Josef K.’s twenty-year-old daughter’s head
was blown apart by a red-headed
maniac. It was more information than he
ever had for his own trial
when, in conclusion, he had to grab the Bowie
and thrust it into his heart
and twist it a bit more demurely than in Hara-
Kiri. The irony is that he
has to thrust the knife in, but once again, be-
cause he was found
responsible in a court of law, somewhat like
his own first trial, in a
shabby, stuffy, airless attic, for the bullets
the red-headed maniac used
to blow his daughter’s brains out. He owes
the company, who
sold the red-headed maniac the bullets, court
costs, about a quarter
million big ones because he lost the suit. He
owns nothing but the knife
he thrust into his heart so he picks up the
Bowie and asks Meursault
what he should do. Meursault says, “Oh, go
ahead. It makes no
difference. But if you would like, I will
thrust it in and demurely
give it a twist. It makes no difference.”