As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a woman. He was lying on his now supple back, as it were and when he lifted his head a little he could see his breasts rising and falling ever so slightly on his chest, obscuring the view to the rest of his body. The new size of his breasts shoved the bed quilt aside, which could hardly keep in position and was about to slide off completely.

Raising himself on his elbows he noticed his now-gorgeous legs, which were perfectly proportioned compared to the rest of his body, moving provocatively before his eyes.

Was ist mit mir passiert? (What has happened to me?) The new woman thought. It was no dream. His…rather her room, a man’s bedroom, was rather too small, lying quietly between the four familiar if disappointingly plain walls. Above the table on which a collection of cloth samples was unpacked and spread out, she noticed her efforts at decorating.

Herr…Fraulein Samsa was a commercial traveler, and had hung the picture which she had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and put into a pretty wood frame. It showed a lady, with a fur cap on and a fur stole, sitting upright and holding out to the spectator a huge fur muff into which the whole of her forearm had vanished! She stared at the picture and began to allow musings which she must have had obviously suppressed.

“Wie würde es sich anfühlen, das zu tragen?” (What would it feel like to wear that?) she thought.

Her eyes turned next to the window, and the overcast sky; one could hear rain drops beating on the window gutter, making her feel quite melancholy. What about sleeping a little longer and forgetting all this nonsense, she thought, but it could not be done, for she was accustomed to sleep on her tummy...tummy? And in her present condition she could not turn herself over.

However urgently she forced herself towards her right side she always rolled on to her back again. She tried it at least a hundred times, it felt, shutting her eyes to keep from being distracted by the appealing newness of her breasts and legs, and only desisted when she began to feel in her groin a faint dull itch she had never experienced before.

Mein Gott, she thought, what an exhausting job I've picked on! Traveling about day in, day out. It's much more irritating work than doing the actual business in the office, and on top of that there's the trouble of constant traveling, of worrying about train connections, the bed and irregular meals, casual acquaintances that are always new and never become intimate friends.

Der Teufel nimmt alles! (The devil take it all!)

Feeling a slight stirring down below; she slowly pushed herself on her back nearer to the top of the bed so that she could lift her head more easily; identified the place which was surrounded by a neatly trimmed thatch of reddish blond hair. And nothing protruding. She touched the spot, but drew her hand back immediately, for the contact made a cold shiver run through her…

It was only then that everything made sense, since she was, after all, a saleswoman of ladies apparel, and her previous lack of embarrassment and discomfort about her wares simply faded away as she eyed the open wardrobe in which hung several attractive dresses. And her large sample trunk lay open, displaying pretty undergarments and hose.

She looked at the alarm clock ticking on the chest.

Gott in Himmel! She thought. It was half-past six o'clock and the hands were quietly moving on, it was even past the half-hour, it was getting on toward a quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not gone off? Of course.

But what was she to do now? The next train went at seven o'clock; to catch that she would need to hurry like mad and her samples weren't even packed up. While the thought had yet occurred to her that no one would be expecting Greta Samsa, it really didn’t seem to matter at that moment.

She glanced at the door and noted that it was locked; leaving her to breathe a sigh of relief. With advances and commissions already safely deposited or in cash in her purse, she decided to finally take a well-deserved day or seven off as she smiled to herself. She got up from the bed and laughed as her now too-big pajama trousers and shorts fell from her ankles to the floor.

Looking in the mirror over the chest she absentmindedly pushed her fingers through her hair. She grinned happily at the new person who waved back before she returned to bed, glad to have no other plans than to explore just what and who Fraulein Greta Samsa had become.…

Das Ende

based on the story by Franz Kafka

title art derived from the painting
Woman in Front of a Mirror
by Christoffer Eckersberg