another step. "They don't show much concern for the public," he said.
"They don't show any concern at all," said the usher, "just look at the
waiting room here." It consisted of a long corridor from which roughly
made doors led out to the separate departments of the attic. There was
no direct source of light but it was not entirely dark as many of the
departments, instead of solid walls, had just wooden bars reaching up to
the ceiling to separate them from the corridor. The light made its way
in through them, and it was also possible to see individual officials
through them as they sat writing at their desks or stood up at the
wooden frameworks and watched the people on the corridor through the
gaps. There were only a few people in the corridor, probably because it
was Sunday. They were not very impressive. They sat, equally spaced, on
two rows of long wooden benches which had been placed along both sides
of the corridor. All of them were carelessly dressed although the
expressions on their faces, their bearing, the style of their beards and
many details which were hard to identify showed that they belonged to
the upper classes. There were no coat hooks for them to use, and so they
had placed their hats under the bench, each probably having followed the
example of the others. When those who were sitting nearest the door saw
K. and the usher of the court they stood up to greet them, and when the
others saw that, they also thought they had to greet them, so that as
the two of them went by all the people there stood up. None of them
stood properly upright, their backs were bowed, their knees bent, they
stood like beggars on the street. K. waited for the usher, who was
following just behind him. "They must all be very dispirited," he said.
"Yes," said the usher, "they are the accused, everyone you see here has
been accused." "Really!" said K. "They're colleagues of mine then." And
he turned to the nearest one, a tall, thin man with hair that was nearly
grey. "What is it you are waiting for here?" asked K., politely, but the
man was startled at being spoken to unexpectedly, which was all the more
pitiful to see because the man clearly had some experience of the world
and elsewhere would certainly have been able to show his superiority and
would not have easily given up the advantage he had acquired. Here,
though, he did not know what answer to give to such a simple question
and looked round at the others as if they were under some obligation to
help him, and as if no-one could expect any answer from him without this
help. Then the usher of the court stepped forward to him and, in order
to calm him down and raise his spirits, said, "The gentleman here's only
asking what it is you're waiting for. You can give him an answer." The
voice of the usher was probably familiar to him, and had a better effect
than K.'s. "I'm ... I'm waiting...." he began, and then came to a halt.
He had clearly chosen this beginning so that he could give a precise
answer to the question, but now he didn't know how to continue. Some of
the others waiting had come closer and stood round the group, the usher
of the court said to them, "Get out the way, keep the gangway free."
They moved back slightly, but not as far as where they had been sitting
before. In the meantime, the man whom K. had first approached had pulled
himself together and even answered him with a smile. "A month ago I made
some applications for evidence to be heard in my case, and I'm waiting
for it to be settled." "You certainly seem to be going to a lot of
effort," said K. "Yes," said the man, "it is my affair after all." "Not
everyone thinks the same way as you do," said K. "I've been indicted as
well but I swear on my soul that I've neither submitted evidence nor
done anything else of the sort. Do you really think that's necessary?"
"I don't really know, exactly," said the man, once more totally unsure
of himself; he clearly thought K. was joking with him and therefore
probably thought it best to repeat his earlier answer in order to avoid
making any new mistakes. With K. looking at him impatiently, he just
said, "as far as I'm concerned, I've applied to have this evidence
heard." "Perhaps you don't believe I've been indicted?" asked K. "Oh,
please, I certainly do," said the man, stepping slightly to one side,
but there was more anxiety in his answer than belief. "You don't believe
me then?" asked K., and took hold of his arm, unconsciously prompted by
the man's humble demeanour, and as if he wanted to force him to believe
him. But he did not want to hurt the man and had only taken hold of him
very lightly. Nonetheless, the man cried out as if K. had grasped him
not with two fingers but with red hot tongs. Shouting in this ridiculous
way finally made K. tired of him, if he didn't believe he was indicted
then so much the better; maybe he even thought K. was a judge. And
before leaving, he held him a lot harder, shoved him back onto the bench
and walked on. "These defendants are so sensitive, most of them," said
the usher of the court. Almost all of those who had been waiting had now
assembled around the man who, by now, had stopped shouting and they
seemed to be asking him lots of precise questions about the incident. K.
was approached by a security guard, identifiable mainly by his sword, of
which the scabbard seemed to be made of aluminium. This greatly
surprised K., and he reached out for it with his hand. The guard had
come because of the shouting and asked what had been happening. The
usher of the court said a few words to try and calm him down but the
guard explained that he had to look into it himself, saluted, and
hurried on, walking with very short steps, probably because of gout.
K. didn't concern himself long with the guard or these people,
especially as he saw a turning off the corridor, about half way along
it on the right hand side, where there was no door to stop him going
that way. He asked the usher whether that was the right way to go, the
usher nodded, and that is the way that K. went. The usher remained
always one or two steps behind K., which he found irritating as in a
place like this it could give the impression that he was being driven
along by someone who had arrested him, so he frequently waited for the
usher to catch up, but the usher always remained behind him. In order to
put an end to his discomfort, K. finally said, "Now that I've seen what
it looks like here, I'd like to go." "You haven't seen everything yet,"
said the usher ingenuously. "I don't want to see everything," said K.,
who was also feeling very tired, "I want to go, what is the way to the
exit?" "You haven't got lost, have you?" asked the usher in amazement,
"you go down this way to the corner, then right down the corridor
straight ahead as far as the door." "Come with me," said K., "show me
the way, I'll miss it, there are so many different ways here." "It's the
only way there is," said the usher, who had now started to sound quite
reproachful, "I can't go back with you again, I've got to hand in my
report, and I've already lost a lot of time because of you as it is."
"Come with me!" K. repeated, now somewhat sharper as if he had finally
caught the usher out in a lie. "Don't shout like that," whispered the
usher, "there's offices all round us here. If you don't want to go back
by yourself come on a bit further with me or else wait here till I've
sorted out my report, then I'll be glad to go back with you again." "No,
no," said K., "I will not wait and you must come with me now." K. had
still not looked round at anything at all in the room where he found
himself, and it was only when one of the many wooden doors all around
him opened that he noticed it. A young woman, probably summoned by the
loudness of K.'s voice, entered and asked, "What is it the gentleman
wants?" In the darkness behind her there was also a man approaching. K.
looked at the usher. He had, after all, said that no-one would take any
notice of K., and now there were two people coming, it only needed a few
and everyone in the office would become aware of him and asking for
explanations as to why he was there. The only understandable and
acceptable thing to say was that he was accused of something and wanted
to know the date of his next hearing, but this was an explanation he did
not want to give, especially as it was not true--he had only come out of
curiosity. Or else, an explanation even less usable, he could say that
he wanted to ascertain that the court was as revolting on the inside as
it was on the outside. And it did seem that he had been quite right in
this supposition, he had no wish to intrude any deeper, he was disturbed
enough by what he had seen already, he was not in the right frame of
mind just then to face a high official such as might appear from behind
any door, and he wanted to go, either with the usher of the court or, if
needs be, alone.
But he must have seemed very odd standing there in silence, and the
young woman and the usher were indeed looking at him as if they thought
he would go through some major metamorphosis any second which they
didn't want to miss seeing. And in the doorway stood the man whom K. had
noticed in the background earlier, he held firmly on to the beam above
the low door swinging a little on the tips of his feet as if becoming
impatient as he watched. But the young woman was the first to recognise
that K.'s behaviour was caused by his feeling slightly unwell, she
brought a chair and asked, "Would you not like to sit down?" K. sat down
immediately and, in order to keep his place better, put his elbows on
the armrests. "You're a little bit dizzy, aren't you?" she asked him.
Her face was now close in front of him, it bore the severe expression
that many young women have just when they're in the bloom of their
youth. "It's nothing for you to worry about," she said, "that's nothing
unusual here, almost everyone gets an attack like that the first time
they come here. This is your first time is it. Yes, it's nothing unusual
then. The sun burns down on the roof and the hot wood makes the air so
thick and heavy. It makes this place rather unsuitable for offices,
whatever other advantages it might offer. But the air is almost
impossible to breathe on days when there's a lot of business, and that's
almost every day. And when you think that there's a lot of washing put
out to dry here as well--and we can't stop the tenants doing that--it's
not surprising you started to feel unwell. But you get used to the air
alright in the end. When you're here for the second or third time you'll
hardly notice how oppressive the air is. Are you feeling any better
now?" K. made no answer, he felt too embarrassed at being put at the
mercy of these people by his sudden weakness, and learning the reason
for feeling ill made him feel not better but a little worse. The girl
noticed it straight away, and to make the air fresher for K., she took a
window pole that was leaning against the wall and pushed open a small
hatch directly above K.'s head that led to the outside. But so much soot
fell in that the girl had to immediately close the hatch again and clean
the soot off K.'s hands with her handkerchief, as K. was too tired to do
that for himself. He would have liked just to sit quietly where he was
until he had enough strength to leave, and the less fuss people made
about him the sooner that would be. But then the girl said, "You can't
stay here, we're in people's way here...." K. looked at her as if to ask
whose way they were impeding. "If you like, I can take you to the sick
room," and turning to the man in the doorway said, "please help me." The
man immediately came over to them, but K. did not want to go to the sick
room, that was just what he wanted to avoid, being led further from
place to place, the further he went the more difficult it must become.
So he said, "I am able to walk now," and stood up, shaking after
becoming used to sitting so comfortably. But then he was unable to stay
upright. "I can't manage it," he said shaking his head, and sat down
again with a sigh. He remembered the usher who, despite everything,
would have been able to lead him out of there but who seemed to have
gone long before. K. looked out between the man and the young woman who
were standing in front of him but was unable to find the usher. "I
think," said the man, who was elegantly dressed and whose appearance was
made especially impressive with a grey waistcoat that had two long,
sharply tailored points, "the gentleman is feeling unwell because of the
atmosphere here, so the best thing, and what he would most prefer, would
be not to take him to the sick room but get him out of the offices
altogether." "That's right," exclaimed K., with such joy that he nearly
interrupted what the man was saying, "I'm sure that'll make me feel
better straight away, I'm really not that weak, all I need is a little
support under my arms, I won't cause you much trouble, it's not such a
long way anyway, lead me to the door and then I'll sit on the stairs for
a while and soon recover, as I don't suffer from attacks like this at
all, I'm surprised at it myself. I also work in an office and I'm quite
used to office air, but here it seems to be too strong, you've said so
yourselves. So please, be so kind as to help me on my way a little, I'm
feeling dizzy, you see, and it'll make me ill if I stand up by myself."
And with that he raised his shoulders to make it easier for the two of
them to take him by the arms.
The man, however, didn't follow this suggestion but just stood there
with his hands in his trouser pockets and laughed out loud. "There, you
see," he said to the girl, "I was quite right. The gentleman is only
unwell here, and not in general." The young woman smiled too, but
lightly tapped the man's arm with the tips of her fingers as if he had
allowed himself too much fun with K. "So what do you think, then?" said
the man, still laughing, "I really do want to lead the gentleman out of
here." "That's alright, then," said the girl, briefly inclining her
charming head. "Don't worry too much about him laughing," said the girl
to K., who had become unhappy once more and stared quietly in front of
himself as if needing no further explanation. "This gentleman--may I
introduce you?"--(the man gave his permission with a wave of the
hand)--"so, this gentleman's job is to give out information. He gives
all the information they need to people who are waiting, as our court
and its offices are not very well known among the public he gets asked
for quite a lot. He has an answer for every question, you can try him
out if you feel like it. But that's not his only distinction, his other
distinction is his elegance of dress. We, that's to say all of us who
work in the offices here, we decided that the information-giver would
have to be elegantly dressed as he continually has to deal with the
litigants and he's the first one they meet, so he needs to give a
dignified first impression. The rest of us I'm afraid, as you can see
just by looking at me, dress very badly and old-fashioned; and there's
not much point in spending much on clothes anyway, as we hardly ever
leave the offices, we even sleep here. But, as I said, we decided that
the information-giver would have to have nice clothes. As the management
here is rather peculiar in this respect, and they would get them for us,
we had a collection--some of the litigants contributed too--and bought
him these lovely clothes and some others besides. So everything would be
ready for him to give a good impression, except that he spoils it again
by laughing and frightening people." "That's how it is," said the man,
mocking her, "but I don't understand why it is that you're explaining
all our intimate facts to the gentleman, or rather why it is that you're
pressing them on him, as I'm sure he's not all interested. Just look at
him sitting there, it's clear he's occupied with his own affairs." K.
just did not feel like contradicting him. The girl's intention may have
been good, perhaps she was under instructions to distract him or to give
him the chance to collect himself, but the attempt had not worked. "I
had to explain to him why you were laughing," said the girl. "I suppose
it was insulting." "I think he would forgive even worse insults if I
finally took him outside." K. said nothing, did not even look up, he
tolerated the two of them negotiating over him like an object, that was
even what suited him best. But suddenly he felt the information-giver's
hand on one arm and the young woman's hand on the other. "Up you get
then, weakling," said the information-giver. "Thank you both very much,"
said K., pleasantly surprised, as he slowly rose and personally guided
these unfamiliar hands to the places where he most needed support. As
they approached the corridor, the girl said quietly into K.'s ear, "I
must seem to think it's very important to show the information-giver in
a good light, but you shouldn't doubt what I say, I just want to say the
truth. He isn't hard-hearted. It's not really his job to help litigants
outside if they're unwell but he's doing it anyway, as you can see. I
don't suppose any of us is hard-hearted, perhaps we'd all like to be
helpful, but working for the court offices it's easy for us to give the
impression we are hard-hearted and don't want to help anyone. It makes
me quite sad." "Would you not like to sit down here a while?" asked the
information-giver, there were already in the corridor and just in front
of the defendant whom K. had spoken to earlier. K. felt almost ashamed
to be seen by him, earlier he had stood so upright in front of him and
now he had to be supported by two others, his hat was held up by the
information-giver balanced on outstretched fingers, his hair was
dishevelled and hung down onto the sweat on his forehead. But the
defendant seemed to notice nothing of what was going on and just stood
there humbly, as if wanting to apologise to the information-giver for
being there. The information-giver looked past him. "I know," he said,
"that my case can't be settled today, not yet, but I've come in anyway,
I thought, I thought I could wait here anyway, it's Sunday today, I've
got plenty of time, and I'm not disturbing anyone here." "There's no
need to be so apologetic," said the information-giver, "it's very
commendable for you to be so attentive. You are taking up space here
when you don't need to but as long as you don't get in my way I will do
nothing to stop you following the progress of your case as closely as
you like. When one has seen so many people who shamefully neglect their
cases one learns to show patience with people like you. Do sit down."
"He's very good with the litigants," whispered the girl. K. nodded, but
started to move off again when the information-giver repeated, "Would
you not like to sit down here a while?" "No," said K., "I don't want to
rest." He had said that as decisively as he could, but in fact it would
have done him a lot of good to sit down. It was as if he were suffering
sea-sickness. He felt as if he were on a ship in a rough sea, as if the
water were hitting against the wooden walls, a thundering from the
depths of the corridor as if the torrent were crashing over it, as if
the corridor were swaying and the waiting litigants on each side of it
rising and sinking. It made the calmness of the girl and the man leading
him all the more incomprehensible. He was at their mercy, if they let go
of him he would fall like a board. Their little eyes glanced here and
there, K. could feel the evenness of their steps but could not do the
same, as from step to step he was virtually being carried. He finally
noticed they were speaking to him but he did not understand them, all he
heard was a noise that filled all the space and through which there
seemed to be an unchanging higher note sounding, like a siren. "Louder,"
he whispered with his head sunk low, ashamed at having to ask them to
speak louder when he knew they had spoken loudly enough, even if it had
been, for him, incomprehensible. At last, a draught of cool air blew in
his face as if a gap had been torn out in the wall in front of him, and
next to him he heard someone say, "First he says he wants to go, and
then you can tell him a hundred times that this is the way out and he
doesn't move." K. became aware that he was standing in front of the way
out, and that the young woman had opened the door. It seemed to him that
all his strength returned to him at once, and to get a foretaste of
freedom he stepped straight on to one of the stairs and took his leave
there of his companions, who bowed to him. "Thank you very much," he
repeated, shook their hands once more and did not let go until he
thought he saw that they found it hard to bear the comparatively fresh
air from the stairway after being so long used to the air in the
offices. They were hardly able to reply, and the young woman might even
have fallen over if K. had not shut the door extremely fast. K. then
stood still for a while, combed his hair with the help of a pocket
mirror, picked up his hat from the next stair--the information-giver
must have thrown it down there--and then he ran down the steps so fresh
and in such long leaps that the contrast with his previous state nearly
frightened him. His normally sturdy state of health had never prepared
him for surprises such as this. Did his body want to revolt and cause
him a new trial as he was bearing the old one with such little effort?
He did not quite reject the idea that he should see a doctor the next
time he had the chance, but whatever he did--and this was something on
which he could advise himself--he wanted to spend all Sunday mornings in
future better than he had spent this one.
Chapter Four
Miss Bürstner's Friend
For some time after this, K. found it impossible to exchange even just a
few words with Miss Bürstner. He tried to reach her in many and various
ways but she always found a way to avoid it. He would come straight home
from the office, remain in her room without the light on, and sit on the
sofa with nothing more to distract him than keeping watch on the empty
hallway. If the maid went by and closed the door of the apparently empty
room he would get up after a while and open it again. He got up an hour
earlier than usual in the morning so that he might perhaps find Miss
Bürstner alone as she went to the office. But none of these efforts
brought any success. Then he wrote her a letter, both to the office and
the flat, attempting once more to justify his behaviour, offered to make
whatever amends he could, promised never to cross whatever boundary she
might set him and begged merely to have the chance to speak to her some
time, especially as he was unable to do anything with Mrs. Grubach
either until he had spoken with Miss Bürstner, he finally informed her
that the following Sunday he would stay in his room all day waiting for
a sign from her that there was some hope of his request being fulfilled,
or at least that she would explain to him why she could not fulfil it
even though he had promised to observe whatever stipulations she might
make. The letters were not returned, but there was no answer either.
However, on the following Sunday there was a sign that seemed clear
enough. It was still early when K. noticed, through the keyhole, that
there was an unusual level of activity in the hallway which soon abated.
A French teacher, although she was German and called Montag, a pale and
febrile girl with a slight limp who had previously occupied a room of
her own, was moving into Miss Bürstner's room. She could be seen
shuffling through the hallway for several hours, there was always
another piece of clothing or a blanket or a book that she had forgotten
and had to be fetched specially and brought into the new home.
When Mrs. Grubach brought K. his breakfast--ever since the time when she
had made K. so cross she didn't trust the maid to do the slightest
job--he had no choice but to speak to her, for the first time in five
days. "Why is there so much noise in the hallway today?" he asked as she
poured his coffee out, "Can't something be done about it? Does this
clearing out have to be done on a Sunday?" K. did not look up at Mrs.
Grubach, but he saw nonetheless that she seemed to feel some relief as
she breathed in. Even sharp questions like this from Mr. K. she
perceived as forgiveness, or as the beginning of forgiveness. "We're not
clearing anything out, Mr. K.," she said, "it's just that Miss Montag is
moving in with Miss Bürstner and is moving her things across." She said
nothing more, but just waited to see how K. would take it and whether he
would allow her to carry on speaking. But K. kept her in uncertainty,
took the spoon and pensively stirred his coffee while he remained
silent. Then he looked up at her and said, "What about the suspicions
you had earlier about Miss Bürstner, have you given them up?" "Mr. K.,"
called Mrs. Grubach, who had been waiting for this very question, as she
put her hands together and held them out towards him. "I just made a
chance remark and you took it so badly. I didn't have the slightest
intention of offending anyone, not you or anyone else. You've known me
for long enough, Mr. K., I'm sure you're convinced of that. You don't
know how I've been suffering for the past few days! That I should tell
lies about my tenants! And you, Mr. K., you believed it! And said I
should give you notice! Give you notice!" At this last outcry, Mrs.
Grubach was already choking back her tears, she raised her apron to her
face and blubbered out loud.