Part. 03
Chapter 4
Miss Bürstner's Friend
For some time after this, K. found it impossible to exchange even just a
few words with Miss Bürstner. He tried to reach her in many and various
ways but she always found a way to avoid it. He would come
straight home from the office, remain in her room without the light on,
and sit on the sofa with nothing more to distract him than keeping watch
on the empty hallway. If the maid went by and closed the door of the apparently
empty room he would get up after a while and open it again.
He got up an hour earlier than usual in the morning so that he might
perhaps find Miss Bürstner alone as she went to the office. But none of
these efforts brought any success. Then he wrote her a letter, both to the
office and the flat, attempting once more to justify his behaviour, offered
to make whatever amends he could, promised never to cross whatever
boundary she might set him and begged merely to have the chance to
speak to her some time, especially as he was unable to do anything with
Mrs. Grubach either until he had spoken with Miss Bürstner, he finally
informed her that the following Sunday he would stay in his room all
day waiting for a sign from her that there was some hope of his request
being fulfilled, or at least that she would explain to him why she could
not fulfil it even though he had promised to observe whatever stipulations
she might make. The letters were not returned, but there was no
answer either. However, on the following Sunday there was a sign that
seemed clear enough. It was still early when K. noticed, through the keyhole,
that there was an unusual level of activity in the hallway which
soon abated. A French teacher, although she was German and called
Montag, a pale and febrile girl with a slight limp who had previously occupied
a room of her own, was moving into Miss Bürstner's room. She
could be seen shuffling through the hallway for several hours, there was
always another piece of clothing or a blanket or a book that she had forgotten
and had to be fetched specially and brought into the new home.
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When Mrs. Grubach brought K. his breakfast - ever since the time
when she had made K. so cross she didn't trust the maid to do the slightest
job - he had no choice but to speak to her, for the first time in five
days. "Why is there so much noise in the hallway today?" he asked as she
poured his coffee out, "Can't something be done about it? Does this clearing
out have to be done on a Sunday?" K. did not look up at Mrs.
Grubach, but he saw nonetheless that she seemed to feel some relief as
she breathed in. Even sharp questions like this from Mr. K. she perceived
as forgiveness, or as the beginning of forgiveness. "We're not clearing
anything out, Mr. K.," she said, "it's just that Miss Montag is moving in
with Miss Bürstner and is moving her things across." She said nothing
more, but just waited to see how K. would take it and whether he would
allow her to carry on speaking. But K. kept her in uncertainty, took the
spoon and pensively stirred his coffee while he remained silent. Then he
looked up at her and said, "What about the suspicions you had earlier
about Miss Bürstner, have you given them up?" "Mr. K.," called Mrs.
Grubach, who had been waiting for this very question, as she put her
hands together and held them out towards him. "I just made a chance remark
and you took it so badly. I didn't have the slightest intention of offending
anyone, not you or anyone else. You've known me for long
enough, Mr. K., I'm sure you're convinced of that. You don't know how
I've been suffering for the past few days! That I should tell lies about my
tenants! And you, Mr. K., you believed it! And said I should give you notice!
Give you notice!" At this last outcry, Mrs. Grubach was already
choking back her tears, she raised her apron to her face and blubbered
out loud.
"Oh, don't cry Mrs. Grubach," said K., looking out the window, he was
thinking only of Miss Bürstner and how she was accepting an unknown
girl into her room. "Now don't cry," he said again as he turned his look
back into the room where Mrs. Grubach was still crying. "I meant no
harm either when I said that. It was simply a misunderstanding between
us. That can happen even between old friends sometimes." Mrs. Grubach
pulled her apron down to below her eyes to see whether K. really was attempting
a reconciliation. "Well, yes, that's how it is," said K., and as
Mrs. Grubach's behaviour indicated that the captain had said nothing he
dared to add, "Do you really think, then, that I'd want to make an enemy
of you for the sake of a girl we hardly know?" "Yes, you're quite right,
Mr. K.," said Mrs. Grubach, and then, to her misfortune, as soon as she
felt just a little freer to speak, she added something rather inept. "I kept
asking myself why it was that Mr. K. took such an interest in Miss
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Bürstner. Why does he quarrel with me over her when he knows that
any cross word from him and I can't sleep that night? And I didn't say
anything about Miss Bürstner that I hadn't seen with my own eyes." K.
said nothing in reply, he should have chased her from the room as soon
as she had opened her mouth, and he didn't want to do that. He contented
himself with merely drinking his coffee and letting Mrs. Grubach feel
that she was superfluous. Outside, the dragging steps of Miss Montag
could still be heard as she went from one side of the hallway to the other.
"Do you hear that?" asked K. pointing his hand at the door. "Yes," said
Mrs. Grubach with a sigh, "I wanted to give her some help and I wanted
the maid to help her too but she's stubborn, she wants to move
everything in herself. I wonder at Miss Bürstner. I often feel it's a burden
for me to have Miss Montag as a tenant but Miss Bürstner accepts her into
her room with herself." "There's nothing there for you to worry about"
said K., crushing the remains of a sugar lump in his cup. "Does she cause
you any trouble?" "No," said Mrs. Grubach, "in itself it's very good to
have her there, it makes another room free for me and I can let my nephew,
the captain, occupy it. I began to worry he might be disturbing you
when I had to let him live in the living room next to you over the last few
days. He's not very considerate." "What an idea!" said K. standing up,
"there's no question of that. You seem to think that because I can't stand
this to-ing and fro-ing of Miss Montag that I'm over-sensitive - and there
she goes back again." Mrs. Grubach appeared quite powerless. "Should I
tell her to leave moving the rest of her things over till later, then, Mr. K.?
If that's what you want I'll do it immediately." "But she has to move in
with Miss Bürstner!" said K. "Yes," said Mrs. Grubach, without quite understanding
what K. meant. "So she has to take her things over there."
Mrs. Grubach just nodded. K. was irritated all the more by this dumb
helplessness which, seen from the outside, could have seemed like a kind
of defiance on her part. He began to walk up and down the room
between the window and the door, thus depriving Mrs. Grubach of the
chance to leave, which she otherwise probably would have done.
Just as K. once more reached the door, someone knocked at it. It was
the maid, to say that Miss Montag would like to have a few words with
Mr. K., and therefore requested that he come to the dining room where
she was waiting for him. K. heard the maid out thoughtfully, and then
looked back at the shocked Mrs. Grubach in a way that was almost contemptuous.
His look seemed to be saying that K. had been expecting this
invitation for Miss Montag for a long time, and that it was confirmation
of the suffering he had been made to endure that Sunday morning from
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Mrs. Grubach's tenants. He sent the maid back with the reply that he was
on his way, then he went to the wardrobe to change his coat, and in answer
to Mrs. Grubach's gentle whining about the nuisance Miss Montag
was causing merely asked her to clear away the breakfast things. "But
you've hardly touched it," said Mrs. Grubach. "Oh just take it away!"
shouted K. It seemed to him that Miss Montag was mixed up in
everything and made it repulsive to him.
As he went through the hallway he looked at the closed door of Miss
Bürstner's room. But it wasn't there that he was invited, but the dining
room, to which he yanked the door open without knocking.
The room was long but narrow with one window. There was only
enough space available to put two cupboards at an angle in the corner by
the door, and the rest of the room was entirely taken up with the long
dining table which started by the door and reached all the way to the
great window, which was thus made almost inaccessible. The table was
already laid for a large number of people, as on Sundays almost all the
tenants ate their dinner here at midday.
When K. entered, Miss Montag came towards him from the window
along one side of the table. They greeted each other in silence. Then Miss
Montag, her head unusually erect as always, said, "I'm not sure whether
you know me." K. looked at her with a frown. "Of course I do," he said,
"you've been living here with Mrs. Grubach for quite some time now."
"But I get the impression you don't pay much attention to what's going
on in the lodging house," said Miss Montag. "No," said K. "Would you
not like to sit down?" said Miss Montag. In silence, the two of them drew
chairs out from the farthest end of the table and sat down facing each
other. But Miss Montag stood straight up again as she had left her handbag
on the window sill and went to fetch it; she shuffled down the whole
length of the room. When she came back, the handbag lightly swinging,
she said, "I'd like just to have a few words with you on behalf of my
friend. She would have come herself, but she's feeling a little unwell
today. Perhaps you'll be kind enough to forgive her and listen to me instead.
There's anyway nothing that she could have said that I won't. On
the contrary, in fact, I think I can say even more than her because I'm relatively
impartial. Would you not agree?" "What is there to say, then?"
answered K., who was tired of Miss Montag continuously watching his
lips. In that way she took control of what he wanted to say before he said
it. "Miss Bürstner clearly refuses to grant me the personal meeting that I
asked her for." "That's how it is," said Miss Montag, " or rather, that's not
at all how it is, the way you put it is remarkably severe. Generally
59
speaking, meetings are neither granted nor the opposite. But it can be
that meetings are considered unnecessary, and that's how it is here.
Now, after your comment, I can speak openly. You asked my friend,
verbally or in writing, for the chance to speak with her. Now my friend is
aware of your reasons for asking for this meeting - or at least I suppose
she is - and so, for reasons I know nothing about, she is quite sure that it
would be of no benefit to anyone if this meeting actually took place.
Moreover, it was only yesterday, and only very briefly, that she made it
clear to me that such a meeting could be of no benefit for yourself either,
she feels that it can only have been a matter of chance that such an idea
came to you, and that even without any explanations from her, you will
very soon come to realise yourself, if you have not done so already, the
futility of your idea. My answer to that is that although it may be quite
right, I consider it advantageous, if the matter is to be made perfectly
clear, to give you an explicit answer. I offered my services in taking on
the task, and after some hesitation my friend conceded. I hope, however,
also to have acted in your interests, as even the slightest uncertainty in
the least significant of matters will always remain a cause of suffering
and if, as in this case, it can be removed without substantial effort, then it
is better if that is done without delay." "I thank you," said K. as soon as
Miss Montag had finished. He stood slowly up, looked at her, then
across the table, then out the window - the house opposite stood there in
the sun - and went to the door. Miss Montag followed him a few paces,
as if she did not quite trust him. At the door, however, both of them had
to step back as it opened and Captain Lanz entered. This was the first
time that K. had seen him close up. He was a large man of about forty
with a tanned, fleshy face. He bowed slightly, intending it also for K.,
and then went over to Miss Montag and deferentially kissed her hand.
He was very elegant in the way he moved. The courtesy he showed towards
Miss Montag made a striking contrast with the way she had been
treated by K. Nonetheless, Miss Montag did not seem to be cross with K.
as it even seemed to him that she wanted to introduce the captain. K.
however, did not want to be introduced, he would not have been able to
show any sort of friendliness either to Miss Montag or to the captain, the
kiss on the hand had, for K., bound them into a group which would keep
him at a distance from Miss Bürstner whilst at the same time seeming to
be totally harmless and unselfish. K. thought, however, that he saw more
than that, he thought he also saw that Miss Montag had chosen a means
of doing it that was good, but two-edged. She exaggerated the importance
of the relationship between K. and Miss Bürstner, and above all she
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exaggerated the importance of asking to speak with her and she tried at
the same time to make out that K. was exaggerating everything. She
would be disappointed, K. did not want to exaggerate anything, he was
aware that Miss Bürstner was a little typist who would not offer him
much resistance for long. In doing so he deliberately took no account of
what Mrs. Grubach had told him about Miss Bürstner. All these things
were going through his mind as he left the room with hardly a polite
word. He wanted to go straight to his room, but a little laugh from Miss
Montag that he heard from the dining room behind him brought him to
the idea that he might prepare a surprise for the two of them, the captain
and Miss Montag. He looked round and listened to find out if there
might be any disturbance from any of the surrounding rooms, everywhere
was quiet, the only thing to be heard was the conversation from
the dining room and Mrs. Grubach's voice from the passage leading to
the kitchen. This seemed an opportune time, K. went to Miss Bürstner's
room and knocked gently. There was no sound so he knocked again but
there was still no answer in reply. Was she asleep? Or was she really unwell?
Or was she just pretending as she realised it could only be K.
knocking so gently? K. assumed she was pretending and knocked
harder, eventually, when the knocking brought no result, he carefully
opened the door with the sense of doing something that was not only
improper but also pointless. In the room there was no-one. What's more,
it looked hardly at all like the room K. had known before. Against the
wall there were now two beds behind one another, there were clothes
piled up on three chairs near the door, a wardrobe stood open. Miss Bürstner
must have gone out while Miss Montag was speaking to him in the
dining room. K. was not greatly bothered by this, he had hardly expected
to be able to find Miss Bürstner so easily and had made this attempt
for little more reason than to spite Miss Montag. But that made it all the
more embarrassing for him when, as he was closing the door again, he
saw Miss Montag and the captain talking in the open doorway of the
dining room. They had probably been standing there ever since K. had
opened the door, they avoided seeming to observe K. but chatted lightly
and followed his movements with glances, the absent minded glances to
the side such as you make during a conversation. But these glances were
heavy for K., and he rushed alongside the wall back into his own room.
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Chapter 5
The whip-man
One evening, a few days later, K. was walking along one of the corridors
that separated his office from the main stairway - he was nearly the last
one to leave for home that evening, there remained only a couple of
workers in the light of a single bulb in the dispatch department - when
he heard a sigh from behind a door which he had himself never opened
but which he had always thought just led into a junk room. He stood in
amazement and listened again to establish whether he might not be mistaken.
For a while there was silence, but then came some more sighs. His
first thought was to fetch one of the servitors, it might well have been
worth having a witness present, but then he was taken by an uncontrollable
curiosity that make him simply yank the door open. It was, as he
had thought, a junk room. Old, unusable forms, empty stone ink-bottles
lay scattered behind the entrance. But in the cupboard-like room itself
stood three men, crouching under the low ceiling. A candle fixed on a
shelf gave them light. "What are you doing here?" asked K. quietly, but
crossly and without thinking. One of the men was clearly in charge, and
attracted attention by being dressed in a kind of dark leather costume
which left his neck and chest and his arms exposed. He did not answer.
But the other two called out, "Mr. K.! We're to be beaten because you
made a complaint about us to the examining judge." And now, K. finally
realised that it was actually the two policemen, Franz and Willem, and
that the third man held a cane in his hand with which to beat them.
"Well," said K., staring at them, "I didn't make any complaint, I only said
what took place in my home. And your behaviour was not entirely unobjectionable,
after all." "Mr. K.," said Willem, while Franz clearly tried to
shelter behind him as protection from the third man, "if you knew how
badly we get paid you wouldn't think so badly of us. I've got a family to
feed, and Franz here wanted to get married, you just have to get more
money where you can, you can't do it just by working hard, not however
hard you try. I was sorely tempted by your fine clothes, policemen aren't
62
allowed to do that sort of thing, course they aren't, and it wasn't right of
us, but it's tradition that the clothes go to the officers, that's how it's always
been, believe me; and it's understandable too, isn't it, what can
things like that mean for anyone unlucky enough to be arrested? But if
he starts talking about it openly then the punishment has to follow." "I
didn't know about any of this that you've been telling me, and I made no
sort of request that you be punished, I was simply acting on principle."
"Franz," said Willem, turning to the other policeman, "didn't I tell you
that the gentleman didn't say he wanted us to be punished? Now you
can hear for yourself, he didn't even know we'd have to be punished."
"Don't you let them persuade you, talking like that," said the third man
to K., "this punishment is both just and unavoidable." "Don't listen to
him," said Willem, interrupting himself only to quickly bring his hand to
his mouth when it had received a stroke of the cane, "we're only being
punished because you made a complaint against us. Nothing would
have happened to us otherwise, not even if they'd found out what we'd
done. Can you call that justice? Both of us, me especially, we'd proved
our worth as good police officers over a long period - you've got to admit
yourself that as far as official work was concerned we did the job well -
things looked good for us, we had prospects, it's quite certain that we
would've been made whip-men too, like this one, only he had the luck
not to have anyone make a complaint about him, as you really don't get
many complaints like that. Only that's all finished now, Mr. K., our careers
are at an end, we're going to have to do work now that's far inferior
to police work and besides all this we're going to get this terrible, painful
beating." "Can the cane really cause so much pain, then?" asked K., testing
the cane that the whip-man swang in front of him. "We're going to
have to strip off totally naked," said Willem. "Oh, I see," said K., looking
straight at the whip-man, his skin was burned brown like a sailor's, and
his face showed health and vigorous. "Is there then no possibility of sparing
these two their beating?" he asked him. "No," said the whip-man,
shaking his head with a laugh. "Get undressed!" he ordered the policemen.
And to K. he said, "You shouldn't believe everything they tell you,
it's the fear of being beaten, it's already made them a bit weak in the
head. This one here, for instance," he pointed at Willem, "all that he told
you about his career prospects, it's just ridiculous. Look at him, look how
fat he is - the first strokes of the cane will just get lost in all that fat. Do
you know what it is that's made him so fat? He's in the habit of, everyone
that gets arrested by him, he eats their breakfast. Didn't he eat up your
breakfast? Yeah, I thought as much. But a man with a belly like that can't
63
be made into a whip-man and never will be, that is quite out of the question."
"There are whip-men like that," Willem insisted, who had just released
the belt of this trousers. "No," said the whip-man, striking him
such a blow with the cane on his neck that it made him wince, "you
shouldn't be listening to this, just get undressed." "I would make it well
worth your while if you would let them go," said K., and without looking
at the whip-man again - as such matters are best carried on with both
pairs of eyes turned down - he pulled out his wallet. "And then you'd try
and put in a complaint against me, too," said the whip-man, "and get me
flogged. No, no!" "Now, do be reasonable," said K., "if I had wanted to
get these two punished I would not now be trying to buy their freedom,
would I. I could simply close the door here behind me, go home and see
or hear nothing more of it. But that's not what I'm doing, it really is of
much more importance to me to let them go free; if I had realised they
would be punished, or even that they might be punished, I would never
have named them in the first place as they are not the ones I hold responsible.
It's the organisation that's to blame, the high officials are the
ones to blame." "That's how it is!" shouted the policemen, who then immediately
received another blow on their backs, which were by now exposed.
"If you had a senior judge here beneath your stick," said K., pressing
down the cane as he spoke to stop it being raised once more, "I really
would do nothing to stop you, on the contrary, I would even pay you
money to give you all the more strength." "Yeah, that's all very plausible,
what you're saying there," said the whip-man , "only I'm not the sort of
person you can bribe. It's my job to flog people, so I flog them." Franz,
the policeman, had been fairly quiet so far, probably in expectation of a
good result from K.'s intervention, but now he stepped forward to the
door wearing just his trousers, kneeled down hanging on to K.'s arm and
whispered, "Even if you can't get mercy shown for both of us, at least try
and get me set free. Willem is older than me, he's less sensitive than me
in every way, he even got a light beating a couple of years ago, but my
record's still clean, I only did things the way I did because Willem led me
on to it, he's been my teacher both for good and bad. Down in front of
the bank my poor bride is waiting for me at the entrance, I'm so ashamed
of myself, it's pitiful." His face was flowing over with tears, and he
wiped it dry on K.'s coat. "I'm not going to wait any longer," said the
whip-man, taking hold of the cane in both hands and laying in to Franz
while Willem cowered back in a corner and looked on secretly, not even
daring to turn his head. Then, the sudden scream that shot out from
Franz was long and irrevocable, it seemed to come not from a human
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being but from an instrument that was being tortured, the whole corridor
rang with it, it must have been heard by everyone in the building.
"Don't shout like that!", called out K., unable to prevent himself, and, as
he looked anxiously in the direction from which the servitor would
come, he gave Franz a shove, not hard, but hard enough for him to fall
down unconscious, clawing at the ground with his hands by reflex; he
still did not avoid being hit; the rod still found him on the floor; the tip of
the rod swang regularly up and down while he rolled to and fro under
its blows. And now one of the servitors appeared in the distance, with
another a few steps behind him. K. had quickly thrown the door shut,
gone over to one of the windows overlooking the yard and opened it.
The screams had completely stopped. So that the servitor wouldn't come
in, he called out, "It's only me!" "Good evening, chief clerk," somebody
called back. "Is there anything wrong?" "No, no," answered K., "it's only a
dog yelping in the yard." There was no sound from the servitors so he
added, "You can go back to what you were doing." He did not want to
become involved with a conversation with them, and so he leant out of
the window. A little while later, when he looked out in the corridor, they
had already gone. Now, K. remained at the window, he did not dare go
back into the junk room, and he did not want to go home either. The
yard he looked down into was small and rectangular, all around it were
offices, all the windows were now dark and only those at the very top
caught a reflection of the moon. K tried hard to see into the darkness of
one corner of the yard, where a few handcarts had been left behind one
another. He felt anguish at not having been able to prevent the flogging,
but that was not his fault, if Franz had not screamed like that - clearly it
must have caused a great deal of pain but it's important to maintain control
of oneself at important moments - if Franz had not screamed then it
was at least highly probable that K. would have been able to dissuade
the whip-man. If all the junior officers were contemptible why would the
whip-man, whose position was the most inhumane of all, be any exception,
and K. had noticed very clearly how his eyes had lit up when he
saw the banknotes, he had obviously only seemed serious about the flogging
to raise the level of the bribe a little. And K. had not been ungenerous,
he really had wanted to get the policemen freed; if he really had
now begun to do something against the degeneracy of the court then it
was a matter of course that he would have to do something here as well.
But of course, it became impossible for him to do anything as soon as
Franz started screaming. K. could not possibly have let the junior bank
staff, and perhaps even all sorts of other people, come along and catch
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him by surprise as he haggled with those people in the junk room.
Nobody could really expect that sort of sacrifice of him. If that had been
his intention then it would almost have been easier, K. would have taken
his own clothes off and offered himself to the whip-man in the
policemen's place. The whip-man would certainly not have accepted this
substitution anyway, as in that way he would have seriously violated his
duty without gaining any benefit. He would most likely have violated
his duty twice over, as court employees were probably under orders not
to cause any harm to K. while he was facing charges, although there may
have been special conditions in force here. However things stood, K. was
able to do no more than throw the door shut, even though that would
still do nothing to remove all the dangers he faced. It was regrettable that
he had given Franz a shove, and it could only be excused by the heat of
the moment.
In the distance, he heard the steps of the servitors; he did not want
them to be too aware of his presence, so he closed the window and
walked towards the main staircase. At the door of the junk room he
stopped and listened for a little while. All was silent. The two policemen
were entirely at the whip-man's mercy; he could have beaten them to
death. K. reached his hand out for the door handle but drew it suddenly
back. He was no longer in any position to help anyone, and the servitors
would soon be back; he did, though, promise himself that he would raise
the matter again with somebody and see that, as far as it was in his
power, those who really were guilty, the high officials whom nobody
had so far dared point out to him, received their due punishment. As he
went down the main stairway at the front of the bank, he looked carefully
round at everyone who was passing, but there was no girl to be
seen who might have been waiting for somebody, not even within some
distance from the bank. Franz's claim that his bride was waiting for him
was thus shown to be a lie, albeit one that was forgivable and intended
only to elicit more sympathy.
The policemen were still on K.'s mind all through the following day;
he was unable to concentrate on his work and had to stay in his office a
little longer than the previous day so that he could finish it. On the way
home, as he passed by the junk room again, he opened its door as if that
had been his habit. Instead of the darkness he expected, he saw
everything unchanged from the previous evening, and did not know
how he should respond. Everything was exactly the same as he had seen
it when he had opened the door the previous evening. The forms and
bottles of ink just inside the doorway, the whip-man with his cane, the
66
two policemen, still undressed, the candle on the shelf, and the two policemen
began to wail and call out "Mr. K.!" K. slammed the door immediately
shut, and even thumped on it with his fists as if that would shut
it all the firmer. Almost in tears, he ran to the servitors working quietly
at the copying machine. "Go and get that junk room cleared out!" he
shouted, and, in amazement, they stopped what they were doing. "It
should have been done long ago, we're sinking in dirt!" They would be
able to do the job the next day, K. nodded, it was too late in the evening
to make them do it there and then as he had originally intended. He sat
down briefly in order to keep them near him for a little longer, looked
through a few of the copies to give the impression that he was checking
them and then, as he saw that they would not dare to leave at the same
time as himself, went home tired and with his mind numb.
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Chapter 6
K.'s uncle - Leni
One afternoon - K. was very busy at the time, getting the post ready -
K.'s Uncle Karl, a small country land owner, came into the room, pushing
his way between two of the staff who were bringing in some papers.
K. had long expected his uncle to appear, but the sight of him now
shocked K. far less than the prospect of it had done a long time before.
His uncle was bound to come, K. had been sure of that for about a
month. He already thought at the time he could see how his uncle would
arrive, slightly bowed, his battered panama hat in his left hand, his right
hand already stretched out over the desk long before he was close
enough as he rushed carelessly towards K. knocking over everything
that was in his way. K.'s uncle was always in a hurry, as he suffered from
the unfortunate belief that he had a number things to do while he was in
the big city and had to settle all of them in one day - his visits were only
ever for one day - and at the same time thought he could not forgo any
conversation or piece of business or pleasure that might arise by chance.
Uncle Karl was K.'s former guardian, and so K. was duty-bound to help
him in all of this as well as to offer him a bed for the night. 'I'm haunted
by a ghost from the country', he would say.
As soon as they had greeted each other - K. had invited him to sit in
the armchair but Uncle Karl had no time for that - he said he wanted to
speak briefly with K. in private. "It is necessary," he said with a tired
gulp, "it is necessary for my peace of mind." K. immediately sent the junior
staff from the room and told them to let no-one in. "What's this that
I've been hearing, Josef?" cried K.'s uncle when they were alone, as he sat
on the table shoving various papers under himself without looking at
them to make himself more comfortable. K. said nothing, he knew what
was coming, but, suddenly relieved from the effort of the work he had
been doing, he gave way to a pleasant lassitude and looked out the window
at the other side of the street. From where he sat, he could see just a
small, triangular section of it, part of the empty walls of houses between
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two shop windows. "You're staring out the window!" called out his
uncle, raising his arms, "For God's sake, Josef, give me an answer! Is it
true, can it really be true?" "Uncle Karl," said K., wrenching himself back
from his daydreaming, "I really don't know what it is you want of me."
"Josef," said his uncle in a warning tone, "as far as I know, you've always
told the truth. Am I to take what you've just said as a bad sign?" "I think I
know what it is you want," said K. obediently, "I expect you've heard
about my trial." "That's right," answered his uncle with a slow nod, "I've
heard about your trial." "Who did you hear it from, then?" asked K. "Erna
wrote to me," said his uncle, "she doesn't have much contact with you,
it's true, you don't pay very much attention to her, I'm afraid to say, but
she learned about it nonetheless. I got her letter today and, of course, I
came straight here. And for no other reason, but it seems to me that this
is reason enough. I can read you out the part of the letter that concerns
you." He drew the letter out from his wallet. "Here it is. She writes; 'I
have not seen Josef for a long time, I was in the bank last week but Josef
was so busy that they would not let me through; I waited there for nearly
an hour but then I had to go home as I had my piano lesson. I would
have liked to have spoken to him, maybe there will be a chance another
time. He sent me a big box of chocolates for my name-day, that was very
nice and attentive of him. I forgot to tell you about it when I wrote, and I
only remember now that you ask me about it. Chocolate, as I am sure
you are aware, disappears straight away in this lodging house, almost as
soon as you know somebody has given you chocolate it is gone. But
there is something else I wanted to tell you about Josef. Like I said, they
would not let me through to see him at the bank because he was negotiating
with some gentleman just then. After I had been waiting quietly for
quite a long time I asked one of the staff whether his meeting would last
much longer. He said it might well do, as it was probably about the legal
proceedings, he said, that were being conducted against him. I asked
what sort of legal proceedings it was that were being conducted against
the chief clerk, and whether he was not making some mistake, but he
said he was not making any mistake, there were legal proceedings underway
and even that they were about something quite serious, but he
did not know any more about it. He would have liked to have been of
some help to the chief clerk himself, as the chief clerk was a gentleman,
good and honest, but he did not know what it was he could do and
merely hoped there would be some influential gentlemen who would
take his side. I'm sure that is what will happen and that everything will
turn out for the best in the end, but in the mean time things do not look
69
at all good, and you can see that from the mood of the chief clerk himself.
Of course, I did not place too much importance on this conversation,
and even did my best to put the bank clerk's mind at rest, he was quite a
simple man. I told him he was not to speak to anyone else about this, and
I think it is all just a rumour, but I still think it might be good if you,
Dear Father, if you looked into the matter the next time you visit. It will
be easy for you to find out more detail and, if it is really necessary, to do
something about it through the great and influential people you know.
But if it is not necessary, and that is what seems most likely, then at least
your daughter will soon have the chance to embrace you and I look forward
to it.' - She's a good child," said K.'s uncle when he had finished
reading, and wiped a few tears from his eyes. K. nodded. With all the
different disruptions he had had recently he had completely forgotten
about Erna, even her birthday, and the story of the chocolates had clearly
just been invented so that he wouldn't get in trouble with his aunt and
uncle. It was very touching, and even the theatre tickets, which he would
regularly send her from then on, would not be enough to repay her, but
he really did not feel, now, that it was right for him to visit her in her
lodgings and hold conversations with a little, eighteen year old schoolgirl.
"And what do you have to say about that?" asked his uncle,who had
forgotten all his rush and excitement as he read the letter, and seemed to
be about to read it again. "Yes, Uncle," said K., "it is true." "True!" called
out his uncle. "What is true? How can this be true? What sort of trial is it?
Not a criminal trial, I hope?" "It's a criminal trial," answered K. "And you
sit quietly here while you've got a criminal trial round your neck?"
shouted his uncle, getting ever louder. "The more calm I am, the better it
will be for the outcome," said K. in a tired voice, "don't worry." "How can
I help worrying?!" shouted his uncle, "Josef, my Dear Josef, think about
yourself, about your family, think about our good name! Up till now,
you've always been our pride, don't now become our disgrace. I don't
like the way you're behaving," he said, looking at K. with his head at an
angle, "that's not how an innocent man behaves when he's accused of
something, not if he's still got any strength in him. Just tell me what it's
all about so that I can help you. It's something to do with the bank, I take
it?" "No," said K. as he stood up, "and you're speaking too loud, Uncle, I
expect one of the staff is listening at the door and I find that rather unpleasant.
It's best if we go somewhere else, then I can answer all your
questions, as far as I can. And I know very well that I have to account to
the family for what I do." "You certainly do!" his uncle shouted, "Quite
right, you do. Now just get a move on, Josef, hurry up now!" "I still have
70
a few documents I need to prepare," said K., and, using the intercom, he
summoned his deputy who entered a few moments later. K.'s uncle, still
angry and excited, gestured with his hand to show that K. had
summoned him, even though there was no need whatever to do so. K.
stood in front of the desk and explained to the young man, who listened
calm and attentive, what would need to be done that day in his absence,
speaking in a calm voice and making use of various documents. The
presence of K.'s uncle while this was going on was quite disturbing; he
did not listen to what was being said, but at first he stood there with eyes
wide open and nervously biting his lips. Then he began to walk up and
down the room, stopped now and then at the window, or stood in front
of a picture always making various exclamations such as, "That is totally
incomprehensible to me!" or "Now just tell me, what are you supposed to
make of that?!" The young man pretended to notice nothing of this and
listened to K.'s instructions through to the end, he made a few notes,
bowed to both K. and his uncle and then left the room. K.'s uncle had
turned his back to him and was looking out the window, bunching up
the curtains with his outstretched hands. The door had hardly closed
when he called out, "At last! Now that he's stopped jumping about we
can go too!" Once they were in the front hall of the bank, where several
members of staff were standing about and where, just then, the deputy
director was walking across, there was unfortunately no way of stopping
K.'s uncle from continually asking questions about the trial. "Now then,
Josef," he began, lightly acknowledging the bows from those around
them as they passed, "tell me everything about this trial; what sort of trial
is it?" K. made a few comments which conveyed little information,
even laughed a little, and it was only when they reached the front steps
that he explained to his uncle that he had not wanted to talk openly in
front of those people. "Quite right," said his uncle, "but now start talking."
With his head to one side, and smoking his cigar in short, impatient
draughts, he listened. "First of all, Uncle," said K., "it's not a trial like
you'd have in a normal courtroom." "So much the worse," said his uncle.
"How's that?" asked K., looking at him. "What I mean is, that's for the
worse," he repeated. They were standing on the front steps of the bank;
as the doorkeeper seemed to be listening to what they were saying K.
drew his uncle down further, where they were absorbed into the bustle
of the street. His uncle took K.'s arm and stopped asking questions with
such urgency about the trial, they walked on for a while in silence. "But
how did all this come about?" he eventually asked, stopping abruptly
enough to startle the people walking behind, who had to avoid walking
71
into him. "Things like this don't come all of a sudden, they start developing
a long time beforehand, there must have been warning signs of it,
why didn't you write to me? You know I'd do anything for you, to some
extent I am still your guardian, and until today that's something I was
proud of. I'll still help you, of course I will, only now, now that the trial is
already underway, it makes it very difficult. But whatever; the best thing
now is for you to take a short holiday staying with us in the country.
You've lost weight, I can see that now. The country life will give you
strength, that will be good, there's bound to be a lot of hard work ahead
of you. But besides that it'll be a way of getting you away from the court,
to some extent. Here they've got every means of showing the powers at
their disposal and they're automatically bound to use them against you;
in the country they'll either have to delegate authority to different bodies
or just have to try and bother you by letter, telegram or telephone. And
that's bound to weaken the effect, it won't release you from them but it'll
give you room to breathe." "You could forbid me to leave," said K., who
had been drawn slightly into his uncle's way of thinking by what he had
been saying. "I didn't think you would do it," said his uncle thoughtfully,
"you won't suffer too much loss of power by moving away." K. grasped
his uncle under the arm to prevent him stopping still and said, "I thought
you'd think all this is less important than I do, and now you're taking it
so hard." "Josef," called his uncle trying to disentangle himself from him
so that he could stop walking, but K. did not let go, "you've completely
changed, you used to be so astute, are you losing it now? Do you want to
lose the trial? Do you realise what that would mean? That would mean
you would be simply destroyed. And that everyone you know would be
pulled down with you or at the very least humiliated, disgraced right
down to the ground. Josef, pull yourself together. The way you're so indifferent
about it, it's driving me mad. Looking at you I can almost believe
that old saying: 'Having a trial like that means losing a trial like
that'." "My dear Uncle," said K., "it won't do any good to get excited, it's
no good for you to do it and it'd be no good for me to do it. The case
won't be won by getting excited, and please admit that my practical experience
counts for something, just as I have always and still do respect
your experience, even when it surprises me. You say that the family will
also be affected by this trial; I really can't see how, but that's beside the
point and I'm quite willing to follow your instructions in all of this. Only,
I don't see any advantage in staying in the country, not even for you, as
that would indicate flight and a sense of guilt. And besides, although I
am more subject to persecution if I stay in the city I can also press the
72
matter forward better here." "You're right," said his uncle in a tone that
seemed to indicate they were finally coming closer to each other, "I just
made the suggestion because, as I saw it, if you stay in the city the case
will be put in danger by your indifference to it, and I thought it was better
if I did the work for you. But will you push things forward yourself
with all your strength, if so, that will naturally be far better." "We're
agreed then," said K. "And do you have any suggestions for what I
should do next?" "Well, naturally I'll have to think about it," said his
uncle, "you must bear in mind that I've been living in the country for
twenty years now, almost without a break, you lose your ability to deal
with matters like this. But I do have some important connections with
several people who, I expect, know their way around these things better
than I do, and to contact them is a matter of course. Out there in the
country I've been getting out of condition, I'm sure you're already aware
of that. It's only at times like this that you notice it yourself. And this affair
of yours came largely unexpected, although, oddly enough, I had expected
something of the sort after I'd read Erna's letter, and today when I
saw your face I knew it with almost total certainty. But all that is by the
by, the important thing now is, we have no time to lose." Even while he
was still speaking, K.'s uncle had stood on tiptoe to summon a taxi and
now he pulled K. into the car behind himself as he called out an address
to the driver. "We're going now to see Dr. Huld, the lawyer," he said, "we
were at school together. I'm sure you know the name, don't you? No?
Well that is odd. He's got a very good reputation as a defence barrister
and for working with the poor. But I esteem him especially as someone
you can trust." "It's alright with me, whatever you do," said K., although
he was made uneasy by the rushed and urgent way his uncle was dealing
with the matter. It was not very encouraging, as the accused, be to
taken to a lawyer for poor people. "I didn't know," he said, "that you
could take on a lawyer in matters like this." "Well of course you can,"
said his uncle, "that goes without saying. Why wouldn't you take on a
lawyer? And now, so that I'm properly instructed in this matter, tell me
what's been happening so far." K. instantly began telling his uncle about
what had been happening, holding nothing back - being completely
open with him was the only way that K. could protest at his uncle's belief
that the trial was a great disgrace. He mentioned Miss Bürstner's name
just once and in passing, but that did nothing to diminish his openness
about the trial as Miss Bürstner had no connection with it. As he spoke,
he looked out the window and saw how, just then, they were getting
closer to the suburb where the court offices were. He drew this to his
73
uncle's attention, but he did not find the coincidence especially remarkable.
The taxi stopped in front of a dark building. K.'s uncle knocked at
the very first door at ground level; while they waited he smiled, showing
his big teeth, and whispered, "Eight o'clock; not the usual sort of time to
be visiting a lawyer, but Huld won't mind it from me." Two large, black
eyes appeared in the spy-hatch in the door, they stared at the two visitors
for a while and then disappeared; the door, however, did not open.
K. and his uncle confirmed to each other the fact that they had seen the
two eyes. "A new maid, afraid of strangers," said K.'s uncle, and knocked
again. The eyes appeared once more. This time they seemed almost sad,
but the open gas flame that burned with a hiss close above their heads
gave off little light and that may have merely created an illusion. "Open
the door," called K.'s uncle, raising his fist against it, "we are friends of
Dr. Huld, the lawyer!" "Dr. Huld is ill," whispered someone behind
them. In a doorway at the far end of a narrow passage stood a man in his
dressing gown, giving them this information in an extremely quiet voice.
K.'s uncle, who had already been made very angry by the long wait,
turned abruptly round and retorted, "Ill? You say he's ill?" and strode towards
the gentleman in a way that seemed almost threatening, as if he
were the illness himself. "They've opened the door for you, now," said
the gentleman, pointing at the door of the lawyer. He pulled his dressing
gown together and disappeared. The door had indeed been opened, a
young girl - K. recognised the dark, slightly bulging eyes - stood in the
hallway in a long white apron, holding a candle in her hand. "Next time,
open up sooner!" said K.'s uncle instead of a greeting, while the girl
made a slight curtsey. "Come along, Josef," he then said to K. who was
slowly moving over towards the girl. "Dr. Huld is unwell," said the girl
as K.'s uncle, without stopping, rushed towards one of the doors. K. continued
to look at the girl in amazement as she turned round to block the
way into the living room, she had a round face like a puppy's, not only
the pale cheeks and the chin were round but the temples and the hairline
were too. "Josef!" called his uncle once more, and he asked the girl, "It's
trouble with his heart, is it?" "I think it is, sir," said the girl, who by now
had found time to go ahead with the candle and open the door into the
room. In one corner of the room, where the light of the candle did not
reach, a face with a long beard looked up from the bed. "Leni, who's this
coming in?" asked the lawyer, unable to recognise his guests because he
was dazzled by the candle. "It's your old friend, Albert," said K.'s uncle.
"Oh, Albert," said the lawyer, falling back onto his pillow as if this visit
meant he would not need to keep up appearances. "Is it really as bad as
74
that?" asked K.'s uncle, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I don't believe it
is. It's a recurrence of your heart trouble and it'll pass over like the other
times." "Maybe," said the lawyer quietly, "but it's just as much trouble as
it's ever been. I can hardly breathe, I can't sleep at all and I'm getting
weaker by the day." "I see," said K.'s uncle, pressing his panama hat
firmly against his knee with his big hand. "That is bad news. But are you
getting the right sort of care? And it's so depressing in here, it's so dark.
It's a long time since I was last here, but it seemed to me friendlier then.
Even your young lady here doesn't seem to have much life in her, unless
she's just pretending." The maid was still standing by the door with the
candle; as far as could be made out, she was watching K. more than she
was watching his uncle even while the latter was still speaking about
her. K. leant against a chair that he had pushed near to the girl. "When
you're as ill as I am," said the lawyer, "you need to have peace. I don't
find it depressing." After a short pause he added, "and Leni looks after
me well, she's a good girl." But that was not enough to persuade K.'s
uncle, he had visibly taken against his friend's carer and, even though he
did not contradict the invalid, he persecuted her with his scowl as she
went over to the bed, put the candle on the bedside table and, leaning
over the bed, made a fuss of him by tidying the pillows. K.'s uncle nearly
forgot the need to show any consideration for the man who lay ill in bed,
he stood up, walked up and down behind the carer, and K. would not
have been surprised if he had grabbed hold of her skirts behind her and
dragged her away from the bed. K. himself looked on calmly, he was not
even disappointed at finding the lawyer unwell, he had been able to do
nothing to oppose the enthusiasm his uncle had developed for the matter,
he was glad that this enthusiasm had now been distracted without
his having to do anything about it. His uncle, probably simply wishing
to be offensive to the lawyer's attendant, then said, "Young lady, now
please leave us alone for a while, I have some personal matters to discuss
with my friend." Dr. Huld's carer was still leant far over the invalid's bed
and smoothing out the cloth covering the wall next to it, she merely
turned her head and then, in striking contrast with the anger that first
stopped K.'s uncle from speaking and then let the words out in a gush,
she said very quietly, "You can see that Dr. Huld is so ill that he can't discuss
any matters at all." It was probably just for the sake of convenience
that she had repeated the words spoken by K.'s uncle, but an onlooker
might even have perceived it as mocking him and he, of course, jumped
up as if he had just been stabbed. "You damned … ," in the first gurglings
of his excitement his words could hardly be understood, K. was startled
75
even though he had been expecting something of the sort and ran to his
uncle with the intention, no doubt, of closing his mouth with both his
hands. Fortunately, though, behind the girl, the invalid raised himself
up, K.'s uncle made an ugly face as if swallowing something disgusting
and then, somewhat calmer, said, "We have naturally not lost our senses,
not yet; if what I am asking for were not possible I would not be asking
for it. Now please, go!" The carer stood up straight by the bed directly facing
K.'s uncle, K. thought he noticed that with one hand she was stroking
the lawyer's hand. "You can say anything in front of Leni," said the
invalid, in a tone that was unmistakably imploring. "It's not my business,"
said K.'s uncle, "and it's not my secrets." And he twisted himself
round as if wanting to go into no more negotiations but giving himself a
little more time to think. "Whose business is it then?" asked the lawyer in
an exhausted voice as he leant back again. "My nephew's," said K.'s
uncle, "and I've brought him along with me." And he introduced him,
"Chief Clerk Josef K." "Oh!" said the invalid, now with much more life in
him, and reached out his hand towards K. "Do forgive me, I didn't notice
you there at all." Then he then said to his carer, "Leni, go," stretching his
hand out to her as if this were a farewell that would have to last for a
long time. This time the girl offered no resistance. "So you," he finally
said to K.'s uncle, who had also calmed down and stepped closer, "you
haven't come to visit me because I'm ill but you've come on business."
The lawyer now looked so much stronger that it seemed the idea of being
visited because he was ill had somehow made him weak, he remained
supporting himself of one elbow, which must have been rather
tiring, and continually pulled at a lock of hair in the middle of his beard.
"You already look much better," said K.'s uncle, "now that that witch has
gone outside." He interrupted himself, whispered, "I bet you she's listening!"
and sprang over to the door. But behind the door there was no-one,
K.'s uncle came back not disappointed, as her not listening seemed to
him worse than if she had been, but probably somewhat embittered.
"You're mistaken about her," said the lawyer, but did nothing more to
defend her; perhaps that was his way of indicating that she did not need
defending. But in a tone that was much more committed he went on, "As
far as your nephew's affairs are concerned, this will be an extremely difficult
undertaking and I'd count myself lucky if my strength lasted out
long enough for it; I'm greatly afraid it won't do, but anyway I don't
want to leave anything untried; if I don't last out you can always get
somebody else. To be honest, this matters interests me too much, and I
can't bring myself to give up the chance of taking some part in it. If my
76
heart does totally give out then at least it will have found a worthy affair
to fail in." K. believed he understood not a word of this entire speech, he
looked at his uncle for an explanation but his uncle sat on the bedside
table with the candle in his hand, a medicine bottle had rolled off the
table onto the floor, he nodded to everything the lawyer said, agreed to
everything, and now and then looked at K. urging him to show the same
compliance. Maybe K.'s uncle had already told the lawyer about the trial.
But that was impossible, everything that had happened so far spoke
against it. So he said,
"I don't understand … " "Well, maybe I've misunderstood what you've
been saying," said the lawyer, just as astonished and embarrassed as K.
"Perhaps I've been going too fast. What was it you wanted to speak to
me about? I thought it was to do with your trial." "Of course it is," said
K.'s uncle, who then asked K., "So what is it you want?" "Yes, but how is
it that you know anything about me and my case?" asked K. "Oh, I see,"
said the lawyer with a smile. "I am a lawyer, I move in court circles,
people talk about various different cases and the more interesting ones
stay in your mind, especially when they concern the nephew of a friend.
There's nothing very remarkable about that." "What is it you want, then?"
asked K.'s uncle once more, "You seem so uneasy about it" "You move in
this court's circles?" asked K. "Yes," said the lawyer. "You're asking questions
like a child," said K.'s uncle. "What circles should I move in, then, if
not with members of my own discipline?" the lawyer added. It sounded
so indisputable that K. gave no answer at all. "But you work in the High
Court, not that court in the attic," he had wanted to say but could not
bring himself to actually utter it. "You have to realise," the lawyer continued,
in a tone as if he were explaining something obvious, unnecessary
and incidental, "you have to realise that I also derive great advantage for
my clients from mixing with those people, and do so in many different
ways, it's not something you can keep talking about all the time. I'm at a
bit of a disadvantage now, of course, because of my illness, but I still get
visits from some good friends of mine at the court and I learn one or two
things. It might even be that I learn more than many of those who are in
the best of health and spend all day in court. And I'm receiving a very
welcome visit right now, for instance." And he pointed into a dark corner
of the room. "Where?" asked K., almost uncouth in his surprise. He
looked round uneasily; the little candle gave off far too little light to
reach as far as the wall opposite. And then, something did indeed begin
to move there in the corner. In the light of the candle held up by K.'s
uncle an elderly gentleman could be seen sitting beside a small table. He
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had been sitting there for so long without being noticed that he could
hardly have been breathing. Now he stood up with a great deal of fuss,
clearly unhappy that attention had been drawn to him. It was as if, by
flapping his hands about like short wings, he hoped to deflect any introductions
and greetings, as if he wanted on no account to disturb the others
by his presence and seemed to be exhorting them to leave him back
in the dark and forget about his being there. That, however, was
something that could no longer be granted him. "You took us by surprise,
you see," said the lawyer in explanation, cheerfully indicating to
the gentleman that he should come closer, which, slowly, hesitatingly,
looking all around him, but with a certain dignity, he did. "The office director
- oh, yes, forgive me, I haven't introduced you - this is my friend
Albert K., this is his nephew, the chief clerk Josef K., and this is the office
director - so, the office director was kind enough to pay me a visit. It's
only possible to appreciate just how valuable a visit like this is if you've
been let into the secret of what a pile of work the office director has
heaped over him. Well, he came anyway, we were having a peaceful
chat, as far as I was able when I'm so weak, and although we hadn't told
Leni she mustn't let anyone in as we weren't expecting anyone, we still
would rather have remained alone, but then along came you, Albert,
thumping your fists on the door, the office director moved over into the
corner pulling his table and chair with him, but now it turns out we
might have, that is, if that's what you wish, we might have something to
discuss with each other and it would be good if we can all come back together
again. - Office director … , " he said with his head on one side,
pointing with a humble smile to an armchair near the bed. "I'm afraid I'll
only be able to stay a few minutes more," smiled the office director as he
spread himself out in the armchair and looked at the clock. "Business
calls. But I wouldn't want to miss the chance of meeting a friend of my
friend." He inclined his head slightly toward K.'s uncle, who seemed
very happy with his new acquaintance, but he was not the sort of person
to express his feelings of deference and responded to the office director's
words with embarrassed, but loud, laughter. A horrible sight! K. was
able to quietly watch everything as nobody paid any attention to him,
the office director took over as leader of the conversation as seemed to be
his habit once he had been called forward, the lawyer listened attentively
with his hand to his ear, his initial weakness having perhaps only had
the function of driving away his new visitors, K.'s uncle served as
candle-bearer - balancing the candle on his thigh while the office director
frequently glanced nervously at it - and was soon free of his
78
embarrassment and was quickly enchanted not only by the office
director's speaking manner but also by the gentle, waving hand-movements
with which he accompanied it. K., leaning against the bedpost,
was totally ignored by the office director, perhaps deliberately, and
served the old man only as audience. And besides, he had hardly any
idea what the conversation was about and his thoughts soon turned to
the care assistant and the ill treatment she had suffered from his uncle.
Soon after, he began to wonder whether he had not seen the office director
somewhere before, perhaps among the people who were at his first
hearing. He may have been mistaken, but thought the office director
might well have been among the old gentlemen with the thin beards in
the first row.
There was then a noise that everyone heard from the hallway as if
something of porcelain were being broken. "I'll go and see what's
happened," said K., who slowly left the room as if giving the others the
chance to stop him. He had hardly stepped into the hallway, finding his
bearings in the darkness with his hand still firmly holding the door,
when another small hand, much smaller than K.'s own, placed itself on
his and gently shut the door. It was the carer who had been waiting
there. "Nothing has happened," she whispered to him, "I just threw a
plate against the wall to get you out of there." "I was thinking about you,
as well," replied K. uneasily. "So much the better," said the carer. "Come
with me". A few steps along, they came to a frosted glass door which the
carer opened for him. "Come in here," she said. It was clearly the
lawyer's office, fitted out with old, heavy furniture, as far as could be
seen in the moonlight which now illuminated just a small, rectangular
section of the floor by each of the three big windows. "This way," said the
carer, pointing to a dark trunk with a carved, wooden backrest. When he
had sat down, K. continued to look round the room, it was a large room
with a high ceiling, the clients of this lawyer for the poor must have felt
quite lost in it. K. thought he could see the little steps with which visitors
would approach the massive desk. But then he forgot about all of this
and had eyes only for the carer who sat very close beside him, almost
pressing him against the armrest. "I did think," she said "you would
come out here to me by yourself with me having to call you first. It was
odd. First you stare at me as soon as you come in, and then you keep me
waiting. And you ought to call me Leni, too," she added quickly and
suddenly, as if no moment of this conversation should be lost. "Gladly,"
said K. "But as for its being odd, Leni, that's easy to explain. Firstly, I had
to listen to what the old men were saying and couldn't leave without a
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good reason, but secondly I'm not a bold person, if anything I'm quite
shy, and you, Leni, you didn't really look like you could be won over in
one stroke, either." "That's not it," said Leni, laying one arm on the armrest
and looking at K., "you didn't like me, and I don't suppose you like
me now, either." "Liking wouldn't be very much," said K., evasively.
"Oh!" she exclaimed with a smile, thus making use of K.'s comment to
gain an advantage over him. So K. remained silent for a while. By now,
he had become used to the darkness in the room and was able to make
out various fixtures and fittings. He was especially impressed by a large
picture hanging to the right of the door, he leant forward in order to see
it better. It depicted a man wearing a judge's robes; he was sitting on a
lofty throne gilded in a way that shone forth from the picture. The odd
thing about the picture was that this judge was not sitting there in dignified
calm but had his left arm pressed against the back and armrest, his
right arm, however, was completely free and only grasped the armrest
with his hand, as if about to jump up any moment in vigorous outrage
and make some decisive comment or even to pass sentence. The accused
was probably meant to be imagined at the foot of the steps, the top one
of which could be seen in the picture, covered with a yellow carpet.
"That might be my judge," said K., pointing to the picture with one finger.
"I know him," said Leni looking up at the picture, "he comes here
quite often. That picture is from when he was young, but he can never
have looked anything like it, as he's tiny, minute almost. But despite that,
he had himself made to look bigger in the picture as he's madly vain, just
like everyone round here. But even I'm vain and that makes me very unhappy
that you don't like me." K. replied to that last comment merely by
embracing Leni and drawing her towards him, she lay her head quietly
on his shoulder. To the rest of it, though, he said, "What rank is he?"
"He's an examining judge," she said, taking hold of the hand with which
K. held her and playing with his fingers. "Just an examining judge once
again," said K. in disappointment, "the senior officials keep themselves
hidden. But here he is sitting on a throne." "That's all just made up," said
Leni with her face bent over K.'s hand, "really he's sitting on a kitchen
chair with an old horse blanket folded over it. But do you have to be always
thinking about your trial?" she added slowly. "No, not at all," said
K., "I probably even think too little about it." "That's not the mistake
you're making," said Leni, "you're too unyielding, that's what I've heard."
"Who said that?" asked K., he felt her body against his chest and looked
down on her rich, dark, tightly-bound hair. "I'd be saying too much if I
told you that," answered Leni. "Please don't ask for names, but do stop
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making these mistakes of yours, stop being so unyielding, there's nothing
you can do to defend yourself from this court, you have to confess.
So confess to them as soon as you get the chance. It's only then that they
give you the chance to get away, not till then. Only, without help from
outside even that's impossible, but you needn't worry about getting this
help as I want to help you myself." "You understand a lot about this
court and what sort of tricks are needed," said K. as he lifted her, since
she was pressing in much too close to him, onto his lap. "That's alright,
then," she said, and made herself comfortable on his lap by smoothing
out her skirt and adjusting her blouse. Then she hung both her arms
around his neck, leant back and took a long look at him. "And what if I
don't confess, could you not help me then?" asked K. to test her out. I'm
accumulating women to help me, he thought to himself almost in
amazement, first Miss Bürstner, then the court usher's wife, and now this
little care assistant who seems to have some incomprehensible need for
me. The way she sits on my lap as if it were her proper place! "No,"
answered Leni, slowly shaking her head, "I couldn't help you then. But
you don't want my help anyway, it means nothing to you, you're too
stubborn and won't be persuaded." Then, after a while she asked, "Do
you have a lover?" "No," said K. "Oh, you must have," she said. "Well, I
have really," said K. "Just think, I've even betrayed her while I'm carrying
her photograph with me." Leni insisted he show her a photograph of
Elsa, and then, hunched on his lap, studied the picture closely. The photograph
was not one that had been taken while Elsa was posing for it, it
showed her just after she had been in a wild dance such as she liked to
do in wine bars, her skirt was still flung out as she span round, she had
placed her hands on her firm hips and, with her neck held taut, looked to
one side with a laugh; you could not see from the picture whom her
laugh was intended for. "She's very tightly laced," said Leni, pointing to
the place where she thought this could be seen. "I don't like her, she's
clumsy and crude. But maybe she's gentle and friendly towards you,
that's the impression you get from the picture. Big, strong girls like that
often don't know how to be anything but gentle and friendly. Would she
be capable of sacrificing herself for you, though?" "No," said K., "she isn't
gentle or friendly, and nor would she be capable of sacrificing herself for
me. But I've never yet asked any of those things of her. I've never looked
at this picture as closely as you." "You can't think much of her, then," said
Leni. "She can't be your lover after all." "Yes she is," said K., "I'm not going
to take my word back on that." "Well she might be your lover now,
then," said Leni, "but you wouldn't miss her much if you lost her or if
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you exchanged her for somebody else, me for instance." "That is certainly
conceivable," said K. with a smile, "but she does have one major advantage
over you, she knows nothing about my trial, and even if she did she
wouldn't think about it. She wouldn't try to persuade me to be les unyielding."
"Well that's no advantage," said Leni. "If she's got no advantage
other than that, I can keep on hoping. Has she got any bodily defects?"
"'Bodily defects'?" asked K. "Yeah," said Leni, "as I do have a bodily
defect, just a little one. Look." She spread the middle and ring fingers
of her right hand apart from each other. Between those fingers the flap of
skin connecting them reached up almost as far as the top joint of the little
finger. In the darkness, K. did not see at first what it was she wanted to
show him, so she led his hand to it so that he could feel. "What a freak of
nature," said K., and when he had taken a look at the whole hand he added,
"What a pretty claw!" Leni looked on with a kind of pride as K. repeatedly
opened and closed her two fingers in amazement, until, finally,
he briefly kissed them and let go. "Oh!" she immediately exclaimed, "you
kissed me!" Hurriedly, and with her mouth open, she clambered up K.'s
lap with her knees. He was almost aghast as he looked up at her, now
that she was so close to him there was a bitter, irritating smell from her,
like pepper, she grasped his head, leant out over him, and bit and kissed
his neck, even biting into his hair. "I've taken her place!" she exclaimed
from time to time. "Just look, now you've taken me instead of her!" Just
then, her knee slipped out and, with a little cry, she nearly fell down
onto the carpet, K. tried to hold her by putting his arms around her and
was pulled down with her. "Now you're mine," she said. Her last words
to him as he left were, "Here's the key to the door, come whenever you
want", and she planted an undirected kiss on his back. When he stepped
out the front door there was a light rain falling, he was about to go to the
middle of the street to see if he could still glimpse Leni at the window
when K.'s uncle leapt out of a car that K., thinking of other things, had
not seen waiting outside the building. He took hold of K. by both arms
and shoved him against the door as if he wanted to nail him to it. "Young
man," he shouted, "how could you do a thing like that?! Things were going
well with this business of yours, now you've caused it terrible damage.
You slope of with some dirty, little thing who, moreover, is obviously
the lawyer's beloved, and stay away for hours. You don't even try
to find an excuse, don't try to hide anything, no, you're quite open about
it, you run off with her and stay there. And meanwhile we're sitting
there, your uncle who's going to such effort for you, the lawyer who
needs to be won over to your side, and above all the office director, a
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very important gentleman who is in direct command of your affair in its
present stage. We wanted to discuss how best to help you, I had to
handle the lawyer very carefully, he had to handle the office director
carefully, and you had most reason of all to at least give me some support.
Instead of which you stay away. Eventually we couldn't keep up
the pretence any longer, but these are polite and highly capable men,
they didn't say anything about it so as to spare my feelings but in the end
not even they could continue to force themselves and, as they couldn't
speak about the matter in hand, they became silent. We sat there for several
minutes, listening to see whether you wouldn't finally come back.
All in vain. In the end the office director stood up, as he had stayed far
longer than he had originally intended, made his farewell, looked at me
in sympathy without being able to help, he waited at the door for a long
time although it's more than I can understand why he was being so
good, and then he went. I, of course, was glad he'd gone, I'd been holding
my breath all this time. All this had even more affect on the lawyer
lying there ill, when I took my leave of him, the good man, he was quite
unable to speak. You have probably contributed to his total collapse and
so brought the very man who you are dependent on closer to his death.
And me, your own uncle, you leave me here in the rain - just feel this,
I'm wet right through - waiting here for hours, sick with worry."
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