I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 113 I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) Charles H. Hammond, Jr. University of Tennessee, Martin Abstract : While the father figure in-Das Urteil-unequivocally occupies the role of judge, he has been relegated in criticism to the status of a defendant on trial for murder, accused of sentencing his own son to death. On few other matters, in fact, does one find such widespread consensus in Kafka studies. In this paper, the author challenges this conventional reading by asserting it is the father - rather than the protagonist George Bendemann - who is the victim of injustice. After establishing that the text is narrated almost entirely from Georg’s perspective, the author provides a reading of the tale as Georg’s testimony, identifying a number of inconsistencies and outright obfuscations by which the protagonist seeks to conceal his guilt. Keywords : -Das Urteil, Kafka,-The Judgment, narratology, father, guilt Die verbreiteste Individualität der Schriftsteller besteht ja darin, daß jeder auf ganz besondere Weise sein Schlechtes verdeckt. 1 (Kafka, Briefe 1900—1912, 167) Das Urteil tells the story of Georg Bendemann, a young businessman who lives with his father. When Georg appears for the first time, he has just completed a letter to a bachelor friend who had emigrated some years ago to St. Petersburg, Russia, in order to start a business of his own. While the friend’s entrepreneurial efforts initially met with some success, his business has since become unprofitable. Nonetheless, the friend has decided to remain in Russia, his visits to his land of birth becoming ever more seldom. Georg’s business, meanwhile, has blossomed. What is more, he has become engaged to a young woman from a well-to-do family. By all appearances, Georg is the picture of middle-class success. Yet, somehow, he cannot bring himself to inform his hapless expatriate friend about these life-changing events, preferring instead to discuss only “be- 114 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. deutungslose Vorfälle” [meaningless occurrences] (Kafka, Drucke zu Lebzeiten, 47) 2 in their correspondence. The fiancée, meanwhile, has become increasingly irritated by Georg’s reluctance to tell the friend about his imminent marriage. Ultimately, she persuades Georg that he ought to tell his friend about the engagement. Once Georg has written the letter, he approaches his father with the news that he is about to send it off. Initially, the father’s reaction is almost indifferent. Then, after taking great pains to assure his son that the answer is of no consequence whatsoever, the father asks Georg whether the friend in St. Petersburg actually exists. After some initial hesitancy, Georg insists that this friend does, in fact, exist. At this point the father, who only moments earlier appeared to Georg as “noch immer ein Riese” [still a giant] (DL 50), suddenly and inexplicably becomes very frail, requiring Georg to lift him, undress him and put him to bed. At this point the father - still appearing very weak - asks Georg whether he, the father, has been “gut zugedeckt” [well covered-up] (DL 55). After Georg reassures his father twice that he has, indeed, covered up his father well, the old man violently casts the blanket to the side, jumps to his feet and, while standing upon the bed, accuses his son of having neglected the friend, the family and the business. At the conclusion of this tirade, the father sentences Georg “zum Tode des Ertrinkens” [to death by drowning] (DL 60), a judgment the son appears to carry out by immediately heading to a bridge, swinging himself over the railing, and - after clinging to the railing with his hands for an indeterminate amount of time - dropping into the water below, all without a word of protest. While the father figure in Das Urteil unequivocally occupies the role of judge, he has been relegated in criticism to the status of a defendant on trial for murder, accused of sentencing his own son to death. On few other matters, in fact, does one find such widespread consensus in Kafka studies. According to these readings, the father is indisputably guilty: it is merely up to us, the readers, to determine the motive. The most common interpretation sees some type of unresolved Oedipal dynamic in the confrontation between Georg and his father. Walter Sokel typifies this school of thought. In his view, the father perceives his “displacement by an energetic son” as a “Luciferian revolt and parricide” (211), reducing the son to an innocent “victim” or “scapegoat” of his father’s wrathful envy (234). A more recent interpretation by Marcus Bullock rejects an explicitly Oedipal motive, but still recoils at the supposed “horror of demented hatred in the father who chooses to embrace an illusory tie to the friend as a substitute son, and reject as a devil and deceiver the real son, the son given to him by nature” (496). Bullock attributes the father’s actions not only to the elder Bendemann’s malevolence, but to psychological derangement, as indicated by the father’s “bizarre and contradictory ranting” in his confrontation with Georg I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 115 (502). Peter von Matt has provided a very different explanation, ascribing the apparent suicide to an elaborate prank father and son knowingly play on each other: “[W]enn der Vater, der ‘Komödiant,’ mit Georg, dem ‘Spaßmacher,’ immerzu spielt, warum sollten schließlich nicht auch der Akt des Urteils und seine Vollstreckung gespielt sein? ” 3 (107). These explanations for the father’s behavior have generally remained the same over time. In fact, in a book written nearly a half century ago, Evelyn Beck identifies the same trends in Kafka criticism. She points out that the father “has been variously judged insane, senile or just playing games,” before confessing her own inability to arrive at a sufficient explanation of the father’s motivations (81). “[I]t is very difficult,” she elaborates, “to tell to what extent the father is playing some vast, diabolical joke, to what extent he is earnest, and to what extent his image is distorted by Georg’s perception of him” (81). Despite her inconclusiveness on this count, however, Beck still assigns guilt to the father, who, in her view, abuses his authority by “[judging Georg] wrong for actions that are essentially natural and normal” (80). Here again, one finds that while critics will dispute the father’s motivations, they are more or less in agreement that he is guilty of ordering his son’s execution, an execution they are likewise agreed finds no justification in the text. Yet who speaks on behalf of the father? If we Kafka critics collectively indict and convict this figure in absentia, are we not ourselves committing a grave injustice? And with all due respect to Beck, identifying the father’s motive is not beyond our capacity at all. On the contrary, readers need only recognize that the text does not present any kind of objective - much less omniscient - narrative but instead amounts to the testimony of a single figure, namely Georg. The entire tale, after all, is recounted from Georg’s point of view. As James Phelan has noted, “[T]he final sentence of the story (…) [introduces] for the first time a narrative perspective other than Georg’s” (29). 4 The story, then, is very much Georg’s account of what transpires before, during and after the confrontation with his father� It is the statement of a witness: a series of claims, in other words, to which we must apply the requisite skepticism. In this paper, I treat Das Urteil as an exhibit that has been entered into discovery and, as counsel for the defense, review the testimony in detail, paying special attention to any inconsistencies. The premise underlying my approach is simple enough: if Georg’s story checks out, then we have been on the right path all along. We can continue, in good faith, to read Das Urteil as “das Porträt eines jungen Mannes, dessen scheinbar arrivierte Existenz innerhalb von Minuten in sich zusammenstürzt und der auf väterlichen Befehl Selbstmord begeht” 5 (Stach 135)� If, however, his story does not add up, then Georg has been engaged in some manner of deception: of himself, of those around him and even of us, his readers and erstwhile sympathizers. This is precisely the case I intend to make: I will 116 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. show that Georg’s account is not reliable. To this end, I will shed light on those passages that indicate that the twin pillars of his outward identity, namely his success in business and impending marriage, are complete fabrications. Further, I will show that Georg’s friend in Russia does not exist and that Georg’s “letters” to him serve to conceal Georg’s singular, secret passion for writing stories. In the end, it will soon become apparent that Georg is not a man of commerce at all, nor a husband-to-be, but a writer and a dilettante. The text consists of three parts, which depict the period prior to, during and immediately following the clash between father and son. The first section goes out of its way to paint a picture of Georg as the epitome of middle-class industry, a young man who has successfully dedicated himself to expanding the enterprise he has inherited from his father. With Georg at the helm, so we read, the business has made remarkable strides: profits have quintupled (! ) in the space of three years, requiring him to double the staff in his employ, all of which would make Georg nothing less than a financial genius. What changes could the young man have possibly implemented in order to arrive at such swift success? The text does not provide an answer. However, we know that Georg and his father do not inhabit a luxury apartment, much less a mansion, as one might expect, but rather “eines der niedrigen, leichtgebauten Häuser, die (…) in einer langen Reihe, fast nur in der Höhe und Färbung unterschieden, sich hinzogen” 6 (Kafka, Drucke zu Lebzeiten 43). The low, poorly constructed house, almost indistinguishable from those surrounding it, hardly recalls the accommodations of the upwardly mobile and well-to-do. The story does not account for this rather glaring discrepancy. For his part, the father, who at his advanced age ought to be enjoying the benefits of a life spent working to support his family, has not been able to retire: “[Er arbeitete] noch immer im Geschäft,” 7 (DL 46), another inconsistency which ought to arouse the reader’s suspicions. For if Georg is, in fact, as competent as he claims - indeed, if profits have multiplied fivefold and he can afford to make payroll for double the personnel - what need is there for the father to work? And as regards any changes Georg may have introduced in the business that would account for its exponentially increased profitability, the text is very elusive. In fact, one finds that the story cleverly refrains from explicitly ascribing any rise in earnings to Georg’s efforts. Instead, the text openly muses about three vague possibilities: Vielleicht hatte ihn der Vater bei Lebzeiten der Mutter dadurch, daß er im Geschäft nur seine Ansicht gelten lassen wollte, an einer wirklichen eigenen Tätigkeit gehindert. Vielleicht war der Vater seit dem Tode der Mutter, trotzdem er noch immer im Geschäft arbeitete, zurückhaltender geworden, vielleicht spielten - was sogar sehr wahrscheinlich war - glückliche Zufälle eine weit wichtigere Rolle […]. 8 (DL 46) I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 117 Tellingly, the adverb “vielleicht” [perhaps] precedes each of these three explanations, indicating that Georg himself would not be able to provide a satisfactory explanation for the growth of the family business (assuming, of course, any such growth took place at all). Is it not highly unusual, to say the least, that someone with Georg’s impeccable business acumen would not be able to cite, with any degree of certainty, even one reason behind the sudden upswing in profits? And with each repetition, the “vielleicht” that qualifies each of these statements comes across as a kind of shrug that, in true Kafkaesque form, frustrates the reader’s attempt at understanding, even as it appears to supply the reader with more information� Moreover, to say that maybe the father had earlier been unwilling to entertain opposing views, or that maybe he had become more reserved since the death of his wife is not the same thing as saying Georg did a single thing to enhance the profitability of the business. Indeed, the text concedes that any material gain would most likely have been a product of sheer luck, “glückliche Zufälle” [fortunate circumstances], a possibility deemed “sehr wahrscheinlich” [highly probable] and one which would have played “eine weit wichtigere Rolle” [a much more important role] in the family’s commercial fortunes. In addition, the paragraph containing this excerpt - a paragraph which at first appears to tout Georg’s financial successes only to cast immediate doubt on his role in these developments - concludes by assuring the reader that “ein weiterer Fortschritt stand zweifellos bevor” [further progress lay no doubt ahead]. There are at least two problems with this assertion. First, predictions of future success are just that: predictions, which by definition are unprovable. Second, in light of what we know about A) Georg’s and his father’s very modest living arrangements B) the need that still exists for his father to remain active within the business, and C) Georg’s marginal to non-existent role in the growth of the enterprise he now heads, claims of imminent success appear not only dubious but highly irresponsible, even delusionary. If I am correct that the text leaves open to question the veracity of Georg’s claims to financial success, it nonetheless appears he has been working hard, which is, of course, commendable-… or would be commendable, if only it were true� Again, a closer look at the text will show that Georg has not devoted his efforts to ensuring the success of the family business at all, as one would reasonably expect. Instead, he spends most of the working day sitting idly in his office while, one can only assume, his elderly father toils away downstairs� During the verbal confrontation with his son, Old Bendemann, his words dripping with sarcasm, accuses Georg of abusing his role as business owner in order to avoid work: “Darum doch sperrst du dich in dein Bureau, niemand soll stören, der Chef ist beschäftigt - nur damit du deine falschen Briefchen nach Rußland schreiben kannst” 9 (DL 56). The father’s charge comes as a surprise to the reader, 118 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. who to this point has assumed that Georg is the hard-working son the text portrays him to be. For this reason, the father’s allegation appears absurd, and Old Bendemann seems to have taken leave of his senses. However, readers must bear in mind that the picture of Georg as the tirelessly dedicated entrepreneur comes from Georg himself. The story is a self-accounting, albeit one narrated in free indirect discourse. On this basis, it becomes clear that the protagonist / narrator possesses an obvious motive for concealing the habitual negligence and casual mendacity of which he is accused� When the father calls him out for his disgraceful conduct, Georg does not deny the allegation in any way, because he knows very well the accusations are true, even if we readers initially do not� This new information, introduced by the father, prompts us to read the beginning of the tale in a completely different light. Here we find Georg alone in his room immediately after he has penned one of the “falsche Briefchen” [false little letters] to which the father refers during his tirade: Georg Bendemann, ein junger Kaufmann, saß in seinem Privatzimmer im ersten Stock […]. Er hatte gerade einen Brief an einen sich im Ausland befindenden Jugendfreund beendet, verschloß ihn in spielerischer Langsamkeit und sah dann, den Ellbogen auf den Schreibtisch gestützt, aus dem Fenster auf den Fluß, die Brücke und die Anhöhen am anderen Ufer mit ihrem schwachen Grün. (DL 43) 10 The opening paragraph explicitly identifies Georg as a merchant, yet the overall impression conveyed of Georg is that of a young man whose conduct inside his office is decidedly un-businesslike. If anything, his lackadaisical attitude is emphasized, with nothing of the sense of urgency one otherwise associates with the world of business. In particular, the manner in which he seals the letter - “in spielerischer Langsamkeit” [in a playfully slow fashion] - suggests that the act of writing to the “friend” retains an element of unreality for him. Georg’s playful (spielerisch) demeanor, after all, is completely out of place for someone writing to a close friend who is struggling under the weight of seemingly irresolvable crises: personal, financial and (as is later revealed) physical. In the same way, the slowness (Langsamkeit) with which Georg seals the envelope makes plain the inordinate pleasure he derives from the act of writing. In fact, after he is finished tending to the letter itself, Georg prolongs the ritual by gazing out of the office window, his head propped up on his hand, his elbow resting on his desk (auf den Schreibtisch gestützt) like an errant schoolboy, mentally absent, fully immersed in his own imagination� The opening paragraph of the story now appears to support the father’s allegation that Georg disappears into his office in order to avoid work. Georg’s habit of avoiding work by retreating to his room was very likely inspired by a recurrent event in the life of the author� In his Brief an den Vater [Letter to the I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 119 Father], Kafka confesses that he, too, had often withdrawn to his room or office in order to avoid work and that the tuberculosis he had contracted two years earlier had not resulted from overwork, as the father believed. On the contrary, as Kafka confesses in the Brief, work was typically the last thing on his mind: Also das alles stammte nicht von übergroßer Arbeit, wie Du Dir es immer vorstellst. Es gab Jahre, in denen ich bei voller Gesundheit mehr Zeit auf dem Kanapee verfaulenzt habe, als Du in Deinem ganzen Leben, alle Krankheiten eingerechnet. Wenn ich höchstbeschäftigt von Dir fortlief, war es meist, um mich in meinem Zimmer hinzulegen. Meine Gesamtarbeitsleistung sowohl im Büro (wo allerdings Faulheit nicht sehr auffällt und überdies durch meine Ängstlichkeit in Grenzen gehalten war) als auch zu Hause ist winzig, hättest Du darüber einen Überblick, würde es Dich entsetzen. (Nachgelassene Schriften und Fragmente II 195) 11 The self-recrimination and guilt on the part of the son vis-à-vis the father could not be more evident. With these words, Kafka makes abundantly clear that although he may have been successful in deceiving his father for years, he nonetheless imagined and felt the eyes of his absent father upon him: “hättest Du darüber einen Überblick-…” [if you had any real idea of it] In Das Urteil, however, the father is all-seeing, possessing the “Überblick” that Kafka’s real-life father lacked. Hence, where Kafka succeeded in deceiving his father, his protagonist fails. Georg gets away with his persistent malingering only to one day discover that his greatest fear has come true: namely, that the father has known of his son’s duplicity all along. Other elements of Kafka’s relationship with his father, which later surface in the Brief, find their way into the story as well. In his letter, Kafka uses the adjective “hochbeschäftigt” [terribly busy] in exactly the same sarcastic manner as the father in Das Urteil uses “beschäftigt” [busy]: namely, to suggest that the son was not busy at all, but was merely claiming to be so in order to justify his escape from the father who would put him to work. “Wenn ich hochbeschäftigt von dir fortlief-…” 12 is echoed in Old Bendemann’s sarcastic statement “[N]iemand soll stören, der Chef ist beschäftigt.” 13 In the Brief, Kafka suggests Hermann Kafka knew nothing of his son’s penchant for whittling away his time in his room� In the story, however, the father confronts the son with the shocking revelation that he has always known about the son’s habit of skulking to his room when there was work to be done. From the perspective of Kafka, who wrote the story “[in einem] selbstvergessene[n], halluzinatorische[n] und doch konzentrierte[n] und kontrollierte[n] mentale[n] Zustand” 14 (Stach 116), the scene in Das Urteil appears as a nightmare in which the father has been aware of the son’s laziness and dishonesty from the start. Hence, while it is Kafka’s nightmare, it is poor Georg who is made to suffer through it. As Georg looks up at the man standing on the bed, he does not see his father, per se, but rather 120 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. “[das] Schreckbild seines Vaters” 15 (DL 56, my emphasis). That is, he does not see the father so much as he sees the picture of the father that has always inhabited the author’s uneasy conscience. That father, whom Georg had always feared lurked behind the equanimous, almost stoic exterior, has suddenly come to life. And instead of the clueless old man Georg had taken him to be, the father is now fully cognizant, possessed of an almost divine omniscience, and Georg can no more escape his father’s all-knowing gaze than he can deny his own guilt. Taken together, these related passages from Das Urteil and Der Brief exemplify what Kafka called “die Darstellung meines traumhaften innern [sic] Lebens” [the portrayal of my dreamlike inner life] (Tagebücher 546)� 16 Nowhere is this particular aspect of his writing so evident as in this excerpt from the story, for in it we can recognize the interplay of life and literature, where what initially appears as an unjustified allegation of deviant behavior by the fictional father is, at once, the real-life self-indictment, confession and nightmare of the real-life author. Another level of complexity is introduced by Georg, who attempts to deceive the reader just as the author had earlier deceived his biological father. If we look closely enough at Georg’s narration of events, however, the truth eventually emerges out of a veritable sea of conspicuous omissions, deliberate half-truths and troubling inconsistencies. In the context of the protagonist’s efforts to avoid work, it is worth noting that another section of Kafka’s Brief an den Vater details not only Kafka’s efforts to do the same, but to avoid any association with the family business whatsoever, for in his mind the business was inextricably bound with thoughts of the father. As he confesses: “Das nächste äußere Ergebnis dieser ganzen Erziehung war, daß ich alles floh, was nur von der Ferne an Dich erinnerte. Zuerst das Geschäft” 17 (NSF II 171, my emphasis). Moreover, Kafka was well aware of the manner in which his purposeful avoidance of the business disappointed his father, yet he maintained his distance all the same: “Du suchtest dann (für mich ist das heute rührend und beschämend) aus meiner Dich doch sehr schmerzenden Abenigung gegen das Geschäft, gegen dein Werk doch noch ein wenig Süßigkeit für Dich zu ziehn [sic], indem Du behauptetest, mir fehle der Geschäftssinn, ich habe höhere Ideen im Kopf u. dgl.” 18 (NSF II 175). The elder Kafka’s assertion that his son had “höhere Ideen im Kopf” was no doubt meant sarcastically, and it finds a parallel in Old Bendemann’s sarcastic observation that his son disappeared into his office, “hochbeschäftigt.” In each case, the implication is the same: the son is accused of acting as if assisting the father in the family business were somehow beneath him. As regards Georg’s negligible contributions to the business, there is a point at which Georg reveals the truth only to be dismissed by the reader. This rare instance of truth-telling occurs immediately after the father has asked Georg I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 121 whether the friend in St. Petersburg actually exists, leading the reader to assume that the old man has either forgotten about the friend due to the onset of senility or is perhaps merely resentful of Georg’s lasting affection for his childhood companion. Georg responds in part by assuring Old Bendemann that he is still needed: “Du bist mir im Geschäft unentbehrlich,” he insists, “das weißt du ja sehr genau, aber wenn das Geschäft deine Gesundheit bedrohen sollte, sperre ich es noch morgen für immer” 19 (DL 52). Georg’s assurance initially comes across as a white lie, a touching expression of filial devotion to a father who has become mentally decrepit. However, unbeknownst to the reader, Georg is telling the literal truth. The father really is indispensable to Georg because the young man who locks himself in his office during working hours would have no choice but to close the business if his father were forced to retire. Moreover, the very idea of closing the business from one day to the next on the pretense of having to care for the father makes no sense whatsoever. How exactly would Georg expect to support himself, his new bride and his father (to say nothing of any future offspring) if not through the business? Seen from this perspective, the idea Georg expresses here is breathtakingly irresponsible and shows the extent to which he remains, even in adulthood, firmly dependent on the father’s labor. For his part, Old Bendemann is all too aware of his vital role in the business, an enterprise that would soon plunge into insolvency if he were not there keeping it afloat, a fact that Georg underscores by adding “das weißt du ja sehr genau” [you know that very well]. The father does not deny his son’s suggestion that his part in the business is critically essential because he knows it to be more than mere flattery. Father and son are in full agreement on this point. Ironically, it is only the reader who assumes that Georg is telling an innocent lie when, in fact, he is confessing the unvarnished truth� One could object to my reading, of course, on the grounds that the father is physically ailing. And indeed, this impression of the father’s condition is widespread in the critical discussion of Das Urteil. J.P. Stern, for example, suggests that “[w]hen the father first appears, [he] is weak” (124). Similarly, von Matt asserts that the father is “körperlich schwach” [physically weak] (102). Anders Petterson, as well, describes the father as “weak” (56). In the same vein, Martin Greenberg alludes to the father’s “failing strength” (12). Yet this depiction of the father in so much of the secondary literature is demonstrably false. For one, the father still works in the business, which would be impossible if he were so frail that he could not, say, undress himself or needed someone to carry him to bed. Also, when Georg encounters his father for the first time in the story, the older man rises immediately to his feet and approaches his son, moving with such alacrity that his heavy nightgown flutters around him as he walks: “‘Ah, Georg! ’ sagte der Vater und ging ihm gleich entgegen. Sein schwerer Schlafrock 122 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. öffnete sich im Gehen, die Enden umflatterten ihn” 20 (DL 50). Georg is so struck by his father’s strength and agility, in fact, that he is reminded of a giant, and not for the first time: “‘[M]ein Vater ist noch immer ein Riese,’ dachte sich Georg” 21 (DL 50). Note that Old Bendemann is also strong enough to clear away his own dishes: “Der Vater räumte das Frühstücksgeschirr ab und stellte es auf einen Kasten” 22 (DL 50). To be sure, the father later - and for a very limited time-- pretends he is unable to care for himself, the reasons for which I have laid out elsewhere in meticulous detail� 23 However, both prior to and following this brief play act, the father is anything but weak. It is critically important that we recognize this fact, because the all-too-common perception of the father as frail has led many critics to assume it is the father who is dependent upon the son when it is actually the son who is dependent on the father. At the outset of the story, Old Bendemann is healthy and strong, despite his advanced age. (Artist: Robert Crumb) 24 In the context of the radically unequal division of labor in the story, it is essential that we consider the exact nature of the father’s complaint. Specifically, Old Bendemann alleges that his son absconds to his room during working hours in order to write “falsche Briefchen” [false little letters], a very peculiar charge whose meaning is not readily apparent. In what way can letters be considered “false” in the first place? It is a key question that has received surprisingly little attention in the critical discussion of the story. As readers, we can either collectively throw up our hands and simply cite the statement as further evidence of I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 123 Old Bendemann’s advancing dementia, or we can ask ourselves whether there is a certain logic underlying the cryptic use of the adjective “falsch” to describe the letters. The latter approach, while inarguably the more difficult, invariably proves the more productive because, as Theodor Adorno notes, it is precisely in passages such as these, where fantasy and reality intersect, that Kafka’s unique genius reveals itself: “So-… wie Kafka zu dem Traum sich verhält, soll der Leser zu Kafka sich verhalten. Nämlich auf den inkommensurablen, undurchsichtigen Details, den blinden Stellen beharren” 25 (258). The father’s allusion to Georg’s “falsche Briefchen” is precisely one such detail. By asking in what way these letters - if indeed, they are letters to begin with - might be considered false, we gain access to Georg’s inner world, the secret life he has been leading for years. This knowledge, in turn, will enable us to comprehend and even empathize with Old Bendemann’s angry denunciation of his son’s disgraceful conduct. In German, falsch can, of course, mean “false” in the sense of untrue, but can also mean insincere� In this case, falsch carries both meanings: the content of Georg’s writing is as untrue as the intent of his writing is insincere. Georg’s writing is untrue for the simple reason that he is not writing letters at all, but fiction. As the student of Latin Franz Kafka would have known, the term Literatur is derived from the same root as the noun “letter” (litteratura and littera, respectively). Literature is conventionally understood as the writing of fiction - that is, the recounting of untrue events - and to that extent amounts to a collection of falsehoods. For these reasons, the production of “falsche Briefchen” serves as a reference to the writing of literature� In fact, as a careful re-reading of the text will reveal, “falsche Briefchen” emerges as merely one of several oblique allusions to Georg’s literary production. The writing of fiction also constitutes the sole link between Georg and the friend. The connection between Georg and his nameless friend, after all, is never described as personal, nor sentimental nor even profound, but only as epistolary: the two figures share an exclusively “briefliche Verbindung” [epistolary connection] (DL 45). By itself, this observation might seem unremarkable, until we recall that the only way Georg is able to maintain the relationship is through the continuous portrayal of untrue events (i.e. fiction): “[Man konnte ihm], wenn man überhaupt noch die briefliche Verbindung aufrecht erhalten wollte, keine eigentlichen Mitteilungen machen, wie man sie ohne Scheu auch den entferntesten Bekannten geben würde” [If one still wanted to maintain the epistolary relationship, one could not relate any real information to him, the way one would, without hesitation, to even the most distant acquaintance] (DL 45, my emphasis). In other words, the supposed friendship is of a very unusual variety. For if nothing else, friendship implies the type of intimacy that allows two individuals to reveal something of their personal lives to one another. But Georg does just the opposite: he cannot 124 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. allow himself to relay to the supposed friend even the most casual observation one could otherwise share with even “den entferntesten Bekannten.” [the most distant acquaintance]. 26 Of course, there is nothing unusual at all about communication between two friends assuming the form of letters. However, the notion of such a relationship being dependent upon one not sharing anything real about his daily existence with the other is completely absurd. Just as he had reported “no real information,” Georg relates only “bedeutungslose Vorfälle” [meaningless occurrences] (DL 47), which might at first appear to contradict the idea that Georg does not report anything about his material existence to the unnamed friend. Yet these meaningless occurrences do not consist of observations about empirical reality at all. Instead, these anecdotes are of the type “[die] sich, wenn man an einem ruhigen Sonntag nachdenkt, in der Erinnerung ungeordnet aufhaufen” [that, as one is thinking over things on a peaceful Sunday, accumulate randomly in one’s memory] (DL 47), which is to say that these occurrences are products of Georg’s imagination. The incidents he describes in the supposed letters are “meaningless” for the simple reason that they do not consist of any real events. They are only musings, the contemplation of which transports Georg into the pleasant, waking dream state in which he is depicted at the beginning of the story. The text also contains a subtle allusion to the author’s own biography that strongly suggests Georg is engaged in the writing of fiction. This reference appears in a passage in which, for reasons that go unexplained, the protagonist writes to the friend about “die Verlobung eines gleichgültigen Menschen mit einem ebenso gleichgültigen Mädchen dreimal in ziemlich weit auseinanderliegenden Briefen” [the engagement of an unimportant person to an equally unimportant young woman three times in letters spaced quite widely apart] (DL 47). The fact that the unnamed man and woman are unimportant naturally leads one to ask why Georg would take the time - on three separate occasions, no less - to report on the lives of people so uninteresting and inconsequential. However, it soon becomes apparent that the man and woman of the three letters in question are each described as “unimportant” because they are not real. Which is to say: they do not exist outside the fertile imagination of the would-be writer Georg Bendemann. In addition, the fact that Georg describes an impending marriage in three widely separate letters serves as a playful allusion to a project the author had taken up on three separate occasions between the years 1906 and 1908, entitled Hochzeitsvorbereitungen auf dem Lande [Wedding Preparations in the Country]. In this story fragment, Kafka had based the last name of his protagonist, Raban, on the name Kafka, just as he had based the first half of Georg’s family name, “Bende,” on the name Kafka. 27 Other examples where Kafka includes phonetic and etymological allusions to his own name in his works are well-known, I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 125 such as in the cases of Gregor Samsa of Die Verwandlung [The Metamorphosis] and K� of Das Schloss [The Castle]. Other examples are less well-known, such as Franz Butterbaum and Onkel Jakob of Der Heizer / Der Verschollene [The Stoker / The Man Who Went Missing]� 28 What all of these examples go to show is that Kafka was by no means averse to incorporating references to himself and the contemporaneous events of his own life in his fictional writing. This autobiographical element of Das Urteil is perhaps nowhere more apparent than in the depiction of the peculiar relationship Georg shares with his father. As with Georg’s role in the family business, Georg’s relationship to his father is radically more limited than it initially appears to be. Prior to their confrontation, the reader assumes (and is led to believe) that father and son enjoy a more-or-less normative, functional relationship, which is exactly why the father’s sudden condemnation of his son’s conduct and ensuing judgment come as such a shock. After all, have the two men not been living and working together for years under one roof? What is more, one assumes the untimely death of the mother would only bring the widower and his son closer together. A closer inspection of the narrative, however, indicates that father and son are completely alienated from one another. For example, the text states that Georg had not stepped inside his father’s room in months, but then hastens to add: “Es bestand auch sonst keine Nötigung dazu, denn er verkehrte mit seinem Vater ständig im Geschäft” [There was also no need, since he constantly interacted with his father in the business] (DL 49). Again, if we treat the text as Georg’s testimonial, we find Georg trapped in another outright lie, for it is impossible for him to have associated “constantly…in the business” with his father if he is spending most of the time locked in his room� Recall that Georg had even instructed the father to tell anyone requesting to see his son during business hours that Georg was unavailable. Hence, when the father mocks Georg with the words “[N]iemand soll stören, der Chef ist beschäftigt,” he is merely repeating an excuse he has had to make time and again in his son’s absence. The possibility of the two figures conferring with one another on a regular basis in the business is, therefore, precluded. Alongside this falsehood, other details contained in Georg’s account are intentionally and demonstrably misleading. Such is the case, for instance, with the description of the two men’s mealtime habits. According to the text, Georg and his father eat lunch at the same time in the same locale, a fact which would lead the undiscerning reader to assume that the two men use the opportunity to discuss the events of the day. However, the text contains no mention of any conversation ever taking place between the two: “Das Mittagessen nahmen sie gleichzeitig in einem Speisehaus ein” 29 (DL 49). In other words, their mealtimes and choice of dining locale coincide, but that is all: gleichzeitig [simultaneously] is not the same as zusammen [together]� In the same way, father and son each 126 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. makes his own dinner arrangements, “jeder nach Belieben” [each as he wished] (DL 49), a clear sign that neither feels under any obligation to provide a meal for - much less spend time with - the other. Following the evening meal, the two sometimes sit in their shared living room for a short while, but even for this limited period of time the attention of each man is directed at his newspaper (DL 49)� 30 And even this fleeting interaction - if one can call it that - represents the exception rather than the rule, as Georg spends most of his evenings either “mit Freunden beisammen” [together with friends] or calling on “seine Braut” [his bride] (DL 49). This peculiar living and working arrangement is not unlike that which existed between Kafka and the father in whose home he lived “fremder als ein Fremder” [stranger than a stranger], as Kafka himself put it in his diary (T 580). What is more, Kafka exchanged, by his own admission, “kaum jemals mehr als Grußworte” [seldom more than words of greeting] with his father (T 580), a real-life status quo that accounted, in least in part, for Kafka’s conspicuous avoidance of the family business despite the fact that the two men lived under one roof� As he recounts in the Brief: “Ich leugne auch nicht, daß es möglich gewesen wäre, daß ich die Früchte Deiner großen und erfolgreichen Arbeit wirklich richtig hätte genießen, verwerten und mit ihnen zu Deiner Freude hätte weiterarbeiten können, dem aber stand eben unsere Entfremdung entgegen” 31 (NSF II 171). This tragic state of mutual estrangement is recreated in the fictional daily routine of father and son in the Bendemann household� To this point, I have established that the contact between Georg and his father is minimal� Whether at work or at leisure, George goes out of his way to avoid contact with the old man. The two do not even interact during meals. Separated by their respective stations in the life cycle, the two figures are also separated by their priorities. The father has devoted his life to maintaining a business in support of a family that, in the wake of the mother’s passing, amounts to one fully grown, financially dependent son. This son, who is derelict in his duties at work, hides behind the professional identity of entrepreneur. To put it bluntly, Georg is living a lie. Little surprise, then, that the lack of integrity that characterizes his professional identity as businessman should extend to his private identity as husband-to-be, as well. And just as the father mocks Georg’s failure to take his work seriously, he exposes, in the same breath, Georg’s lack of seriousness toward the prospect of marriage. In this context, Old Bendemann indicts his son on two counts. First, he accuses Georg of having been lured into marriage through sex: “Weil sie die Röcke gehoben hat,-… [w]eil sie die Röcke so und so und so gehoben hat, hast du dich an sie herangemacht” (DL 57). 32 As with the rest of the father’s accusations, this one initially seems nonsensical. After all, the credentials of the young lady in question, Frieda Brandenfeld, seem impeccable: she is “[ein] Mädchen aus wohlhabender Familie” [a girl from I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 127 a well-to-do family] (DL 47), a fact the text underscores by reporting it twice. 33 Yet here again subtle clues buried within the story show that Old Bendemann is hardly imagining things� Georg writing the fateful letter to the “friend.” (Artist: Robert Crumb) Recall that Georg at first attempts to keep secret from his friend the news of his upcoming nuptials. However, when Frieda learns of Georg’s unwillingness to notify the friend, she suddenly balks at the prospect of marriage, declaring: “Wenn du solche Freunde hast, Georg, hättest du dich überhaupt nicht verloben sollen” 34 (DL 48). And even then, despite the implicit threat in Frieda’s statement - if you do not tell the friend, I will not marry you - Georg remains stubbornly intent on withholding the news� It is only later, during sexual intercourse, that Georg reluctantly accedes to his bride’s demand: “Und wenn sie dann rasch atmend unter seinen Küssen noch vorbrachte: ‘Eigentlich kränkt es mich doch,’ hielt er es wirklich für unverfänglich, dem Freund alles zu schreiben” (DL 48, my emphasis). 35 The clues that suggest the two are engaged in the sex act are easily overlooked. However, it is difficult to explain why else Frieda would be breathing heavily, the reason for which is never made explicit. Coupled with the fact that she finds herself under the kisses of her lover while out of breath, however, makes clear enough what is taking place. And again, when confronted by the father with the charge that he has only decided to marry in order to maintain the actively sexual relationship he enjoys with Frieda, Georg is unable to say anything on his own behalf. Then again, how could he? The father 128 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. is right, as the description of the old man immediately following this episode makes unequivocally clear: “[Der Vater] strahlte vor Einsicht” 36 (DL 57). If the story is narrated from Georg’s perspective - and it is - then it is also Georg who is relating, subjectively, the reason for the father’s jubilant display: namely, Einsicht, in-sight. To Georg’s mind, Old Bendemann revels triumphantly in his ability, undiminished with age, to peer through the son’s elaborate façade and apprehend the truth. A passage from the first version of Kafka’s “Hochzeitsvorbereitungen auf dem Lande” (1907) anticipates the father’s flash of insight. In the fragment, which likewise describes a young man’s reluctant path to marriage and is likewise narrated in free indirect discourse, the protagonist Raban reflects on the psychological and emotional necessity of regarding one’s life at a remove, observing: “[S]olange Du ‘man’ sagst an Stelle von ‘ich,’ ist es nichts und man kann diese Geschichte aufsagen, sobald Du aber Dir eingestehst daß Du selbst es bist, dann wirst Du förmlich durchbohrt und bist entsetzt” (Nachgelassene Schriften und Fragmente I, 14)� 37 I submit here that Raban’s feeling of being “durchbohrt” (literally: “bored-through”) is precisely what Georg feels standing before his father, who demonstrates his powers of Einsicht in response to his son’s stated intention to marry. This reading finds more explicit support in the father’s declaration, made shortly after he leaps onto the bed, that he can literally see through the son: “Aber den Vater muß glücklicherweise niemand lehren, den Sohn zu durchschauen” 38 (DL 56; my emphasis). The father alone knows that Georg possesses neither the motivation to work nor the will to marry; that the son’s public identity bears little resemblance to the private reality; and that Georg remains as dependent as ever upon the father’s generosity and goodwill. In subsequent remarks on the story, Kafka even calls attention to the protagonist’s helpless condition, observing: “[Georg hat] selbst nichts mehr […], als den Blick auf den Vater, [deshalb] wirkt das Urteil, das ihm den Vater gänzlich verschließt so stark auf ihn” 39 (T 492). The fact that the father’s judgment would mean so much to Georg may initially seem counterintuitive, since the son is a grown man and the interaction between the two figures is, as I have shown, so minimal. However, Kafka’s comments on the story make clear that Georg still holds the father in high esteem, which in turn suggests the son harbors a highly conflicted and ambivalent view towards the older man that can be summarized as follows: on the one hand, the son’s conspicuous avoidance of all but the most perfunctory contact with the father imply feelings of contempt and even hatred; on the other hand, the notion that the gaze at the father is all Georg has left betray long-suppressed feelings of admiration and even love for Old Bendemann, who - as a hardworking entrepreneur, husband and father - embodies a bourgeois, masculine ideal to which the son can never hope to aspire. Rather, I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 129 Georg can only pretend to be like his father, in a vain attempt to deceive others, and in particular himself. As Kafka observed, Georg “glaubt den Vater in sich zu haben,” 40 but, as Old Bendemann makes explicit on several occasions during the confrontation, Georg lacks the essential traits that would make him an heir worthy of the name (T 491, my emphasis). The father, after all, is and always has been the hardworking breadwinner, the one whom Georg admires, the entrepreneur, husband and paterfamilias. Georg, by contrast, is none of these things. At work he is shiftless, while in his private life he evinces no real desire to start a family but instead remains a slave to his own libido, coaxed into marriage. The desire to emulate his father nonetheless endures, as evinced by Georg’s ill-fated attempt to take his father’s place despite lacking the will, the ability and, hence, the right to do so� 41 Before approaching Old Bendemann with the news that he is sending off the letter - an act which would symbolically mark his replacement of the father as head of household - Georg cannot rid himself of a sense of foreboding. Georg’s trepidation is manifest, for example, in his stubborn reluctance to agree to his fiancée’s demand that he write to the friend with the news of the wedding. His uneasiness is likewise evident in the inordinate amount of time he spends in his room staring out the window after having penned the fateful letter. The most revealing sign of Georg’s fear of approaching his father, however, is contained in a subtle gesture he makes just as he states his purpose for entering the father’s domain: “Ich wollte dir eigentlich nur sagen,” fuhr Georg fort, der den Bewegungen des alten Mannes ganz verloren folgte, “daß ich nun doch nach Petersburg meine Verlobung angezeigt habe.” Er zog den Brief ein wenig aus der Tasche und ließ ihn wieder zurückfallen. (DL 50, my emphasis) 42 Note how the gesture is at complete odds with the intended meaning of Georg’s speech. The dichotomy results from the fact that in Kafka the mind often lies, but the body never does. 43 Nowhere is this observation more in evidence than in the excerpt quoted above, a passage which, as a closer reading will reveal, is heavily laden with meaning. Standing before the father, Georg lifts the letter with his fingers but instead of withdrawing the object completely from his pocket lets it instead fall back, in a gesture which stands as a concrete metaphor for the protagonist’s own hesitancy and lack of will. Georg’s inability to arrive at and follow through with a decision on his own forms the basis of his guilt, as the father makes explicit just before issuing his decree: “Wie lange hast du gezögert, ehe du reif geworden bist” 44 (DL 60). Once again, the reader has no choice but to acknowledge the truth of the father’s statement. As we have seen, Georg has shirked his responsibilities at work, has avoided contact with 130 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. the father whenever possible (and, by extension, the self-assessment any kind of meaningful contact with the father would entail) and has repeatedly put off sending the letter to the friend until Frieda finally issues an ultimatum. Even now, Georg approaches his father not because he wishes to announce the letter has been sent, but because he is seeking the father’s approval, as he is unable to act on his own. Old Bendemann is no fool and immediately identifies the son’s true motive, observing (not asking): “Du bist wegen dieser Sache zu mir gekommen, um dich mit mir zu beraten” 45 (DL 51). The father knows, in other words, that the son’s stated reason is a false one, just as he knows everything about his son’s life amounts to little more than a carefully crafted falsehood. While there is not yet any anger in his voice, the father shows from the outset that while Georg has been able to deceive others, the father is never and has never been under any illusions about his son’s intentions. Here again, Georg’s gesture serves as a fitting metaphor for this cat-and-mouse game he plays with the father. Georg has the temerity to enter his father’s room and announce the notification of the friend as a fait accompli, which it quite obviously is not. The letter never leaves Georg’s pocket and never will. The son’s supposed reason for seeking out the father, therefore, is only a clumsily transparent attempt at deception, since he has notified exactly no one. So while Georg’s utterances are intentionally misleading, his gestures are un-intentionally sincere. The letter remains in the son’s pocket and - just in case the father missed it - Georg absentmindedly lifts it out of its pouch where it becomes temporarily visible. Georg lets go of the letter, allowing it to slide back into the pocket where, one presumes, it is more or less physically concealed, but the father (and the reader) knows the letter has gone nowhere. Thus, what Georg had conceived as a resolute declaration before the father of the arrival of a new era, one in which the father would occupy a dependent and the son an independent role, is reduced from the very beginning to a tragicomic farce. As I have asserted previously, Georg’s “crime” lies in his chronic indecision. In his vain attempt to win the father’s approval, Georg does not look at the father resolutely, as one might expect from a young man about to assume the duties of marriage and fatherhood. Instead, he gazes “ganz verloren” 46 at his father’s movements, in what instead emerges as a rather pathetic display of helplessness. As Georg lifts the letter out of the pocket he knows, psychologically speaking, that he lacks the strength to bear the weight of the words contained therein. He cannot endure the gravity of the obligation that the words on the page represent. What is more, by briefly clasping the letter and lifting it slightly, only to let it drop down again, Georg unwittingly anticipates his imminent fall into the river, which is similarly depicted as a grasp followed by an unconscious release: “Noch hielt er sich mit schwächer werdenden Händen fest, (…) und ließ I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 131 sich hinabfallen” 47 (DL 61). I am compelled here to point out that Georg does not - as is so often and erroneously claimed - jump into the river. 48 Instead, he swings himself over the railing and clings desperately to it “wie ein Hungriger die Nahrung” 49 (DL 61) and only lets go when all physical strength leaves him, the “zurückfallen” [falling back] of the letter into the pocket foreshadowing the “hinabfallen” [falling off] of the protagonist into the river. “Schon hielt er das Geländer fest, wie ein Hungriger die Nahrung.” (Artist: Robert Crumb) While marking the decisive breakthrough in Kafka’s creative development, Das Urteil also represents the culmination of literary experiments that preceded it. Such is the case, as I explained previously, in the figure of Raban, who is able to displace himself by viewing his predicament in the third person. However, the moment this train of thought shifts to the first person, he feels “seen through” or “bored through.” When we consider the brief gesture Georg makes with the letter in his pocket, we find a similar dynamic at work: here again, what Kafka had previously made explicit in his earlier, fragmentary attempts at writing is made implicit in his first complete short story. Prior to Das Urteil, Kafka had, on at least seven occasions over the course of a year, jotted down the following sentence (or some facsimile thereof) in his journal: “Bei dem plötzlichen Reden flog mir etwas Speichel als schlechtes Vorzeichen aus dem Mund” (T 30). 50 Kafka’s repetition of this sentence in the space of so many months strongly suggests that, on the one hand, Kafka was intrigued by the idea of the body as 132 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. a repository of knowledge. On the other, something about the sentence clearly fell short of his expectations, hence its replication in different forms. In all the iterations of the sentence, however, the phrase “als schlechtes Vorzeichen” [as a bad omen] remains constant. By - at the very latest - the writing of Betrachtung [Contemplation] (1912), 51 one finds Kafka’s texts no longer interpret gestures for the reader. Instead, as Walter Benjamin has pointed out, each gesture has become “ein Vorgang, ja man könnte sagen ein Drama, für sich” 52 (536)� In the case of Das Urteil, Georg’s momentary lifting and dropping of the envelope into his pocket appears - but is not explicitly identified - as just such a “schlechtes Vorzeichen.” Only when Georg drops himself (“ließ sich hinabfallen”) into the river in the same manner he drops the letter (“ließ ihn wieder zurückfallen”) into his pocket does the powerful symbolic significance of the gesture become manifest. “Er zog den Brief ein wenig aus der Tasche und ließ ihn wieder zurückfallen.” (Artist: Robert Crumb) Critics have long noted that gestures in Kafka frequently conflict with the subject’s intentions. Adorno, for example, has observed how gestures serve as counterpoints to words (“setzen- … Kontrapunkte zu den Worten”) in Kafka’s fiction (22). Similarly, Jörg Häntzschel has pointed out that Kafka’s gestures often take center stage, to the point that the momentum created by the gesture can eclipse the momentum of the plot: “[die] Gebärden-… treten an die Stelle von Handlungen und werden dabei durch ihre Darstellung so transformiert, daß ihr Handlungsmoment hinter dem Ausdrucksmoment verschwindet” 53 (164)� However, in the case of Georg’s brief lifting and letting go of the letter, we find I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 133 almost the opposite phenomenon at work: the protagonist’s words, upon scrutiny, actually conform with the gesture. Both Georg’s speech and body language betray self-doubt and, with it, consciousness of guilt. If Georg’s guilt lies in his chronic indecision, then both his verbal and physical tics indicate awareness of his own culpability. To illustrate my meaning, it is necessary to again recall the passage in question: “Ich wollte dir eigentlich nur sagen,” fuhr Georg fort, der den Bewegungen des alten Mannes ganz verloren folgte, “daß ich nun doch nach Petersburg meine Verlobung angezeigt habe” (DL 50). As is so often the case with this story, what appears on the surface to suggest one meaning turns out, upon closer inspection, to point to its opposite. Superficially, Georg’s announcement appears to show resolve. But does it really? After all, Georg cannot bring himself to mention his friend. Instead, he can only refer to him euphemistically as “Petersburg.” In the same way, the inclusion of the particle “doch” points to Georg’s prolonged struggle to arrive at a decision. Even Georg’s claim that he wanted (wollte) to make this announcement is quite obviously false, as evinced by the completely forlorn (ganz verloren) gaze he casts in his father’s direction� Even worse, the notice of engagement that Georg declares he has already sent has not been sent at all. The father bears stoic witness to Georg’s play-act and surmises, quite correctly, that his son has come seeking advice because he knows that Georg, though a grown man, is incapable of arriving at a decision on his own. The vacillation in Georg’s speech finds its perfect complement in his gesticulation. By partially withdrawing the letter from his pocket only to drop it back in, Georg’s hand movements act out the protagonist’s agonizing hesitancy. At the same time, Georg’s gesture encapsulates, with uncompromising clarity, both the protagonist’s offense as well as the punishment that will soon result from it� In this paper I have sought, first and foremost, to rehabilitate the figure of the father in Kafka’s Das Urteil in order to show that he is neither senile nor insane, and that his criticisms of the son’s lack of commitment to his profession and to the institution of marriage are well-founded� In this sense, a statement Kafka makes in his diary nearly a year after composing Das Urteil could just as easily have come from Georg’s lips, were he only being honest with himself: “Eine Ehe könnte mich nicht verändern, ebenso wie mich mein Posten nicht verändern kann” (T 581). 54 This observation aligns well with the father’s accusations regarding his son’s unwillingness to devote himself to the foundational middle-class institutions of work and family� Georg does not deny these charges in the least and indeed, closer inspection of the story confirms the substance of the father’s allegations. For his part, Georg exhibits consciousness of his own guilt in a variety of ways I have attempted to elucidate here. I arrive at my conclusions by treating the story as the protagonist’s testimony, an aspect of 134 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. the story very often obscured by the fact that it is narrated in the third person. This third-person narrative lulls the unsuspecting reader into lending too much credence to Georg’s self-accounting. At the same time, some of these overly credulous readers are at a loss to explain why the conclusion of Das Urteil seems, somehow, so fitting. Pettersson, for example, admits to finding the story “strangely liberating” (57). David Pan goes so far as to attribute “the popularity of ‘The Judgment’ [to] the unexplainable intuition that the suicide is a logical consequence of what has gone before” (156). Similarly, Flores suggests that “the issue of the story seems to lie in Georg’s recognition that his father’s words are just and sensible and, in their self-evidentness, unbearable” (38). But can our “intuition” really not be explained? Do the father’s words merely seem “just and sensible”? As I have attempted to explain, the justice of the father’s claim is borne out by a thorough examination of Georg’s version of events, an account which is predictably self-serving. By paying special attention to the many contradictions (think Georg’s shoddily-constructed house), exaggerations (his supposed financial success), omissions (his extremely limited interaction with his father, or the sexual relationship he shares with his fiancée) and even verbal and physical idiosyncrasies (his announcement before the father, the hesitant gesture) - in short, by interrogating Georg as a kind of hostile witness - we are able to arrive at a facsimile of the truth that bears little relation to commonly received notions about this cryptic, yet fascinating tale. Of course, Max Brod effectively warned us this would be the case when he introduced us “zu dieser auf den ersten Blick psychoanalytisch klar scheinenden, aber schon auf den zweiten und dritten Blick sich wieder verschleienden Geschichte” 55 (114) in his biography of Kafka. Very little about this canonical work, in other words, is what it initially appears to be, but, by weighing its claims against all available evidence, we are able to avoid the pitfalls of naiveté against which Brod implicitly cautions us� Notes 1 “Indeed, the most widespread individuality of writers is evident in the way each conceals his negative side.” To Ernst Rowohlt, 14 August, 1912, approximately a month prior to writing Das Urteil. This and all subsequent translations are my own� 2 Subsequent references to this volume are abbreviated as DL� 3 “If the father, the ‘comedian,’ never stops play-acting with Georg, the ‘joker,’ why should the sentence and its execution not also be a play-act? ” 4 See also Thiher 37: “The third person narration in ‘The Judgment’ seems to coincide with the restricted field of consciousness of the protagonist, I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 135 Georg (…). The story appears to present an objective narration in which the representation given to the reader by a neutral or absent narrator seems to coincide with Georg’s own representation of his situation.” Martin Greenberg goes a bit further when he asserts that “to experience the story you have to read it from inside, standing in Georg’s shoes” (Greenberg 8). See also Ruf on the coincidence of Georg’s knowledge with the reader’s, with consequences for the interpretation of the story (24). 5 the portrait of a young man whose successful life crumbles in a matter of minutes and who commits suicide at his father’s command 6 one of the low, poorly constructed houses extending in a long row … almost indistinguishable from each other except for their height and color 7 He still worked in the business. 8 Perhaps while his mother was still alive, his father’s unwillingness to accept any point of view in the business other than his own had prevented Georg from developing a real project of his own; perhaps his father, since his mother’s death, had grown slacker, although he still worked in the business; perhaps fortunate circumstances had played a much more important role - something which was, in fact, highly probable … . 9 That’s the reason you lock yourself in your office—no one is allowed to disturb you, the boss is busy — just so that you can write your false little letters to Russia 10 Georg Bendemann, a young merchant, was sitting in his own room on the first floor […]. He had just finished a letter to a childhood friend of his who was now living abroad, had put it into its envelope in a slow and playful fashion, and with his elbows propped on the desk was gazing out of the window at the river, the bridge and the hills on the farther bank with their faint green� 11 So all this did not come from excessive work, as you always imagine to be the case. There were years in which, in perfectly good health, I lazed away more time on the sofa than you in all your life, even taking illnesses into account. When I would rush away from you, terribly busy, it was generally in order to lie down in my room. The total amount of work I’ve completed, both at the office (where laziness is, of course, not as easy to spot, and besides, my own was kept within bounds by my anxiety) and at home is miniscule; if you had any real idea of it, you’d be appalled. 12 when I would rush away from you, terribly busy 13 No one is allowed to disturb you; the boss is busy. 14 in a self-negating, hallucinatory, yet focused and deliberate state of mind 15 the frightful image of his father 136 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. 16 the portrayal of my dreamlike inner life. (Subsequent references to this volume are abbreviated as T.) 17 The next concrete result of this whole method of upbringing was that I fled everything that even remotely reminded me of you� First, the business� 18 You then tried (today this seems to me both touching and shameful) to extract, nevertheless, some little sweetness for yourself from my dislike of the business, of your achievement - a dislike that was after all very painful to you - by asserting that I had no business sense, that I had loftier ideas in my head, and the like� 19 You’re indispensable to me in the business, you know that very well, but if the business were to threaten your health, I would close it down permanently from one day to the next 20 “Ah, Georg! ” said the father and approached him right away. His heavy night shirt opened up and flapped around him as he moved 21 “My father is still a giant,” Georg thought to himself. 22 His father cleared off the breakfast dishes and put them on a chest. 23 See Charles H. Hammond Jr., “Not a Room but a Womb: The Birth Metaphors of Kafka’s Das Urteil.” Germanisch-Romanische Monatsschrift 66. 1 (2016): 61—79. 24 This and all subsequent illustrations reproduced with permission of the artist� 25 Just … as Kafka acts in relation to the dream the reader ought to act in relation to Kafka. Namely, by adhering to the incommensurable, opaque details, the blind passages. 26 Sokel is understating the case when he observes that “Georg omits from [the letters] the essential truth of his present life” (205). As the text makes clear, Georg omits all truths - significant and insignificant alike - from his writing� 27 See Goodbody 260: “Kafka’s final complex of animal imagery includes the jackdaw, raven, blackbird and crow. He saw himself associated with the jackdaw through the meaning of his family name (spelled kávka) in Czech: his father’s haberdashery shop used the jackdaw as a symbol. Kafka’s Hebrew first name, Anschel, was also understood by many Eastern European Jews as a Hebraicised version of Amsel, the German for blackbird. In the early story ‘Wedding Preparations in the Country,’ the autobiographically coloured protagonist bears the name ‘Raban,’ echoing the German word for ‘raven.’” See also T 492: “Georg hat soviel [sic] Buchstaben wie Franz. In Bendemann ist ‘mann’ nur eine für alle noch unbekannten Möglichkeiten der Geschichte vorgenommene Verstärkung von ‘Bende.’ Bende aber hat ebensoviele Buchstaben wie Kafka und der Vokal e wiederholt sich an den I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 137 gleichen Stellen wie der Vokal a in Kafka.” [“Georg” has the same number of letters as “Franz.” In “Bendemann,” the “mann” is only one augmentation of “Bende” for all yet unknown possibilities in the story. But “Bende” has just as many letters as “Kafka,” and the vowel e is repeated in the same places as the vowel a in “Kafka.”] 28 See Hammond, Soldier 60—61. 29 They took their midday meal simultaneously in an eatery. 30 See also Sokel 212� 31 Nor do I deny that it might have been possible for me to really enjoy the fruits of your great and successful work; that I could have turned them to good account and, to your joy, continued to work with them; but here again, our estrangement stood in the way� 32 Because she lifted her skirts … because she lifted her skirts like this, like this and like this you came onto her. Charles Bernheimer’s assertion that the father “reviles the sons’ [sic] sexuality as mere animal lust” is misleading (Bernheimer 158). Rather, the father is exposing the son’s inability to distinguish between animal lust and the desire to marry and settle down. He is also condemning “Georg’s susceptibility to his fiancée’s attractions” (Flores 51)� 33 The fact that Frieda is from a well-to-do family is repeated on the page following the initial mention in a letter to the friend (DL 48). 34 If you have friends like that, Georg, you should never have gotten engaged in the first place. 35 And then when she, breathing rapidly under his kisses, insisted, “Still, it really does upset me,” he decided it would not hurt to write the friend about everything. Kurz is one of the few commentators who notes Frieda’s blackmail of Georg, observing: “Den Brief mit der Ankündigung schreibt er gezwungenermaßen” [He writes the letter with the announcement under duress] (169). However, Georg is not forced, per se. Rather he lacks, much as the father states, the ability to impose his will on his own libido. 36 The father beamed with insight. 37 And so long as you say “one” instead of “I,” there’s nothing in it and one can easily tell the story; but as soon as you admit to yourself that it is you yourself, you feel as though you are pierced and are horrified. (The quote appears only in “Fassung A,” the first version of the fragment.) 38 But fortunately no one has to teach the father how to see through the son� 39 Georg has nothing more … than the gaze at the father, for this reason the stark judgment that the father passes upon him has such a strong effect on him� 40 believes he has the father inside him 138 Charles H. Hammond, Jr. 41 Note that Kafka harbored just such contradictory feelings toward his own father, a man whom he, at turns, both admired and hated. In a 1913 letter to Felice Bauer, for example, he elaborates: “Sagte ich Dir schon einmal, dass ich meinen Vater bewundere? Daß er mein Feind ist und ich seiner, so wie es durch unsere Natur bestimmt ist, das weißt Du, aber außerdem ist meine Bewunderung seiner Person vielleicht so groß wie meine Angst vor ihm” [Did I already tell you that I admire my father? You know that he is my enemy, and I his, as our nature determines it, but my admiration for his person is perhaps as great as my fear of him” (Briefe 1918—1920 239)� 42 “I actually just wanted to say,” continued Georg, who, completely forlorn, followed the old man’s movements, “that I’ve just notified Petersburg about my engagement after all.” He pulled the letter a little way out of his pocket and let it fall back again� 43 I am stating my own view here� For a thorough examination of the meaning of gestures in Kafka’s works, see Isolde Schiffermüller, Franz Kafkas Gesten (Tübingen: Francke, 2011). 44 How long you’ve hesitated before reaching maturity. 45 You’ve come to me to seek advice on this matter. 46 “completely forlorn” and / or “completely lost” 47 He still held on with hands that were becoming increasingly weak … and let himself drop. 48 To cite just three examples, see Corngold 46: “When the son leaps to his death by drowning (…). Also Flores 41: “And when in the end he leaps into the river (…).” Also Berg 168: “Georg stürzt hinaus und ertränkt sich durch einen Sprung von der Brücke über dem Fluß.” [Georg rushes out and drowns himself by (taking) a leap from the bridge over the river.] 49 like a hungry man to sustenance� 50 “Talking suddenly caused some spit, as a bad omen, to fly out of my mouth” (T 112). The other five instances of this passage appear on pp. T 128, T 129, T 141 (in two separate entries) and T 143 as part of the short story fragment “Der kleine Ruinenbewohner.” 51 See Alt 324: “Nachdem die Prosa der Betrachtung, wie Benjamin vermerkt, ein allgemeines, noch sehr weitläufiges ‘Inventar der Gesten’ erschloß, gewinnen die Gebärden im Urteil als komplementäre Zeichen für Macht und Ohnmacht einen genau festgelegten Sinn.” 52 a process, one could even say a drama in itself 53 Gestures … replace the plots and are transformed by their depiction in such a way that the momentum of the plot disappears behind the momentum of expression. I Witness Testimony: Assigning Guilt in Franz Kafka’s Das Urteil (The Judgment) 139 54 A marriage could not change me, just as my position at work cannot change me. 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