hardly turned towards the door, he had left it completely up to the
painter whether and how he would place him under his protection if he
wanted to. Even now, he made hardly any movement as the painter bent
over him and, whispering into his ear in order not to be heard outside,
said, "These girls belong to the court as well." "How's that?" asked
K., as he leant his head to one side and looked at the painter. But the
painter sat back down on his chair and, half in jest, half in
explanation, "Well, everything belongs to the court." "That is
something I had never noticed until now," said K. curtly, this general
comment of the painter's made his comment about the girls far less
disturbing. Nonetheless, K. looked for a while at the door, behind which
the girls were now sitting quietly on the steps. Except, that one of
them had pushed a drinking straw through a crack between the planks and
was moving it slowly up and down. "You still don't seem to have much
general idea of what the court's about," said the painter, who had
stretched his legs wide apart and was tapping loudly on the floor with
the tip of his foot. "But as you're innocent you won't need it anyway.
I'll get you out of this by myself." "How do you intend to do that?"
asked K. "You did say yourself not long ago that it's quite impossible
to go to the court with reasons and proofs." "Only impossible for
reasons and proofs you take to the court yourself," said the painter,
raising his forefinger as if K. had failed to notice a fine distinction.
"It goes differently if you try to do something behind the public court,
that's to say in the consultation rooms, in the corridors or here, for
instance, in my studio." K. now began to find it far easier to believe
what the painter was saying, or rather it was largely in agreement with
what he had also been told by others. In fact it was even quite
promising. If it really was so easy to influence the judges through
personal contacts as the lawyer had said then the painter's contacts
with these vain judges was especially important, and at the very least
should not be undervalued. And the painter would fit in very well in the
circle of assistants that K. was slowly gathering around himself. He had
been noted at the bank for his talent in organising, here, where he was
placed entirely on his own resources, would be a good opportunity to
test that talent to its limits. The painter observed the effect his
explanation had had on K. and then, with a certain unease, said, "Does
it not occur to you that the way I'm speaking is almost like a lawyer?
It's the incessant contact with the gentlemen of the court has that
influence on me. I gain a lot by it, of course, but I lose a lot,
artistically speaking." "How did you first come into contact with the
judges, then?" asked K., he wanted first to gain the painter's trust
before he took him into his service. "That was very easy," said the
painter, "I inherited these contacts. My father was court painter before
me. It's a position that's always inherited. They can't use new people
for it, the rules governing how the various grades of officials are
painted are so many and varied, and, above all, so secret that no-one
outside of certain families even knows them. In the drawer there, for
instance, I've got my father's notes, which I don't show to anyone. But
you're only able to paint judges if you know what they say. Although,
even if I lost them no-one could ever dispute my position because of all
the rules I just carry round in my head. All the judges want to be
painted like the old, great judges were, and I'm the only one who can do
that." "You are to be envied," said K., thinking of his position at the
bank. "Your position is quite unassailable, then?" "Yes, quite
unassailable," said the painter, and he raised his shoulders in pride.
"That's how I can even afford to help some poor man facing trial now and
then." "And how do you do that?" asked K., as if the painter had not
just described him as a poor man. The painter did not let himself be
distracted, but said, "In your case, for instance, as you're totally
innocent, this is what I'll do." The repeated mention of K.'s innocence
was becoming irksome to him. It sometimes seemed to him as if the
painter was using these comments to make a favourable outcome to the
trial a precondition for his help, which of course would make the help
itself unnecessary. But despite these doubts K. forced himself not to
interrupt the painter. He did not want to do without the painter's help,
that was what he had decided, and this help did not seem in any way less
questionable than that of the lawyer. K. valued the painter's help far
more highly because it was offered in a way that was more harmless and
open.
The painter had pulled his seat closer to the bed and continued in a
subdued voice: "I forgot to ask you: what sort of acquittal is it you
want. There are three possibilities: absolute acquittal, apparent
acquittal and deferment. Absolute acquittal is the best, of course,
only there's nothing I could do to get that sort of outcome. I don't
think there's anyone at all who could do anything to get an absolute
acquittal. Probably the only thing that could do that is if the accused
is innocent. As you are innocent it could actually be possible and you
could depend on your innocence alone. In that case you won't need me or
any other kind of help."