A large, heavy gate in the wall now stood open. Seen from here, the inn looked higher on the side facing the yard than in front, or at least the first floor was greatly extended and seemed larger, for it had a wooden gallery running around it, closed except for a small gap at eye level. Diagonally opposite K., in the central part of the building but at the corner where the side wing adjoined it, there was an open way into the house without any door. In front of it stood a dark, closed sleigh with two horses harnessed to it. There was no one in sight but the driver, whose presence at this distance and in the dark K. guessed at rather than actually seeing him.
Hands in his pockets, looking cautiously around him, and keeping close to the wall, K. skirted two sides of the yard until he had reached the sleigh. The driver, one of those rustics who had been in the bar the other day, was sitting there wrapped in furs and had watched him approaching without interest, much as your eyes might idly follow a cat prowling along. When K. had reached him and said good evening, and even the horses became a little uneasy at the sight of a man emerging from the darkness, he still showed no interest at all. K. welcomed that. Leaning against the wall, he unpacked his sandwich, thought gratefully of Frieda who had provided for him so well, and as he did so peered inside the house. A staircase turning at right angles led up, and a low-ceilinged but apparently long passage crossed it at the bottom of the stairs. Everything was clean, white-washed, neatly delineated.
The wait was longer than K. had expected. He had finished his sandwich long ago, the cold was biting, the twilight had become full darkness, and still there was no sign of Klamm. ‘Could be a long time yet,’ said a hoarse voice suddenly, so close to K. that he jumped. It was the driver, stretching and yawning loudly as if he had just woken up. ‘What could be a long time yet?’ asked K., not displeased by the interruption, for the continuing silence and suspense had become oppressive. ‘Could be a long time before you leave,’ said the driver. K. didn’t understand him, but asked no further questions, thinking that was the best way to get this unsociable man talking. Here in the darkness, returning no answer was almost provocative. And indeed, after a while the driver asked him: ‘Like a cognac?’ ‘Yes,’ said K., without stopping to think and much tempted by the offer, because he was shivering with cold. ‘Open up the sleigh door, then,’ said the driver. ‘There are several bottles in the side pocket. Take one out, have a drink, and then hand it to me.
It’s too difficult for me to climb down myself wearing this fur.’ K. did not much care for lending a hand in this way, but he had let himself in for conversation with the driver, so he complied, even at the risk of being found by Klamm beside the sleigh. He opened the big door and could have taken the bottle straight out of the pocket fitted inside it, but now that the door was open he felt an irresistible urge to get into the sleigh; he would sit there just for a moment. He quickly climbed in. The warmth inside the sleigh was extraordinary, and it stayed warm even though the door, which K. dared not close, was wide open. You didn’t know if you were sitting on a seat or not as you half-lay there so comfort-ably among rugs, cushions, and furs; you could turn and stretch on all sides, and everywhere you sank into the soft warmth. Arms outstretched, head supported on the cushions ready in place for it, K. looked out of the sleigh at the dark building. Why was it taking Klamm so long to come down? As if numbed by the warmth after standing in the snow for so long, K. wished that Klamm really would arrive at last. The idea that it would be better not to be found by Klamm in his present position did occur to him, but not very clearly, just as a faint anxiety. He was encouraged in this oblivious state by the behaviour of the driver, who must know that he was inside the sleigh and was letting him stay there without even demanding the cognac. That was considerate of him, but K. wanted to do the man some little service, so moving slowly and without changing his posi-tion he reached for the side pocket, but not the one in the open door, which was too far away; instead he reached for the closed door behind him, and it came to the same thing, for there were bottles in the side pocket there too. He took one out, unscrewed the top, and sniffed it. Instinctively he smiled; the smell was as sweet and delight-ful as hearing praise and kind words from someone you love, and you don’t know why, nor do you want to know, you are just happy to hear the beloved person uttering them. Can this really be cognac? K. wondered, tasting it out of curiosity. Yes, it was cognac, remark-ably enough, burning and warming him. But as he drank it, it turned from something that was little more than the vehicle of sweet perfumes into a drink more suitable for a driver. Is it possible? K. wondered again, as if reproving himself, and he drank once more.
Then—K. was just in the middle of taking a long draught—it was suddenly bright, electric light had been switched on indoors on the staircase, in the corridor, in the entrance hall, and outside above the entrance itself. Steps were heard coming downstairs, the bottle dropped from K.’s hand, cognac was spilt over a fur, and K. jumped out of the sleigh. He just had time to close the door, which made a loud bang, and next moment a gentleman came slowly out of the building.
The one consolation seemed to be that it wasn’t Klamm—or was that in fact to be regretted? It was the gentleman whom K. had already seen at the first-floor window. A young gentleman, very good-looking, with a pink-and-white complexion, but extremely grave. K. looked at him gloomily, but the gloom was on his own behalf. If only he had sent his assistants here instead; they too might have behaved as he had. Facing him, the gentleman remained silent, as if there wasn’t enough breath in his broad barrel of a chest for what had to be said. ‘This is terrible,’ he remarked at last, pushing his hat a little way back from his forehead. What was this? It wasn’t likely that the gentleman knew K. had been in the sleigh, but he thought some-thing or other was terrible. Perhaps it was K.’s making his way into the yard? ‘How do you come to be here?’ asked the gentleman in a softer voice, breathing out with a sigh of resignation. What ques-tions! What answers! Was K. to speak up himself and expressly confirm to this gentleman that the errand on which he had set out so full of hope had been for nothing? Instead of replying, K. turned to the sleigh, opened it, and retrieved his cap, which he had left inside. He noticed, to his chagrin, that cognac was dripping over the running-board.
Then he turned back to the gentleman; he had no scruples now about showing that he had been in the sleigh. After all, it wasn’t the end of the world. If he were asked, but only then, he would not con-ceal the fact that the driver himself had at least encouraged him to open the sleigh door. The worst of it, however, was that the gentle-man had taken him by surprise and there hadn’t been time to hide from him so that he could go on waiting for Klamm undisturbed, or that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to stay in the sleigh, close the door, and wait for Klamm lying on the furs there, or at least stay in it until this gentleman was close. Of course, he couldn’t know whether Klamm himself might not now turn up, in which case it would naturally have been much better to encounter him outside the sleigh. Yes, there was a good deal to think about in all this, but not now, for this particular venture of his was over.
‘Come with me,’ said the gentleman, not really in a commanding tone; the sense of command lay not in his words but in the brief and intentionally indifferent gesture that accompanied them. ‘I’m waiting for someone,’ said K., just on principle rather than hoping for any success now. ‘Come with me,’ repeated the gentleman, undeterred, as if to show he had never doubted that K. was waiting for someone. ‘But then I’ll miss the man I’m waiting for,’ said K., shrugging. In spite of what had happened, he felt that something had so far been gained, something that he only apparently possessed, to be sure, but he didn’t have to give up at anyone’s request. ‘Go or stay, you’ll miss him anyway,’ said the gentleman, giving his opinion rather brusquely, but showing striking forbearance for K.’s
