THE HUNDRED-AND-TWENTIETH PAGE
A book had been placed--no doubt as ballast for the package-- alongside the bugs. It fell on the floor along with the colony, but I instantly could see the author, Kafka, and the title, THE METAMORPHOSIS, THE PENAL COLONY, AND OTHER STORIES. It was a familiar edition as I had a complete paperback set of the Schocken reissue among the K’s. This was a hardcover. Had I seen a clean copy of this one in a shop, I would have snapped it up in a moment, but this was not a clean copy; roaches, who did not happily make the trip from Camden to Trenton, were smashed and smeared over the jacket. I seized a paper towel, picked up the book and wrapping, and took then to the front yard for further debugging. I was very angry with myself when I noticed the name attached to the antiquarian’s label: G. Samsa.
Later, I took the stuff to the dump and tossed it in the bin where the Raskalnikov package had landed. Never in my life had I tossed books around so cavalierly and cruelly. By the time I returned from the dump, the surviving roaches had gone forth to divide and multiply behind the bookshelves and into the walls. There was no reason to delay calling the exterminator.By the time he arrived the next week, there was great need of him.
This was clearly the work of My Editor.
He, too, had vowed revenge.