METAMORPHOSISBYFRANZ KAFKA

Chapter 2

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 realized 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 favorite 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
center 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.