The Trial: A New Translation Based on the Restored Text

Author: Franz Kafka
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Thoughts

My first Kafka and certainly won't be my last. This dude's writing is so cool, and good lord is it claustrophobic. The entirety of the novel drags you further into the bureaucratic abyss of the untenable god like signification of the law. Kafka traps you in the flailing main characters inescapable torment with incredible style and ease.

Highlights

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ARREST 🔗

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He’d always tended to take things lightly, to believe the worst only when it arrived, making no provision for the future, even when things looked bad. 🔗

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K. knew there was a slight risk someone might say later that he hadn’t been able to take a joke, but he clearly recalled—although he generally didn’t make it a practice to learn from experience—a few occasions, unimportant in themselves, when, unlike his friends, he had deliberately behaved quite recklessly, without the least regard for his future, and had suffered the consequences. That wasn’t going to happen again, not this time at any rate: if this was a farce, he was going to play along. 🔗

• [N] Unique sentence structure

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Committing suicide would be so irrational that even had he wished to, the irrationality of the act would have prevented him. 🔗

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He was toying with them. If they did leave, he intended to follow them to the door of the building and offer to let them arrest him. And so he said again: “How can I go to the bank if I’m under arrest?” “Oh, I see,” said the inspector, who was already at the door, “you’ve misunderstood me; you’re under arrest, certainly, but that’s not meant to keep you from carrying on your profession. Nor are you to be hindered in the course of your ordinary life.” “Then being under arrest isn’t so bad,” said K., approaching the inspector. “I never said it was,” he replied. “But in that case even the notification of arrest scarcely seems necessary,” said K., stepping closer still. 🔗

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CONVERSATION WITH FRAU GRUBACH
THEN FRÄULEIN BÜRSTNER 🔗

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That spring K. generally spent his evenings as follows: after work, if there was still time—he usually stayed at the office until nine—he would take a short walk, alone or with acquaintances, then go to a tavern, where he would sit with a group of regulars, mostly older men, until eleven o’clock. But there were also exceptions to this routine; for example, when K. was invited by the bank president, who valued his diligence and reliability highly, for a drive in his car or for supper at his villa. In addition K. paid a weekly visit to a young woman named Elsa, who worked at night and late into the morning as a waitress in a wine house, and by day received visitors only in bed. 🔗

• [N] In love with Kafkas style and flow

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K. watched in silence as she again took up the stocking she was darning. “She seems surprised I’m talking about it,” he thought, “she doesn’t seem to think I should. All the more reason to do so. The only person I can discuss it with is an old woman.” “Oh, it surely caused some work,” he continued, “but it won’t happen again.” “No, it can’t happen again,” she said reassuringly and smiled at K. in an almost melancholy way. “Do you really think so?” asked K. “Yes,” she said softly, “but above all you mustn’t take it too seriously. All sorts of things go on in this world! Since you’re talking so openly with me, Herr K., I’ll confess that I listened a little behind the door, and the guards told me a few things too. It involves your happiness after all, and I really take that to heart, more than I should perhaps, since after all, I’m only your landlady. Well anyway, I heard a few things, but I can’t say that it was anything very bad. No. You’re under arrest all right, but not the way a thief would be. If you’re arrested like a thief, that’s bad, but this arrest—. It seems like something scholarly, I’m sorry if that sounds stupid, but it seems like something scholarly that I don’t understand, but that I don’t need to understand either.” 🔗

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K. placed the little table in the middle of the room and sat down behind it. “You have to visualize the cast of characters, it’s very interesting. I’m the inspector, two guards are sitting over there on the chest, three young men are standing by the photographs. From the window handle, I’m just noting it in passing, hangs a white blouse. And now the action begins. Oh, I’m forgetting myself, the most important character: I’m standing here, in front of the table. The inspector is sitting totally at ease, his legs crossed, his arm hanging down like this from the back of the chair, an unbelievable boor. And now the action really begins. The inspector cries out as if he has to wake me up, practically shouting; unfortunately I’ll have to shout too, to show you how it was; all he shouts is my name, by the way.” Fräulein Bürstner, laughing as she listened, held her finger to her lips to keep K. from yelling, but it was too late, K. had entered too deeply into his role: “Josef K.!” he cried, drawing it out slowly, not, after all, as loudly as he had threatened, yet in such a way that the cry, having suddenly burst forth, seemed to spread only gradually throughout the room. 🔗

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INITIAL INQUIRY 🔗

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The weather was dull on Sunday, and K. was very tired, having stayed at the tavern celebrating with the regulars late into the night, so that he almost overslept. He dressed hastily, without having time to think things over or review the various plans he’d worked out during the week, and skipping breakfast, hurried to the suburb they had indicated. Strangely enough, although he had little time to look about, he ran across the three clerks who were involved in his affair: Rabensteiner, Kullych, and Kaminer. The first two were riding in a tram that crossed K.’s path, but Kaminer was sitting on the terrace of a coffeehouse and, just as K. was walking by, leaned inquisitively over the railing. They probably all gazed after him, wondering why their supervisor was in such a rush; some sort of stubbornness had prevented K. from taking a cab; he had an aversion to even the slightest outside help in this affair of his; he didn’t want to enlist anyone’s aid and thus initiate them in the matter even distantly; nor, finally, did he have the least desire to humble himself before the commission of inquiry by being overly punctual. Of course he was now running to get there by nine if at all possible, although he had not even been given a specific hour at which to appear. 🔗

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On this Sunday morning most of the windows were occupied; men in shirtsleeves leaned there smoking, or held small children with tender care at the windowsill. Other windows were piled high with bedding, above which the disheveled head of a woman briefly appeared. People called across the street to each other; one such exchange directly over K.’s head aroused loud laughter. At regular intervals along the long street, small shops offering various foodstuffs lay below street level, reached by a few steps. Women went in and out of them, or stood on the steps chatting. A fruit vendor who was offering his wares to the windows above, paying as little attention as K., almost knocked him to the ground with his pushcart. Just then a gramophone that had served its time in better sections of the city began to murder a tune. 🔗

• [N] Great description of Sunday morning street activity

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K. turned to the stairs to find the room for the inquiry, but then paused as he saw three different staircases in the courtyard in addition to the first one; moreover, a small passage at the other end of the courtyard seemed to lead to a second courtyard. He was annoyed that they hadn’t described the location of the room more precisely; he was certainly being treated with strange carelessness or indifference, a point he intended to make loudly and clearly. Then he went up the first set of stairs after all, his mind playing with the memory of the remark the guard Willem had made that the court was attracted by guilt, from which it actually followed that the room for the inquiry would have to be located off whatever stairway K. chanced to choose. 🔗

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On the first floor the real search began. Since he couldn’t simply ask for the commission of inquiry he invented a carpenter named Lanz—the name occurred to him because Frau Grubach’s nephew, the captain, was called that—intending to ask at each apartment if a carpenter named Lanz lived there, hoping to get a chance to look into the rooms. That proved to be easy enough in general, however, since almost all the doors were standing open, with children running in and out. As a rule they were small, one-window rooms, where people cooked as well. A few women held babies in one arm as they worked at the stove with their free hand. Half-grown girls, apparently clad only in smocks, ran busily back and forth. In every room the beds were still in use, with someone sick or still asleep in them, or people stretched out in their clothes. K. knocked at the apartments with closed doors and asked if a carpenter named Lanz lived there. Generally a woman would open the door, listen to the question, and turn to someone in the room who rose up from the bed. “The gentleman wants to know if a carpenter named Lanz lives here.” “A carpenter named Lanz?” asked the one in bed. “Yes,” K. said, despite the fact that the commission of inquiry clearly wasn’t here and therefore his task was ended. Several people believed K. badly needed to find the carpenter Lanz, thought long and hard, recalled a carpenter, but not one named Lanz, remembered a name that bore some faint similarity to Lanz, asked their neighbors, or accompanied K. to some far distant door, where they fancied such a man might possibly be subletting an apartment, or where there was someone who could provide him with better information than they could. In the end K. scarcely needed even to ask, but was instead pulled along in this manner from floor to floor. He regretted his plan, which had at first seemed so practical. As he was approaching the fifth floor he decided to give up the search, took his leave from a friendly young worker who wanted to lead him further upward, and started back down. But then, annoyed once more by the futility of the whole enterprise, he returned and knocked at the first door on the fifth floor. The first thing he saw in the little room was a large wall clock that already showed ten o’clock. “Does a carpenter named Lanz live here?” he asked. “This way, please,” said a young woman with shining black eyes, who was washing diapers in a tub, and pointed with her wet hand toward the open door of the adjoining room. 🔗

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“Your question, Your Honor, about my being a house painter—and you weren’t really asking at all, you were telling me outright—is characteristic of the way these entire proceedings against me are being conducted. You may object that these aren’t proceedings at all, and you’re certainly right there, they are only proceedings if I recognize them as such. But I do recognize them, for the moment, out of compassion, so to speak. One can only view them compassionately, if one chooses to pay any attention to them at all. I’m not saying these proceedings are sloppy, but I would like to propose that description for your own self-knowledge.” 🔗

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“It’s no use, Your Honor,” K. continued, “even your little notebook confirms what I’m saying.” Pleased that his own calm words alone were to be heard in that strange assembly, K. even dared to snatch the notebook from the magistrate’s hands and lift it in his fingertips by a single center page, as if he were repelled by it, so that the foxed and spotted leaves filled with closely spaced script hung down on both sides. “These are the records of the examining magistrate,” he said, letting the notebook drop to the table. “Just keep reading through them, Your Honor, I really have nothing to fear from this account book, although it’s closed to me, since I can barely stand to touch it with the tips of two fingers.” It could only be a sign of deep humiliation, or at least so it seemed, that the examining magistrate took the notebook from where it had fallen on the table, tried to put it to rights somewhat, and lifted it to read again. 🔗

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“There can be no doubt,” K. said very quietly, for he was pleased by the keen attention with which the whole assembly was listening, a murmuring arising in that stillness that was more exciting than the most delighted applause, “there can be no doubt that behind all the pronouncements of this court, and in my case, behind the arrest and today’s inquiry, there exists an extensive organization. An organization that not only engages corrupt guards, inane inspectors, and examining magistrates who are at best mediocre, but that supports as well a system of judges of all ranks, including the highest, with their inevitable innumerable entourage of assistants, scribes, gendarmes, and other aides, perhaps even hangmen, I won’t shy away from the word. And the purpose of this extensive organization, gentlemen? It consists of arresting innocent people and introducing senseless proceedings against them, which for the most part, as in my case, go nowhere. Given the senselessness of the whole affair, how could the bureaucracy avoid becoming entirely corrupt? It’s impossible, even the highest judge couldn’t manage it, even with himself. So guards try to steal the shirts off the backs of arrested men, inspectors break into strange apartments, and innocent people, instead of being examined, are humiliated before entire assemblies. The guards told me about depositories to which an arrested man’s property is taken; I’d like to see these depository places sometime, where the hard-earned goods of arrested men are rotting away, if they haven’t already been stolen by pilfering officials.” 🔗

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K. was interrupted by a shriek from the other end of the hall; he shaded his eyes so that he could see, for the dull daylight had turned the haze into a blinding white glare. It was the washerwoman, whom K. had sensed as a major disturbance from the moment she entered. Whether or not she was at fault now was not apparent. K. saw only that a man had pulled her into a corner by the door and pressed her to himself. But she wasn’t shrieking, it was the man; he had opened his mouth wide and was staring up toward the ceiling. A small circle had gathered around the two of them, and the nearby visitors in the gallery seemed delighted that the serious mood K. had introduced into the assembly had been interrupted in this fashion. K.’s initial reaction was to run toward them, in fact he thought everyone would want to restore order and at least banish the couple from the hall, but the first rows in front of him stood fast; not a person stirred and no one let K. through. On the contrary they hindered him: old men held out their arms and someone’s hand—he didn’t have time to turn around—grabbed him by the collar from behind; K. wasn’t really thinking about the couple anymore, for now it seemed to him as if his freedom were being threatened, as if he were being arrested in earnest, and he sprang from the platform recklessly. Now he stood eye-to-eye with the crowd. Had he misjudged these people? Had he overestimated the effect of his speech? Had they been pretending all the time he was speaking, and now that he had reached his conclusions, were they fed up with pretending? The faces that surrounded him! Tiny black eyes darted about, cheeks drooped like those of drunken men, the long beards were stiff and scraggly, and when they pulled on them, it seemed as if they were merely forming claws, not pulling beards. Beneath the beards, however—and this was the true discovery K. made—badges of various sizes and colors shimmered on the collars of their jackets. They all had badges, as far as he could see. They were all one group, the apparent parties on the left and right, and as he suddenly turned, he saw the same badges on the collar of the examining magistrate, who was looking on calmly with his hands in his lap. “So!” K. cried and flung his arms in the air, this sudden insight demanding space; “I see you’re all officials, you’re the corrupt band I was speaking about; you’ve crowded in here to listen and snoop, you’ve formed apparent parties and had one side applaud to test me, you wanted to learn how to lead innocent men astray. Well I hope you haven’t come in vain; either you found it entertaining that someone thought you would defend the innocent or else—back off or I’ll hit you,” cried K. to a trembling old man who had shoved his way quite near to him “—or else you’ve actually learned something. And with that I wish you luck in your trade.” He quickly picked up his hat, which was lying at the edge of the table, and made his way through the general silence, one of total surprise at least, toward the exit. The examining magistrate, however, seemed to have been even quicker than K., for he was waiting for him at the door. “One moment,” he said. K. stopped, looking not at the examining magistrate but at the door, the handle of which he had already seized. “I just wanted to draw your attention to the fact,” said the examining magistrate, “that you have today deprived yourself—although you can’t yet have realized it—of the advantage that an interrogation offers to the arrested man in each case.” K. laughed at the door. “You scoundrels,” he cried, “you can have all your interrogations”; then he opened the door and hurried down the stairs. Behind him rose the sounds of the assembly, which had come to life again, no doubt beginning to discuss what had occurred, as students might. 🔗

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IN THE EMPTY COURTROOM
THE STUDENT
THE OFFICES 🔗

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The student, on the other hand, seemed to pay no attention at all to K., but simply gestured to the woman with one finger, which he removed for a moment from his beard, and walked over to the window; the woman bent down to K. and whispered: “Don’t be angry with me, please, please don’t, and don’t think badly of me; I have to go to him now, to this horrible man, just look at his bandy legs. But I’ll come right back, and then I’ll go with you; if you’ll take me along, I’ll go anywhere you wish, you can do with me what you like, I’ll be happy to get out of here for as long as I can, the best of course would be forever.” She stroked K.’s hand once more, sprang up, and ran to the window. Instinctively, K. grabbed for her hand in the empty air. 🔗

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And there was perhaps no better way to revenge himself upon the examining magistrate and his retinue than taking this woman away from them for himself. Then the time might come when, late one night, after long hours of exhausting labor on his false reports about K., the examining magistrate would find the bed of the woman empty. And empty because she belonged to K., because this woman at the window, this voluptuous, supple, warm body in a dark dress of heavy, coarse material, belonged to K., and K. alone. 🔗

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K. followed them slowly; he realized that this was the first clear defeat he had suffered at the hands of these people. Of course there was no reason to let that worry him, he had suffered defeat only because he had sought to do battle. If he stayed home and led his normal life he was infinitely superior to any of these people, and could kick any one of them out of his path. 🔗

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The woman waved down at K., and tried to show by a shrug of her shoulders that the abduction wasn’t her fault, but there wasn’t a great deal of regret in the gesture. K. looked at her without expression, like a stranger, wishing to show neither his disappointment, nor that he could easily overcome it. 🔗

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What a position K. was in, after all, compared to the judge who sat in a garret, while he himself had a large office in the bank, with a waiting room, and could look down upon the busy city square through a huge plate-glass window. Of course he received no supplementary income from bribes or embezzlement, and he couldn’t have an assistant carry a woman in his arms to his office for him. But K. would gladly waive that right, at least in this life. 🔗

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As he entered he almost stumbled, for there was an extra step beyond the door. “They don’t show much consideration for the public,” he said. “They show no consideration of any kind,” said the court usher, “just look at this waiting room.” It was a long hallway, with ill-fitting doors leading to the individual offices of the attic. Although there was no direct source of light, it was not completely dark, since some of the offices had been constructed with open wooden grillwork instead of solid wooden boards facing the hall, reaching to the ceiling to be sure, through which some light penetrated, and beyond which a few officials were visible writing at desks, or standing for the moment near the grille, looking out through the gaps at the people in the hallway. There were very few people in the hallway, probably because it was Sunday. They made a very modest impression. Spaced out at nearly regular intervals, they sat in two rows on long wooden benches situated on both sides of the hallway. All of them were carelessly dressed, in spite of the fact that most, to judge by their expression, their posture, the style of their beards, and numerous other small details difficult to pin down, belonged to the upper classes. Since no coathooks were available, they had placed their hats beneath the bench, probably following each other’s lead. As those sitting closest to the door caught sight of K. and the court usher, they rose in greeting; when those behind them noticed, they thought they had to do so as well, so that all of them rose as the two men passed by. They never straightened entirely; backs bowed and knees bent, they stood like beggars in the street. K. waited for the court usher, who was a few steps behind him, and said: “How humbled they must be.” “Yes,” said the court usher, “they’re defendants, everyone you see is a defendant.” “Really?” said K. “Then they’re my colleagues.” And he turned to the closest one, a tall slim man whose hair was already turning gray. “What is it you’re waiting for?” K. asked politely. The unexpected question, however, confused the man, which was even more embarrassing since he was obviously a man of the world, who would certainly have retained his self-confidence elsewhere and did not easily relinquish the superiority he had attained over so many others. But here he couldn’t even answer such a simple question and looked at the others as if it were their duty to come to his aid, and as if no one could expect an answer from him if such aid were not forthcoming. Then the court usher stepped forward and said, trying to calm the man and lend him encouragement: “The gentleman is only asking what you’re waiting for. Go ahead and answer.” The no doubt familiar voice of the court usher was more effective: “I’m waiting—” he began, and hesitated. He had apparently chosen this opening in order to answer the question exactly as it was posed, but could not think how to go on now. A few among those waiting had drawn near and gathered about them; the court usher said to them: “Get back, get back, keep the hallway clear.” They retreated somewhat, but did not return to their original places. In the meantime the man who had been questioned had pulled himself together and even managed a faint smile as he answered: “A month ago I submitted several petitions to hear evidence in my case, and I’m waiting for them to be acted upon.” “You seem to be taking great pains,” said K. “Yes,” said the man, “after all, it’s my case.” “Not everyone shares your view,” said K., “for example I’m a defendant too, but I’ll be blessed if I’ve submitted a petition to hear evidence or done anything at all of that sort. Do you really think it’s necessary?” “I’m not certain,” said the man, once more completely unsure of himself; he apparently thought K. was making fun of him, and would have evidently preferred to repeat his earlier answer in full, for fear of making some new mistake, but in the face of K.’s impatient gaze he simply said: “For my part, I’ve submitted petitions to hear evidence.” “You probably don’t think I’m really a defendant,” K. said. “Oh, yes, certainly,” said the man, and stepped aside slightly, but anxiety, not belief, lay in his reply. “So you don’t believe me?” asked K., seizing the man by the arm, unconsciously provoked by his humbleness, as if he wished to compel him to believe. He had no intention of hurting him, however, and squeezed quite gently, but even so the man screamed as if K. had applied a pair of red-hot pincers, and not merely two fingers. With this ridiculous outcry K. finally had enough of the man; if he didn’t believe he was a defendant, so much the better; perhaps he even took him for a judge. And now, in parting, he indeed squeezed him harder, pushed him back down onto the bench, and walked on. “Most defendants are so sensitive,” said the court usher. Behind them almost all those who were waiting gathered around the man, who had already stopped screaming, apparently quizzing him closely about the incident. K. was now approached by a guard, who could be recognized chiefly by a saber whose scabbard, to judge by its color, was made of aluminum. K. was amazed by this and even reached out toward it. The guard, who had been drawn by the screams, asked what had happened. The court usher attempted to pacify him with a few words, but the guard said he’d have to look into it himself, saluted and hurried on, taking extremely rapid but quite short steps, probably hindered by gout. 🔗

• [N] inquiring about the man in the waiting hallway

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But the way he was silently standing there must have been striking, and the young woman and the court usher were actually looking at him as if they thought he was about to undergo some profound metamorphosis at any moment, one they didn’t want to miss. And in the doorway stood the man K. had noticed in the background earlier, holding on tightly to the lintel of the low door and rocking back and forth slightly on the tips of his toes, like an impatient spectator. It was the young woman, however, who first realized that K.’s behavior was the result of a slight indisposition; she brought him a chair and asked: “Wouldn’t you like to sit down?” K. sat down immediately and propped his elbows on the arms of the chair for better support. “You’re a little dizzy, aren’t you?” she asked him. Her face was now quite near; it bore the severe expression some young women have precisely in the bloom of youth. “Don’t worry,” she said, “there’s nothing unusual about that here, almost everyone has an attack like this the first time. You are here for the first time? Well, you see then, it’s nothing at all unusual. The sun beats down on the attic beams and the hot wood makes the air terribly thick and stifling. That’s why this isn’t such a good location for the offices, in spite of the many other advantages it offers. But as far as the air is concerned, on days when the traffic of involved parties is heavy you can hardly breathe, and that’s almost daily. Then if you take into consideration that a great deal of wash is hung out here to dry as well—the tenants can’t be entirely forbidden from doing so—it will come as no surprise that you feel a little sick. But in the end people get quite used to the air. When you come here the second or third time, you’ll hardly notice the stuffiness at all. Do you feel better yet?” K. didn’t reply; he was too embarrassed that this sudden weakness had placed him at these people’s mercy; moreover, now that he knew the cause of his nausea he didn’t feel better, but instead a little worse. The young woman noticed this right away, picked up a hooked pole leaning against the wall and, to give K. a little fresh air, pushed open a small hatch directly above K. that led outside. But so much soot fell in that the young woman had to close the hatch again immediately and wipe the soot from K.’s hands with her handkerchief, since K. was too tired to do it himself. He would gladly have remained sitting there quietly until he had gathered the strength to leave, and the less attention they paid to him, the sooner that would happen. But now the young woman added: “You can’t stay here, we’re interrupting the flow of traffic”—K. looked around to see what traffic he could possibly be interrupting—“if you want, I’ll take you to the infirmary.” “Help me please,” she said to the man in the doorway, who approached at once. But K. didn’t want to go to the infirmary; that was precisely what he wanted to avoid, being led farther on, for the farther he went, the worse things would get. So he said, “I can walk now,” and stood up shakily, spoiled by the comfort of sitting. But then he couldn’t hold himself upright. “I can’t do it,” he said, shaking his head, and sat down again with a sigh. He remembered the court usher, who could easily lead him out in spite of everything, but he appeared to be long gone; K. peered between the young woman and the man, who were standing in front of him, but couldn’t find the court usher. 🔗

• [N] This is horrifying

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You may be seated.” “He really knows how to talk to the parties,” whispered the young woman. K. nodded, but immediately flared up as the information officer asked him again: “Wouldn’t you like to sit down here?” “No,” said K., “I don’t want to rest.” He had said it as firmly as he could, but in reality it would have done him a great deal of good to sit down; he felt seasick. He thought he was on a ship, rolling in heavy seas. It seemed to him that the waters were pounding against the wooden walls, there was a roar from the depths of the hallway like the sound of breaking waves, the hallway seemed to pitch and roll, lifting and lowering the waiting clients on both sides. That made the calm demeanor of the young woman and man who led him even more incomprehensible. He was at their mercy; if they let go of him, he would fall like a plank. Sharp glances shot back and forth from their small eyes; K. felt their steady tread without matching it, for he was practically carried along from step to step. He realized at last that they were speaking to him, but he couldn’t understand them; he heard only the noise that filled everything, through which a steady, high-pitched sound like a siren seemed to emerge. “Louder,” he whispered with bowed head, and was ashamed, for he knew that they had spoken loudly enough, even though he hadn’t understood. Then finally, as if the wall had split open before him, a draft of fresh air reached him, and he heard beside him: “First he wants to leave, then you can tell him a hundred times that this is the exit and he doesn’t move.” K. saw that he was standing at the outer door, which the young woman had opened. Instantly, all his strength seemed to return; to get a foretaste of freedom he stepped down immediately onto the first step and from there took leave of his escorts, who bowed to him. “Thank you very much,” he said again, shaking hands with both of them repeatedly, stopping only when he thought he noticed that they were unable to bear the comparatively fresh air from the stairway, accustomed as they were to the air in the offices of the court. They could hardly reply, and the young woman might have fallen had K. not shut the door as quickly as possible. K. stood quietly for a moment, smoothed his hair into place with the help of a pocket mirror, picked up his hat, which was lying on the landing below—the information officer must have tossed it there—and then raced down the steps with such long, energetic leaps that he was almost frightened by the sudden change. His normally sound constitution had never provided him with such surprises before. Was his body going to rebel and offer him a new trial, since he was handling the old one so easily? He didn’t entirely rule out the thought of consulting a doctor at the first opportunity; in any case—and here he could advise himself—he would spend his Sunday mornings more profitably than this from now on. 🔗

• [N] Damn this is crazy, very eerie

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The next day K. still couldn’t get the guards off his mind; he had difficulty concentrating on his work, and in order to finish up he had to stay at the office slightly longer than he had the day before. As he passed by the junk room again on his way home, he opened the door as if by habit. What he saw, in place of the expected darkness, bewildered him completely. Everything was unchanged, just as he had found it the previous evening when he opened the door. The printed forms and ink bottles just beyond the threshold, the flogger with the rod, the guards, still completely clothed, the candle on the shelf, and the guards began to wail, crying out: “Sir!” K. slammed the door shut at once and pounded his fists against it, as if to close it more tightly. Almost in tears, he ran to the assistants, who were working quietly at the copying press and paused in their work with astonishment. “Clear out that junk room once and for all,” he cried. “We’re drowning in filth.” The assistants said they would be happy to do it the next day, and K. nodded; he couldn’t force them to do it this late in the evening, as he had at first intended. He sat down for a moment to keep the assistants around a while longer, shuffled through a few copies, trying to give the impression that he was checking them over, and then, since he realized the assistants wouldn’t dare leave with him, he headed for home, tired and with his mind a blank. 🔗

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THE UNCLE
LENI 🔗

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THE UNCLE
LENI 🔗

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Then a sound like breaking 🔗

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“I thought you would come to me on your own,” she said, “without my having to call you first. It was strange. First you stared at me from the moment you entered and then you kept me waiting.” 🔗

• [N] Leni

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At her request, he showed her a photograph of Elsa; curled in his lap, she studied the picture. It was a snapshot: Elsa was caught at the end of a whirling dance of the sort she enjoyed performing at the tavern, her dress still swirling about her, her hands on her hips, looking off to the side and laughing, her throat taut; the person at whom her laughter was directed couldn’t be seen in the picture. “She’s very tightly laced,” said Leni, and pointed to the spot where, in her opinion, this was evident. “I don’t like her, she’s clumsy and rough. But perhaps she’s kind and gentle with you, you could gather that from looking at the picture. Big strong girls like that often don’t know how to be anything but kind and gentle. But would she sacrifice herself for you?” “No,” K. said, “she’s neither kind and gentle, nor would she sacrifice herself for me. But so far I haven’t demanded either of her. I’ve never even examined the picture as closely as you have.” “So you don’t care that much about her,” said Leni, “she’s not really your sweetheart.” “Oh yes,” said K., “I won’t take back what I said.” “Well she may be your sweetheart now,” said Leni, “but you wouldn’t miss her much if you lost her, or traded her for someone else—me, for example.” “Of course,” said K. with a smile, “that’s conceivable, but she has one major advantage over you: she doesn’t know anything about my trial, and even if she did, she wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t try to talk me into giving in.” “That’s no advantage,” said Leni. “If that’s her only advantage, I won’t lose heart. Does she have a physical defect of any sort?” “A physical defect?” asked K. “Yes,” said Leni, “I have a slight defect of that sort, look.” She spread apart the middle and ring fingers of her right hand, between which the connecting skin extended almost to the top knuckle of her short fingers. In the darkness, K. couldn’t see at first what it was she wanted to show him, so she guided his hand to feel it. “What a whim of nature,” K. said, and added, when he had examined her whole hand: “What a pretty claw!” Leni watched with a kind of pride as K. opened and closed her two fingers repeatedly in astonishment, until he finally kissed them lightly and released them. “Oh!” she cried out at once, “you’ve kissed me!” Hastily, with open mouth, she climbed up his lap on her knees; K. looked up at her in near dismay; now that she was so close to him an exciting, almost bitter odor, like pepper, rose from her; she pulled his head to her and bent over it, biting and kissing his neck, even biting his hair. “You’ve traded her for me,” she cried from time to time, “you see, now you’ve traded her for me after all!” Then her knees slid from under her, and with a small cry she almost slipped to the carpet; K. put his arms around her to catch her and was drawn down with her. “Now you belong to me,” she said.
“Here’s the key to the building, come whenever you like,” were her last words, and an aimless kiss struck him on the back while he was still on his way out. 🔗

• [N] Leni and K

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LAWYER
MANUFACTURER
PAINTER 🔗

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The Lawyers’ Room is in the upper level of the attic, so if someone slips through, his leg hangs down into the lower level, right into the hall where the parties are waiting. It’s no exaggeration when such conditions are described in lawyers’ circles as scandalous. Complaints to the administration don’t have the slightest effect, yet lawyers are strictly forbidden from changing anything in the room at their own expense. But there’s a reason they treat lawyers this way. They want to eliminate the defense as far as possible; everything is to be laid upon the defendant himself. Basically that’s not a bad position to take, but nothing would be more mistaken than to conclude from it that defendants have no need of lawyers before this court. On the contrary, there is no other court before which there is a greater need. For in general the proceedings are kept secret not only from the public but from the accused as well. 🔗

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This is the sole means by which the progress of the trial can be influenced, imperceptibly at first, but more and more clearly as it moves along. 🔗

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The officials lack contact with the common people; they’re well prepared for the normal, average trial, which rolls along its course almost on its own and needs only a push now and then, but faced with very simple cases or with particularly complex ones, they’re often at a loss; because they’re constantly constricted by the Law both night and day, they have no proper understanding of human relationships, and in such cases they feel that lack keenly. Then they come to the lawyer for advice, and behind them comes an assistant carrying the files, which are otherwise so secret. 🔗

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The gradations and ranks of the court are infinite, extending beyond the ken even of initiates. The proceedings in the courts of law are generally a mystery to the lower officials as well; therefore they can almost never follow the progress of the cases they are working on throughout their course; the case enters their field of vision, often they know not whence, and continues on, they know not where. The lessons to be learned from the study of the individual stages of a trial, the final verdict and its basis, are lost to these officials. Their involvement is limited to that part of the trial circumscribed for them by the Law, and they generally know less about what follows, and thus about the results of their own efforts, than the defense, which as a rule remains in contact with the accused almost to the very end of the trial. 🔗

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For instance the following story is told, and has every appearance of truth. An elderly official, a decent, quiet gentleman, had studied a difficult case, rendered particularly complex due to the lawyer’s petitions, for one entire day and night without a break—these officials are truly the most industrious of people. Now as morning approached, after twenty-four hours of probably not very productive work, he went to the outer door, waited in ambush, and threw every lawyer who tried to enter down the steps. The lawyers gathered on the landing below and discussed what they should do; on the one hand they have no real right to be admitted, so they can hardly start legal proceedings against the official, and as already mentioned, they have to be careful not to arouse the ire of the bureaucracy. On the other hand each day missed at court is a day lost, so it was important to them to get in. Finally they decided to try to wear the old gentleman down. One lawyer at a time would rush up the stairs and, offering the greatest possible passive resistance, allow himself to be thrown back down, where he would then be caught by his colleagues. That lasted for about an hour; then the old gentleman, who was already tired from working all night, grew truly exhausted and went back into his office. At first those below could hardly believe it, so they sent someone up to check behind the door to make sure there was really no one there. Only then did they enter, probably not even daring to grumble. For the lawyers—and even the least important of them has at least a partial overview of the circumstances—are far from wishing to introduce or carry out any sort of improvement in the court system, while—and this is quite characteristic—almost every defendant, even the most simple-minded among them, starts thinking up suggestions for improvement from the moment the trial starts, and in doing so often wastes time and energy that would be better spent in other ways. The only proper approach is to learn to accept existing conditions. Even if it were possible to improve specific details—which, however, is merely an absurd superstition—one would have at best achieved something for future cases, while in the process damaging oneself immeasurably by having attracted the attention of an always vengeful bureaucracy. Just don’t attract attention! Keep calm, no matter how much it seems counter to good sense. Try to realize that this vast judicial organism remains, so to speak, in a state of eternal equilibrium, and that if you change something on your own where you are, you can cut the ground out from under your own feet and fall, while the vast organism easily compensates for the minor disturbance at some other spot—after all, everything is interconnected—and remains unchanged, if not, which is likely, even more resolute, more vigilant, more severe, more malicious. 🔗

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There couldn’t be much doubt about what they would do. Signs of it could already be seen in the fact that the first petition had still not been submitted, although the trial had already lasted for months, and that according to the lawyer everything was still in the beginning stages, which was of course admirably suited to lull the defendant to sleep and keep him in a state of helplessness, so that they could assault him suddenly with the verdict, or at least announce that the inquiry had concluded unfavorably for him and was being passed on to higher administrative authorities. 🔗

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It was absolutely necessary for K. to intervene personally. It was precisely in states of extreme fatigue, as on this winter morning, when his thoughts were drifting aimlessly, that this conclusion seemed most inescapable. The contempt he had previously borne for the trial no longer applied. If he had been alone in the world he could have easily disregarded the trial, although then the trial would surely never have occurred at all. But now his uncle had already taken him to the lawyer, and family considerations were involved; his job was no longer totally independent of the course of the trial, he himself had been incautious enough to mention the trial to a few acquaintances with a certain inexplicable feeling of self-satisfaction, others had heard about it in unknown ways, his relationship to Fräulein Bürstner seemed to fluctuate with the trial itself—in short, it was no longer a matter of accepting or rejecting the trial, he was in the midst of it and had to defend himself. If he was tired, he was in trouble. 🔗

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Admittedly, the petition meant an almost endless task. One needn’t be particularly faint of heart to be easily persuaded of the impossibility of ever finishing the petition. Not because of laziness or deceit, the only things that kept the lawyer from finishing, but because without knowing the nature of the charge and all its possible ramifications, his entire life, down to the smallest actions and events, would have to be called to mind, described, and examined from all sides. And what a sad job that was. 🔗

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He drove at once to the painter, who lived in a suburb that lay in a completely opposite direction from the one with the law court offices. It was an even poorer neighborhood; the buildings were darker, the narrow streets filled with filth floating slowly about on the melting snow. In the building where the painter lived, only one wing of the great double door stood open; at the bottom of the other wing, however, near the wall, there was a gaping hole from which, just as K. approached, a disgusting, steaming yellow fluid poured forth, before which a rat fled into the nearby sewer. At the bottom of the steps a small child was lying face down on the ground, crying, but it could hardly be heard above the noise coming from a sheet-metal shop beyond the entranceway. The door of the workshop stood open; three workers were standing around some object in a half-circle, beating on it with hammers. A great sheet of tin hanging on the wall cast a pale shimmer that flowed between two workers, illuminating their faces and work aprons. K. merely glanced at all this; he wanted to finish up here as fast as possible, just see what he could learn from the painter with a few words and go straight back to the bank. If he had even the slightest success here, it would still have a good effect on that day’s work at the bank. On the third floor he was forced to slow his pace; he was completely out of breath; the steps were unusually high and the flights unusually long, and the painter supposedly lived right at the top in an attic room. The air was oppressive as well; there was no stairwell, the narrow stairs were closed in on both sides by walls with only a few small windows here and there, high up near the ceiling. Just as K. paused for a moment, a few little girls ran out of an apartment and rushed on up the stairs laughing. K. followed them slowly, caught up with one of the girls, who had stumbled and remained behind the others, and asked as they continued to climb the stairs together: “Does a painter named Titorelli live here?” The girl, thirteen at most, and somewhat hunchbacked, poked him with her elbow and peered up at him sideways. Neither her youth nor her deformity had prevented her early corruption. She didn’t even smile, but instead stared boldly and invitingly at K. Ignoring her behavior, K. asked: “Do you know the painter Titorelli?” She nodded and asked in turn: “What do you want with him?” K. thought it would be to his advantage to pick up a little quick knowledge about Titorelli: “I want him to paint my portrait,” he said. “Paint your portrait?” she asked, opening her mouth wide and pushing K. lightly with her hand, as if he had said something extraordinarily surprising or gauche; then she lifted her little skirt, which was extremely short to begin with, with both hands and ran as fast as she could after the other girls, whose cries were already disappearing indistinctly above. At the very next landing, however, K. met up with all the girls again. They had evidently been informed of K.’s intentions by the hunchback and were waiting for him. They stood on both sides of the steps, pressed themselves against the walls so that K. could pass comfortably between them, and smoothed their smocks with their hands. Their faces as well as the guard of honor they formed conveyed a mixture of childishness and depravity. Above, at the head of the group of girls, who now closed around K. laughingly, was the hunchback, who took over the lead. It was thanks to her that K. found his way so easily. He had intended to go straight on up the stairs, but she showed him he had to take a stairway off to the side to reach Titorelli. The stairway that led to him was particularly narrow, extremely long, without a turn, visible along its entire length, and ended directly at Titorelli’s door. This door, which compared to the rest of the stairway was relatively well illuminated by a small skylight set at an angle above it, was constructed of unfinished boards, upon which the name Titorelli was painted in red with broad brushstrokes. K. was barely halfway up the stairs with his retinue when the door above them opened slightly, apparently in response to the sound of all the feet, and a man appeared in the crack of the door, seemingly dressed only in his nightshirt. “Oh!” he cried as he saw the crowd approaching, and disappeared. The hunchback clapped her hands with joy and the rest of the girls pushed behind K. to hurry him along. 🔗

• [N] K in search of titorelli the painter

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“I still have some work to do on it,” answered the painter, taking a pastel crayon from the little table and adding a few strokes to the contours of the figure, without, however, making it any clearer to K. in the process. “It’s the figure of Justice,” the painter finally said. “Now I recognize it,” said K., “there’s the blindfold over her eyes and here are the scales. But aren’t those wings on her heels, and isn’t she in motion?” “Yes,” said the painter, “I’m commissioned to do it that way, it’s actually Justice and the goddess of Victory in one.” “That’s a poor combination,” said K. smiling, “Justice must remain at rest, otherwise the scales sway and no just judgment is possible.” “I’m just following the wishes of the person who commissioned it,” said the painter. “Yes, of course,” said K. who hadn’t meant to hurt anyone’s feelings by his remark. “You’ve painted the figure the way it actually appears on the throne.” “No,” said the painter, “I’ve seen neither the figure nor the throne, that’s all an invention; but I was told what to paint.” “What do you mean?” asked K., intentionally acting as if he didn’t really understand the painter; “that’s surely a judge sitting in a judge’s chair.” “Yes,” said the painter, “but it’s not a high judge, and he hasn’t ever sat in a throne like that.” “And yet he allows himself to be portrayed in such a solemn pose? He’s sitting there like the president of the court.” “Yes, the gentlemen are vain,” said the painter. “But they have higher permission to be painted that way. There are precise instructions as to how each of them may be portrayed. But unfortunately it’s impossible to judge the details of his attire and the chair in this picture; pastels aren’t really suitable for these portraits.” “Yes,” said K., “it’s strange that it’s done in pastel.” “The judge wanted it that way,” said the painter, “it’s intended for a lady.” Looking at the painting seemed to have made him want to work on it; he rolled up the sleeves of his nightshirt, picked up a few pastels, and K. watched as, beneath the trembling tips of the crayons, a reddish shadow took shape around the judge’s head and extended outward in rays toward the edges of the picture. Gradually this play of shadow surrounded the head like an ornament or a sign of high distinction. But, except for an imperceptible shading, brightness still surrounded the figure of Justice, and in this brightness the figure seemed to stand out strikingly; now it scarcely recalled the goddess of Justice, or even that of Victory, now it looked just like the goddess of the Hunt. 🔗

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Now when I’ve gathered enough judges’ signatures on the certification, I take it to the judge who’s currently conducting your trial. Perhaps I have his signature already, then things go a little more quickly than usual. In general there aren’t many more obstacles then, that’s the period of highest confidence for the defendant. It’s remarkable but true that people are more confident at this stage than after the acquittal. No further special effort is required. The judge has on the certification the surety of a number of judges; he can acquit you with no second thoughts, and, after going through various formalities, will no doubt do so, to please me and his other acquaintances. You, however, leave the court a free man.” “So then I’m free,” K. said hesitantly. “Yes,” said the painter, “but only apparently free, or more accurately, temporarily free. Judges on the lowest level, and those are the only ones I know, don’t have the power to grant a final acquittal, that power resides only in the highest court, which is totally inaccessible to you and me and everyone else. We don’t know what things look like up there, and incidentally, we don’t want to know. Our judges, then, lack the higher power to free a person from the charge, but they do have the power to release them from it. When you are acquitted in this sense, it means the charge against you is dropped for the moment but continues to hover over you, and can be reinstated the moment an order comes from above. 🔗

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An apparent acquittal is handled differently. There is no further change in the files except for adding to them the certification of innocence, the acquittal, and the grounds for the acquittal. Otherwise they remain in circulation; following the law court’s normal routine they are passed on to the higher courts, come back to the lower ones, swinging back and forth with larger or smaller oscillations, longer or shorter interruptions. These paths are unpredictable. Externally it may sometimes appear that everything has been long since forgotten, the file has been lost, and the acquittal is absolute. No initiate would ever believe that. No file is ever lost, and the court never forgets. Someday—quite unexpectedly—some judge or other takes a closer look at the file, realizes that the case is still active, and orders an immediate arrest. I’m assuming here that a long time has passed between the apparent acquittal and the new arrest; that’s possible, and I know of such cases; but it’s equally possible that the acquitted individual leaves the court, returns home, and finds agents already there, waiting to arrest him again. Then of course his life as a free man is over.” “And the trial begins all over again?” K. asked, almost incredulously. “Of course,” said the painter, “the trial begins all over again, but it is again possible, just as before, to secure an apparent acquittal. You must gather all your strength again and not give up.” 🔗

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“Protraction,” said the painter, gazing straight ahead for a moment, as if searching for a fully accurate explanation, “protraction is when the trial is constantly kept at the lowest stage. To accomplish this the defendant and his helper, in particular his helper, must remain in constant personal contact with the court. I repeat, this doesn’t require the same effort it takes to secure an apparent acquittal, but it does require a much higher level of vigilance. You can’t let the trial out of your sight; you have to visit the relevant judge at regular intervals, and any extra chance you get as well, and try to keep him as well disposed as possible in all ways; if you don’t know the judge personally, you have to try to influence him through judges you do know, although you still don’t dare dispense with the direct conferences. If nothing is omitted in this respect, you can be sufficiently assured that the trial will never progress beyond its initial stage. The trial doesn’t end of course, but the defendant is almost as safe from a conviction as he would be as a free man. Compared with apparent acquittal, protraction offers the advantage that the defendant’s future is less uncertain; he’s spared the shock of sudden arrests, and he doesn’t have to worry, at what may be precisely the worst time in terms of other circumstances, about taking on the stress and strain connected with securing an apparent acquittal. 🔗

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The trial must be kept constantly spinning within the tight circle to which it’s artificially restricted. 🔗

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“Unlock the door, will you,” said K., pulling at the handle, which the girls, as he could tell from the counterpressure, were holding tight from the outside. “Do you want the girls bothering you?” asked the painter. “Why don’t you use this way out instead?” and he pointed to the door behind the bed. That was fine with K., and he sprang back to the bed. But instead of opening the door, the painter crawled under the bed and asked from below: “Just a minute. Wouldn’t you like to see a painting I could sell you?” K. didn’t wish to be impolite; the painter really had taken his side and promised continued help, and due to K.’s own forgetfulness there had been no discussion of how K. might reimburse him for his help, so K. couldn’t deny him now; he let him show his picture, even though he was trembling with impatience to leave the atelier. From beneath the bed the painter dragged a pile of unframed paintings so deeply covered in dust that when the painter tried to blow it away from the one on top, the dust whirled up before K.’s eyes, and for some time he could scarcely breathe. 🔗

• [N] The suffocation sheesh

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It seemed to him a basic rule of behavior that the defendant should always be prepared, never be caught by surprise, never be looking blankly to the right when a judge was standing on his left—and it was precisely this basic rule that he was constantly breaking. 🔗

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BLOCK, THE MERCHANT
DISMISSAL OF THE LAWYER 🔗

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He felt totally at ease, the way one normally feels speaking with inferiors in a foreign country, avoiding everything personal, just talking indifferently about their interests, thereby elevating them in importance, but also in a position to drop them at will. 🔗

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“Five!” K. exclaimed, astonished above all by the number; “five lawyers besides him?” The merchant nodded: “I’m negotiating with a sixth right now.” “But why do you need so many lawyers,” asked K. “I need them all,” said the merchant. “Won’t you tell me why?” asked K. “Gladly,” said the merchant. “First of all I don’t want to lose my trial, that goes without saying. So I mustn’t overlook anything that might be of use; even if there’s only a slight hope in a given instance that it might be of use, I still don’t dare discard it. So I’ve spent everything I have on my trial. For example, I’ve withdrawn all my capital from the business; my firm’s offices used to almost fill an entire floor; now one small room in the back suffices, where I work with an apprentice. Of course this decline resulted not only from a withdrawal of funds, but even more from the withdrawal of my energy. If you’re trying to work on your trial, you have little time for anything else.” 🔗

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One such superstition, for example, is that many people believe they can predict the outcome of the trial from the face of the defendant, and in particular from the lines of his lips. Now these people claimed that according to your lips, you were certain to be convicted soon. I repeat, it’s a ridiculous superstition, and completely disproved in a majority of cases, but when you live in such company, it’s difficult to avoid these beliefs. Just think how strong the effect of such a superstition can be. You spoke to someone there, didn’t you? But he could hardly answer you. Of course there are all sorts of reasons for getting confused there, but one was the sight of your lips. He told us later he thought he’d seen the sign of his own conviction on your lips as well.” “My lips?” asked K., taking out a pocket mirror and regarding his face. “I can’t see anything unusual about my lips. Can you?” “Neither can I,” said the merchant, “absolutely nothing at all.” “These people are so superstitious!” K. exclaimed. 🔗

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“They generally don’t spend much time together,” said the merchant, “they couldn’t, there are too many of them. And they don’t have many interests in common. When a group occasionally begin to believe they share some common interest, it soon proves a delusion. Group action is entirely ineffective against the court. Each case is investigated on its own merits; the court is, after all, extremely meticulous. So group action is entirely ineffective, it’s only individuals who sometimes manage something in secret; only when it’s been achieved do others learn of it; no one knows how it happened. So there’s no sense of community; people meet now and then in the waiting room, but there’s not much conversation there. These superstitions have been around for ages, and multiply totally on their own.” 🔗

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“how he rattles on! You don’t dare believe him at all,” here she turned to K., “he’s as gossipy as he is sweet. Maybe that’s why the lawyer doesn’t like him. At any rate, he only sees him if he’s in a good mood. I’ve been trying hard to change that, but it’s impossible. Just think, sometimes I tell him Block’s here and it’s three days before he receives him. If Block isn’t on the spot when called, however, all is lost, and he has to be announced anew. That’s why I let Block sleep here; he’s been known to ring for him in the night. So now Block is ready nights as well. Sometimes, of course, if Block does prove to be here, the lawyer then retracts the order to admit him.” K. threw a questioning glance at the merchant. The merchant nodded and said as frankly as he had in speaking with K. earlier, perhaps forgetting himself in his embarrassment: “Yes, you grow very dependent on your lawyer later on.” “He’s just making a show of complaining,” said Leni. “He enjoys sleeping here, as he’s often confessed to me.” 🔗

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If you have an eye for that sort of thing, defendants are indeed often attractive. It is of course remarkable, in a sense almost a natural phenomenon. It’s clear no obvious change in appearance is noticeable once a person has been accused. The situation differs from a normal court case; most defendants continue to lead a normal life and, if they find a good lawyer who looks out for them, they aren’t particularly hampered by the trial. Nevertheless, an experienced eye can pick out a defendant in the largest crowd every time. On what basis? you may ask. My reply won’t satisfy you. The defendants are simply the most attractive. It can’t be guilt that makes them attractive, for—at least as a lawyer I must maintain this—they can’t all be guilty, nor can it be the coming punishment that renders them attractive in advance, for not all of them will be punished; it must be a result, then, of the proceedings being brought against them, which somehow adheres to them. Of course some are even more attractive than others. But they’re all attractive, even that miserable worm, Block.” 🔗

• [N] Lawyer explains that accused are the most attractive

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But my uncle insisted I ask you to represent me, and I did it to oblige him. One would have thought the trial would weigh less heavily upon me then; the point of engaging a lawyer is to shift the burden of the trial in part from one’s self. But the opposite occurred. I never had as many worries about the trial as I did from the moment you began to represent me. When I was on my own I did nothing about my case, but I hardly noticed it; now, on the other hand, I had someone representing me, everything was set so that something was supposed to happen, I kept waiting expectantly for you to take action, but nothing was done. Of course you passed on various bits of information about the court I might not have garnered from anyone else. But I don’t find that sufficient when the trial is positively closing in on me in secret.” 🔗

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“I suspect that what’s led both to your false judgment of my legal assistance and to your general behavior is that, in spite of being an accused man, you’ve been treated too well, or to put it more accurately, you’ve been treated with negligence, with apparent negligence. There’s a reason for this as well; it’s often better to be in chains than to be free. But I’d like to show you how other defendants are treated; perhaps you’ll be able to draw a lesson from it. I’m going to call Block in now; unlock the door and sit down here beside the nightstand.” 🔗

• [N] Lawyers attempt to convince K not to drop him

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Translated into words, his gestures would have constituted a tirade of abuse. 🔗

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But if you think you’re privileged because you’re allowed to sit here quietly and listen while I, as you put it, crawl around on all fours, then let me remind you of the old legal maxim: a suspect is better off moving than at rest, for one at rest may be on the scales without knowing it, being weighed with all his sins.” 🔗

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So the lawyer’s methods, to which K., fortunately, had not been long enough exposed, resulted in this: that the client finally forgot the entire world, desiring only to trudge along this mistaken path to the end of his trial. He was no longer a client, he was the lawyer’s dog. If the lawyer had ordered him to crawl under the bed, as into a kennel, and bark, he would have done so gladly. K. listened critically and coolly, as if he had been commissioned to mentally record everything, render an account of it at a higher level, and file a report. “What did he do all day?” asked the lawyer. “I locked him in the maid’s room, where he generally stays anyway,” 🔗

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IN THE CATHEDRAL 🔗

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An Italian business associate of major importance to the bank was visiting the city for the first time, and K. had been assigned to show him a few of its artistic treasures. At any other time he would have considered the assignment an honor, but now that he was expending so much effort defending his prestige at the bank, he accepted it reluctantly. Every hour away from the office troubled him; it was true he could no longer use his office time as efficiently as before; he spent many an hour in only the most superficial appearance of actual work, but that made him all the more worried when he was away from the office. He pictured the vice president, who was always lurking about, entering his office from time to time, sitting down at his desk, rifling through his papers, receiving customers who over the years had almost become K.’s friends, luring them away, yes, perhaps even discovering errors, which K. felt threatened by from a thousand directions as he worked, errors he could no longer avoid. So no matter how much it honored him, whenever he was given any assignment that required a business call or even a short trip—as chance would have it, the number of such assignments had mounted recently—the suspicion was never far removed that they were trying to get him out of the office for a while to check on his work, or at the very least, that they thought they could spare him easily at the office. He could have turned down most of the assignments with no difficulty, but he didn’t dare, for if there was any justification at all for his fear, refusing the assignment would be taken as an admission of his anxiety. For this reason he accepted such assignments with apparent equanimity, even concealing a bad cold when faced with a strenuous two-day business trip, so that there would be no risk of his being held back due to the prevailing rainy autumn weather. Returning from the trip with a raging headache, he discovered he was supposed to host the Italian colleague the following day. The temptation to refuse, at least on this occasion, was strong, particularly since what he was being asked to do bore no direct relationship to his work at the bank; fulfilling this social duty for a business colleague was doubtless important in itself, but not to K., who was well aware that only success in the office could protect him, and that if he couldn’t manage that, even proving unexpectedly charming to the Italian would be of no value at all; he didn’t want to be forced away from work even for a day, for the fear that he might not be allowed to return was too great, a fear that he knew all too well was far-fetched but that nonetheless oppressed him. In this case of course it was almost impossible to invent a plausible excuse; K.’s Italian was not particularly fluent, but it was adequate; the decisive argument, however, was that K. had some knowledge of art history, acquired in earlier days; this had become known at the bank and blown far out of proportion because for a time, and solely for business reasons as it happened, K. had belonged to the Society for the Preservation of Municipal Works of Art. Since rumor had it that the Italian was an art lover, the choice of K. as a guide had been obvious. 🔗

• [N] Oh gos, miserable

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If he didn’t understand the Italian at first, he mustn’t let that bother him, he would soon begin to catch on, and even if there was a lot he didn’t understand, that wouldn’t be so terrible, since it really didn’t matter that much to the Italian whether anyone understood him or not. Moreover, K.’s Italian was surprisingly good and he was certain everything would go fine. With that K. was dismissed. He spent his remaining free time copying down various special terms he would need for the tour of the cathedral from the dictionary. It was a terribly tedious task; assistants brought in mail, clerks came with various inquiries, pausing at the door when they saw K. was busy, but refusing to stir until K. had heard them out, the vice president missed no opportunity to disturb K., entering several times, taking the dictionary from his hand and leafing through it, obviously at random; clients even appeared in the semidarkness of the waiting room when the door opened, bowing hesitantly, trying to attract his attention, but unsure whether or not they had been seen—all this revolved around K. as if he were an axis, while he himself listed the words he would need, looked them up in the dictionary, copied them down, practiced pronouncing them, and finally tried to learn them by heart. But his once excellent memory seemed to have abandoned him totally; at times he got so mad at the Italian for causing all this trouble that he buried the dictionary under stacks of paper with the firm intention of making no further preparations; but then he would realize that he couldn’t just parade past the artworks in the cathedral in total silence with the Italian, and he would pull the dictionary out again in even greater rage. 🔗

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K. considered leaving as quickly as possible; if he didn’t go now there was no chance of doing so during the sermon, he would have to remain for as long as it lasted, losing a great deal of time at the office, and he was certainly no longer obliged to wait for the Italian; he looked at his watch: it was eleven. But could there really be a sermon? Could K. alone represent the congregation? What if he were merely a stranger who wanted to see the church? Basically that’s all he was. It was senseless to believe there was going to be a sermon, now, at eleven o’clock, on a workday, in the dreariest of weather. The priest—he was clearly a priest, a young man with a smooth, dark face—was obviously climbing up simply to extinguish the lamp that had been lighted in error. 🔗

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K. hesitated and stared at the floor. At the moment he was still free; he could walk on and leave through one of the three small dark wooden doors not far from him. That would mean he hadn’t understood or that he had indeed understood but couldn’t be bothered to respond. But if he turned around he was caught, for then he would have confessed that he understood quite well, that he really was the person named, and that he was prepared to obey. If the priest had called out again, K. would surely have walked out, but since all remained still, however long K. waited, he finally turned his head a bit, for he wanted to see what the priest was doing now. He was standing quietly in the pulpit as before, but he had clearly noticed K.’s head turn. It would have been a childish game of hide-and-seek for K. not to turn around completely now. He did so and the priest beckoned him to approach. Now that everything could be done openly, he walked with long, rapid strides toward the pulpit—out of curiosity as well, and to cut this business short. He paused by the first pews, but that still seemed too great a distance to the priest, who stretched out his hand and pointed sharply downward toward a spot just in front of the pulpit. K. obeyed this gesture as well; from this position he had to lean his head far back in order to see the priest. “You’re Josef K.,” said the priest, and lifted one hand from the balustrade in a vague gesture. “Yes,” said K.; he recalled how openly he had always said his name; for some time now it had been a burden, and people he met for the first time already knew his name; how good it felt to introduce oneself first and only then be known. “You stand accused,” said the priest in a very low voice. “Yes,” said K. “I’ve been notified about it.” “Then you’re the one I’m seeking,” said the priest. “I’m the prison chaplain.” “I see,” said K. “I had you brought here,” said the priest, “so I could speak with you.” “I didn’t know that,” said K. “I came here to show the cathedral to an Italian.” “Forget such irrelevancies,” said the priest. “What’s that in your hand? Is it a prayer book?” “No,” replied K., “it’s an album of city sights.” “Put it aside,” said the priest. K. threw it down so violently that it flew open and skidded some distance across the floor, its pages crushed. “Do you realize your trial is going badly?” asked the priest. “It seems that way to me too,” said K. “I’ve tried as hard as I can, but without any success so far. Of course I haven’t completed my petition yet.” “How do you imagine it will end,” asked the priest. “At first I thought it would surely end well,” said K., “now sometimes I even have doubts myself. I don’t know how it will end. Do you?” “No,” said the priest, “but I fear it will end badly. They think you’re guilty. Your trial may never move beyond the lower courts. At least for the moment, your guilt is assumed proved.” “But I’m not guilty,” said K. “It’s a mistake. How can any person in general be guilty? We’re all human after all, each and every one of us.” “That’s right,” said the priest, “but that’s how guilty people always talk.” “Are you prejudiced against me too?” asked K. “I’m not prejudiced against you,” said the priest. “Thank you,” said K. “But everyone else involved with the proceedings is prejudiced against me. And they instill it in those who aren’t involved. My position is becoming increasingly difficult.” “You misunderstand the facts of the matter,” said the priest. “The judgment isn’t simply delivered at some point; the proceedings gradually merge into the judgment.” “So that’s how it is,” said K. and bowed his head. “What will you do next in your case?” asked the priest. “I intend to seek additional help,” said K., and raised his head to see how the priest judged this. “There are still certain possibilities I haven’t taken advantage of.” “You seek too much outside help,” the priest said disapprovingly, “particularly from women. Haven’t you noticed that it isn’t true help.” “Sometimes, often even, I’d have to say you’re right,” said K., “but not always. Women have great power. If I could get a few of the women I know to join forces and work for me, I could surely make it through. Particularly with this court, which consists almost entirely of skirt chasers. Show the examining magistrate a woman, even at a distance, and he’ll knock over the courtroom table and the defendant to get to her first.” The priest lowered his head to the balustrade; only now did the pulpit’s roof seem to weigh down upon him. What sort of a storm could there be outside? It was no longer a dull day, it was already deep night. No pane of stained glass within the great window emitted even a shimmer of light to interrupt the wall’s darkness. And this was the moment the sexton chose to start extinguishing the candles on the main altar one by one. “Are you angry with me?” K. asked the priest. “Perhaps you don’t know the sort of court you serve.” He received no reply. “Of course that’s just my own personal experience,” said K. Still only silence from above. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” said K. Then the priest screamed down at K.: “Can’t you see two steps in front of you?” It was a cry of rage, but at the same time it was the cry of someone who, seeing a man falling, shouts out in shock, involuntarily, without thinking. 🔗

• [N] "But I’m not guilty,” said K. “It’s a mistake. How can any person in general be guilty? We’re all human after all, each and every one of us.” “That’s right,” said the priest, “but that’s how guilty people always talk."

It was no longer a dull day, it was already deep night. No pane of stained glass within the great window emitted even a shimmer of light to interrupt the wall’s darkness.

#🔥

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“Don’t deceive yourself,” said the priest. “How am I deceiving myself?” asked K. “You’re deceiving yourself about the court,” said the priest, “in the introductory texts to the Law it says of this deception: Before the Law stands a doorkeeper. A man from the country comes to this doorkeeper and requests admittance to the Law. But the doorkeeper says that he can’t grant him admittance now. The man thinks it over and then asks if he’ll be allowed to enter later. ‘It’s possible,’ says the doorkeeper, ‘but not now.’ Since the gate to the Law stands open as always, and the doorkeeper steps aside, the man bends down to look through the gate into the interior. When the doorkeeper sees this he laughs and says: ‘If you’re so drawn to it, go ahead and try to enter, even though I’ve forbidden it. But bear this in mind: I’m powerful. And I’m only the lowest doorkeeper. From hall to hall, however, stand doorkeepers each more powerful than the one before. The mere sight of the third is more than even I can bear.’ The man from the country has not anticipated such difficulties; the Law should be accessible to anyone at any time, he thinks, but as he now examines the doorkeeper in his fur coat more closely, his large, sharply pointed nose, his long, thin, black tartar’s beard, he decides he would prefer to wait until he receives permission to enter. The doorkeeper gives him a stool and lets him sit down at the side of the door. He sits there for days and years. He asks time and again to be admitted and wearies the doorkeeper with his entreaties. The doorkeeper often conducts brief interrogations, inquiring about his home and many other matters, but he asks such questions indifferently, as great men do, and in the end he always tells him he still can’t admit him. The man, who has equipped himself well for his journey, uses everything he has, no matter how valuable, to bribe the doorkeeper. And the doorkeeper accepts everything, but as he does so he says: ‘I’m taking this just so you won’t think you’ve neglected something.’ Over the many years, the man observes the doorkeeper almost incessantly. He forgets the other doorkeepers and this first one seems to him the only obstacle to his admittance to the Law. He curses his unhappy fate, loudly during the first years, later, as he grows older, merely grumbling to himself. He turns childish, and since he has come to know even the fleas in the doorkeeper’s collar over his years of study, he asks the fleas too to help him change the doorkeeper’s mind. Finally his eyes grow dim and he no longer knows whether it’s really getting darker around him or if his eyes are merely deceiving him. And yet in the darkness he now sees a radiance that streams forth inextinguishably from the door of the Law. He doesn’t have much longer to live now. Before he dies, everything he has experienced over the years coalesces in his mind into a single question he has never asked the doorkeeper. He motions to him, since he can no longer straighten his stiffening body. The doorkeeper has to bend down to him, for the difference in size between them has altered greatly to the man’s disadvantage. ‘What do you want to know now,’ asks the doorkeeper, ‘you’re insatiable.’ ‘Everyone strives to reach the Law,’ says the man, ‘how does it happen, then, that in all these years no one but me has requested admittance.’ The doorkeeper sees that the man is nearing his end, and in order to reach his failing hearing, he roars at him: ‘No one else could gain admittance here, because this entrance was meant solely for you. I’m going to go and shut it now.’ ” 🔗

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At any rate the figure of the doorkeeper that emerges is quite different from your perception of him.” “You know the story much better than I do, and have known it for a longer time,” said K. They fell silent for a while. Then K. said: “So you think the man wasn’t deceived?” “Don’t misunderstand me,” said the priest, “I’m just pointing out the various opinions that exist on the matter. You mustn’t pay too much attention to opinions. The text is immutable, and the opinions are often only an expression of despair over it. In this case there’s even an opinion according to which the doorkeeper is the one deceived.” “That’s an extreme opinion,” said K. “What’s it based on?” “It’s based,” answered the priest, “on the simplemindedness of the doorkeeper. It’s said that he doesn’t know the interior of the Law, but only the path he constantly patrols back and forth before it. His ideas about the interior are considered childish, and it’s assumed that he himself fears the very thing with which he tries to frighten the man. Indeed he fears it more than the man, for the latter wants nothing more than to enter, even after he’s been told about the terrifying doorkeepers within, while the doorkeeper has no wish to enter, or at any rate we hear nothing about it. Others say that he must indeed have already been inside, for after all he has been taken into the service of the Law, and that could only have happened within. To this it may be replied that he might well have been named a doorkeeper by a shout from within, and at any rate could not have progressed far into the interior, since he is unable to bear the sight of even the third doorkeeper. Moreover there is no report of his saying anything over the years about the interior, other than the remark about the doorkeepers. Perhaps he was forbidden to do so, but he never mentions such a prohibition either. From all this it is concluded that he knows nothing about the appearance and significance of the interior, and is himself deceived about it. 🔗

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But he is also in a state of deception about the man from the country, for he is subordinate to him and doesn’t know it. It’s evident in several places that he treats the man as a subordinate, as I’m sure you’ll recall. But it is equally clear, according to this opinion, that he is in fact subordinate to him. First of all, the free man is superior to the bound man. Now the man is in fact free: he can go wherever he wishes, the entrance to the Law alone is denied to him, and this only by one person, the doorkeeper. If he sits on the stool at the side of the door and spends the rest of his life there, he does so of his own free will; the story mentions no element of force. The doorkeeper, on the other hand, is bound to his post by his office; he is not permitted to go elsewhere outside, but to all appearances he is not permitted to go inside either, even if he wishes to. Moreover he is in the service of the Law but serves only at this entrance, and thus serves only this man, for whom the entrance is solely meant. For this reason as well he is subordinate to him. It can be assumed that for many years, as long as it takes for a man to mature, his service has been an empty formality, for it is said that a man comes, that is, a mature man, so that the doorkeeper had to wait a long time to fulfill his duty, and in fact had to wait as long as the man wished, who after all came of his own free will. But the end of his service is also determined by the end of the man’s life, and he therefore remains subordinate to him until the very end. And it is constantly emphasized that the doorkeeper apparently realizes none of this. But nothing striking is seen in this, for according to this opinion, the doorkeeper exists in an even greater state of deception with regard to his office. For at the very end he speaks of the entrance and says ‘I’m going to go and shut it now,’ but at the beginning it’s said that the gate to the Law always stands open; if it always stands open, however, that is, independent of how long the man lives for whom it is meant, then even the doorkeeper can’t shut it. Opinions vary as to whether the doorkeeper intends the announcement that he is going to shut the gate merely as an answer, or to emphasize his devotion to duty, or because he wants to arouse remorse and sorrow in the man at the last moment. Many agree, however, that he will not be able to shut the gate. They even think that, at least at the end, he’s subordinate to the man in knowledge as well, for the former sees the radiance which streams forth from the entrance to the Law, while the doorkeeper, by profession, is probably standing with his back to the entrance, nor does he show by anything he says that he might have noticed a change.” 🔗

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You have to realize that the state of deception in which the doorkeeper finds himself doesn’t harm him but harms the man a thousandfold.” “You run up against a contrary opinion there,” said the priest. “Namely, there are those who say that the story gives no one the right to pass judgment on the doorkeeper. No matter how he appears to us, he’s still a servant of the Law; he belongs to the Law, and thus is beyond human judgment. In that case one can’t see the doorkeeper as subordinate to the man. To be bound by his office, even if only at the entrance to the Law, is incomparably better than to live freely in the world. The man has only just arrived at the Law, the doorkeeper is already there. He has been appointed to his post by the Law, to doubt his dignity is to doubt the Law itself.” 🔗

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“Lies are made into a universal system.” 🔗

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“Are we near the main entrance now?” “No,” said the priest, “we’re a long way from it. Do you want to leave already?” Although K. hadn’t been thinking of that at the moment, he said at once: “Of course, I have to go. I’m the chief financial officer of a bank, and they’re expecting me; I only came here to show the cathedral to a colleague from abroad.” “Well,” said the priest, holding his hand out to K., “go on then.” “But I can’t find my way in the dark alone,” said K. “Go left to the wall,” said the priest, “then just keep to the wall all the way and you’ll find a way out.” The priest had moved just a few steps away, but K. called out in a loud voice: “Please, wait a moment.” “I’m waiting,” said the priest. “Do you want anything else from me?” asked K. “No,” said the priest. “You were so friendly to me before,” said K., “and explained everything, but now you’re leaving as if I meant nothing to you.” “But you have to go,” said the priest. “Yes,” said K., “you must see that.” “First you must see who I am,” said the priest. “You’re the prison chaplain,” said K. and drew nearer to the priest; his immediate return to the bank wasn’t so important as he’d thought, he could easily stay here longer. “Therefore I belong to the court,” said the priest. “Why should I want something from you. The court wants nothing from you. It receives you when you come and dismisses you when you go.” 🔗

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“They’ve sent old supporting actors for me,” K. said to himself, and looked around again to confirm his impression. “They want to finish me off cheaply.” K. turned to them abruptly and asked: “Which theater are you playing at?” “Theater?” one of them asked, the corners of his mouth twitching, turning to the other for help. His companion gestured like a mute man struggling with his stubborn vocal cords. “They’re not prepared for questions,” K. said to himself, and went to get his hat. 🔗

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He pictured flies, tearing their tiny legs off as they struggled to escape the flypaper. 🔗

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“The only thing I can do now,” he said to himself, and the way his steps matched those of the other three confirmed his thoughts, “the only thing I can do now is keep my mind calm and analytical to the last. I’ve always wanted to seize the world with twenty hands, and what’s more with a motive that was hardly laudable. That was wrong; do I want to show now that even a yearlong trial could teach me nothing? Do I want to leave the parting impression that I’m slow-witted? Shall they say of me that at the beginning of my trial I wanted to end it, and now, at its end, I want to begin it again? I don’t want them to say that. I’m grateful they’ve sent these halfmute, insensitive men to accompany me on this journey, and that it’s been left to me to say myself what needs to be said.” 🔗

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After a brief polite exchange about who was responsible for the first of the tasks to come—the men seemed to have received their assignment without any specific division of labor—one of them went to K. and removed his jacket, his vest, and finally his shirt. K. shivered involuntarily, whereupon the man gave him a gentle, reassuring pat on the back. Then he folded the clothes carefully, as if they would be needed again, though not in the immediate future. In order not to leave K. standing motionless, exposed to the rather chilly night air, he took him by the arm and walked back and forth with him a little, while the other man searched for some suitable spot in the quarry. When he had found it, he waved, and the other gentleman led K. over to it. It was near the quarry wall, where a loose block of stone was lying. The men sat K. down on the ground, propped him against the stone, and laid his head down on it. In spite of all their efforts, and in spite of the cooperation K. gave them, his posture was still quite forced and implausible. So one of the men asked the other to let him work on positioning K. on his own for a while, but that didn’t improve things either. Finally they left K. in a position that wasn’t even the best of those they had already tried. Then one man opened his frock coat and, from a sheath on a belt that encircled his vest, drew forth a long, thin, double-edged butcher knife, held it up, and tested its sharpness in the light. Once more the nauseating courtesies began, one of them passed the knife across K. to the other, who passed it back over K. K. knew clearly now that it was his duty to seize the knife as it floated from hand to hand above him and plunge it into himself. But he didn’t do so; instead he twisted his still-free neck and looked about him. He could not rise entirely to the occasion, he could not relieve the authorities of all their work; the responsibility for this final failure lay with whoever had denied him the remnant of strength necessary to do so. His gaze fell upon the top story of the building adjoining the quarry. Like a light flicking on, the casements of a window flew open, a human figure, faint and insubstantial at that distance and height, leaned far out abruptly, and stretched both arms out even further. Who was it? A friend? A good person? Someone who cared? Someone who wanted to help? Was it just one person? Was it everyone? Was there still help? Were there objections that had been forgotten? Of course there were. Logic is no doubt unshakable, but it can’t withstand a person who wants to live. Where was the judge he’d never seen? Where was the high court he’d never reached? He raised his hands and spread out all his fingers.
But the hands of one man were right at K.’s throat, while the other thrust the knife into his heart and turned it there twice. With failing sight K. saw how the men drew near his face, leaning cheek-to-cheek to observe the verdict. “Like a dog!” he said; it seemed as though the shame was to outlive him. 🔗

• [N] Nooooo k!!

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FRAGMENTS 🔗

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B.’S FRIEND 🔗

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As K. entered, Fräulein Montag left the window and approached him along one side of the table. They greeted each other in silence. Then Fräulein Montag, as always holding her head unusually erect, said: “I don’t know if you know me.” K. regarded her with a frown. “Of course,” he said, “you’ve been living at Frau Grubach’s for some time now.” “But I don’t think you pay much attention to the affairs of the boardinghouse,” said Fräulein Montag. “No,” said K. “Won’t you sit down,” said Fräulein Montag. In silence, they both drew out chairs from the very end of the table and sat down across from each other. But Fräulein Montag rose again immediately, for she had left her little handbag on the windowsill and went back to get it; she limped the whole length of the room. When she returned, gently swinging the little handbag, she said: “I just want to have a few words with you on behalf of my friend. She wanted to come herself, but she’s not feeling very well today. She asks you to forgive her and to hear me out instead. She couldn’t have said anything to you but what I’m going to say anyway. On the contrary, I think I can say more, since I’m relatively uninvolved. Don’t you think?” “Well, what is there to say!” replied K., who was tired of seeing Fräulein Montag stare so fixedly at his lips. By this means she already assumed control over what he had yet to say. “Apparently Fräulein Bürstner doesn’t wish to grant me the personal discussion I requested.” “That’s right,” said Fräulein Montag, “or rather, that’s not it at all, you put it much too strongly. As a general rule, discussions are neither granted nor denied. But they may be considered unnecessary, as in this case. Now after what you’ve said I can speak frankly. You asked my friend, either in writing or orally, to discuss something with you. But my friend knows what this discussion would concern, or so I at least assume, and is therefore convinced, for reasons unknown to me, that it would be to no one’s benefit for the discussion to actually take place. She mentioned it to me for the first time yesterday, by the way, and then only in passing; she said among other things that the discussion couldn’t be all that important to you, for you could only have hit upon such an idea by chance, and that, even without a specific explanation, you would soon see how pointless the whole thing was, if you hadn’t realized it already. I replied that she might be right, but nonetheless I felt that, in order to make everything perfectly clear, it might still be preferable to give you some explicit answer. I offered to take on this task myself, and after some hesitation my friend yielded. I hope I’ve acted as you would have wished too, for even the slightest uncertainty in the most minor matter is always annoying, and if, as in this case, the uncertainty can be dispelled so easily, it’s best to do so at once.” “I thank you,” K. replied at once, rose slowly, gazed at Fräulein Montag, then across the table, then out the window—the building opposite stood in sunlight—and walked toward the door. Fräulein Montag followed him for a few steps as if she didn’t trust him completely. But at the door they both had to draw back, for it opened and Captain Lanz entered. K. saw him for the first time up close. He was a tall man of about forty, with a tanned, fleshy face. He made a slight bow, which was meant for K. as well, then went up to Fräulein Montag and kissed her hand respectfully. He moved with easy assurance. His politeness toward Fräulein Montag differed strikingly from the treatment K. had accorded her. Even so, Fräulein Montag didn’t seem angry with K., for as far as he could tell, she was about to introduce him to the captain. But K. had no desire for introductions; he felt incapable of showing any friendliness toward either the captain or Fräulein Montag, for in his eyes the kiss of her hand had united them as a pair that desired, beneath the appearance of utmost inoffensiveness and unselfishness, to keep him from seeing Fräulein Bürstner. K. not only believed this but felt as well that Fräulein Montag had selected an excellent, albeit two-edged, weapon to accomplish her aim. She exaggerated the importance of the relationship between Fräulein Bürstner and K., and above all the importance of the discussion he sought, while at the same time attempting to twist things around so that K. seemed to be the one exaggerating everything. She would be proved wrong; K. had no desire to exaggerate anything; he knew that Fräulein Bürstner was an ordinary little typist who couldn’t resist him for long. In this connection, he deliberately omitted any consideration of what he had learned about Fräulein Bürstner from Frau Grubach. He was thinking about all this as he left the room with scarcely a nod. He intended to go straight to his room, but a little laugh he heard coming from Fräulein Montag in the dining room gave him an idea that would give both the captain and Fräulein Montag a surprise. He looked around and listened to see if an interruption might be expected from any of the adjoining rooms; it was quiet everywhere; the only sound was the conversation in the dining room and, from the hall leading to the kitchen, Frau Grubach’s voice. It seemed like a good opportunity; K went to Fräulein Bürstner’s door and knocked softly. Since nothing stirred, he knocked again, but there was still no response. Was she asleep? Or was she truly ill? Or just pretending she wasn’t there because she sensed that only K. would knock so softly? K. decided she was pretending and knocked more loudly, and since his knocking went unanswered, finally opened the door cautiously, not without the feeling he was doing something wrong, and pointless as well. There was no one in the room. Moreover it scarcely resembled the room as K. knew it. Two beds were now placed in a row against the wall, three armchairs near the door were piled high with clothes and undergarments, a wardrobe stood open. Fräulein Bürstner had probably departed while Fräulein Montag was talking to K. in the dining room. K. was not particularly thrown by this, he had hardly expected to find Fräulein Bürstner so easily; he had made this attempt largely to spite Fräulein Montag. That, however, made it all the more embarrassing when, as he was reclosing the door, he saw Fräulein Montag and the captain conversing in the open doorway of the dining room. They might have been standing there since the moment K. first opened the door; they avoided any appearance of having been watching K.; they were talking softly and merely followed K.’s movements with occasional glances as people do without thinking in the midst of a conversation. But their glances weighed heavily upon K., and he hurried along the wall to reach his room. 🔗

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PUBLIC PROSECUTOR 🔗