THE TRIAL
Franz Kafka
Translation Copyright © by David Wyllie
Translator contact email: dandelion@post.cz
Chapter One
Arrest--Conversation with Mrs. Grubach--Then Miss Bürstner
Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had done
nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested. Every day at eight in
the morning he was brought his breakfast by Mrs. Grubach's cook--Mrs.
Grubach was his landlady--but today she didn't come. That had never
happened before. K. waited a little while, looked from his pillow at the
old woman who lived opposite and who was watching him with an
inquisitiveness quite unusual for her, and finally, both hungry and
disconcerted, rang the bell. There was immediately a knock at the door
and a man entered. He had never seen the man in this house before. He
was slim but firmly built, his clothes were black and close-fitting,
with many folds and pockets, buckles and buttons and a belt, all of
which gave the impression of being very practical but without making it
very clear what they were actually for. "Who are you?" asked K., sitting
half upright in his bed. The man, however, ignored the question as if
his arrival simply had to be accepted, and merely replied, "You rang?"
"Anna should have brought me my breakfast," said K. He tried to work
out who the man actually was, first in silence, just through
observation and by thinking about it, but the man didn't stay still to
be looked at for very long. Instead he went over to the door, opened it
slightly, and said to someone who was clearly standing immediately
behind it, "He
wants Anna to bring him his breakfast." There was a little laughter in
the neighbouring room, it was not clear from the sound of it whether
there were several people laughing. The strange man could not have
learned anything from it that he hadn't known already, but now he said
to K., as if making his report "It is not possible." "It would be the
first time that's happened," said K., as he jumped out of bed and
quickly pulled on his trousers. "I want to see who that is in the next
room, and why it is that Mrs. Grubach has let me be disturbed in this
way." It immediately occurred to him that he needn't have said this out
loud, and that he must to some extent have acknowledged their authority
by doing so, but that didn't seem important to him at the time. That, at
least, is how the stranger took it, as he said, "Don't you think you'd
better stay where you are?" "I want neither to stay here nor to be
spoken to by you until you've introduced yourself." "I meant it for your
own good," said the stranger and opened the door, this time without
being asked. The next room, which K. entered more slowly than he had
intended, looked at first glance exactly the same as it had the previous
evening. It was Mrs. Grubach's living room, over-filled with furniture,
tablecloths, porcelain and photographs. Perhaps there was a little more
space in there than usual today, but if so it was not immediately
obvious, especially as the main difference was the presence of a man
sitting by the open window with a book from which he now looked up.
"You should have stayed in your room! Didn't Franz tell you?" "And what
is it you want, then?" said K., looking back and forth between this new
acquaintance and the one named Franz, who had remained in the doorway.
Through the open window he noticed the old woman again, who had come
close to the window opposite so that she could continue to see
everything. She was showing an inquisitiveness that really made it seem
like she was going senile. "I want to see Mrs. Grubach ...," said K.,
making a movement as if tearing himself away from the two men--even
though they were standing well away from him--and wanted to go. "No,"
said the man at the window, who threw his book down on a coffee table
and stood up. "You can't go away when you're under arrest." "That's how
it seems," said K. "And why am I under arrest?" he then asked. "That's
something we're not allowed to tell you. Go into your room and wait
there. Proceedings are underway and you'll learn about everything all in
good time. It's not really part of my job to be friendly towards you
like this, but I hope no-one, apart from Franz, will hear about it, and
he's been more friendly towards you than he should have been, under the
rules, himself. If you carry on having as much good luck as you have
been with your arresting officers then you can reckon on things going
well with you." K. wanted to sit down, but then he saw that, apart from
the chair by the window, there was nowhere anywhere in the room where he
could sit. "You'll get the chance to see for yourself how true all this
is," said Franz and both men then walked up to K. They were
significantly bigger than him, especially the second man, who frequently
slapped him on the shoulder. The two of them felt K.'s nightshirt, and
said he would now have to wear one that was of much lower quality, but
that they would keep the nightshirt along with his other underclothes
and return them to him if his case turned out well. "It's better for you
if you give us the things than if you leave them in the storeroom," they
said. "Things have a tendency to go missing in the storeroom, and after
a certain amount of time they sell things off, whether the case involved
has come to an end or not. And cases like this can last a long time,
especially the ones that have been coming up lately. They'd give you the
money they got for them, but it wouldn't be very much as it's not what
they're offered for them when they sell them that counts, it's how much
they get slipped on the side, and things like that lose their value
anyway when they get passed on from hand to hand, year after year." K.
paid hardly any attention to what they were saying, he did not place
much value on what he may have still possessed or on who decided what
happened to them. It was much more important to him to get a clear
understanding of his position, but he could not think clearly while
these people were here, the second policeman's belly--and they could
only be policemen--looked friendly enough, sticking out towards him, but
when K. looked up and saw his dry, bony face it did not seem to fit
with the body. His strong nose twisted to one side as if ignoring K. and
sharing an understanding with the other policeman. What sort of people
were these? What were they talking about? What office did they belong
to? K. was living in a free country, after all, everywhere was at peace,
all laws were decent and were upheld, who was it who dared accost him in
his own home. He was always inclined to take life as lightly as he
could, to cross bridges when he came to them, pay no heed for the
future, even when everything seemed under threat. But here that did not
seem the right thing to do. He could have taken it all as a joke, a big
joke set up by his colleagues at the bank for some unknown reason, or
also perhaps because today was his thirtieth birthday, it was all
possible of course, maybe all he had to do was laugh in the policemen's
face in some way and they would laugh with him, maybe they were
tradesmen from the corner of the street, they looked like they might
be--but he was nonetheless determined, ever since he first caught sight
of the one called Franz, not to lose any slight advantage he might have
had over these people. There was a very slight risk that people would
later say he couldn't understand a joke, but--although he wasn't
normally in the habit of learning from experience--he might also have
had a few unimportant occasions in mind when, unlike his more cautious
friends, he had acted with no thought at all for what might follow and
had been made to suffer for it. He didn't want that to happen again, not
this time at least; if they were play-acting he would act along with
them.
He still had time. "Allow me," he said, and hurried between the two
policemen through into his room. "He seems sensible enough," he heard
them say behind him. Once in his room, he quickly pulled open the drawer
of his writing desk, everything in it was very tidy but in his
agitation he was unable to find the identification documents he was
looking for straight away. He finally found his bicycle permit and was
about to go back to the policemen with it when it seemed to him too
petty, so he carried on searching until he found his birth certificate.
Just as he got back in the adjoining room the door on the other side
opened and Mrs. Grubach was about to enter. He only saw her for an
instant, for as soon as she recognised K. she was clearly embarrassed,
asked for forgiveness and disappeared, closing the door behind her very
carefully. "Do come in," K. could have said just then. But now he stood
in the middle of the room with his papers in his hand and still looking
at the door which did not open again. He stayed like that until he was
startled out of it by the shout of the policeman who sat at the little
table at the open window and, as K. now saw, was eating his breakfast.
"Why didn't she come in?" he asked. "She's not allowed to," said the
big policeman. "You're under arrest, aren't you?" "But how can I be
under arrest? And how come it's like this?" "Now you're starting again,"
said the policeman, dipping a piece of buttered bread in the honeypot.
"We don't answer questions like that." "You will have to answer them,"
said K. "Here are my identification papers, now show me yours and I
certainly want to see the arrest warrant." "Oh, my God!" said the
policeman. "In a position like yours, and you think you can start giving
orders, do you. It won't do you any good to get us on the wrong side,
even if you think it will--we're probably more on your side that anyone
else you know!" "That's true, you know, you'd better believe it," said
Franz, holding a cup of coffee in his hand which he did not lift to his
mouth but looked at K. in a way that was probably meant to be full of
meaning but could not actually be understood. K. found himself, without
intending it, in a mute dialogue with Franz, but then slapped his hand
down on his papers and said, "Here are my identity documents." "And what
do you want us to do about it?" replied the big policeman, loudly. "The
way you're carrying on, it's worse than a child. What is it you want? Do
you want to get this great, bloody trial of yours over with quickly by
talking about ID and arrest warrants with us? We're just coppers, that's
all we are. Junior officers like us hardly know one end of an ID card
from another, all we've got to do with you is keep an eye on you for
ten hours a day and get paid for it. That's all we are. Mind you, what
we can do is make sure that the high officials we work for find out
just what sort of person it is they're going to arrest, and why he
should be arrested, before they issue the warrant. There's no mistake
there. Our authorities as far as I know, and I only know the lowest
grades, don't go out looking for guilt among the public; it's the guilt
that draws them out, like it says in the law, and they have to send us
police officers out. That's the law. Where d'you think there'd be any
mistake there?" "I don't know this law," said K. "So much the worse for
you, then," said the policeman. "It's probably exists only in your
heads," said K., he wanted, in some way, to insinuate his way into the
thoughts of the policemen, to re-shape those thoughts to his benefit or
to make himself at home there. But the policeman just said dismissively,
"You'll find out when it affects you." Franz joined in, and said, "Look
at this, Willem, he admits he doesn't know the law and at the same time
insists he's innocent." "You're quite right, but we can't get him to
understand a thing," said the other. K. stopped talking with them; do I,
he thought to himself, do I really have to carry on getting tangled up
with the chattering of base functionaries like this?--and they admit
themselves that they are of the lowest position. They're talking about
things of which they don't have the slightest understanding, anyway.
It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of
themselves. I just need few words with someone of the same social
standing as myself and everything will be incomparably clearer, much
clearer than a long conversation with these two can make it. He walked
up and down the free space in the room a couple of times, across the
street he could see the old woman who, now, had pulled an old man, much
older than herself, up to the window and had her arms around him. K. had
to put an end to this display, "Take me to your superior," he said. "As
soon as he wants to see you. Not before," said the policeman, the one
called Willem. "And now my advice to you," he added, "is to go into your
room, stay calm, and wait and see what's to be done with you. If you
take our advice, you won't tire yourself out thinking about things to no
purpose, you need to pull yourself together as there's a lot that's
going to required of you. You've not behaved towards us the way we
deserve after being so good to you, you forget that we, whatever we are,
we're still free men and you're not, and that's quite an advantage. But
in spite of all that we're still willing, if you've got the money, to go
and get you some breakfast from the café over the road."
Without giving any answer to this offer, K. stood still for some time.
Perhaps, if he opened the door of the next room or even the front door,
the two of them would not dare to stand in his way, perhaps that would
be the simplest way to settle the whole thing, by bringing it to a head.
But maybe they would grab him, and if he were thrown down on the ground
he would lose all the advantage he, in a certain respect, had over them.
So he decided on the more certain solution, the way things would go in
the natural course of events, and went back in his room without another
word either from him or from the policemen.
He threw himself down on his bed, and from the dressing table he took
the nice apple that he had put there the previous evening for his
breakfast. Now it was all the breakfast he had and anyway, as he
confirmed as soon as he took his first, big bite of it, it was far
better than a breakfast he could have had through the good will of the
policemen from the dirty café. He felt well and confident, he had failed
to go into work at the bank this morning but that could easily be
excused because of the relatively high position he held there. Should he
really send in his explanation? He wondered about it. If nobody believed
him, and in this case that would be understandable, he could bring Mrs.
Grubach in as a witness, or even the old pair from across the street,
who probably even now were on their way over to the window opposite. It
puzzled K., at least it puzzled him looking at it from the policemen's
point of view, that they had made him go into the room and left him
alone there, where he had ten different ways of killing himself. At the
same time, though, he asked himself, this time looking at it from his
own point of view, what reason he could have to do so. Because those two
were sitting there in the next room and had taken his breakfast,
perhaps. It would have been so pointless to kill himself that, even if
he had wanted to, the pointlessness would have made him unable. Maybe,
if the policemen had not been so obviously limited in their mental
abilities, it could have been supposed that they had come to the same
conclusion and saw no danger in leaving him alone because of it. They
could watch now, if they wanted, and see how he went over to the
cupboard in the wall where he kept a bottle of good schnapps, how he
first emptied a glass of it in place of his breakfast and how he then
took a second glassful in order to give himself courage, the last one
just as a precaution for the unlikely chance it would be needed.
Then he was so startled by a shout to him from the other room that he
struck his teeth against the glass. "The supervisor wants to see you!" a
voice said. It was only the shout that startled him, this curt, abrupt,
military shout, that he would not have expected from the policeman
called Franz. In itself, he found the order very welcome. "At last!" he
called back, locked the cupboard and, without delay, hurried into the
next room. The two policemen were standing there and chased him back
into his bedroom as if that were a matter of course. "What d'you think
you're doing?" they cried. "Think you're going to see the supervisor
dressed in just your shirt, do you? He'd see to it you got a right
thumping, and us and all!" "Let go of me for God's sake!" called K., who
had already been pushed back as far as his wardrobe, "if you accost me
when I'm still in bed you can't expect to find me in my evening dress."
"That won't help you," said the policemen, who always became very quiet,
almost sad, when K. began to shout, and in that way confused him or, to
some extent, brought him to his senses. "Ridiculous formalities!" he
grumbled, as he lifted his coat from the chair and kept it in both his
hands for a little while, as if holding it out for the policemen's
inspection. They shook their heads. "It's got to be a black coat,"
they said. At that, K. threw the coat to the floor and said--without
knowing even himself what he meant by it--"Well it's not going to be the
main trial, after all." The policemen laughed, but continued to insist,
"It's got to be a black coat." "Well that's alright by me if it makes
things go any faster," said K. He opened the wardrobe himself, spent a
long time searching through all the clothes, and chose his best black
suit which had a short jacket that had greatly surprised those who knew
him, then he also pulled out a fresh shirt and began, carefully, to get
dressed. He secretly told himself that he had succeeded in speeding
things up by letting the policemen forget to make him have a bath. He
watched them to see if they might remember after all, but of course it
never occurred to them, although Willem did not forget to send Franz up
to the supervisor with the message saying that K. was getting dressed.
Once he was properly dressed, K. had to pass by Willem as he went
through the next room into the one beyond, the door of which was already
wide open. K. knew very well that this room had recently been let to a
typist called 'Miss Bürstner'. She was in the habit of going out to work
very early and coming back home very late, and K. had never exchanged
more than a few words of greeting with her. Now, her bedside table had
been pulled into the middle of the room to be used as a desk for these
proceedings, and the supervisor sat behind it. He had his legs crossed,
and had thrown one arm over the backrest of the chair.
In one corner of the room there were three young people looking at the
photographs belonging to Miss Bürstner that had been put into a piece of
fabric on the wall. Hung up on the handle of the open window was a white
blouse. At the window across the street, there was the old pair again,
although now their number had increased, as behind them, and far taller
than they were, stood a man with an open shirt that showed his chest and
a reddish goatee beard which he squeezed and twisted with his fingers.
"Josef K.?" asked the supervisor, perhaps merely to attract K.'s
attention as he looked round the room. K. nodded. "I daresay you were
quite surprised by all that's been taking place this morning," said the
supervisor as, with both hands, he pushed away the few items on the
bedside table--the candle and box of matches, a book and a pin cushion
which lay there as if they were things he would need for his own
business. "Certainly," said K., and he began to feel relaxed now that,
at last, he stood in front of someone with some sense, someone with whom
he would be able to talk about his situation. "Certainly I'm surprised,
but I'm not in any way very surprised." "You're not very surprised?"
asked the supervisor, as he positioned the candle in the middle of the
table and the other things in a group around it. "Perhaps you don't
quite understand me," K. hurriedly pointed out. "What I mean is ..."
here K. broke off what he was saying and looked round for somewhere to
sit. "I may sit down, mayn't I?" he asked. "That's not usual," the
supervisor answered. "What I mean is ...," said K. without delaying a
second time, "that, yes, I am very surprised but when you've been in the
world for thirty years already and had to make your own way through
everything yourself, which has been my lot, then you become hardened to
surprises and don't take them too hard. Especially not what's happened
today." "Why especially not what's happened today?" "I wouldn't want to
say that I see all of this as a joke, you seem to have gone to too much
trouble making all these arrangements for that. Everyone in the house
must be taking part in it as well as all of you, that would be going
beyond what could be a joke. So I don't want to say that this is a
joke." "Quite right," said the supervisor, looking to see how many
matches were left in the box. "But on the other hand," K. went on,
looking round at everyone there and even wishing he could get the
attention of the three who were looking at the photographs, "on the
other hand this really can't be all that important. That follows from
the fact that I've been indicted, but can't think of the slightest
offence for which I could be indicted. But even that is all beside the
point, the main question is: Who is issuing the indictment? What office
is conducting this affair? Are you officials? None of you is wearing a
uniform, unless what you are wearing"--here he turned towards Franz--"is
meant to be a uniform, it's actually more of a travelling suit. I
require a clear answer to all these questions, and I'm quite sure that
once things have been made clear we can take our leave of each other on
the best of terms." The supervisor slammed the box of matches down on
the table. "You're making a big mistake," he said. "These gentlemen and
I have got nothing to do with your business, in fact we know almost
nothing about you. We could be wearing uniforms as proper and exact as
you like and your situation wouldn't be any the worse for it. As to
whether you're on a charge, I can't give you any sort of clear answer to
that, I don't even know whether you are or not. You're under arrest,
you're quite right about that, but I don't know any more than that.
Maybe these officers have been chit-chatting with you, well if they have
that's all it is, chit-chat. I can't give you an answer to your
questions, but I can give you a bit of advice: You'd better think less
about us and what's going to happen to you, and think a bit more about
yourself. And stop making all this fuss about your sense of innocence;
you don't make such a bad impression, but with all this fuss you're
damaging it. And you ought to do a bit less talking, too. Almost
everything you've said so far has been things we could have taken from
your behaviour, even if you'd said no more than a few words. And what
you have said has not exactly been in your favour."
K. stared at the supervisor. Was this man, probably younger than he was,
lecturing him like a schoolmaster. Was he being punished for his honesty
with a telling off. And was he to learn nothing about the reasons for
his arrest or those who were arresting him. He became somewhat cross and
began to walk up and down. No-one stopped him doing this and he pushed
his sleeves back, felt his chest, straightened his hair, went over to
the three men, said, "It makes no sense," at which these three turned
round to face him and came towards him with serious expressions. He
finally came again to a halt in front of the supervisor's desk. "State
Attorney Hasterer is a good friend of mine," he said, "can I telephone
him?" "Certainly," said the supervisor, "but I don't know what the point
of that will be, I suppose you must have some private matter you want to
discuss with him." "What the point is?" shouted K., more disconcerted
that cross. "Who do you think you are? You want to see some point in it
while you're carrying out something as pointless as it could be. It's
enough to make you cry! These gentlemen first accost me, and now they
sit or stand about in here and let me be hauled up in front of you.
What point there would be, in telephoning a state attorney when I'm
ostensibly under arrest? Very well, I won't make the telephone call."
"You can call him if you want to," said the supervisor, stretching his
hand out towards the outer room where the telephone was, "please, go on,
do make your phone call." "No, I don't want to any more," said K., and
went over to the window. Across the street, the people were still there
at the window, and it was only now that K. had gone up to his window
that they seemed to become uneasy about quietly watching what was going
on. The old couple wanted to get up but the man behind them calmed them
down. "We've got some kind of audience over there," called K. to the
supervisor, quite loudly, as he pointed out with his forefinger. "Go
away," he then called across to them. And the three of them did
immediately retreat a few steps, the old pair even found themselves
behind the man who then concealed them with the breadth of his body and
seemed, going by the movements of his mouth, to be saying something
incomprehensible into the distance. They did not disappear entirely,
though, but seemed to be waiting for the moment when they could come
back to the window without being noticed. "Intrusive, thoughtless
people!" said K. as he turned back into the room. The supervisor may
have agreed with him, at least K. thought that was what he saw from the
corner of his eye. But it was just as possible that he had not even been
listening as he had his hand pressed firmly down on the table and seemed
to be comparing the length of his fingers. The two policemen were
sitting on a chest covered with a coloured blanket, rubbing their knees.
The three young people had put their hands on their hips and were
looking round aimlessly. Everything was still, like in some office that
has been forgotten about. "Now, gentlemen," called out K., and for a
moment it seemed as if he was carrying all of them on his shoulders, "it
looks like your business with me is over with. In my opinion, it's best
now to stop wondering about whether you're proceeding correctly or
incorrectly, and to bring the matter to a peaceful close with a mutual
handshake. If you are of the same opinion, then please...." and he
walked up to the supervisor's desk and held out his hand to him. The
supervisor raised his eyes, bit his lip and looked at K.'s outstretched
hand; K. still believed the supervisor would do as he suggested. But
instead, he stood up, picked up a hard round hat that was laying on
Miss Bürstner's bed and put it carefully onto his head, using both hands
as if trying on a new hat. "Everything seems so simple to you, doesn't
it," he said to K. as he did so, "so you think we should bring the
matter to a peaceful close, do you? No, no, that won't do. Mind you, on
the other hand I certainly wouldn't want you to think there's no hope
for you. No, why should you think that? You're simply under arrest,
nothing more than that. That's what I had to tell you, that's what I've
done and now I've seen how you've taken it. That's enough for one day
and we can take our leave of each other, for the time being at least. I
expect you'll want to go in to the bank now, won't you?" "In to the
bank?" asked K., "I thought I was under arrest." K. said this with a
certain amount of defiance as, although his handshake had not been
accepted, he was feeling more independent of all these people,
especially since the supervisor had stood up. He was playing with them.
If they left, he had decided he would run after them and offer to let
them arrest him. That's why he even repeated, "How can I go in to the
bank when I'm under arrest?" "I see you've misunderstood me," said the
supervisor who was already at the door. "It's true that you're under
arrest, but that shouldn't stop you from carrying out your job. And
there shouldn't be anything to stop you carrying on with your usual
life." "In that case it's not too bad, being under arrest," said K., and
went up close to the supervisor. "I never meant it should be anything
else," he replied. "It hardly seems to have been necessary to notify me
of the arrest in that case," said K., and went even closer. The others
had also come closer. All of them had gathered together into a narrow
space by the door. "That was my duty," said the supervisor. "A silly
duty," said K., unyielding. "Maybe so," replied the supervisor, "only
don't let's waste our time talking on like this. I had assumed you'd be
wanting to go to the bank. As you're paying close attention to every
word I'll add this: I'm not forcing you to go to the bank, I'd just
assumed you wanted to. And to make things easier for you, and to let you
get to the bank with as little fuss as possible I've put these three
gentlemen, colleagues of yours, at your disposal." "What's that?"
exclaimed K., and looked at the three in astonishment. He could only
remember seeing them in their group by the photographs, but these
characterless, anaemic young people were indeed officials from his bank,
not colleagues of his, that was putting it too high and it showed a gap
in the omniscience of the supervisor, but they were nonetheless junior
members of staff at the bank. How could K. have failed to see that? How
occupied he must have been with the supervisor and the policemen not to
have recognised these three! Rabensteiner, with his stiff demeanour and
swinging hands, Kullich, with his blonde hair and deep-set eyes, and
Kaminer, with his involuntary grin caused by chronic muscle spasms.
"Good morning," said K. after a while, extending his hand to the
gentlemen as they bowed correctly to him. "I didn't recognise you at
all. So, we'll go into work now, shall we?" The gentlemen laughed and
nodded enthusiastically, as if that was what they had been waiting for
all the time, except that K. had left his hat in his room so they all
dashed, one after another, into the room to fetch it, which caused a
certain amount of embarrassment. K. stood where he was and watched them
through the open double doorway, the last to go, of course, was the
apathetic Rabensteiner who had broken into no more than an elegant trot.
Kaminer got to the hat and K., as he often had to do at the bank,
forcibly reminded himself that the grin was not deliberate, that he in
fact wasn't able to grin deliberately. At that moment Mrs. Grubach
opened the door from the hallway into the living room where all the
people were. She did not seem to feel guilty about anything at all, and
K., as often before, looked down at the belt of her apron which, for no
reason, cut so deeply into her hefty body. Once downstairs, K., with his
watch in his hand, decided to take a taxi--he had already been delayed
by half an hour and there was no need to make the delay any longer.
Kaminer ran to the corner to summon it, and the two others were making
obvious efforts to keep K. diverted when Kullich pointed to the doorway
of the house on the other side of the street where the large man with
the blonde goatee beard appeared and, a little embarrassed at first at
letting himself be seen in his full height, stepped back to the wall and
leant against it. The old couple were probably still on the stairs. K.
was cross with Kullich for pointing out this man whom he had already
seen himself, in fact whom he had been expecting. "Don't look at him!"
he snapped, without noticing how odd it was to speak to free men in this
way. But there was no explanation needed anyway as just then the taxi
arrived, they sat inside and set off. Inside the taxi, K. remembered
that he had not noticed the supervisor and the policemen leaving--the
supervisor had stopped him noticing the three bank staff and now the
three bank staff had stopped him noticing the supervisor. This showed
that K. was not very attentive, and he resolved to watch himself more
carefully in this respect. Nonetheless, he gave it no thought as he
twisted himself round and leant over onto the rear shelf of the car to
catch sight of the supervisor and the policemen if he could. But he
turned back round straight away and leant comfortably into the corner of
the taxi without even having made the effort to see anyone. Although it
did not seem like it, now was just the time when he needed some
encouragement, but the gentlemen seemed tired just then, Rabensteiner
looked out of the car to the right, Kullich to the left and only Kaminer
was there with his grin at K.'s service. It would have been inhumane to
make fun of that.
That spring, whenever possible, K. usually spent his evenings after
work--he usually stayed in the office until nine o'clock--with a short
walk, either by himself or in the company of some of the bank officials,
and then he would go into a pub where he would sit at the regulars'
table with mostly older men until eleven. There were, however, also
exceptions to this habit, times, for instance, when K. was invited by
the bank's manager (whom he greatly respected for his industry and
trustworthiness) to go with him for a ride in his car or to eat dinner
with him at his large house. K. would also go, once a week, to see a
girl called Elsa who worked as a waitress in a wine bar through the
night until late in the morning. During the daytime she only received
visitors while still in bed.
That evening, though,--the day had passed quickly with a lot of hard
work and many respectful and friendly birthday greetings--K. wanted to
go straight home. Each time he had any small break from the day's work
he considered, without knowing exactly what he had in mind, that Mrs.
Grubach's flat seemed to have been put into great disarray by the events
of that morning, and that it was up to him to put it back into order.
Once order had been restored, every trace of those events would have
been erased and everything would take its previous course once more. In
particular, there was nothing to fear from the three bank officials,
they had immersed themselves back into their paperwork and there was no
alteration to be seen in them. K. had called each of them, separately or
all together, into his office that day for no other reason than to
observe them; he was always satisfied and had always been able to let
them go again.
At half past nine that evening, when he arrived back in front of the
building where he lived, he met a young lad in the doorway who was
standing there, his legs apart and smoking a pipe. "Who are you?"
immediately asked K., bringing his face close to the lad's, as it was
hard to see in the half light of the landing. "I'm the landlord's son,
sir," answered the lad, taking the pipe from his mouth and stepping to
one side. "The landlord's son?" asked K., and impatiently knocked on the
ground with his stick. "Did you want anything, sir? Would you like me
to fetch my father?" "No, no," said K., there was something forgiving
in his voice, as if the boy had harmed him in some way and he was
excusing him. "It's alright," he said then, and went on, but before
going up the stairs he turned round once more.
He could have gone directly to his room, but as he wanted to speak with
Mrs. Grubach he went straight to her door and knocked. She was sat at
the table with a knitted stocking and a pile of old stockings in front
of her. K. apologised, a little embarrassed at coming so late, but Mrs.
Grubach was very friendly and did not want to hear any apology, she was
always ready to speak to him, he knew very well that he was her best and
her favourite tenant. K. looked round the room, it looked exactly as it
usually did, the breakfast dishes, which had been on the table by the
window that morning, had already been cleared away. "A woman's hands
will do many things when no-one's looking," he thought, he might himself
have smashed all the dishes on the spot but certainly would not have
been able to carry it all out. He looked at Mrs. Grubach with some
gratitude. "Why are you working so late?" he asked. They were now both
sitting at the table, and K. now and then sank his hands into the pile
of stockings. "There's a lot of work to do," she said, "during the day I
belong to the tenants; if I'm to sort out my own things there are only
the evenings left to me." "I fear I may have caused you some exceptional
work today." "How do you mean, Mr. K.?" she asked, becoming more
interested and leaving her work in her lap. "I mean the men who were
here this morning." "Oh, I see," she said, and went peacefully back to
what she was doing, "that was no trouble, not especially." K. looked on
in silence as she took up the knitted stocking once more. She seems
surprised at my mentioning it, he thought, she seems to think it's
improper for me to mention it. All the more important for me to do so.
An old woman is the only person I can speak about it with. "But it must
have caused some work for you," he said then, "but it won't happen
again." "No, it can't happen again," she agreed, and smiled at K. in a
way that was almost pained. "Do you mean that seriously?" asked K.
"Yes," she said, more gently, "but the important thing is you mustn't
take it too hard. There are so many awful things happening in the world!
As you're being so honest with me, Mr. K., I can admit to you that I
listened to a little of what was going on from behind the door, and that
those two policemen told me one or two things as well. It's all to do
with your happiness, and that's something that's quite close to my
heart, perhaps more than it should be as I am, after all, only your
landlady. Anyway, so I heard one or two things but I can't really say
that it's about anything very serious. No. You have been arrested, but
it's not in the same way as when they arrest a thief. If you're arrested
in the same way as a thief, then it's bad, but an arrest like this....
It seems to me that it's something very complicated--forgive me if I'm
saying something stupid--something very complicated that I don't
understand, but something that you don't really need to understand
anyway."
"There's nothing stupid about what you've said, Mrs. Grubach, or at
least I partly agree with you, only, the way I judge the whole thing is
harsher than yours, and think it's not only not something complicated
but simply a fuss about nothing. I was just caught unawares, that's what
happened. If I had got up as soon as I was awake without letting myself
get confused because Anna wasn't there, if I'd got up and paid no regard
to anyone who might have been in my way and come straight to you, if I'd
done something like having my breakfast in the kitchen as an exception,
asked you to bring my clothes from my room, in short, if I had behaved
sensibly then nothing more would have happened, everything that was
waiting to happen would have been stifled. People are so often
unprepared. In the bank, for example, I am well prepared, nothing of
this sort could possibly happen to me there, I have my own assistant
there, there are telephones for internal and external calls in front of
me on the desk, I continually receive visits from people,
representatives, officials, but besides that, and most importantly, I'm
always occupied with my work, that's to say I'm always alert, it would
even be a pleasure for me to find myself faced with something of that
sort. But now it's over with, and I didn't really even want to talk
about it any more, only I wanted to hear what you, as a sensible woman,
thought about it all, and I'm very glad to hear that we're in agreement.
But now you must give me your hand, an agreement of this sort needs to
be confirmed with a handshake."
Will she shake hands with me? The supervisor didn't shake hands, he
thought, and looked at the woman differently from before, examining her.
She stood up, as he had also stood up, and was a little self-conscious,
she hadn't been able to understand everything that K. said. As a result
of this self-consciousness she said something that she certainly did
not intend and certainly was not appropriate. "Don't take it so hard,
Mr. K.," she said, with tears in her voice and also, of course,
forgetting the handshake. "I didn't know I was taking it hard," said K.,
feeling suddenly tired and seeing that if this woman did agree with him
it was of very little value.
Before going out the door he asked, "Is Miss Bürstner home?" "No," said
Mrs. Grubach, smiling as she gave this simple piece of information,
saying something sensible at last. "She's at the theatre. Did you want
to see her? Should I give her a message?" "I, er, I just wanted to have
a few words with her." "I'm afraid I don't know when she's coming in;
she usually gets back late when she's been to the theatre." "It really
doesn't matter," said K. his head hanging as he turned to the door to
leave, "I just wanted to give her my apology for taking over her room
today." "There's no need for that, Mr. K., you're too conscientious, the
young lady doesn't know anything about it, she hasn't been home since
early this morning and everything's been tidied up again, you can see
for yourself." And she opened the door to Miss Bürstner's room. "Thank
you, I'll take your word for it," said K., but went nonetheless over to
the open door. The moon shone quietly into the unlit room. As far as
could be seen, everything was indeed in its place, not even the blouse
was hanging on the window handle. The pillows on the bed looked
remarkably plump as they lay half in the moonlight. "Miss Bürstner often
comes home late," said K., looking at Mrs. Grubach as if that were her
responsibility. "That's how young people are!" said Mrs. Grubach to
excuse herself. "Of course, of course," said K., "but it can be taken
too far." "Yes, it can be," said Mrs. Grubach, "you're so right, Mr. K.
Perhaps it is in this case. I certainly wouldn't want to say anything
nasty about Miss Bürstner, she is a good, sweet girl, friendly, tidy,
punctual, works hard, I appreciate all that very much, but one thing is
true, she ought to have more pride, be a bit less forthcoming. Twice
this month already, in the street over the way, I've seen her with a
different gentleman. I really don't like saying this, you're the only
one I've said this to, Mr. K., I swear to God, but I'm going to have no
choice but to have a few words with Miss Bürstner about it myself. And
it's not the only thing about her that I'm worried about." "Mrs.
Grubach, you are on quite the wrong track," said K., so angry that he
was hardly able to hide it, "and you have moreover misunderstood what I
was saying about Miss Bürstner, that is not what I meant. In fact I warn
you quite directly not to say anything to her, you are quite mistaken, I
know Miss Bürstner very well and there is no truth at all in what you
say. And what's more, perhaps I'm going to far, I don't want to get in
your way, say to her whatever you see fit. Good night." "Mr. K.," said
Mrs. Grubach as if asking him for something and hurrying to his door
which he had already opened, "I don't want to speak to Miss Bürstner at
all, not yet, of course I'll continue to keep an eye on her but you're
the only one I've told what I know. And it is, after all something that
everyone who lets rooms has to do if she's to keep the house decent,
that's all I'm trying to do." "Decent!" called out K. through the crack
in the door, "if you want to keep the house decent you'll first have to
give me notice." Then he slammed the door shut, there was a gentle
knocking to which he paid no more attention.
He did not feel at all like going to bed, so he decided to stay up, and
this would also give him the chance to find out when Miss Bürstner would
arrive home. Perhaps it would also still be possible, even if a little
inappropriate, to have a few words with her. As he lay there by the
window, pressing his hands to his tired eyes, he even thought for a
moment that he might punish Mrs. Grubach by persuading Miss Bürstner to
give in her notice at the same time as he would. But he immediately
realised that that would be shockingly excessive, and there would even
be the suspicion that he was moving house because of the incidents of
that morning. Nothing would have been more nonsensical and, above all,
more pointless and contemptible.
When he had become tired of looking out onto the empty street he
slightly opened the door to the living room so that he could see anyone
who entered the flat from where he was and lay down on the couch. He lay
there, quietly smoking a cigar, until about eleven o'clock. He wasn't
able to hold out longer than that, and went a little way into the
hallway as if in that way he could make Miss Bürstner arrive sooner. He
had no particular desire for her, he could not even remember what she
looked like, but now he wanted to speak to her and it irritated him that
her late arrival home meant this day would be full of unease and
disorder right to its very end. It was also her fault that he had not
had any dinner that evening and that he had been unable to visit Elsa
as he had intended. He could still make up for both of those things,
though, if he went to the wine bar where Elsa worked. He wanted to do so
even later, after the discussion with Miss Bürstner.