Per Ipsum Solveat

Your story is very Kafkaesque, I said to Pliny. It seems to be saying something about the human condition that I can't quite put my finger on, and then there's the astonishing ending.

Yes, said Pliny, I know it's a good story, but now listen to how I turn it into a mystery:

Gaius finished reading, and closed the book. He scratched his head. Most extraordinary! he muttered, looking at the cover once again. Yes, it was a book of Kafka's short stories, but the one he had just read was not like The Metamorphosis that he remembered. Perhaps partially, he conceded.

Just then a sheet of paper fluttered to the floor from between the pages of the book. He picked it up. It appeared to be a hand-written list, headed "Facts". He began to read:

1. A beetle has been squashed ( by a bicycle).

2. The beetle is of an undetermined size, as is the bicycle.

3. Therefore this is only a 'report' of a beetle being squashed by a bicycle,

4. The beetle has elsewhere been referred to as 'a giant beetle'.

5. Someone called 'K' is involved in the investigations.

6. He speaks German.

7. 'K' knew of the beetle both before and after the reported squashing.

8. 'K' has concluded something.

He speaks German? wondered Gaius. No, he doesn't. Gaius turned the piece of paper over. On the reverse side he read:

..... a giant beetle or cockroach, or as K originally referred to it, Ungeziefer. The actual measurements of the creature were not given, therefore it was not possible to ascertain whether it was likely to have been squashed when ridden over by an ordinary sized bicycle, or whether it had to be something larger. However, K concluded......

Now that rings a bell, said Gaius to himself. That definitely does ring a bell. But I can't quite put my finger on it. And I can't think straight without my toga. Oh well. Per ipsum solveat.

That's it, said Pliny.

What's per ipsum solveat?

You must solve it for yourself.

Oh, very good.

Yes, said Pliny. That will teach them.

Metamorphosis

Right! said Pliny the Elder. I've taken your advice, and I've added a frame.

That was quick! I exclaimed. Read it out.

Alright, said Pliny. Tell me what you think of this as a beginning:

Gaius Plinius Secundus was at a loose end. His toga was at the dry cleaners and he was confined to the house. He looked around for something with which to occupy his mind.

A loose end! That's not like you like you! I interrupted.

No, but the readers are not to know that. And besides, this is fiction.

Sorry, I said. I like how you got the toga in without having to wear it, I added.

Thank you, said Pliny. Now to continue:

Gaius looked idly along a row of old books in the bookcase, and picked up the one at the end. It was a book of short stories by Kafka. He leafed through until he came to The Metamorphosis, and began to read. This is strange, he said to himself. I thought I knew this story.

The story was about someone called K. One morning K woke up to discover he had partially turned into a giant beetle. ( Hmm, mused Gaius, he turned completely into a beetle in the story I remember). He got out of bed quite easily. That was because he still had human legs. Good, thought K, at least I will still be able to ride my bicycle. He ate some scraps out of the garbage pail, partially dressed himself and went downstairs to find his bike, so that he could ride to work. I hope they recognise me when I get there, he said to himself. I look very different from yesterday. And he ran back upstairs for his hat, by which he hoped to identify himself to his colleagues.

On the way to work, he found himself riding directly behind another beetle on a bicycle. This beetle, he was sorry to see, was almost all beetle, with long thin beetle legs, and was consequently having great trouble controlling his bike. Indeed this would have been all but impossible had he not possessed two human feet, clad in sturdy brown leather boots.

The beetle in the boots wobbled up to an intersection and stopped at the lights. Unfortunately K, who was thinking ahead to the office and wondering how he was going to access his files, rode straight into the stationary beetle, knocking him off his bicycle, upending him, and riding straight over his soft underbelly, squashing his guts out all over the road. In a panic, K rode away, never once looking behind him.

Pliny paused to take a breath. Well, he said. What do you think of it so far?

Fantastic! I said. Better than Kafka! The frame is working a treat. And the story's brilliant, so far. I can't wait to hear the rest.

And you will, said Pliny the Elder, just as soon as I've finished it off.