to Gregor's mother, and sometimes to his
sister, but there was now not a sound to be heard. Gregor's
sister would often write and tell him about this reading,
but maybe his father had lost the habit in recent times. It
was so quiet all around too, even though there must have
been somebody in the flat. "What a quiet life it is the
family lead", said Gregor to himself, and, gazing into the
darkness, felt a great pride that he was able to provide a
life like that in such a nice home for his sister and
parents. But what now, if all this peace and wealth and
comfort should come to a horrible and frightening end? That
was something that Gregor did not want to think about too
much, so he started to move about, crawling up and down the
room.
Once during that long evening, the door on one side of the
room was opened very slightly and hurriedly closed again;
later on the door on the other side did the same; it seemed
that someone needed to enter the room but thought better of
it. Gregor went and waited immediately by the door,
resolved either to bring the timorous visitor into the room
in some way or at least to find out who it was; but the door
was opened no more that night and Gregor waited in vain.
The previous morning while the doors were locked everyone
had wanted to get in there to him, but now, now that he had
opened up one of the doors and the other had clearly been
unlocked some time during the day, no-one came, and the keys
were in the other sides.
It was not until late at night that the gaslight in the
living room was put out, and now it was easy to see that
parents and sister had stayed awake all that time, as they
all could be distinctly heard as they went away together on
tip-toe. It was clear that no-one would come into Gregor's
room any more until morning; that gave him plenty of time to
think undisturbed about how he would have to re-arrange his
life. For some reason, the tall, empty room where he was
forced to remain made him feel uneasy as he lay there flat
on the floor, even though he had been living in it for five
years. Hardly aware of what he was doing other than a
slight feeling of shame, he hurried under the couch. It
pressed down on his back a little, and he was no longer able
to lift his head, but he nonetheless felt immediately at
ease and his only regret was that his body was too broad to
get it all underneath. He spent the whole night there.
Some of the time he passed in a light sleep, although he
frequently woke from it in alarm because of his hunger, and
some of the time was spent in worries and vague hopes which,
however, always led to the same conclusion: for the time
being he must remain calm, he must show patience and the
greatest consideration so that his family could bear the
unpleasantness that he, in his present condition, was forced
to impose on them.
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