Kafka Page #3

KAFKA:

Well -- nice to know life exists

outside the office.

GABRIELA:

(ironic)

Yes.

Kafka nods goodbye and walks away, berating himself for

banality.

CUT:

OUTSIDE - NIGHT

Kafka resists going along with the others.

KAFKA:

No, really, I have to go home too.

MARGARETE:

We're keeping him from his true

vocation.

JULIUS:

I know, he consists of writing.

We wouldn't be his friends if we

didn't threaten his solitude!

Julius is a little drunk. The others help him with his coat.

ANNA:

Has a private moment with Kafka.

ANNA:

Where do you live?

KAFKA:

Up there.

He gestures in the direction of the River, and the castle

that looms on a far hill beyond, huge and brooding, regally

dominating the city.

ANNA:

I tried finding a place on Castle

Hill when I arrived. I wanted to

share the majesty.

(The majesty of marriage is what he fears she represents.

This innocent scene could very well be a subjective

Kafkaesque nightmare as sinister in its own way as any of the

more outright horrific scenes to come.)

KAFKA:

It's only majestic from here.

When you get closer you see it

for what it really is.

ANNA:

What is it really?

KAFKA:

A glorified office block. They

keep all the old records there --

the final resting place for facts

and figures that have ceased to

matter in the world of the living.

ANNA:

Well, as long as I admire it from

afar it shouldn't worry me if it's

hollow.

(The castle of marriage tempts him -- but would suffocate

him.)

KAFKA:

It's more than hollow. It's

stillborn. For all its size it

serves no purpose. It's just

there -- like death -- hovering

over a breathing city.

THE OTHERS:

Turn back into the picture. Margarete pats Kafka

sympathetically.

MARGARETE:

Don't worry about your friend --

I'm sure he'll turn up.

ERNST:

(a parting word)

What are you working on, Kafka?

KAFKA:

I'm writing a story about a man

who wakes up one morning to find

himself transformed into a giant

insect.

His friends glance at each other surreptitiously and don't

know what to say -- other than goodnight

KAFKA:

Turns to go -- when he notices Bizzlebek leaning listlessly

in the coffee house doorway. A figure in the shadows.

BIZZLEBEK:

I've read your stories. They're

fantastic.

KAFKA:

(not sure if he

believes him)

I don't know what you could have

read.

BIZZLEBEK:

Just what you've published.

KAFKA:

-- In magazines nobody reads.

BIZZLEBEK:

I read the one about the penal

colony.

KAFKA:

(cautious)

Did you?

BIZZLEBEK:

The needles inscribing the

judgement into the flesh of the

man.

(looks impressed)

Very good.

Kafka suspects he's being mocked. But perhaps not.

Bizzlebek steps out, buttoning his coat.

BIZZLEBEK:

If I could sculpt as well as that,

I'd be quite proud of myself.

He's already quite proud of himself -- tossing his scarf over

his shoulder with a flourish -- and striding off into the

night.

CUT:

THE CASTLE - NIGHT

Seen from just below, from the ancient cemetery that borders

its high, impregnable, imperial walls. The all-seeing-eye of

the city. An awesome edifice.

THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER

Kafka walking across from the Old Quarter toward the New

Town.

He passes some working-class types who seem vaguely

threatening. Do they mutter some remark behind his back?

CUT:

ALCHEMISTS' ROW - NIGHT

A bizarre street. Tiny little houses that look fashioned by

a toymaker, all bunched tightly next to each other, forming a

continuous rooftop of odd configurations and angles and

pointed chimneys. The street named after practitioners of

the black arts and dark sciences who inhabited it in the

Sixteenth Century.

Kafka's house is toward the back, a light shining from the

single upper window. Through it, Kafka is seen sitting at

the only desk that really matters to him -- his writing one.

KAFKA'S ROOM

He's struggling to get a sentence right -- rereading it to

himself.

KAFKA:

"As Gregor Samsa awoke one

morning from disturbing dreams

he ... from unsettling dreams ...

uneasy dreams ... Gregor Samsa ...

Gregor ...?"

(wondering)

Carl. George. Rudolf ...

Suddenly there's a loud KNOCK on the front door below.

DOWNSTAIRS:

Kafka opens the tiny front door of this almost-miniature

little house. Two intimidating MEN stand outside, one tall,

one short, wearing similar black suits and grim expressions.

CUT:

ANOTHER DOOR - NIGHT

Kafka tries to match the exacting pace of his two warders,

flanking him as they walk him along a corridor, through

another doorway.

MORGUE:

Kafka tugs his collar up a bit, his breath visible in the

air. He has a feeling what's going to be under the sheet on

the lonely trolley in the middle of the room before the first

man summons him over to it.

Kafka goes. The first man yanks the sheet off the face in

one quick movement. The face of Eduard. White and bloated,

the tongue jutting, the eyes bulging.

Kafka recoils, stepping back instinctively.

SECOND MAN:

(still behind Kafka

at the door)

You know him?

KAFKA:

... Yes.

FIRST MAN:

His name is Eduard Raban?

KAFKA:

... Yes.

And now he hears a stirring in a dark corner. He looks up

again.

A third man steps out of the shadows where he's been quietly

standing and walks over to Kafka. He is a severe man,

stolid, dedicated, and never smiles. He reminds Kafka of his

father.

MAN:

(with an introductory

nod)

Inspector Grubach.

CUT:

INSPECTOR'S OFFICE - NIGHT

The Inspector behind his big desk. Kafka in front of it.

INSPECTOR:

Kafka -- is that your real name?

KAFKA:

Yes. Yes, of course -- why

wouldn't it be?

INSPECTOR:

When was the last time you saw

Mr. Raban?

KAFKA:

Wednesday. We left the office

together.

INSPECTOR:

Did you go anywhere afterwards --

to have a drink perhaps?

KAFKA:

No, we said goodbye outside the

building. He went off, as usual,

toward his house.

INSPECTOR:

(consulting papers)

Your office is the Workmen's --

KAFKA:

-- Accident and Compensation

Association.

INSPECTOR:

Where you've been employed for

seven years.

KAFKA:

Eight -- and seven months.

INSPECTOR:

Engaged in the manufacture and

distribution of ... pills and so

forth.

KAFKA:

Well -- other departments are, yes.

INSPECTOR:

Would you describe your relationship

with the dead man as close?

KAFKA:

Yes. Since he came to the office,

almost three years ago, we've

been quite good friends.

(pause)

How was Eduard ...

INSPECTOR:

He was found in the River. Could

he swim?

KAFKA:

I don't know.

INSPECTOR:

Was he depressed?

KAFKA:

No. He didn't seem to be. Do

you think he drowned himself?

INSPECTOR:

Grown men don't normally fall

into the river, do they?

KAFKA:

No, I suppose not.

INSPECTOR:

(closing the file)

He might have had a drink or two,

despite what you think.

KAFKA:

(as the interview

seems to be over)

Can I ask -- how you found me?

INSPECTOR:

His landlady knew of no other

friends to refer us to.

KAFKA:

I don't think he really had any.

He had no family either.

INSPECTOR:

We know that.

Pause.

KAFKA:

He wasn't a lonely man, though.

INSPECTOR:

What makes you think so?

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