Kafka
died on a day like this 92 years ago.
We
could say he was actually relieved when he received his diagnosis. He was going
to die soon, said the doctor, and those words seemed to liberate him. They were
magical.
He
could finally stop looking at a picture of life in which everyone seemed to be
having fun.
Boulter's Lock, Sunday Afternoon
He needed more than a river and sunlight and he could not possibly
be part of it.
He could finally move to Berlin. He didn’t have to start a
family and be a “responsible” man. He was going to die. He could do whatever he
wanted. He could even choose to die.
And
so he did.
