Glaciology

Kafka, Women

11 Kafka, Women We went to buy furniture in Berlin. When I am kind, Felice approaches. I fumble for the door. I suggest the axe of marriage. This illness, feeling its way inside me. Heavy furniture that looked as if, once in position, it could never be moved. Grete, come to the hotel, we will make plans. There’s never this kind of trouble at the brothel. Without my head I would not be lonely. But it is so crowded, knocking at my skull. Felice, I am ruin. The sideboard in particular— a perfect tombstone, or a memorial to the life of a Prague official. Do you love me, a little? I can obey everything, except what is demanded. If during our visit to the furniture store a funeral bell had begun tolling in the distance it would not have been inappropriate. How can I write amid the noise and smell of human bodies? The dress you wear in my mind is disappearing. Still I cannot see you with clarity. What have you done with your gift of sex? Disease has taken up residence, soon there will be no room for Franz. I yield not a particle of my demand for a fantastic life. Marry me, Felice. Save me. Leave me alone. ...