Curt Leviant - Kafka's Son

I was never absolutely driven. Some people are driven to create. I wasn’t. And when I did write it was not necessarily to be published. And I didn’t spend the little free time I had at the writing desk.

On occasion, I was proud of my work, delighted with it. But most of the time I would be in bad humour, a pessimist about my abilities. Then I would think of creation as one of God’s mistakes, saying that the day God made man was one of His bad days. But now, at my age, despite the Holocaust, despite the German beasts — God, I can’t believe I wrote in German; I’m considered a German writer and have a reputation of being a great stylist in that accursed tongue; I should have written in Czech — despite all this I have become less cynical, more hopeful. My illness brought me to the realm where nightmare becomes real, and yet I survived and kept on surviving. My return home from the bourne from which no traveler returns was transformative. *Before my rebirth I always had difficulty falling asleep. Ever since then I sleep like a baby. And noise doesn’t bother me so much anymore.

*K writes this word in Latin in his Czech text. (K.L.)

*Written in English. (K.L.)

I do lots of reading. The International Herald Tribune in the library, and in my house a couple of Czech newspapers, a Hebrew vocalized weekly from Tel Aviv, a Yiddish paper published in Paris and the Prager Tagblatt . My bookshelves are full of my books, translated into various languages, and some large dictionaries: French, Italian, Hebrew, English, Yiddish, German, and Czech.

My books have been translated into more than thirty languages but I am most proud of Melech Ravitch’s translation into Yiddish of my novel, The Trial .

NOTE:The reader will observe that there is a great hiatus between March 1965 and February 1976, and then a leap to July 1983. It is possible that under the stress of Czech communism K did not want to record any entries. There are just a few scattered during those years, but we did not think they were significant enough to include them in this collection. (K.L.)

I vowed that if I reached this date I would make nothing special of it. But as the date grew closer and closer I marveled at my blessed life and gave humble thanks for it. Today, my little family celebrated with me.

Perhaps I am too old for the following anecdote, but on second thought no one is too old for anything.

People always thought only books interested me. Everyone knows by now how much more multifaceted I am/was. Once a rabbi came up to me after services on the Sabbath between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur with the latest news. He said, Do you realize that when the Messiah comes there will be no need for desire?

I think I was eighty when he told me this.

No desire? I said, astonished, and added, I thought the Messiah is supposed to bring heaven down to earth, not hell.

That’s right, he said, paying no heed to my blasphemous remark. He sounded positively delighted with his glad tidings.

No sex? I said.

No sex, he exalted, bubbling with joy, as if the Messiah had already come.

Do me a favor, I said.

Yes, of course, Mr. Klein, anything.

Next time you speak to God, ask him to keep the Messiah bound a bit longer. He has waited a long time to be unbound. Let him wait a little longer.

Do I still feel that way, on my hundredth birthday? I can sense a little devilish smirk on my lips.

Yes, up till last year.

I’m just a speck in the universe. Consider mysteries like dark energy, phantom energy, anti-gravity. These are forces, astrophysicists declare, that are defying the orderly, predictable cosmos and are turning the study of physics upside down. Scientists cannot understand it, but telescopes and calculations are confirming the mysteries. These forces may reverse creation and doom the cosmos in billions of years. The universe may explode or implode. Put that mystery, put dark energy or anti-gravity in the same basket as the mystery of K, and one can conclude how believable, real, not weird at all, is the so-called mystery of the death and life of K.

Max and I, Felix and I, our entire circle, we had an aesthetic. We would read to each other passages from books we liked and analyze them. What can I compare it to? The closest I can come to explaining love of learning is the love of woman. It was exciting, stimulating, satisfying — and it made us yearn for more. We looked forward to reading and discussing like a workman looks forward to a day of rest, like a Jew yearns for the Messiah. Our universities were saturated with people who loved books, ideas, not like students at American universities today, which are a parody of learning, places where great books are no longer important. And how limited are some of the professors who teach there. I read about a big scandal reported in the International Herald Tribune: about a professor in Sydney, Australia, with the improbable name Kaspar Kugel, who specialized in the history of art at Outback College. His wife wrote all his books because he couldn’t put two sentences together without using adhesive tape or glue. And when his school created an Institute for Judaic Studies, this intellectual midget was invited to teach a course called Judaism in Art. Their reasoning: since Kugel was a Jew, he had to know about Jewish art. He didn’t know Hebrew, so he couldn’t discuss Biblical themes; he didn’t know Yiddish or Yiddish folklore, so Chagall and other East European Jewish artists were a mystery to him. Since he didn’t know Judaism, he was the perfect candidate for the job. With no knowledge of the subject he could be perfectly objective. Kugel’s wife would have lectured for him but she couldn’t ventriloquize.

But our universities here are no better. I recently met a professor of the philosophy of gargling. I am not joking. Here in Prague. He has been on many European television shows and even on our own National Comedy Hour, where he was sandwiched in between a talking dog and the Eskimo Sealskin Quartet. His name is Professor Geldman and he is proud of his two first names, Gyorgy Gilbert, which he proudly uses in the articles he never writes. He is a full professor of gargling at the Medical University. You think gargling is simple? he is quoted as saying. There are different types of gargling, with melodies or without. Research has shown you can gargle up and down the scale. There is silent gargling and melody sans sound. Only Geldman knows the difference. He can gargle in Czech, Slovak, Russian, and several Gypsy dialects. He is working on English, which because of its many sibilant sounds is quite difficult, and French, or silent gargling, which is the most difficult of all.

In order to get a professorship Gargles Geldman had to publish a book, with a small demo record of how to gargle in tune. During his thirty-three years of teaching he could only gargle up one book, but it’s the standard in the field: The Philosophy of Gargling . He is now working on a related topic: The History of Hiccups .

NOTE:This must be a joke for there is no such book and no such professor at the Prague Medical University. With a twinkle in his eye, K refuses to comment. It is no doubt a parody on a stupid teacher he once met. (K.L.)

When the Soviets and their Czech communist henchmen had the country in their iron grip, reading and selling my works was forbidden.

Today, my likeness, with my blue, brooding eyes and intent stare, appears on mass-produced T-shirts sold by street vendors and tourist shops in Prague, especially during the summer in Old Town Square. I see young men and women wearing them everywhere, almost as if my face has become a national banner.