Karl crawled in as best he could and chuckled loudly at his first unsuccessful attempt to pitch himself across the bed. But as soon as he was in the bed he exclaimed: “Good God, I’ve completely forgotten my trunk!” “Well, where is it?” “Up on deck, someone I met is watching it. Now what was his name?” And from a secret pocket that his mother had sewn into his jacket lining specially for this voyage, he fished out a visiting card. “Butterbaum, Franz Butterbaum.” “Is your trunk really necessary?” “Of course.” “Well then, why did you give it to a complete stranger?” “I had forgotten my umbrella down below and ran to get it, but I didn’t want to lug my trunk along. And then I got lost too.” “Are you alone? No one accompanying you?” “Yes, I’m alone.”—“Maybe I should stick with this man,” went through Karl’s mind, “where could I find a better friend?” “And now you’ve also lost your trunk. Not to mention the umbrella.” And the man sat down on the chair as if he had developed some interest in Karl’s problem. “But I don’t believe the trunk is really lost yet.” “Believe what you want,” said the man, vigorously scratching his short, dark thatch of hair, “on a ship the morals change as often as the ports. In Hamburg, your Butterbaum might have guarded your trunk; here there’s most likely no trace left of either of them.” “Then I must go look for it immediately,” said Karl, looking around to see how he could leave. “Stay where you are,” the man said, and thrust a hand against Karl’s chest, pushing him roughly back onto the bed. “But why?” Karl asked peevishly. “Because it makes no sense,” said the man; “in a little while I’m going and then we can go together. Either the trunk is stolen and there’s no help for it, or the man has left it there and we’ll find it all the more easily when the ship is empty. The same goes for your umbrella.” “Do you know your way around the ship?” asked Karl warily, as it seemed to him that there must be some catch in the otherwise convincing notion that his things would be best found on an empty ship. “Well, I’m a stoker,”f the man said. “You’re a stoker!” Karl cried happily, as if this exceeded all expectation and, propping himself up on his elbows, he inspected the man more closely. “Just outside the cabin where I slept with the Slovak there was a porthole through which you could see into the engine room.” “Yes, that’s where I worked,” said the stoker. “I have always been interested in technology,” said Karl, pursuing his own train of thought, “and would surely have become an engineer later on if I hadn’t had to leave for America.” “Why did you have to leave, then?” “Oh, that!” said Karl, waving away the whole business with his hand. At the same time he looked at the stoker with a smile as if asking his indulgence for what he hadn’t even admitted. “I’m sure there was some reason,” said the stoker, and it was hard to tell whether he was demanding or dismissing the story behind that reason. “Now I could become a stoker too,” said Karl, “my parents don’t care what becomes of me.” “My job will be free,” said the stoker, and as a show of this he put his hands in the pockets of his creased and leathery, iron gray trousers and flung his legs across the bed in order to stretch them out. Karl had to move over closer to the wall. “Are you leaving the ship?” “Yes, we’re moving out today.” “But why? Don’t you like it?” “Well, that’s the way things go, it’s not always a matter of what pleases you or not. But as a matter of fact you’re right, I don’t like it. You’re probably not seriously thinking of becoming a stoker, but that’s exactly when it’s easiest to become one. So, I strongly advise you against it. If you wanted to study in Europe, why don’t you want to study here? The American universities are incomparably better than the European ones.” “It’s certainly possible,” said Karl, “but I have almost no money for a university. I did read about someone who worked all day and studied at night until he got a doctorate and became a mayor, I believe, but that requires a lot of perseverance, doesn’t it? I’m afraid that’s something I lack. Anyway, I was never a very good student, and leaving school was not particularly hard on me. And perhaps the schools here will be even more stringent. I speak almost no English.