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but even what Gregor had not touched, as if they now had no more use, and dumped it all quickly into a bucket that she covered with a wooden lid and carried away. Hardly had she turned her back when Gregor came out from under the sofa, stretched, and puffed himself out.
    Gregor was fed twice daily in this way, once in the morning while the parents and the maid still slept, and once after dinner was eaten while the parents napped for a short time and the sister could send the maid on some errand. The parents certainly did not want Gregor to starve, but perhaps it was as much as they could bear to hear about it, perhaps the sister wanted to save them from even the smallest possible discomfort, as they surely had enough to bear.
    Gregor had no idea what excuse was used that first morning to put off the doctor and locksmith, because as no one could understand him, no one thought, including the sister, that he could understand them, and so he had to content himself, whenever his sister was in the room, with hearing a sigh now and then or an appeal to the saints. A little time later, when she was a bit more at ease—of course it was never a question of being completely at ease—Gregor sometimes caught a remark that was meant kindly or at least could be so considered. "Oh, he enjoyed it today," she said when Gregor had eaten well, or when he had not, which was more frequently the case, she would say almost sadly, "It's all been left again."
    Although Gregor could get no news directly, he overheard a great deal from the neighboring rooms, and as soon as he heard voices he would run over to the corresponding door and press his entire body against it. There was no conversation, especially early on, that did not concern him even if only indirectly. At every meal for two whole days there were discussions about what should be done, but this same theme was also debated between meals, because there were always at least two family members home since no one wanted to be alone in the apartment and it certainly could not be left empty under the circumstances. Furthermore, on the very first day, the cook—it was not entirely clear what and how much she knew of the situation—begged the mother on her knees to be discharged immediately, and when she took her leave a quarter of an hour later, she was tearfully thankful for the dismissal, as if it were the greatest service they had ever conferred upon her, and with no prompting swore a dreadful oath never to breathe to anyone a word of what had happened.
    Now the sister also had to cook, as did the mother, but this was not much trouble, as the family ate almost nothing. Again and again Gregor heard one encouraging another in vain to eat and receiving no answer but: "Thank you, I've had enough," or something very similar. Perhaps they did not drink either. The sister often asked the father whether he would have some beer and kindly offered to procure it herself, and when the father did not reply she suggested that she could send the janitor's wife to fetch it to offset any hesitation, but then in the end the father answered with a firm "No," and it was discussed no further.
    In the course of the very first day, the father explained the family's financial position and prospects to both the mother and the sister. Now and then he rose from the table to get some receipt or notebook from the small safe he had managed to rescue from the collapse of his business five years earlier. He could be heard opening the complicated lock, removing the desired document, and closing it again. The father's explanations were the first encouraging news Gregor had heard since his captivity. He had been of the opinion that nothing had been salvaged from the father's business; at least the father had said nothing to the contrary, although Gregor had also never asked him. Gregor's only concern at that time had been to do whatever he could to have the family forget as quickly as possible the financial misfortune that had