Franz Kafka - Letters to Milena

[July 21, 1920]

Dear Herr Doktor:

You wanted me to provide some proof of injustice being done to Herr N.N. in Veleslavn. Im afraid theres very little definite information I can report that would carry any weight with the authorities, although I would be very glad to do so. I was in Veleslavn from June 1917 to March 1918, I was living in the same villa, and all that I could do for him was occasionally loan him books and occasionally have myself locked in; you see hes not allowed to talk to anyoneif he is seen doing so, even if the conversation is of no significance and even if it takes place in the presence of an attendant, everyone is locked in and the attendant is fired.

[]

Of course psychiatry is horrible whenever it is misused: everything can be abnormal, and every word is a new weapon for the torturer. I would swear that Herr N.N. is capable of a different existence in the world. On the other hand, I cannot prove anything.

[]

I also have a big request to ask of you, Herr Doktor. Im sure you know I can never find out from Frank how he is doing, since hes always excellent, good man that he is, and since hes overly healthy, so to say, overly rested and so on. I would like to ask, request, beg you to write me immediately if you see, if you sense he is suffering, if he is in any physical pain because of meI wont tell him I found out from you, and Ill be a little calmer if you promise me youll do this. I dont know how I will help him if that happens, but I know for sure I will help him. Frank says that one has to love you, be proud of you, admire you, and I do all of that and thank you many times in advancenot least for the fact that I can rely on you.

I really was very shocked; I didnt know that Franzs illness was so serioushe was really quite healthy here, I didnt hear him cough at all, he was bright and cheerful and slept well.

You thank me, dear, dear Max, you thank me instead of reproaching me for not having been with him all this time, for sitting here and only writing letters. I beg youI beg you not to think Im bad, that Im making it easy for myself. I am in complete torment here, complete despair (dont tell Frank!) and dont know what to do or how to help myself. But the fact that you write that Frank does get something out of me and from me, something goodreally, Max, that is the greatest happiness possible. Im sure Frank will go somewhere, Ill do everything I can to this end, even if it means I have to come to Prague myself in the fall, and then well send him away, wont we, and I also hope hell be rested there and that hell be in good spirits. Ido I have to say it?will do everything I can for that to happen.

The story of my marriage and my love for my husband is too complicated to tell here. It only means I cannot come now, perhaps not ever, Ino, words are just too dumb. But Im constantly looking for a way out for myself, constantly looking for a solution, for the good thing to do, the correct thing. Max, please, be convinced I wont let Frank suffer, please, believe me when I say that this is more important to me than anything else in the world.

So you are with him now, and youll tell me immediately should there be anything to say; you will be severe and truthful with me, wont you? Today its a little easier for me because I have you, because I am no longer so entirely alone.

When you come back, please write to me about the practical requirements of the trip (for instance the office) and in general how and what must be done, and above all: does the doctor really have any hope that he can recover? This is all so unimportant, what am I writing here? The main thing is for him to leave, and Im sure hell do that.

Many, many thanks. Im really deeply grateful to you, your letter was so good to me. Forgive me for calling you Max; thats what Frank calls you and Ive gotten used to it already.

Best wishes

Milena P.

Your letter would take days and nights to answer. You wonder how it happens that Frank is afraid of love but not afraid of life? But I think its something else. Life for him is something entirely different than for all other human beings; in particular, things like money, the stock market, currency exchange, a typewriter are utterly mystical to him (and they really are, too; just not for the rest of us), they are the strangest riddles to him, and his approach to them is completely different than our own. Can his office work be considered the customary performance of a service? Any official position, including his own, is something very puzzling to him, very admirable, like a locomotive is for a small child. He doesnt understand the simplest things in the world. Were you ever in a post office with him? After he composes a telegram and picks out whatever little counter he likes best, shaking his head, he then drifts from one counter to another, without the slightest idea to what end or why, until he finally stumbles on the right one, and when he pays and receives change, he counts it and discovers one krone too many, and so he gives one back to the girl behind the counter. Then he walks away slowly, counts once again, and in the middle of descending the last staircase he realizes that the missing krone belonged to him after all. So there you stand next to him, at a loss, while he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, wondering what to do. Going back is difficult; upstairs theres a crowd of people pushing and shoving. So just let it go, I say. He looks at me completely horrified. How can you let it go? Not that hes sorry about the krone. But its not good. Theres one krone missing. How can you forget about something like that? He spoke about it for a long time, and was very dissatisfied with me. And this repeated itself with different variations in every shop, in every restaurant, in front of every beggar. Once he gave a beggar a two-krone piece and wanted one back. She said she didnt have anything. We stood there for a good two minutes, thinking about how to deal with the matter. Then it occurred to him that he could leave the two krone. But no sooner had he taken a few steps when he started getting very cross. Of course this same man would be eager and extremely happy to give me twenty thousand krone with no questions asked. On the other hand, if I were to ask him for twenty thousand and one krone and we had to change money somewhere and didnt know where, he would seriously consider what to do with the one krone I hadnt been allotted. His anxiety in the face of money is almost the same as his anxiety in the face of women. Or his fear of things official. Once I telegraphed him, phoned him, wrote him, begged him in Gods name to come see me for a day. I really needed it at the time. I cursed him to high heaven. He didnt sleep for nights, tormented himself, wrote letters full of self-destruction, but he did not come. Why? He couldnt ask for a leave. He was unable to ask the director, the same director he admires in the depths of his soul (seriously!) for being able to type so quicklyhe wasnt able to tell the director he was going to see me. And as for saying something elseanother horrified letterhow could he? Lie? Lie to the director? Impossible. If you ask him why he loved his first fiance, hell answer, She was so good at business, and his face begins to beam with admiration.

No, this whole world is and remains a riddle to him. A mystical secret. Something he cannot attain and something he holds in high regard, with a moving, pure navet, because it is good at business. When I told him about my husband, who is unfaithful to me one hundred times a year, who holds me and many other women under a type of spell, his face lit up with the same awe he had shown the time he spoke about his director who can type so quickly and who is therefore such a superior person, and the time he spoke about his fiance who was so good at business. All of that is foreign to him. A person who can type quickly and a man who has four mistresses are just as incomprehensible to him as the krone at the post office and the krone with the beggar; they are incomprehensible to him because they are alive. But Frank is unable to live. Frank isnt capable of living. Frank will never recover. Frank will soon die.