‘It is not possible,’ said the landlady, ‘and I see that you lack the ability to understand that. But tell me, what do you want to speak to Klamm about?’
‘Why, Frieda, of course,’ said K.
‘Frieda?’ asked the landlady, baffled, and turned to Frieda herself. ‘Did you hear that, Frieda? He—this man—he wants to speak to Klamm, Klamm of all people, about you.’
‘Oh dear,’ said K. ‘You are such a clever woman, madam, and so awe-inspiring too, yet every little thing frightens you. Well, if I want to speak to him about Frieda that’s not such a monstrous idea, it is perfectly natural. For you are certainly mistaken if you think that from the moment when I appeared Frieda became of no importance to Klamm. You underestimate him if you believe that. I realize that it is presumptuous of me to try putting you right there, but I must do it. I can’t have caused any change in Klamm’s relationship with Frieda. Either there was no real relationship—as those who would deprive Frieda of the honourable title of being his lover say—in which case there is none now, or there was such a relationship, but if so how could it be wrecked by me, a man who, as you rightly say, is nothing in Klamm’s eyes? Such things may be believed in the first moment of shock, but even the slightest reflection is sure to put that right. Why don’t we let Frieda say what she thinks about it?’
With her eyes looking into the distance, her cheek against K.’s breast, Frieda said: ‘I am sure it is just as my little mother says: Klamm won’t want to know any more about me. But not because you turned up, darling, nothing of that kind could have troubled him. In fact I think it is his doing that we came together under the bar— blessings and not curses on that hour.’ ‘If that’s the case—’ said K. slowly, for Frieda’s words were sweet, and he closed his eyes for a few seconds to let them sink in: ‘if that’s the case there is even less reason to fear an interview with Klamm.’ ‘Really,’ said the landlady, as if looking down at K. from above, ‘you sometimes remind me of my husband, you’re just as contrary and childish. You spend a few days here, and already you think you know better than those who were born in the village, better than me, old woman that I am, better than Frieda who has seen and heard so much at the Castle Inn. I don’t deny that it may be possible to do something that transgresses the rules and the good old customs, I have never known anything of the kind myself, but there are said to be instances, although it certainly isn’t done in the way you would set about it, by saying no, no, all the time, relying on your own mind and ignoring advice, however well intended. Do you think I’m anxious on your behalf ? Did I bother about you while you were on your own? Although if I had, it might have been a good idea, and much of this might have been avoided. All I said to my husband about you at the time was: “Keep well away from him.” And I would have felt the same today if Frieda hadn’t been dragged into your own fate. It’s to her, whether you like it or not, that you owe my concern, even my consideration for you. And you can’t simply dismiss me, because you are strictly responsible to me, as the only person who watches over little Frieda with maternal care. It’s possible that Frieda is right and everything that has happened is what Klamm wants, but I don’t know anything about Klamm, I will never speak to him, he is entirely beyond my reach. But you sit here, keeping your hold on my Frieda, and—why deny it?—you will be kept here by me. Yes, kept by me, for young man, if I turn you out of this house, you just try finding accommodation anywhere in the village, even in a dog kennel.’
‘Well, thank you very much,’ said K., ‘this is plain speaking indeed, and I believe every word you say. Then my position is extremely insecure, and so is Frieda’s too.’
‘No,’ cried the landlady furiously. ‘In that respect Frieda’s posi-tion has nothing to do with yours. Frieda belongs to my household, and no one has any right to call her position here insecure.’
‘Very well, very well,’ said K. ‘I’ll agree that you are right in that too, especially since, for reasons unknown to me, Frieda seems too much afraid of you to join in our discussion. So let’s stick to me for the time being. My position is very insecure, you don’t deny that, indeed you go to great lengths to prove it. However, as with every-thing you say, that statement is largely but not entirely correct. For instance, I know where I could have a very good bed for the night.’
‘Where? Where?’ cried Frieda and the landlady at the same time, as avidly as if they had the same reasons for asking.
‘At Barnabas’s house,’ said K.
‘With those villains!’* cried the landlady. ‘Those infernal villains! At Barnabas’s house! Did you hear that?’ she asked, turning to the assistants’ corner, but they had left it long ago and were standing arm in arm behind the landlady, who now seized the hand of one of them as if she needed support. ‘Did you hear where this gentleman goes? To Barnabas and his family! Yes, I’m sure he can have a bed for the night there—oh, if only he’d preferred it to the Castle Inn. But where were you two?’
‘Madam,’ said K. before the assistants could answer, ‘these are my assistants. You treat them as if they were my guards instead, and your assistants. I’m prepared at least to discuss your opinions civilly in all other respects, but not when it comes to my assistants, where the situation is only too clear. So I will request you not to speak to my assistants, and if my request to you is not enough, then I will forbid my assistants to answer you.’
‘So I’m not allowed to speak to you!’ said the landlady to the assistants, and they all three laughed, the landlady with derision but much more quietly than K. had expected, the assistants as they usually did, in a meaningful kind of way yet meaning nothing, just disclaiming any responsibility.
‘Oh, don’t be angry,’ said Frieda. ‘You must understand our alarm. We owe it all to Barnabas, if you like, that you and I belong to each other now. When I first saw you in the bar—you arrived arm in arm with Olga—I knew a little about you, but on the whole you were a matter of perfect indifference to me. And not just you; everything, everything was a matter of indifference to me. I was dissatisfied with a good deal at the time, and there was a good deal that annoyed me too, but what kind of dissatisfaction and annoyance was that? For instance, one of the guests in the bar insulted me—they were always after me, you saw those fellows, but then much worse came in too, Klamm’s servants weren’t the worst of them—well, one of them did insult me, but what did I care for that? I felt as if it had happened years ago, or as if it hadn’t happened at all, or as if I had only heard tell of it, or had already forgotten it. But oh, I can’t describe it, I can’t even imagine it, that’s how everything has changed since Klamm left me.’
And Frieda broke off her story, bowed her head sadly, and folded her hands in her lap.
‘There, you see,’ cried the landlady, as if she were not speaking herself but merely lending her voice to Frieda, to whom she now moved closer until she was sitting right beside her, ‘there, Mr Land Surveyor, you see the consequences of your actions, and your assist-ants, whom I’m not allowed to speak to, may see them too and learn from them. You have torn Frieda away from the happiest situation she was ever in, and it happened mainly because, going too far in her childish pity for you, Frieda couldn’t bear to see you arm in arm with Olga, delivered up to Barnabas’s family. She saved you, sacrificing herself in the process. And now that it’s done, and Frieda has exchanged all she had for the happiness of sitting on your knee, now you come along and play your great trump card, which is the fact that you once had the opportunity of spending the night at Barnabas’s house. I suppose you’re trying to prove that you are independent of me. To be sure, if you really had spent
