‘I don’t know what sins Barnabas and his family have committed,’ said K., while he carefully raised Frieda, who seemed almost lifeless, placed her slowly on the bed, and rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps you’re right there, but certainly I was right when I asked you to leave our business, Frieda’s and mine, to the two of us alone. You mentioned just now something about love and concern, but I haven’t seen a lot of either of those; instead I’ve heard words of dislike and disdain and threats to turn me out of the house. If you had it in mind to part Frieda from me or me from Frieda, it was very cleverly done, but all the same I don’t think you’ll succeed, and if you do succeed then—forgive me a veiled threat of my own for once—if you do succeed you will regret it bit-terly. As for the room you have given me—by which you can only mean this repellent hole—it is not at all certain that you’re doing it of your own free will. I’m more inclined to think that instructions came from the count’s authorities. I will let them know that I have been given notice here, and if they find me some other lodging I expect you’ll breathe a deep sigh of relief, but my own will be even deeper. And now I’m going to see the village mayor about this and various other matters, so please take care of Frieda, to whom you have done enough harm with what you describe as your maternal advice.’
Then he turned to the assistants. ‘Come along,’ he said, taking Klamm’s letter off the nail and making for the door. The landlady had been watching him in silence, and only when he had his hand on the door knob did she say: ‘Mr Land Surveyor, I will give you a piece of information to take with you, for whatever you may say and what-ever insults you may offer me, poor old woman that I am, you are Frieda’s future husband. It’s only on that account that I tell you how shockingly ignorant you are of circumstances here, a person’s head fairly spins just listening to you, comparing what you say and think with the situation as it really is. Such ignorance can’t be put right all at once, perhaps not at all, but there can be a good deal of improve-ment if you will only believe some of what I say, and keep in mind your ignorance all the time. Then, for instance, you will immediately do me far more justice and begin to glean some idea of what a shock it was to me—and the consequences of that shock still affect me— when I realized that my dear little girl had, so to speak, deserted the eagle* to ally herself to the slow-worm, but the real situation is far, far worse, and I keep trying to forget it or I couldn’t speak a calm word to you. Oh, now you’re angry again. No, don’t go yet, just listen to my request: wherever you go, always remember that you know less than anyone here, and mind you proceed carefully. Here, where Frieda’s presence protects you from harm, you may talk your heart out; here, if you like, you can tell us what you intend to say to Klamm. But don’t, I beg you, don’t do it in reality.’
She rose to her feet, swaying slightly in her agitation, went over to K., and looked imploringly at him. ‘Madam,’ said K., ‘I don’t under-stand why you demean yourself to beg me for anything with such small cause. If, as you say, it is impossible for me to speak to Klamm, then I won’t be able to come near him whether I’m asked to or not. But if it were to be possible, why shouldn’t I do it, particularly as then your other fears would become very questionable once your main objection was seen to be invalid? I am certainly ignorant, but facts are facts, which is very sad for me but also advantageous, since an ignorant man will dare to do more, so I will happily go about in my ignorance with what I am sure are its unfortunate consequences for a little longer, as long as my strength allows. In essence, however, those consequences affect only me, and so I really don’t understand why you should beg me for anything. I am sure you will always care for Frieda, and if I vanish entirely from Frieda’s view that, as you see it, can only be a good thing. So what are you afraid of ? I suppose you don’t—for to the ignorant anything seems possible—’ and here K. opened the door—‘I suppose you don’t fear for Klamm?’ The landlady watched in silence as he hurried down the stairs, with the assistants following him.
5
The Village Mayor
To his own surprise, K.’s conversation with the village mayor went smoothly. He accounted for that by telling himself that, in his experience so far, official dealings with the count’s authorities had been very simple. One reason was that a definite decision on his own affairs had obviously been made once and for all, apparently in his favour, and another was the admirable consistency of the offices involved, which you could sense was particularly good in cases where no such thing appeared to be present. When K. thought about all this he was not far from considering his situation satisfactory, although after such cheering moments he always told himself that this was just where the danger lay. Direct communication with the authorities was not too difficult, for well-organized as they might be, those author-ities had only to defend something remote, in the name of remote and indeed invisible gentlemen, whereas K. was fighting for something very close to him, for himself, and doing so, at least at first, of his own free will, for he was the one on the attack. And not only was he fighting for himself, so too, it seemed, were other powers unknown to him, although the measures taken by the authorities allowed him to believe in them. However, the fact that from the first the authorities had met K.’s wishes in minor matters—and so far nothing more had been involved—meant that they deprived him of the chance of win-ning small, easy victories and of the satisfaction that went with them and the well-justified confidence that he would then derive from them for embarking on other and larger battles. Instead, the author-ities allowed K. to go anywhere he liked, although only inside the village, thus indulging him but weakening his position, ruling out any possibility of a struggle, and leaving him living a non-official, unpredictable, troubled, and strange kind of life. If he wasn’t always on his guard, then, it could be that, despite the amiability of the authorities, and his own performance of all his extremely light official duties to everyone’s satisfaction, he might, deceived by the favour apparently shown him, conduct the rest of his life so incautiously that he failed in this place, and the authorities, still in their gentle and kindly way, and as if it were against their will but in the name of some official decree unknown to him, would have to get rid of him. And what actually was the rest of his life here to be? Nowhere before had K. ever seen official duties and life so closely interwoven, so much so that sometimes it almost seemed as if life and official duties had changed places. What was the meaning, for instance, of the power, so far only formal, that Klamm had over K.’s services compared with the power that Klamm really did exert in K.’s bedroom? It just showed how any carelessness in procedure or easygoing attitude was appro-priate only in direct contact with the authorities, while elsewhere great caution was necessary, and you had to look round on all sides before taking any step.
At first K. found his idea of the authorities here fully confirmed by the village mayor. A friendly, stout, clean-shaven man, the mayor was ill with a severe attack of gout, and received K. in bed. ‘Ah, so this is our land surveyor!’ he said, trying to sit up straight to greet the visitor, but he couldn’t manage it, and pointing apologetically to his legs he leaned back on the pillows again. A quiet woman, looking almost shadowy in the dimly lit room, where the small windows were also veiled by curtains, brought a chair for K. and placed it by the bed. ‘Sit down, Mr Land Surveyor, sit down,’ said the mayor, ‘and tell me what you want.’ K. read Klamm’s letter aloud and made a few comments on it. Once again, he felt how very easy it was to commu-nicate with the authorities. They would bear absolutely any burden, you could hand them anything to deal with and remain unaffected and a free agent yourself. As if the mayor felt the same thing in his own way, he shifted uneasily in his bed. Finally he said: ‘As you’ll have noticed, Mr Land Surveyor, I knew all about this affair. I haven’t done anything about it myself, first because of my illness, and then because it took you so long to arrive that I was beginning to think you’d abandoned the whole business. But now that you have been kind enough to come
