By Michael Stewart

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Kafka sat down at his desk and cradled his head in his hands. There came a polite knock, followed by the entrance of officeboy Carl. Kafka looked up. " Carl simply nodded, his expression and demeanor conveying the utmost solemn sympathy. Once more Kafka stood before the forbidding door to Bernarr Macfadden's office. Disspiritedly he knocked, wearily entered when bidden. Macfadden was employing an apparatus of steel springs and Bakelite grips m exercises intended to strengthen his upper body. Seated behind his massive desk, he stretched and released the resistant springs Page 28 like a demented candymaker fighting recalcitrant taffy.

Sometimes I envision all of Prague's more sensitive citizens as being metaphorically suspended from the city's towers and steeples on lines and flesh-piercing hooks, like Red Indians engaged in ritual excruciations. Although I myself have been a wandering expatriate for some two decades now, I still recall my initial disorientation, when Uncle Alfred took me under his wing and forcibly launched me on my globe-circling career. I think that my strong memories of Bohemia and my intense feelings for our natal city were what prevented me from settling down until recently.

He knew neither the man's name nor his history. Kafka assumed he lived here, within reach of his fiery charge, for no matter when Kafka visited he found the stoker busy tending his demanding master. The congruence with his own situation did not go unregarded by Kafka. On the floor stood a pail of cinder-flecked water with a dipper in it. Kafka took up the dipper and raised it to the stoker's lips. Without stopping his shoveling, the laborer greedily drank the warm sooty liquid. After several repetitions of this beneficence, the man signaled by a grunt his satisfaction.

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