The Castle (41 page)

Hereupon a great muttering began in the other rooms, which seemed to indicate approval, the gentleman seemed to be doing something that all would have liked to do long ago and only for some unknown reason had had to leave undone.

Was it perhaps attendance, perhaps Frieda for whom the gentleman was ringing?

If that was so, he could go on ringing for a long time. For Frieda was busy wrapping Jeremiah up in wet sheets, and even supposing he were well again by now, she had no time, for then she was in his arms.

But the ringing of the bell did instantly have an effect. Even now the landlord of the Herrenhof himself came hastening along from far off, dressed in black and buttoned up as always. But it was as though he were forgetful of his dignity, he was in such a hurry.

His arms were half outspread, just as if he had been called on account of some great disaster and were coming in order to take hold of it and instantly smother it against his chest, and at every little irregularity in the ringing he seemed briefly to leap into the air and hurry on faster still.

Now his wife also appeared, a considerable distance behind him, she too running with outspread arms, but her steps were short and affected, and K. thought to himself that she would come too late, the landlord would in the meantime have done all that was necessary.

And in order to make room for the landlord as he ran K. stood close back against the wall. But the landlord stopped straight in front of K., as though K. were his goal, and the next instant the landlady was there too, and both overwhelmed him with reproaches, which in the suddenness and surprise of it he did not understand, especially since the ringing of the gentleman's bell was also mixed up with it and other bells also began ringing, now no longer indicating a state of emergency, but only for fun and in excess of delight. Because he was very much concerned to understand exactly what his fault was, K.

was entirely in agreement with the landlord's taking him by the arm and walked away with him out of this uproar, which was continually increasing, for behind them - K. did not turn round at all, because the landlord, and even more, on the other side, the landlady, was talking to him urgently - the doors were now opening wide, the passage was becoming animated, traffic seemed to be beginning there as in a lively narrow little alley, the doors ahead of them were evidently waiting impatiently for K. to go past them at long last so that they could release the gentlemen, and in the midst of all this, pressed again and again, the bells kept on ringing as though celebrating a victory.

Now at last - they were by now again in the quiet white courtyard, where some sledges were waiting - K. gradually learnt what it was all about.

Neither the landlord nor the landlady could understand how K. could have dared to do such a thing.

But what had he done?

K. asked time and again, but for a long time could not get any answer because his guilt was all too much a matter of course to the two of them and hence it simply did not occur to them that he asked in good faith. Only very slowly did K. realize how everything stood. He had had no right to be in the passage. In general it was at best the taproom, and this only by way of privilege and subject to revocation, to which he had entry. If he was summoned by one of the gentlemen, he had, of course, to appear in the place to which he was summoned, but had to remain always aware - surely he at least had some ordinary common sense? - that he was in a place where he actually did not belong, a place whither he had only been summoned by one of the gentlemen, and that with extreme reluctance and only because it was necessitated by official business.

It was up to him, therefore, to appear quickly, to submit to the interrogation, then, however, to disappear again, if possible even more quickly.

Had he then not had any feeling at all of the grave impropriety of being there in the passage?

But if he had had it, how had he brought himself to roam about there like cattle at pasture?

Had he not been summoned to attend a night interrogation and did He not know why the night interrogations had been introduced?

The night interrogations - and here K. was given a new explanation of their meaning -

had after all only the purpose of examining applicants. The sight of whom by day would be able to the gentlemen, and this quickly, at night, with the possibility of, immediately after the unendurable artificial interrogation, forgetting all the ugliness of it in sleep. K.'s behaviour, however, had been a mockery of precautionary measures. Even ghosts vanish towards morning, but K. had remained there, his hands in his pockets, as though he were expecting that, since he did not take himself off, the whole passage with all the rooms and gentlemen would take itself off. And this - he could be sure of it - would quite certainly have happened if it had been in any way possible, for the delicacy Of the gentlemen was limitless. None of them would drive K. away, or even say, what went after all without saying, that he should at long last go away. None of them would do that, although during the period of K.'s presence they were probably trembling with agitation and the morning, their favourite time, was being ruined for them. Instead of taking any steps against K., they preferred to suffer, in which, indeed, a certain part was probably played by the hope that K. would not be able to help gradually, at long last, coming to realize what was so glaringly obvious and, in accord with the gentlemen's anguish, would himself begin to suffer, to the point of unendurability, from his own standing there in the passage in the morning, visible to all, in that horribly unfitting manner.

A vain hope.

They did not know or in their kindness and condescension did not want to admit there also existed hearts that were insensitive, hard, and not to be softened by any feeling of reverence. Does not even the nocturnal moth, the poor creature, when day comes seek out a quiet cranny, flatten itself out there, only wishing it could vanish and being unhappy because it cannot?

K. on the other hand planted himself precisely where he was most visible, and if by doing so he had been able to prevent day from breaking, he would have done so. He could not prevent it, but, alas, he could delay it and make it more difficult. Had he not watched the distribution of the files? Something that nobody was allowed to watch except the people most closely involved. Something that neither the landlord nor his wife had been allowed to see in their own house. Something of which they had only heard tell and in allusions, as for instance to-day from the servants. Had he then not noticed under what difficulties the distribution of files had proceeded, something in itself incomprehensible, since after all each of the gentlemen served only the cause, never thinking of his personal advantage and hence being obliged to exert all his powers to seeing that the distribution of the files, this important, fundamental, preliminary work, should proceed quickly and easily and without any mistakes?

And had K. then not been even remotely struck by the notion that the main cause of all the difficulties was the fact that the distribution had had to be carried out with the doors almost quite shut, without any chance of direct dealings between the gentlemen, who among each other naturally could come to an understanding in a twinkling, while the mediation through the servants inevitably dragged on almost for hours, never could function smoothly, and was a lasting torment to the gentlemen and the servants and would probably have damaging consequences in the later work?

And why could the gentlemen not deal with each other?

Well, did K. still not understand?

The like of it had never occurred in the experience of the landlady - and the landlord for his part confirmed this - and they had, after all, had to deal with many sorts of difficult people. Things that in general one would not dare to mention in so many words one had to tell him frankly, for otherwise he would not understand the most essential things. Well, then, since it had to be said: it was on his account, solely and exclusively on his account, that the gentlemen had not been able to come forth out of their rooms, since in the morning, so soon after having been asleep, they were too bashful, too vulnerable, to be able to expose themselves to the gaze of strangers.

They literally felt, however completely dressed they might be, too naked to show themselves. It was admittedly difficult to say why they felt this shame, perhaps these everlasting workers felt shame merely because they had been asleep. But what perhaps made them feel even acuter shame than showing themselves was seeing strangers. What they had successfully disposed of by means of the night interrogations, namely the sight of the applicants they found so hard to endure, they did not want now in the morning to have suddenly, without warning, in all its truth to nature, obtruding itself upon them all over again. That was the two gentlemen for the first time and had also had to answer their questions, into the bargain. Everything, so far as he knew had worked out pretty well, but then that misfortune had occurred, which, after what had gone before, he could scarcely be blamed for.

Unfortunately only Erlanger and Burgel had realized what a condition he was in and they would certainly have looked after him and so prevented all the rest, but Erlanger had had to go away immediately after the interrogation, evidently in order to drive up to the Castle, and Burgel, probably himself tired after that interrogation - and how then should K. have been able to come out of it with his strength unimpaired? - had gone to sleep and had indeed slept through the whole distribution of files.

If K. had had a similar chance he would have been delighted to take it and would gladly have done without all the prohibited insight into what was going on there, and this all the more lightheartedly since in reality he had been quite incapable of seeing anything, for which reason even the most sensitive gentlemen could have shown themselves before him without embarrassment.

The mention of the two interrogations - particularly of that with Erlanger - and the respect with which K. spoke of the gentlemen inclined the landlord favourably towards him. He seemed to be prepared to grant K.'s request to be allowed to lay a board across the barrels and sleep there at least till dawn, but the landlady was markedly against it, twitching ineffectively here and there at her dress, the slovenly state of which she seemed only now to have noticed, she kept on shaking her head. A quarrel obviously of long standing with regard to the orderliness of the house was on the point of breaking out afresh. For K. in his fatigued state the talk between the couple took on exaggeratedly great significance. To be driven out from here again seemed to him to be a misfortune surpassing all that had happened to him hitherto. This must not be allowed to happen, even if the landlord and the landlady should unite against him.

Crumpled up on the barrel, he looked in eager expectancy at the two of them until the landlady, with her abnormal touchiness, which had long ago struck K., suddenly stepped aside and probably she had by now been discussing other things with the landlord, exclaimed: "How he stares at me! Do send him away now!"

But K., seizing the opportunity and now utterly, almost to the point of indifference, convinced that he would stay said: "I'm not looking at you, only at your dress."

"Why my dress?" the landlady asked agitatedly.

K. shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on!" the landlady said to the landlord. "Don't you see he's drunk, the lout?

Leave him here to sleep it off!"

And she even ordered Pepi, who on being called by her emerged out of the dark, towsled, tired, idly holding a broom in her hand, to throw K. some sort of a cushion.

When K. woke up he at first thought he had hardly slept at all. The room was as empty and warm as before, all the walls in darkness, the one bulb over the beer-taps extinguished, and outside the windows was the night. But when he stretched, and the cushion fell down and the bed and the barrels creaked, Pepi instantly appeared, and now he learnt that it was already evening and that he had slept for well over twelve hours.

The landlady had asked after him several times during the day, and so had Gerstacker, who had been waiting here in the dark, by the beer, while K. had been talking to the landlady in the morning, but then he had not dared to disturb K., had been here once in the meantime to see how K. was getting on, and finally, so at least it was alleged, Frieda had also come and had stood for a moment beside K., yet she had scarcely come on K.'s account but because she had had various things to make ready here, for in the evening she was to resume her old duties after all.

"I suppose she doesn't like you any more?" Pepi asked, bringing coffee and cakes.

But she no longer asked it maliciously, in her old way, but sadly, as though in the meantime she had come to know the malice of the world, compared with which all one's own malice fails and becomes senseless. She spoke to K. as to a fellow sufferer, and when he tasted the coffee and she thought she saw that it was not sweet enough for him, she ran and brought him the full sugar-bowl. Her sadness had, indeed, not prevented her from tricking herself out to-day if anything even more than the last time. She wore an abundance of bows and ribbons plaited into her hair, along her forehead and on her temples the hair had been carefully curled with the tongs, and round her neck she had a little chain that hung down into the low-cut opening of her blouse.

When, in his contentment at having at last slept his fill and now being permitted to drink a good cup of coffee, K. furtively stretched his hand out towards one of the bows and tried to untie it, Pepi said wearily: "Do leave me alone," and sat down beside him on a barrel.

And K. did not even need to ask her what was the matter, she at once began telling the story herself, rigidly staring into K.'s coffeemug, as though she needed some distraction, even while she was talking, as though she could not quite abandon herself to her suffering even when she was discussing it, as that would be beyond her powers.

First of all K. learnt that actually he was to blame for Pepi's misfortunes, but that she did not bear him any grudge. And she nodded eagerly as she talked, in order to prevent K. from raising any objection. First he had taken Frieda away from the taproom and thus made Pepi's rise possible. There was nothing else that could be imagined that could have brought Frieda to give up her situation, she sat tight there in the taproom like a spider in its web, with all the threads under her control, threads of which no one knew but she.