thought of the day ahead of him, arrived early at seven o'clock in the
office so that he could at least do some work before his visitor would
prevent him. He had spent half the night studying a book of Italian
grammar so that he would be somewhat prepared and was very tired; his
desk was less attractive to him than the window where he had spent far
too much time sitting of late, but he resisted the temptation and sat
down to his work. Unfortunately, just then the servitor came in and
reported that the director had sent him to see whether the chief clerk
was already in his office; if he was, then would he please be so kind
as to come to his reception room as the gentleman from Italy was
already there. "I'll come straight away," said K. He put a small
dictionary in his pocket, took a guide to the city's tourist sites
under his arm that he had compiled for strangers, and went through the
deputy director's office into that of the director. He was glad he had
come into the office so early and was able to be of service
immediately, nobody could seriously have expected that of him. The
deputy director's office was, of course, still as empty as the middle
of the night, the servitor had probably been asked to summon him too
but without success. As K. entered the reception room two men stood up
from the deep armchairs where they had been sitting. The director gave
him a friendly smile, he was clearly very glad that K. was there, he
immediately introduced him to the Italian who shook K.'s hand
vigorously and joked that somebody was an early riser. K. did not quite
understand whom he had in mind, it was moreover an odd expression to use
and it took K. a little while to guess its meaning. He replied with a
few bland phrases which the Italian received once more with a laugh,
passing his hand nervously and repeatedly over his blue-grey, bushy
moustache. This moustache was obviously perfumed, it was almost tempting
to come close to it and sniff. When they had all sat down and begun a
light preliminary conversation, K. was disconcerted to notice that he
understood no more than fragments of what the Italian said. When he
spoke very calmly he understood almost everything, but that was very
infrequent, mostly the words gushed from his mouth and he seemed to be
enjoying himself so much his head shook. When he was talking in this
way his speech was usually wrapped up in some kind of dialect which
seemed to K. to have nothing to do with Italian but which the director
not only understood but also spoke, although K. ought to have foreseen
this as the Italian came from the south of his country where the
director had also spent several years. Whatever the cause, K. realised
that the possibility of communicating with the Italian had been largely
taken from him, even his French was difficult to understand, and his
moustache concealed the movements of his lips which might have offered
some help in understanding what he said. K. began to anticipate many
difficulties, he gave up trying to understand what the Italian
said--with the director there, who could understand him so easily, it
would have been pointless effort--and for the time being did no more
than scowl at the Italian as he relaxed sitting deep but comfortable in
the armchair, as he frequently pulled at his short, sharply tailored
jacket and at one time lifted his arms in the air and moved his hands
freely to try and depict something that K. could not grasp, even though
he was leaning forward and did not let the hands out of his sight. K.
had nothing to occupy himself but mechanically watch the exchange
between the two men and his tiredness finally made itself felt, to his
alarm, although fortunately in good time, he once caught himself nearly
getting up, turning round and leaving. Eventually the Italian looked at
the clock and jumped up. After taking his leave from the director he
turned to K., pressing himself so close to him that K. had to push his
chair back just so that he could move. The director had, no doubt, seen
the anxiety in K.'s eyes as he tried to cope with this dialect of
Italian, he joined in with this conversation in a way that was so
adroit and unobtrusive that he seemed to be adding no more than minor
comments, whereas in fact he was swiftly and patiently breaking into
what the Italian said so that K. could understand. K. learned in this
way that the Italian first had a few business matters to settle, that
he unfortunately had only a little time at his disposal, that he
certainly did not intend to rush round to see every monument in the
city, that he would much rather--at least as long as K. would agree, it
was entirely his decision--just see the cathedral and to do so
thoroughly. He was extremely pleased to be accompanied by someone who
was so learned and so pleasant--by this he meant K., who was occupied
not with listening to the Italian but the director--and asked if he
would be so kind, if the time was suitable, to meet him in the cathedral
in two hours' time at about ten o'clock. He hoped he would certainly be
able to be there at that time. K. made an appropriate reply, the Italian
shook first the director's hand and then K.'s, then the director's again
and went to the door, half turned to the two men who followed him and
continuing to talk without a break. K. remained together with the
director for a short while, although the director looked especially
unhappy today. He thought he needed to apologise to K. for something and
told him--they were standing intimately close together--he had thought
at first he would accompany the Italian himself, but then--he gave no
more precise reason than this--then he decided it would be better to
send K. with him. He should not be surprised if he could not understand
the Italian at first, he would be able to very soon, and even if he
really could not understand very much he said it was not so bad, as it
was really not so important for the Italian to be understood. And
anyway, K.'s knowledge of Italian was surprisingly good, the director
was sure he would get by very well. And with that, it was time for K. to
go. He spent the time still remaining to him with a dictionary, copying
out obscure words he would need to guide the Italian round the
cathedral. It was an extremely irksome task, servitors brought him the
mail, bank staff came with various queries and, when they saw that K.
was busy, stood by the door and did not go away until he had listened to
them, the deputy director did not miss the opportunity to disturb K. and
came in frequently, took the dictionary from his hand and flicked
through its pages, clearly for no purpose, when the door to the
ante-room opened even clients would appear from the half-darkness and
bow timidly to him--they wanted to attract his attention but were not
sure whether he had seen them--all this activity was circling around K.
with him at its centre while he compiled the list of words he would
need, then looked them up in the dictionary, then wrote them out, then
practised their pronunciation and finally tried to learn them by heart.
The good intentions he had had earlier, though, seemed to have left him
completely, it was the Italian who had caused him all this effort and
sometimes he became so angry with him that he buried the dictionary
under some papers firmly intending to do no more preparation, but then
he realised he could not walk up and down in the cathedral with the
Italian without saying a word, so, in an even greater rage, he pulled
the dictionary back out again.
At exactly half past nine, just when he was about to leave, there was a
telephone call for him, Leni wished him good morning and asked how he
was, K. thanked her hurriedly and told her it was impossible for him to
talk now as he had to go to the cathedral. "To the cathedral?" asked
Leni. "Yes, to the cathedral." "What do you have to go to the cathedral
for?" said Leni. K. tried to explain it to her briefly, but he had
hardly begun when Leni suddenly said, "They're harassing you." One
thing that K. could not bear was pity that he had not wanted or
expected, he took his leave of her with two words, but as he put the
receiver back in its place he said, half to himself and half to the
girl on the other end of the line who could no longer hear him, "Yes,
they're harassing me."
By now the time was late and there was almost a danger he would not be
on time. He took a taxi to the cathedral, at the last moment he had
remembered the album that he had had no opportunity to give to the
Italian earlier and so took it with him now. He held it on his knees
and drummed impatiently on it during the whole journey. The rain had
eased off slightly but it was still damp, chilly and dark, it would be
difficult to see anything in the cathedral but standing about on cold
flagstones might well make K.'s chill much worse. The square in front
of the cathedral was quite empty, K. remembered how even as a small
child he had noticed that nearly all the houses in this narrow square
had the curtains at their windows closed most of the time, although
today, with the weather like this, it was more understandable. The
cathedral also seemed quite empty, of course no-one would think of
going there on a day like this. K. hurried along both the side naves
but saw no-one but an old woman who, wrapped up in a warm shawl, was
kneeling at a picture of the Virgin Mary and staring up at it. Then, in
the distance, he saw a church official who limped away through a
doorway in the wall. K. had arrived on time, it had struck ten just as
he was entering the building, but the Italian still was not there. K.
went back to the main entrance, stood there indecisively for a while,
and then walked round the cathedral in the rain in case the Italian was
waiting at another entrance. He was nowhere to be found. Could the
director have misunderstood what time they had agreed on? How could
anyone understand someone like that properly anyway? Whatever had
happened, K. would have to wait for him for at least half an hour. As
he was tired he wanted to sit down, he went back inside the cathedral,
he found something like a small carpet on one of the steps, he moved it
with his foot to a nearby pew, wrapped himself up tighter in his coat,
put the collar up and sat down. To pass the time he opened the album
and flicked through the pages a little but soon had to give up as it
became so dark that when he looked up he could hardly make out anything
in the side nave next to him.
In the distance there was a large triangle of candles flickering on the
main altar, K. was not certain whether he had seen them earlier.
Perhaps they had only just been lit. Church staff creep silently as
part of their job, you don't notice them. When K. happened to turn
round he also saw a tall, stout candle attached to a column not far
behind him. It was all very pretty, but totally inadequate to illuminate
the pictures which were usually left in the darkness of the side
altars, and seemed to make the darkness all the deeper. It was
discourteous of the Italian not to come but it was also sensible of him,
there would have been nothing to see, they would have had to content
themselves with seeking out a few pictures with K.'s electric pocket
torch and looking at them one small part at a time. K. went over to a
nearby side chapel to see what they could have hoped for, he went up a
few steps to a low marble railing and leant over it to look at the altar
picture by the light of his torch. The eternal light hung disturbingly
in front of it. The first thing that K. partly saw and partly guessed at
was a large knight in armour who was shown at the far edge of the
painting. He was leaning on his sword that he had stuck into the naked
ground in front of him where only a few blades of grass grew here and
there. He seemed to be paying close attention to something that was
being played out in front of him. It was astonishing to see how he stood
there without going any closer. Perhaps it was his job to stand guard.
It was a long time since K. had looked at any pictures and he studied
the knight for a long time even though he had continually to blink as
he found it difficult to bear the green light of his torch. Then when
he moved the light to the other parts of the picture he found an
interment of Christ shown in the usual way, it was also a comparatively
new painting. He put his torch away and went back to his place.
There seemed to be no point in waiting for the Italian any longer, but
outside it was certainly raining heavily, and as it was not so cold in
the cathedral as K. had expected he decided to stay there for the time
being. Close by him was the great pulpit, there were two plain golden
crosses attached to its little round roof which were lying almost flat
and whose tips crossed over each other. The outside of the pulpit's
balustrade was covered in green foliage which continued down to the
column supporting it, little angels could be seen among the leaves,
some of them lively and some of them still. K. walked up to the pulpit
and examined it from all sides, its stonework had been sculpted with
great care, it seemed as if the foliage had trapped a deep darkness
between and behind its leaves and held it there prisoner, K. lay his
hand in one of these gaps and cautiously felt the stone, until then he
had been totally unaware of this pulpit's existence. Then K. happened
to notice one of the church staff standing behind the next row of pews,
he wore a loose, creased, black cassock, he held a snuff box in his
left hand and he was watching K. Now what does he want? thought K. Do I
seem suspicious to him? Does he want a tip? But when the man in the
cassock saw that K. had noticed him he raised his right hand, a pinch
of snuff still held between two fingers, and pointed in some vague
direction. It was almost impossible to understand what this behaviour
meant, K. waited a while longer but the man in the cassock did not stop
gesturing with his hand and even augmented it by nodding his head. "Now
what does he want?" asked K. quietly, he did not dare call out loud
here; but then he drew out his purse and pushed his way through the
nearest pews to reach the man. He, however, immediately gestured to
turn down this offer, shrugged his shoulders and limped away. As a child
K. had imitated riding on a horse with the same sort of movement as
this limp. "This old man is like a child," thought K., "he doesn't have
the sense for anything more than serving in a church. Look at the way
he stops when I stop, and how he waits to see whether I'll continue."
With a smile, K. followed the old man all the way up the side nave and
almost as far as the main altar, all this time the old man continued to
point at something but K. deliberately avoided looking round, he was
only pointing in order to make it harder for K. to follow him.
Eventually, K. did stop following, he did not want to worry the old man
too much, and he also did not want to frighten him away completely in
case the Italian turned up after all.
When he entered the central nave to go back to where he had left the
album, he noticed a small secondary pulpit on a column almost next to
the stalls by the altar where the choir sat. It was very simple, made
of plain white stone, and so small that from a distance it looked like
an empty niche where the statue of a saint ought to have been. It
certainly would have been impossible for the priest to take a full step
back from the balustrade, and, although there was no decoration on it,
the top of the pulpit curved in exceptionally low so that a man of
average height would not be able stand upright and would have to remain
bent forward over the balustrade. In all, it looked as if it had been
intended to make the priest suffer, it was impossible to understand why
this pulpit would be needed as there were also the other ones available
which were large and so artistically decorated.
And K. would certainly not have noticed this little pulpit if there had
not been a lamp fastened above it, which usually meant there was a
sermon about to be given. So was a sermon to be given now? In this
empty church? K. looked down at the steps which, pressed close against
the column, led up to the pulpit. They were so narrow they seemed to be
there as decoration on the column rather than for anyone to use. But
under the pulpit--K. grinned in astonishment--there really was a priest
standing with his hand on the handrail ready to climb the steps and
looking at K. Then he nodded very slightly, so that K. crossed himself
and genuflected as he should have done earlier. With a little swing,
the priest went up into the pulpit with short fast steps. Was there
really a sermon about to begin? Maybe the man in the cassock had not
been really so demented, and had meant to lead K.'s way to the
preacher, which in this empty church would have been very necessary.
And there was also, somewhere in front of a picture of the Virgin Mary,
an old woman who should have come to hear the sermon. And if there was
to be a sermon why had it not been introduced on the organ? But the
organ remained quiet and merely looked out weakly from the darkness of
its great height.
K. now considered whether he should leave as quickly as possible, if he
did not do it now there would be no chance of doing so during the
sermon and he would have to stay there for as long as it lasted, he had
lost so much time when he should have been in his office, there had
long been no need for him to wait for the Italian any longer, he looked
at his watch, it was eleven. But could there really be a sermon given?
Could K. constitute the entire congregation? How could he when he was
just a stranger who wanted to look at the church? That, basically, was
all he was. The idea of a sermon, now, at eleven o'clock, on a workday,
in hideous weather, was nonsense. The priest--there was no doubt that
he was a priest, a young man with a smooth, dark face--was clearly
going up there just to put the lamp out after somebody had lit it by
mistake.
But there had been no mistake, the priest seemed rather to check that
the lamp was lit and turned it a little higher, then he slowly turned
to face the front and leant down on the balustrade gripping its angular
rail with both hands. He stood there like that for a while and, without
turning his head, looked around. K. had moved back a long way and leant
his elbows on the front pew. Somewhere in the church--he could not have
said exactly where--he could make out the man in the cassock hunched
under his bent back and at peace, as if his work were completed. In the
cathedral it was now very quiet! But K. would have to disturb that
silence, he had no intention of staying there; if it was the priest's
duty to preach at a certain time regardless of the circumstances then
he could, and he could do it without K.'s taking part, and K.'s
presence would do nothing to augment the effect of it. So K. began
slowly to move, felt his way on tiptoe along the pew, arrived at the
broad aisle and went along it without being disturbed, except for the
sound of his steps, however light, which rang out on the stone floor
and resounded from the vaulting, quiet but continuous at a repeating,
regular pace. K. felt slightly abandoned as, probably observed by the
priest, he walked by himself between the empty pews, and the size of
the cathedral seemed to be just at the limit of what a man could bear.
When he arrived back at where he had been sitting he did not hesitate
but simply reached out for the album he had left there and took it with
him. He had nearly left the area covered by pews and was close to the
empty space between himself and the exit when, for the first time, he
heard the voice of the priest. A powerful and experienced voice. It
pierced through the reaches of the cathedral ready waiting for it! But
the priest was not calling out to the congregation, his cry was quite
unambiguous and there was no escape from it, he called "Josef K.!"