The Metamorphosis By Franz Kafka (1915)

appeared in his uniform, with his wife on one arm and his
daughter on the other. All were a little tear stained. Now
and then Grete pressed her face onto her father’s arm.
‘Get out of my apartment immediately,’ said Mr. Samsa
and pulled open the door, without letting go of the women.
‘What do you mean?’ said the middle lodger, somewhat dismayed
and with a sugary smile. The two others kept their
hands behind them and constantly rubbed them against
each other, as if in joyful anticipation of a great squabble
which must end up in their favour. ‘I mean exactly what I
say,’ replied Mr. Samsa and went directly with his two female
companions up to the lodger. The latter at first stood
there motionless and looked at the floor, as if matters were
arranging themselves in a new way in his head. ‘All right,
then we’ll go,’ he said and looked up at Mr. Samsa as if,
suddenly overcome by humility, he was asking fresh permission
for this decision. Mr. Samsa merely nodded to him
repeatedly with his eyes open wide.
Following that, the lodger actually went immediately
with long strides into the hall. His two friends had already
been listening for a while with their hands quite still, and
now they hopped smartly after him, as if afraid that Mr.
Samsa could step into the hall ahead of them and disturb
their reunion with their leader. In the hall all three of them
took their hats from the coat rack, pulled their canes from
the cane holder, bowed silently, and left the apartment. In
what turned out to be an entirely groundless mistrust, Mr.
Samsa stepped with the two women out onto the landing,
leaned against the railing, and looked down as the three
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lodgers slowly but steadily made their way down the long
staircase, disappeared on each floor in a certain turn of the
stairwell and in a few seconds came out again. The deeper
they proceeded, the more the Samsa family lost interest
in them, and when a butcher with a tray on his head come
to meet them and then with a proud bearing ascended the
stairs high above them, Mr. Samsa., together with the women,
left the banister, and they all returned, as if relieved,
back into their apartment.
They decided to pass that day resting and going for a
stroll. Not only had they earned this break from work, but
there was no question that they really needed it. And so they
sat down at the table and wrote three letters of apology: Mr.
Samsa to his supervisor, Mrs. Samsa to her client, and Grete
to her proprietor. During the writing the cleaning woman
came in to say that she was going off, for her morning work
was finished. The three people writing at first merely nodded,
without glancing up. Only when the cleaning woman
was still unwilling to depart, did they look up angrily. ‘Well?’
asked Mr. Samsa. The cleaning woman stood smiling in the
doorway, as if she had a great stroke of luck to report to the
family but would only do it if she was asked directly. The
almost upright small ostrich feather in her hat, which had
irritated Mr. Samsa during her entire service, swayed lightly
in all directions. ‘All right then, what do you really want?’
asked Mrs. Samsa, whom the cleaning lady still usually respected.
‘Well,’ answered the cleaning woman (smiling so
happily she couldn’t go on speaking right away), ‘about how
that rubbish from the next room should be thrown out, you