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 his 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.
Gregor soon had the opportunity to test the strength of his decisions,
as early the next morning, almost before the night had ended, his
sister, nearly fully dressed, opened the door from the front room and
looked anxiously in. She did not see him straight away, but when she
did notice him under the couch—he had to be somewhere, for God’s sake,
he couldn’t have flown away—she was so shocked that she lost control of
herself and slammed the door shut again from outside. But she seemed to
regret her behaviour, as she opened the door again straight away and
came in on tip-toe as if entering the room of someone seriously ill or
even of a stranger. Gregor had pushed his head forward, right to the
edge of the couch, and watched her. Would she notice that he had left
the milk as it was, realise that it was not from any lack of hunger and
bring him in some other food that was more suitable? If she didn’t do
it herself he would rather go hungry than draw her attention to it,
although he did feel a terrible urge to rush forward from under the
couch, throw himself at his sister’s feet and beg her for something
good to eat. However, his sister noticed the full dish immediately and
looked at it and the few drops of milk splashed around it with some
surprise. She immediately picked it up—using a rag, not her bare
hands—and carried it out. Gregor was extremely curious as to what she
would bring in its place, imagining the wildest possibilities, but he
never could have guessed what his sister, in her goodness, actually did
bring. In order to test his taste, she brought him a whole selection of
things, all spread out on an old newspaper. There were old, half-rotten
vegetables; bones from the evening meal, covered in white sauce that
had gone hard; a few raisins and almonds; some cheese that Gregor had
declared inedible two days before; a dry roll and some bread spread
with butter and salt. As well as all that she had poured some water
into the dish, which had probably been permanently set aside for
Gregor’s use, and placed it beside them. Then, out of consideration for
Gregor’s feelings, as she knew that he would not eat in front of her,
she hurried out again and even turned the key in the lock so that
Gregor would know he could make things as comfortable for himself as he
liked. Gregor’s little legs whirred, at last he could eat. What’s more,
his injuries must already have completely healed as he found no
difficulty in moving. This amazed him, as more than a month earlier he
had cut his finger slightly with a knife, he thought of how his finger
had still hurt the day before yesterday. “Am I less sensitive than I
used to be, then?”, he thought, and was already sucking greedily at the
cheese which had immediately, almost compellingly, attracted him much
more than the other foods on the newspaper. Quickly one after another,
his eyes watering with pleasure, he consumed the cheese, the vegetables
and the sauce; the fresh foods, on the other hand, he didn’t like at
all, and even dragged the things he did want to eat a little way away
from them bec