Part 10

Then a noise from the antechamber, like breaking porcelain, made everyone prick up their ears. "I'll go see what happened," said K., and went out slowly, as if giving the others a chance to hold him back. Scarcely had he stepped into the antechamber and was trying to make out his surroundings in the dark, when a small hand—much smaller than K.'s—was laid on the hand with which he still held the door, and the door was gently closed. It was the nurse, who had waited there. "Nothing happened," she whispered, "I only threw a plate against the wall to get you out here." In his embarrassment K. said: "I was thinking of you too." "All the better," said the nurse, "come." After a few steps they came to a door of frosted glass, which the nurse opened before K. "Do come in," she said. It was certainly the lawyer's study; as far as one could see by the moonlight, which now strongly lit only a small square patch of floor beneath each of the two large windows, it was furnished with heavy old pieces of furniture. "Over here," said the nurse, and pointed to a dark chest with a carved wooden back. Even after he had seated himself, K. looked around the room; it was a high, large room, the clientele of the poor man's lawyer must have felt lost here. K. thought he could see the small steps with which visitors advanced toward the massive writing desk. But then he forgot about that and had eyes only for the nurse, who sat very close beside him and almost pressed him against the side arm. "I thought," she said, "you would come out to me alone, without my having to call you first. It was strange. At first you kept looking at me continuously on entering, and then you left me waiting. By the way, call me Leni," she added quickly and abruptly, as if no moment of this conversation were to be lost. "Gladly," said K. "As for the strangeness, Leni, it is easily explained. First, I had to listen to the old gentlemen's chatter and couldn't run off without reason; second, I am not forward, but rather shy, and you, Leni, certainly did not look as if you were to be won in a single leap." "That's not it," said Leni, laying her arm over the backrest and looking at K., "but you didn't like me and probably don't like me now either." "Liking would not be much," said K. evasively. "Oh!" she said smiling, and with K.'s remark and this little exclamation gained a certain superiority. Therefore K. was silent for a while. Since he had already grown accustomed to the darkness in the room, he could make out various details of the furnishings. Particularly a large picture caught his eye, hanging to the right of the door; he leaned forward to see it better. It depicted a man in a judge's robe; he sat on a high throne, whose gilding protruded from the picture in many places. The unusual thing was that this judge did not sit there in calm and dignity, but pressed his left arm firmly against the back and side rests, while keeping his right arm entirely free and only grasping the side rest with his hand, as if he wanted to spring up in the next moment with a violent and perhaps indignant turn, to say something decisive or even pronounce judgment. The defendant was presumably to be thought of at the foot of the staircase, whose top steps, covered with a yellow carpet, were still visible in the picture. "Perhaps this is my judge," said K., pointing with a finger at the picture. "I know him," said Leni, and also looked up at the picture, "he comes here often. The picture is from his youth, but he could never have been even similar to the picture, for he is almost tiny. Still, he had himself stretched out so long in the picture, for he is senselessly vain, like everyone here. But I too am vain and very dissatisfied that you don't like me at all." To this last remark K. answered only by putting his arm around Leni and drawing her to him; she leaned her head quietly on his shoulder. But to the rest he said: "What rank does he have?" "He is an examining magistrate," she said, took the hand with which K. held her, and played with his fingers. "Again only an examining magistrate," said K. disappointedly, "the high officials hide. But he does sit on a throne." "That's all invention," said Leni, bent over K.'s hand, "in reality he sits on a kitchen stool on which an old horse blanket is folded. But must you think of your trial constantly?" she added slowly. "No, not at all," said K., "I probably even think too little of it." "That is not the mistake you make," said Leni, "you are too unyielding, so I have heard." "Who said that?" asked K.; he felt her body against his chest and looked down at her rich dark tightly twisted hair. "I would reveal too much if I said," answered Leni. "Please don't ask for names, but correct your mistake, don't be so unyielding anymore; against this court one cannot defend oneself, one must make the confession. Do make the confession at the next opportunity. Only then is there a possibility of slipping away, only then. Yet even that is impossible without outside help, but you need not worry about such help—I will provide it to you myself." "You understand much of this court and of the deceptions that are necessary here," said K., and lifted her onto his lap, since she pressed too strongly against him. "That's good," she said, and settled on his lap, smoothing her skirt and adjusting her blouse. Then she hung with both hands around his neck, leaned back, and looked at him long. "And if I don't make the confession, then you can't help me?" asked K. tentatively. I am recruiting helpers, he thought almost astonished, first Fräulein Bürstner, then the court usher's wife, and finally this little nurse, who seems to have an incomprehensible need for me. How she sits on my lap as if it were her only proper place! "No," answered Leni and shook her head slowly, "then I cannot help you. But you don't want my help at all, you don't care about it, you are stubborn and won't be convinced." "Do you have a sweetheart?" she asked after a while. "No," said K. "Oh yes," she said. "Yes, really," said K., "just think, I denied her and yet even carry her photograph with me." At her request he showed her a photograph of Elsa; curled up on his lap, she studied the picture. It was a snapshot; Elsa was taken after a spinning dance, as she liked to dance it in the wine tavern; her skirt still flew around her in the folds of the turn, she had placed her hands on her firm hips and looked laughing to the side with a taut neck; to whom her laughter was directed could not be discerned from the picture. "She is tightly laced," said Leni, and pointed to the place where, in her opinion, this could be seen. "I don't like her, she is clumsy and crude. Perhaps she is gentle and friendly toward you, one might conclude that from the picture. Such large strong girls often know nothing other than to be gentle and friendly. But could she sacrifice herself for you?" "No," said K., "she is neither gentle and friendly, nor could she sacrifice herself for me. Also, I have so far demanded neither the one nor the other from her. Indeed, I have not even looked at the picture as closely as you have." "So you don't care much for her," said Leni, "so she is not your sweetheart." "Yes," said K., "I won't take back my word." "Let her be your sweetheart now," said Leni, "but you would not miss her very much if you lost her or exchanged her for someone else, e.g. for me." "Certainly," said K. smiling, "that would be conceivable, but she has one great advantage over you: she knows nothing of my trial, and even if she knew something of it, she would not think about it. She would not try to persuade me to yield." "That is no advantage," said Leni. "If she has no other advantages, I do not lose courage. Does she have any physical defect?" "A physical defect?" asked K. "Yes," said Leni, "for I have such a small defect, see." She spread apart the middle and ring fingers of her right hand, between which the web of skin reached almost to the uppermost joint of the short fingers. K. did not immediately notice in the dark what she wanted to show him; she therefore guided his hand so that he could feel it. "What a freak of nature," said K., and added, after surveying the whole hand: "What a pretty claw!" With a kind of pride Leni watched how K. in astonishment repeatedly pulled her two fingers apart and together, until he finally kissed them fleetingly and let go. "Oh!" she cried immediately, "you kissed me!" Eagerly, with open mouth, she climbed onto his lap with her knees; K. looked up at her almost startled; now that she was so close, a bitter stimulating smell like pepper emanated from her; she took his head to her, bent over him and bit and kissed his neck, even bit into his hair. "You exchanged me," she cried from time to time, "see, now you have exchanged me after all!" Then her knee slipped; with a small cry she almost fell onto the carpet; K. embraced her to still hold her, and was pulled down to her. "Now you belong to me," she said.

"Here is the house key, come whenever you want," were her last words, and a aimless kiss struck him on the back as he was leaving. When he stepped out of the house door, a light rain was falling; he wanted to go into the middle of the street to perhaps catch sight of Leni at the window, when out of an automobile that had been waiting in front of the house and that K. in his distraction had not noticed at all, the uncle rushed, seized him by the arms and pushed him against the house door, as if he wanted to nail him there. "Boy," he cried, "how could you do that! You have terribly harmed your case, which was on a good path. You hide with a little dirty thing, who moreover is obviously the lawyer's mistress, and stay away for hours. You don't even seek a pretext, you conceal nothing, no, you are quite open, run to her and stay with her. And meanwhile we sit together, the uncle who exerts himself for you, the lawyer who is to be won for you, the chief clerk above all, this great gentleman who at the present stage virtually controls your case. We want to deliberate on how to help you; I must treat the lawyer cautiously, he in turn the chief clerk, and you had every reason to support me at least. Instead you stay away. Finally it cannot be concealed; well, they are polite accomplished men, they don't speak of it, they spare me, but finally even they can no longer restrain themselves and since they cannot speak of the matter, they fall silent. We sat speechless for minutes and listened for whether you would not finally come. All in vain. At last the chief clerk, who stayed much longer than he originally intended, stands up, takes his leave, visibly regretting that he cannot help me, waits in incomprehensible kindness for a while in the door, then goes. I was of course happy that he was gone; I had already run out of air to breathe. All this affected the sick lawyer even more strongly; he, the good man, could not speak at all when I took my leave of him. You probably contributed to his complete breakdown and thus hasten the death of a man on whom you depend. And me, your uncle, you leave here in the rain; feel, I am quite soaked, waiting for hours."

SEVENTH CHAPTER

LAWYER · INDUSTRIALIST · PAINTER

On a winter morning—outside snow was falling in the dim light—K. was sitting, already extremely tired despite the early hour, in his office. To protect himself at least from the lowest clerks, he had given the servant the order to admit none of them, as he was occupied with a larger piece of work. But instead of working, he turned in his chair, slowly shifted some objects on the table, then, without knowing it, left his whole arm stretched out on the tabletop and remained motionless with lowered head.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”