This piece is part of my ongoing translation of the novel of Thea von Harbou’s “Metropolis”. If you’d like to find out more about the project and see other chapters, check out the essay below:
"Where is Georgy?” asked Freder, his eyes wandering through Josaphat’s three rooms, which spread out beautifully before him with a somewhat bewildering plethora of armchairs, divans and silk cushions, and with curtains which goldenly shadowed the light.
“Who?” asked Josaphat, distracted. He had waited and not slept, his eyes standing overly large in his thin, almost white face. His gaze, which did not leave Freder, was like hands which raise and worship.
“Georgy,” repeated Freder. He smiled happily with his tired mouth.
“Who is that?” asked Josaphat.
“I sent him to you.”
“Nobody has come.”
Freder looked at him without answering.
“I sat the entire night in this chair,” Josaphat went on, misunderstanding Freder’s silence. “I did not sleep for one blink of an eye. I expected any second that you would come, or that a messenger would come from you, or that you would ring me. I also notified the watchman. Nobody has come, Mr. Freder.”
Freder still remained silent. Slowly, almost stumbling, he stepped over the threshold into the room, raising his right hand to his head as though to take off his hat, noticing that he was wearing the cap—the black cap, which firmly enclosed his hair. He stripped it from his head; it fell to the ground. His hand sank from his brow, over his eyes, and stayed resting there a little while. Then the other joined it, as though wishing to console its sister. His form resembled a young tree pushed sideways by a strong wind.
Josaphat’s eyes hung on the uniform which Freder wore.
“Mr. Freder,” he began cautiously, “how come you are in these clothes?”
Freder remained turned away from him. He took his hands from his eyes and pressed them to his neck as though he felt a pain there.
“Georgy wore them,” he answered. “I gave him mine.”
“So Georgy is a worker?”
“Yes. I found him by the Paternoster Machine. I took his place and sent him to you.”
“Maybe he’ll still come,” answered Josaphat.
Freder shook his head.
“He was meant to be here many hours ago. Had somebody discovered him as he left the New Tower of Babel, then someone would have also come to me while I was standing at the machine. It is weird to think about, but it must be come to terms with: he has not come.”
“Was there much money in the suit which you exchanged with Georgy?” asked Josaphat cautiously, like someone bearing a wounded spot.
Freder nodded.
“Then you mustn’t be surprised that Georgy has not come,” said Josaphat. But the expression of shame and torment on Freder’s face prevented him from continuing on.
“Won’t you sit, Mr. Freder,” he asked. “Or lie down? You look so tired that it hurts me to look at you.”
“I have no time to lay down and no time to sit down either,” answered Freder. He walked through the rooms, aimlessly, senselessly, stopping still wherever a chair or a table offered him a hold. “The fact is this, Josaphat: I said to Georgy that he should come here and wait here for me—or for a message from me. It’s a thousand-to-one odds that The Thin Man, in the search for me, is already on Georgy’s trail, and it’s also a thousand-to-one odds he gets out of him where I sent him to.”
“And you do not want The Thin Man to find you?”
“He must not find me, Josaphat, not at any cost in the world.”
The other stood silent, somewhat helpless. Freder looked at him with a trembling smile.
“How are we going to get money now, Josaphat?”
“That should be no difficulty for the son of Joh Fredersen.”
“More than you think, Josaphat, for I am no longer Joh Fredersen’s son...”
Josaphat raised his head. “I don’t understand that,” he said after a pause.
“There is really nothing to misunderstand, Josaphat. I have freed myself from my father and am going my own way.”
The man who had been the First Secretary to the master over the great Metropolis held his breath back in his lungs, then let it free in streams.
“Can I tell you something, Mr. Freder?”
“What?”
“One does not set oneself free from your father. It is he who decides whether one stays by him or must leave him. There is nobody who would be stronger than Joh Fredersen is. He is like the Earth. We have no free will against the Earth either; its laws keep us eternally perpendicular to its centre, even if we stand on our heads. When Joh Fredersen sets his men free, it means just as much as if the Earth were to deprive man of gravity. It means falling into nothing. Joh Fredersen can let go of whoever he wishes; he will never let his son go.”
“But what,” answered Freder, speaking feverishly, “if a man overcomes the laws of nature?”
“Utopia, Mr. Freder.”
“By the ingenuity of man, there is no utopia; there is only a ‘not yet’. I have decided to dare that path. I must go that way—yes, I must go it! I do not know the way yet, but I will find it because I must find it.”
“Wherever you wish, Mr. Freder, I shall go with you.”
“Thank you!” said Freder, reaching out his hand. He felt it seized and clasped it in a vice-like grip.
“You know, Mr. Freder, don’t you,” said Josaphat’s stifled voice, “that everything belongs to you—everything that I am and have. It is not much, as I have lived like a madman. But for today, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow…”
Freder shook his head without losing hold of Josaphat’s hand.
“No, no!” he said, a torrent of red on his face. “New ways do not begin like that. We already need to search for other means. It will not be easy. The Thin Man understands his business.”
“Maybe The Thin Man could be won over to you,” said Josaphat tentatively. “For, strange as it may sound, he loves you.”
“The Thin Man loves all his victims; that does not prevent him, as the most considerate and tender of executioners, from laying them before my father’s feet. He is a born tool—but the tool of the strongest. He would never make himself the tool of weaker ones, as he would humiliate himself in doing so. And you have just told me, Josaphat, how much stronger my father is than me.”
“If you were to confide in one of your friends?”
“I have no friends, Josaphat.”
Josaphat wanted to contradict, but he stopped himself. Freder turned his eyes towards him. He straightened himself up and smiled, the other’s hand still in his.
“I have no friends, Josaphat, and, what weighs heavier, I have not one friend. I had play-fellows, sport-fellows… But friends? A friend? No, Josaphat! Can one confide oneself in somebody of whom one knows nothing but how his laughter sounds?”
He saw the eyes of the other directed towards him, recognising the fervour, the pain and the truth in them.
“Yes,” he said with a haunted smile. “I would like to confide in you. I must confide in you, Josaphat. I must call you ‘you’ and ‘friend’ and ‘brother,’ because I need a man who will go with me in faith and confidence to the world’s end. Will you be that man?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” He came to him and laid his hands on his shoulders. He looked very closely into his face. He shook him. “You say yes, but do you know what that means—for you and for me? What a final cast of the lead that is—what final anchorage? I hardly know you, I wanted to help you, and I can’t even help you, because in this hour I am poorer than you—but perhaps that is all good. Joh Fredersen’s son can, possibly, be betrayed. But me, Josaphat? A man who has nothing except a will and an aim? To betray him cannot be worth it, eh, Josaphat?”
“God shall slay me as one slays a mangy dog...”
“That’s good, that’s good...” Freder’s smile came back again and stood, clear and beautiful, on his tired face. “I’m going now, Josaphat. I want to go to my father’s mother, in order to bring her something which is very sacred to me. I’ll be back here before the evening. Will I find you here then?”
“Yes, Mr. Freder, most certainly!”
They reached their hands out towards each other. Hand held hand, clasped. They looked at each other. Glance held glance, clasped. Then they loosened their grip silently, and Freder went.
A little while later (Josaphat still stood at the same spot on which Freder had left him) there was a knock at the door. Although the knocking was as gentle and as modest as the knocking of a beggar, there was something in it which sent a shiver down Josaphat’s spine. He stood silently, gazing at the door, unable to call out “Come in,” or open it himself. The knocking repeated, becoming no louder. It came a the third time and was still just as gentle. But precisely this deepened the impression of his inescapability, and that it would be pointless to pretend not to hear it in the long run.
“Who is there?” asked Josaphat hoarsely. He knew very well who was standing outside. He asked only to gain time; to draw a breath which he very much needed. He expected no answer, and neither did he receive one.
The door opened. In the doorway stood The Thin Man.
They did not greet each other; neither greeted the other. Josaphat, because his throat was too dry; The Thin Man, because his grasping eyes had, in the second that he stood at the threshold, flown through the room and found something: a black cap, which lay on the floor. Josaphat followed The Thin Man’s gaze with his eyes. He did not stir. With silent steps, The Thin Man went up to the cap, bent over and picked it up. He turned it gently this way and that, and turned it around.
In the sweat-soaked lining of the cap stood the number: 11811. The Thin Man weighed the cap in almost affectionate hands. He fixed his eyes, which were as though veiled with tiredness, on Josaphat and asked, speaking in a low voice: “Where is Freder, Josaphat?”
“I do not know.”
The Thin Man smiled sleepily. He caressed the black cap. Josaphat’s hoarse voice went on: “But if I did know you would not get it out of me...”
The Thin Man looked at Josaphat, still smiling, still caressing the black cap.
“You are right,” said he politely. “Forgive me! It was an idle question. Of course you will not tell me where Mr. Freder is. It is also by no means necessary. It’s about something completely different.”
He pocketed the cap, having carefully rolled it up, and looked around the room. He went up to an armchair, standing near a low, black, polished table.
“You allow me?” he asked politely, seating himself.
Josaphat made a head-movement, but the “Please!” dried up in his throat. He did not stir from the one spot.
“You live very well here,” said The Thin Man, leaning back and looking over the room with a broad movement of the head. “Everything is tuned to softness and semi-darkness. The atmosphere from these cushions is a mild perfume. I can comprehend that it will be difficult for you to leave this flat.”
“I also have no such intention,” said Josaphat. He swallowed.
The Thin Man squeezed his eyelids together, as though he wished to sleep.
“No, not yet. But soon.”
“I’m not even thinking of it,” answered Josaphat. His eyes reddened, and he looked at The Thin Man with a gaze in which hatred smouldered.
“No, not yet. But soon.”
Josaphat stood completely silent—but suddenly he beat the air with his fist, as though bashing against an invisible door.
“What do you want exactly?” he asked gaspingly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
At first it appeared as though The Thin Man had not heard the question. Sleepily, with closed eyelids, he sat there, breathing inaudibly. But as the leather of the back of the chair squeaked under Josaphat’s grip, The Thin Man said, very slowly, but very clearly: “I want to know the price for you to give up this flat, Josaphat.”
“When?”
“Immediately.”
“What is that supposed to mean: immediately?”
The Thin Man opened his eyes, and they were cold and polished like a pebble in a stream.
“Immediately means within an hour. Immediately means long before this evening.”
A shiver ran down Josaphat’s back. Slowly, the hands on his hanging arms clenched themselves into fists.
“Get out, sir...” he said quietly. “Get moving! Now! Immediately!”
“The flat is beautiful,” said The Thin Man. “You’re unwilling to hand it over. It has sentimental value. You’ll also have insufficient time to pack large cases. You can only take what you need for twenty-four hours. The journey, new purchases, accommodations for the year—all that should be included in the total. What’s the cost of your flat, Josaphat?”
“I will chuck you into the street,” stammered Josaphat’s feverish mouth. “I will chuck you through the window, seven stories down on to the street, sir! Through that closed window if you don’t get out this very second...”
“You love a woman when the woman does not love you. Women who are not in love are costly. You want to buy this woman? Very well. Three times the cost of the flat. Life on the Adriatic Sea, in Rome, in Tenerife, on a beautiful ship around the world—with a woman who wants to be bought anew every day… Understandable, Josaphat, that the flat will be expensive. But, to tell you the truth, I must have it, so I must pay for it.”
He reached into his pocket and drew out a wad of banknotes. He pushed it across to Josaphat over the black, polished, mirror-like table. Josaphat clawed at it, leaving his nail marks behind on the tabletop, and threw it at The Thin Man’s face. He caught it with a very slight, quick-thinking movement, and laid it gently back on the table. He laid a second one beside it.
“Is that enough?” he asked sleepily.
“No!” yelled Josaphat.
“Sensible!” said The Thin Man. “Very sensible. Why should you not make full use of your advantages? An opportunity like this—to raise your whole life by a hundred rungs, to become independent, happy and free, the fulfilment of every wish, the gratification of every whim, to have your own and a beautiful woman by you—only presents itself once in your life and never again. Seize it, Josaphat, if you are no fool! Off the record, the beautiful woman of whom we just spoke of has already been informed and awaits you near the aeroplane that’s standing by… Three times the amount, Josaphat, if you do not keep the beautiful woman waiting!”
He laid a third bundle of banknotes on the table. He looked at Josaphat. Josaphat’s reddened eyes devoured his. Josaphat’s hands blindly grabbed to seize the three brown wads. His teeth stood white against his lips while his fingers tore the notes to shreds, as though they were biting them to death.
The Thin Man shook his head. “That does nothing,” he said peacefully. “I have a chequebook here, which bears the signature of Joh Fredersen on some of the blank sheets. Let’s put a sum on this first leaf which makes up double the previous amount. Well, Josaphat?”
“I don’t want it!” said the other, shaken from head to toe.
The Thin Man smiled.
“No,” he said. “Not yet. But soon.”
Josaphat did not answer. He was staring at the piece of white, printed and inscribed sheet of paper which lay before him on the polished-black table. He did not see the figure upon it. He only saw the name which stood upon it: Joh Fredersen, as though written with the blade of an axe. Josaphat turned his head this way and that as though he felt the blade of this sort in his neck.
“No,” he wheezed. “No!”
“Not enough yet?” asked The Thin Man.
“Yes!” he said, babbling. “Yes! It is enough.”
The Thin Man got up. Something, which he had taken from his pocket with the bundles of banknotes, slid down from his knees without him noticing it. It was a black cap, like the workmen in Joh Fredersen’s works wore.
Josaphat howled. He threw himself down on both knees. He grabbed after the black cap with both hands. He tore it to his mouth. He stared at The Thin Man. He shot up. He sprang, like a stag at the head of the pack, to reach the door, but The Thin Man got to it before him. With a large leap he sprang across table and divan, colliding with the door, and stood before Josaphat. For a fraction of a moment they stared each other in the face. Then Josaphat’s hands went to The Thin Man’s throat. The Thin Man ducked his head. He threw his arms forward, like the clutching arms of an octopus. They held each other tightly and wrestled one another, fierce and ice-cold, raving and standing off, teeth grinding and silent, chest to chest.
They tore themselves apart and stormed at each other. They fell and, wrestling, rolled along the floor. Josaphat forced his opponent beneath him. They pushed each other up, struggling. They stumbled and rolled over armchairs and divans. The beautiful room, transformed into wilderness, seeming to be too small for the two intertwined bodies flopping like fishes, stampeding like bulls, and striking at each other like fighting bears.
But against The Thin Man’s unwavering, grisly coldness, the white-hot rage of his opponent could not stand its ground. Suddenly, as though his knee joints had been struck through, Josaphat collapsed under The Thin Man’s hands, fell on his knees and remained there, staring up with glassy eyes. The Thin Man loosened his hands. He looked down at him.
“Had enough yet?” he asked, and smiled sleepily.
Josaphat gave no answer. He moved his right hand. In all the fury of the fight he had not let go of the black cap which Freder had worn when he came to him. He raised the cap painstakingly on to his lap, as though it weighed a tonne. He twisted it between his fingers. He stroked it.
“Come, Josaphat, stand up!” said The Thin Man. He spoke very sternly and softly and a little sadly. “May I help you? Give me your hands! No, no. I’m not taking the cap away from you. I believe I was obliged to hurt you a lot. It was no pleasure, but you forced me into it.”
He let go of the now-upright man and he looked around him with a bleak smile.
“Good that we agreed on the price beforehand,” he reckoned. “Now the flat would be considerably cheaper.”
He sighed a little and looked at Josaphat.
“When will you be ready to go?”
“Now,” said Josaphat.
“You’re not taking anything with you?”
“No.”
“You’ll go as you are—with all the marks of the struggle, tattered and torn?”
“Yes.”
“Is that courteous to the lady who is waiting for you?”
Sight returned to Josaphat’s eyes. With red eyes he stared at The Thin Man.
“If you do not want me to commit murder, which I did not succeed in doing with you, on the woman, then send her away before I come.”
The Thin Man was silent. He turned to go. He took the cheque, folded it together and put it into Josaphat’s pocket. Josaphat offered no resistance. He walked in front of The Thin Man towards the door. Then he stopped once more and looked around him. He waved the cap, which Freder had worn, in farewell to the room, and burst out in a laughter that never wanted to end. He struck his shoulder against the door post.
Then, he went out. The Thin Man followed him.
< Chapter 6 = = = = = = = = = = = Chapter 8 >
Hmmm. Did you write this? Maybe a short intro that explained what you are getting at would be helpful.