A simple man with an effete ambition stood before the commandant.  He was a man who left home searching for one thing, yet fell upon another.  His leisurely excursions had turned, unexpectedly, into a particularly focused quest; a quest that he never thought he would stumble upon.  In his travels, he had come to know many alluring places.  The Keukenhof Gardens in springtime, Edinburgh Castle, and the beaches of the Greek Islands to name a few.  The world called to him, and he gladly received it—at least until all he came to know was death.

      I am glad you have come to us, Traveler,” said the commandant, “or more, rather, that you have come to me.”  The commandant seemed, in his letters, to be a barren man, bleak and inhospitable; however, now that the traveler had seen him in person, he did not think of him the same.  The commandant presented himself as a pleasant but troublesome, acquiescent yet firm, and somewhat humorous man: his humor odd and unlike anything the traveler had ever experienced before in all his excursions.   “I have something to ask of you, but do not feel compelled to answer right away, for it is very serious business, this favor.”  With no estranged look from the traveler the commandant continued, “First, let me briefly enlighten you on this penal colony.”

      The traveler listened attentively to what the commandant had to say.  He told, rather plainly, of a machine of punishment located in the valley, but said no more than this on the subject of the said machine.  Furthermore, the commandant went one with insufficient detail of the colony’s purpose then—under the rule of the former commandant—and now, with him as chief.  The traveler thought to himself, “Why does he insist on being so vague?” but decided that the commandant’s intention must be that of a purposeful one.  “It was another time when the father of such a machine ruled over this colony.  He was our former commandant, the one who preceded me.”  With a prepared look on his face he beseeched, “I would like you to go to this machine, and witness, for yourself, the happenings of such an accessible death penalty.”  “Why me?” thought the traveler, “I am of no importance or paramount.  My opinion does not matter.”  However, noticing at once his plea, and crediting his discrete and melancholic tone, he agreed to go to the valley.

      He stood at the gates, a hat shielding his head and his small, seemingly insufficient-sized suitcase in hand, waiting for the man who was to take him to the machine.  As he waited, the traveler thought of all the appealing places he had come to know so well.  This island—forgotten as it may be—felt morose and filthy, and disturbed the traveler slightly as he stared through the heavy heat into the sunlight.  The air, thick with dust, burdened his lungs so that the simple, automatic task of breathing consumed his every thought.  He blinked twice, and, as if from nowhere, noticed that the officer had appeared on his left.  Accompanying him was, at least he assumed, the condemned man, and his arresting soldier.

      “Hello there!” the officer said, “You must be him, the traveler who has the blessing of the commandant, and the pleasure of, witnessing such a magnificent event.  Do you know how privileged you are?”  Without regarding the question as essential, the officer continued.  He introduced himself, and from his prologue the traveler got the faint notion that the officer was a somewhat ambiguous man.  He advanced with enthusiasm about the machine of torture.

(continues with Kafka’s story…..)

Homepage

Back