Why Does Kafka Ponder His Fine Dining At The Sanatorium Frankenstein?

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

02 June 1918

I took an evening train back to Prague, so I was able to have Sunday dinner at the Sanatorium Frankenstein. Much more restful than at my father’s table. The officials – and the officious – knew of my opinions. And know that I will be back on other trips for the Institute. Changes will be made, and those changes will be kept. With all these understandings in place, the meal was reasonably cordial.

I chose to sit with the patients. There was, of course, unspoken control here – those whom they can’t control eat in other rooms. My wish-granting colonel was not to be seen, let alone heard. And if staff questions were not answered, then “Do you like the meals?” became “Tell Doktor Kafka if you like the meals.” I did hear one bandaged patient respond; “Why, is he the cook?” I chose – like everyone else – to ignore the comment. The food, if somewhat scant and overdone, was decent enough country fare. Better than many Prague cafes. There was no need for any fond good byes – I will be back.

I paced the station platform for awhile, thinking of the places I’ve been, and the sights I’ve seen. The people I have met. I occasionally, in Prague, go just to watch the trains arrive and depart. All that hectic bustle, noise and confusion, and then – emptiness. It is at such times that I am tempted to think that the meaning of life is movement. And, eventually, my train came, and I was the one in motion.

06/02/2024 0

Where Do You Find The Ghost Of Kafka?

The Ghost of Kafka walks

– not stalks –

The streets

Of Prague.

Prague,

The city he would/could

Never leave

Until the last

Year of his life.

He described Prague as:
“The little Mother has claws.”

Which she did.

For him.

He managed

To escape to Berlin,

During one of

The worst times

Anyone could live

In Berlin,

Until the end of the

Second World War.

But

The Second World War

Was years away.

He escaped with a young

Lover – Dora Diamant.

She made things

So much better.

However, his Ghost only

Walks the streets of Prague.

Whereas

Kafka’s Ghost

Stalks

The rest of

The World.

05/28/2024 0

Will Kafka Slip/Slide His Way Through May?

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

22 May 1917

There was even some snow.

They spoke of it at the office. Further down the river some snow and thunder together.

Hysteria traced the words of one man, who claimed he had good information – which he could not reveal – that the enemy has a great machine which can control the weather. That is how they are going to win the war. Freeze us in May, and destroy all our crops.

“And where are these giant weather engines?” somebody asked.

“In France,” was his reply, but he said it with such hesitancy that I knew it was a guess.

“No machine could cause us trouble from that far away,” said another, and there was laughter before work resumed.

Laughter without a touch of mirth.

05/22/2024 0

Remembrance Day In Canada With The Jervis Bay

The major Remembrance Day Service is held in a hockey arena. Which I don’t like. So we found – in walking distance – a service at a small naval memorial/park with a Cenotaph. The park was in honour of the naval ship, The Jervis Bay.

HMS Jervis Bay

83rd Anniversary Nov.5 1940-2023

http://www.hmsjervisbay.com/.

I’ll stab at 400 – 500 folk there. Cars parked as far as ten minutes away. Raggle-taggle group of cadets. Trumpet player who had no trouble with the high notes.

Two good ole boys near us who looked as if they had been hauled from a brawl at the local tavern – but they had their poppies.

Sweet li’l kidlets.

MC who made old, old jokes and had to be corrected a few times about the Order of Service. And had to ask if anyone was present who might lay the wreath of the government or city or …
He chuckled over the one guy who volunteered a number of times: “We’re puttin’ ya to work today.”
A train whistle in the distance that gave a loooong blast for 11:00 (though it was a couple of minutes out of sync).

And TOTAL silence for the two minutes of silence.

Then home we went to watch the Service from Ottawa, with the Governor General, Prime Minister, Silver Cross Mother, Military Pipes & Drums, marching Military Contingent, and interviews with two sharp-as-tacks Veterans in their late nineties.
Best of both worlds.

11/11/2023 0

Kafka Takes A “Mistake” Train To Prague As The War Begins To End

Franz Kafka did not shy away from writing horror, and you are forwarned.

14 February 1918

The grip of evil showed tenfold times the horror.

The train to Prague – late and slow because it had made a stop in Hell.

“A mistake train,” said the Stationmaster. “But we had no other choice because of the shortages.” I looked through the windows, and hesitated. “There may be no other train today, if it’s Prague you want.” He rubbed off the chalkboard with the spittle on his finger. “No evening train. Perhaps there will be something after mid-night.” He wiped his hand on his soiled jacket. “Perhaps not.” “You do not even dare look into the compartments,” I said. “And yet you expect me to enter.”

“I’ve seen worse.” He wrote down a new time, and his hand did not shake. “In the dark of the night, these trains come through.” He put the stubby piece of chalk back into his coat pocket. “But -no. I don’t get used to it.” He looked in my direction, his face as expressionless as before. “I would advise you to try the coaches after the engine. Most of them there can at least sit up.”

His advice was good.

That is where the other civilians were clustered. Huddled – almost literally – away from the sounds and the stench. And they readily made room for me, moved even closer together so they could add me to their number. In my suite and tie, overcoat and hat, I was a Godsend of normality. The gentlemen nodded, and the ladies tried to smile. But then the train started, with its usual jumble of jolts, and the moaning which followed turned their faces blank and ashen.

One of the soldiers, across the aisle behind me – a Hungarian captain with a weeping bandage obscuring his neck – gulped and slid to the floor. I looked around for a doctor, or an orderly, but there were none. I went back and placed him – as best I could – onto his seat. He mouthed some words – he obviously couldn’t speak – and I patted his hand. Further back still, I saw an Austrian corporal grabbing and grasping over his head. I went to him, and smelled the blood before I saw it. One leg ended in a jagged stump of bandages, the other ceased inches below the hip. He kept grasping at the air even as I steadied him, and he finally seemed to realize I was there. He made motions toward his mouth, gesturing with both hands. “Have you got a fag for us, Sir?” he said, and I realized what his movements had meant. “You’re bleeding,” I began, but he smiled with a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell them, Sir. Don’t tell them. A cigarette is all I need. I’ll keep quiet. I confessed that I didn’t smoke, but a voice behind me spoke with a shrill deliberateness. “I have some – a box of them.” I turned, and it was one of the men I had been sitting with. The soldier held out his hand, and I changed places with the man. “I’m going to find help,” I said. “It won’t do any good,” replied the man, lighting the cigarette. “We’ve tried.” Terror was trapped in his eyes. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

And I should have listened to him.

I can not – or perhaps, even now, I dare not – reveal the monsters which I saw. For that is what these men had become, by no choice of their own. Terrifying, repulsive creatures who were more frightening the more human they appeared. One man had his arm melted into his side by and explosion. Another had his ribs piercing through his chest. And what flame can do to faces. The last cars had sacks of dead – too many for the coffins. And any official, any officer, any nurse I met, would only say that they’ll be tended to in Prague. Treated. Looked after. The best care available.

And I remembered something from my childhood – a saying perhaps even from my parent’s parents: “A dead man doesn’t care what suit he’s buried in.”

But I did not tell them this.

07/27/2023 0

Kafka Advises How To Deal With The End Of The World

a67554520e25f534188af8f951faffb3

[Illustration by Kafka]

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I fill in his lost diaries. Here, as the learned Doktor of Laws, he has been asked to speak to the citizens of the small village of Zurau, where he is living with his sister. He is talking about the end of the Empire the townsfolk have been living under all their lives. It, and the civilization they know, is soon to be swept away. Will their lives go with it?

He speaks the truth, and he avoids the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15 January 1918

This war. They wanted my opinions about this endless war. These earnest, honest men, awaiting the words from the Herr Doktor of Prague.

I agreed only to answer questions – that way I could not be accused of fermenting treason. Even in these troubled times, the law allows a man to answer questions. Assuming that the law prevails.

The law was present in the form of the policeman, attending this questionable gathering while still in uniform. He doffed his hat as he shook my hand. I would rather have him in our midst, than lurking in the hall. We have nothing to fear from him.

“Will the empire last?” This was first from their lips. And they must have needed to hear the words, for even the Emperor must know that all is lost. The Old Order, having fallen into the hands of dull and witless men, must succumb. The complacency of the age must be purged – but that has not yet happened. That awaits the next generation – and the destruction will be furious. But I do not tell them this.

I am skillful in what I do not tell them, for the truth is beyond their power to persuade or control. (Their next questions would have been more difficult had I not curbed the truth further still.) “What will happen to Zurau? What will happen to us?” And they have every right to worry. To suspect. When a society crumbles, it is those at the bottom who get crushed. But I told them that Amerika seemed a just power – not bent on retribution.

I did not tell them that a victor can do as he wants.

And I told them that we live in a secondary part of a secondary empire – the powers of destruction will be concentrated on Vienna and Berlin. I did not tell them that during the death of a snake, the spasms of the tail can be lethal.

And I told them something which could really be of help. I told them, in this coming year, to grow more food: fatten more beasts: prepare, preserve and put away. Fill their cellars and barns to bursting with food and fuel. Buy some things now, which they can use for barter later if the currency becomes worthless. Look after their families and lands. Look after each other.

16 January 1918

I did not tell them that war is the end result of injustice and arrogance, and that it is oftentimes necessary. I did not tell them that when the natural balance is upset by human action, the cost of righting it must be made in human payment. I did not tell them that a country where neighbour is cruel to neighbour is a country mean for war.

17 January 1918

I did not tell them how the Jews will always suffer in time of war. How we will be searched out, then driven as far as the east is from the west, and then be persecuted. How there will never be safety for us. Yea, even unto the land of Israel.

03/23/2020 0

Remembrance Day / Jarvis Bay in Canada

The major Remembrance Day Service was held in a hockey arena. Which we don’t like. So we found – in walking distance – a service at a small naval memorial/park with a Cenotaph. The park was in honour of the navel ship, The Jervis Bay. http://www.hmsjervisbay.com/

I’ll stab at 400 – 500 folk there. Cars parked as far as ten minutes away. Raggle-taggle group of cadets. Trumpet player who had no trouble with the high notes – but the low (Oy vey).

Two good ole boys near us who looked as if they had been hauled from a brawl at the local tavern – but they had their poppies.

Sweet li’l kidlets.

MC who made old, old jokes and had to be corrected a few times about the Order of Service. And had to ask if anyone was present who might lay the wreath of the government or city or …

He chuckled over the one guy who volunteered a number of times: “We’re puttin’ ya to work today.”

A train whistle in the distance that gave a loooong blast for 11:00 (though it was a coupla minutes out of sync).

And TOTAL silence for the two minutes of silence.

Best of both worlds.

[Image] http://www.giverontheriver.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/Remembrance-Day-canada-flag.jpg

11/12/2019 0

War And The Army And Kafka

kafka115_v-contentxl

Kafka recorded the beginning of the First World War in his diary this way:

August 2, 1914: Germany has declared war on Russia. Went swimming in the afternoon.

That was it.

But, regardless of his lack of enthusiasm, Kafka believed in the duties of the citizen. He tried to join the army to fight. In fact, he tried to join a number of times. He was always refused because the government deemed his civil/government job was too important for him to relinquish.

But, near the end of the war, when Kafka was so sick he had lengthy periods of leave from his job to recuperate, the army came calling. Kafka had to appear before authorities with medical proof of his illness.

In my novel, Kafka In The Castle, I ‘fill in’ one of his diary entries describing such a situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

07 February 1918

I find I must go to Prague at the end of next week. Such knowledge is proof that one should not open one’s mail. The Military yet again wishes to snare me, and I must once again prove that my hide is not worth the effort.

There were time (very rare) when my father would despair. Not his usual anger at the general incompetence and perfidy of the world around him, but a resignation to the belief that things would never get any better.

“If they want to drag me down,” he would say, “Then I may as well join them. I’ll go out into the street and let myself be swept away by the mob. I’ll become part of their common, grubby life, and let them wipe their boots on me.”

That is much as I feel right now. Let the army take me, dress me in their uniform, point me toward the Americans, and have some cowboy shoot me. Going into battle could be no worse than going into Prague.

[Image] https://www.ndr.de/kultur/buch/tipps/kafka115_v-contentxl.jpg

07/02/2019 1

Remembrance Day / Armistice Day / Veterans Day

halifax-grand-parade-remembrance-day-2017

One Remembrance Day, I went to the ceremonies in Halifax, NS. The main cenotaph, in The Grand Parade downtown. It is a huge place, nearly a half a city block long and wide. A towering flag-mast is near one end, as befits a sea-faring city.

The city bus, which would normally be nearly empty during a mid-morning holiday run, was nearly full. And part way along, a grouping of twenty uniformed military personnel got on. All Navy. Spit-and-polish. I noted their shoes. I approved.

I arrived nearly an hour before 11:00 o’clock, but there were already hundreds present. The Grand Parade was awash with people, so much so that they were asked to keep on the grass, so the parade itself could manoeuver when it arrived. There was a tent where actual World War Two veterans sat. It was chill and cloudy, but no rain nor snow arrived.

Pipes and drums and a military band made themselves known in the distance. A flag carrying, colour-party of veterans marched in, followed by ranks of modern military and red-uniformed RCMP. Followed by veterans and cadets and children and organizations. In, and around, and back they marched, to finally face the cenotaph itself. Crisp orders. Boots solid on the stones. Music. Hundreds of spectators.

The ceremony follows a set routine, of course. Much is squeezed into the eleven minutes around the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. A too-brief portion of God Save The Queen. Oh Canada. The Last Post. Booming artillery from high up Citadel Hill. A military helicopter clattering over us. The minute of silence. The chaplains with their words. And God’s.

There were two new (new to me, at any rate) events, and one occurrence that was impressive indeed.

Three flags – one of Canada and two smaller military – were lowered to half-staff during the ceremony. It was quite a distance to descend, and their wires screeched.

Six white doves were released. I doubt they were so-trained, but they flew into the distance and then came right back over the crowd before leaving.

And, the last note of the trumpet ended at the exact second the steeple bells began to chime its eleven times.

There is really no time to cheer during this sombre ceremony, but sometimes it is tempting so to do.

(photo)https://i.cbc.ca/1.4398936.1510415846!/fileImage/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/16x9_620/halifax-grand-parade-remembrance-day-2017.jpg

11/10/2018 0

kafkaestblog

It is a whirlwind in here

Category

World War One