METROPOLIS head? Under the crouching body, and the head, which was sunken on the chest, crooked legs rested, gnome-like, upon the platform. The trunk and legs were motionless. But the short arms pushed and pushed and pushed, alternately, forwards, backwards, forwards. Who was standing before the machine now, cursing the Lord's Prayer-the Lord's Prayer of the Pater-noster rna· chine? Shivering with horror. he ran up the stairs. Stairs and stairs and stairs. . .. They would never come to an end.... The brow of the New Tower of Babel lifted itself very near the sky. The tower roared like the sea. It howled as deep as the storm. The hurtling of a water-fall boomed in its veins. "Where is my father?" Freder asked the servants. They indicated a door. They wanted to announce him. He shook his head. He wondered: Why were these people looking so strangely at him? He opened a door. The room .was empty. On the other side, a second door, ajar. Voices behind it. The voice of his father and that of another.... Freder suddenly stood still. His feet seemed to be nailed to the floor. The upper part of his body was bent stifHy forwards. His fists dangled on helpless arms, seeming no longer capable of freeing themselves from their own clench. He listened; the eyes in his white face were filled with blood, the lips were open as though forming a cry. Then he tore his deadened feet from the Ooor, stumbled to the d,oar and pushed it open.... In the middle of the room, which was filled with a cutting brightness, stood Joh Fredersen, holding a woman in his arms. And the woman was Maria. She was not struggling. Leaning far back in the man's arms, she was offering him her mouth, he alluring mouth, that deadly laugh.... "You.... '" shouted Freder. He dashed to the girl. He did not see his father. He saw only the girl-no, neither did he see the girl, only her mouth and her ·sweet, wicked laugh. Joh Fredersen turned around, broad and menacing. He
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