The driver, obeying the gentleman but giving K. a nasty look, had to climb down in his heavy fur, and very hesitantly, as if expecting not a change of orders from his master but a change of mind on K.’s part, he began leading the horses and the sleigh backwards, closer to the side wing where the stables and carriage-house obviously lay behind a large gate. K. found himself left alone; on one side the sleigh was moving away and so, on the other side, was the young man, going back the way that K. had come, although they both went very slowly, as if to show K. that it was still in his power to fetch them back.
Perhaps he did have that power, but it would have been no use to him; fetching the sleigh back meant banishment for himself. So he stayed put, the only claimant to occupation of this place still left here, but it was a joyless victory. He looked alternately at the gentleman and the driver as they went away. The gentleman had already reached the door through which K. had entered the yard in the first place, and he glanced back once more. K. thought he saw him shake his head at such obstinacy. Then he turned away with a last brief and deter-mined movement and stepped into the entrance hall, disappearing at once. The driver stayed in the yard a little longer; he had a lot of work to do with the sleigh. He had to open the heavy gate to the stable, get the sleigh backwards through it to its proper place, unhar-ness the horses and lead them to their manger, and he did all this very gravely, entirely absorbed in himself, since he had no prospect now of driving away soon. All this busy, silent activity, done without so much as a look askance at K., seemed to K. himself far more of a reproach than the gentleman’s behaviour. And when, having finished his work in the stables, the driver crossed the yard with his slow, swaying gait, opened the big gate, then came back, all the time mov-ing with slow formality and keeping his eyes bent on his own tracks in the snow, shut himself into the stable, and put out all the electric lights—why would they be left on for anyone now?—and the only remaining light came through the gap in the wooden gallery above, catching the wandering eye for a moment, it seemed to K. as if all contact with him had been cut, and he was more of a free agent than ever. He could wait here, in a place usually forbidden to him, as long as he liked, and he also felt as if he had won that freedom with more effort than most people could manage to make, and no one could touch him or drive him away, why, they hardly had a right even to address him. But at the same time—and this feeling was at least as strong—he felt as if there were nothing more meaningless and more desperate than this freedom, this waiting, this invulnerability.
9
Opposition to Questioning
He tore himself away and went back into the building, not along the wall this time, but through the middle of the snow. In the entrance hall he met the landlord, who greeted him in silence and pointed to the door of the bar, and followed the direction in which he was pointed, because he was freezing and wanted to see other human beings; but he was very disappointed when he saw the young gentle-man sitting at a little table which had probably been put there spe-cially for him, because usually casks were used for seating. In front of the gentleman—a sight that dismayed K.—stood the landlady of the Bridge Inn. Pepi, looking proud with her head thrown back, her smile always the same and standing very much on her dignity, her braid shaking whenever she turned, was hurrying back and forth bringing beer and then pen and ink, for the gentleman had spread papers out in front of him, was comparing what he found now in one of them, then in another at the far end of the table, and then he set about writing. Looking down from her full height, and with her lips slightly pursed as if at rest, the landlady was keeping an eye on the gentleman and his papers, as if she had already said all she needed to say, and it had been well received. ‘Ah, Mr Land Surveyor,’ said the gentleman, looking up for a moment when K. came in, and then he immersed himself in his papers again. The landlady too just glanced at K. with an indifferent expression, showing no surprise at all. However, Pepi seemed to notice K. only when he stepped up to the bar counter and ordered a cognac.
K. leaned on the counter, put his hand to his eyes, and took no more notice of anything. Then he sipped the cognac, and pushed it away; it was undrinkable. ‘All the gentlemen drink it,’ said Pepi briefly, poured the rest away, washed the little glass, and put it back in the cupboard. ‘The gentlemen must have better cognac too,’ said K. ‘Maybe,’ said Pepi, ‘but I don’t.’ K. had no answer to that, and she went back to serving the young gentleman, but he needed noth-ing. She could only keep walking up and down behind him, respect-fully trying to catch a glimpse of the papers over his shoulders, but it was just silly curiosity and showing off, and the landlady expressed her disapproval by frowning.
Suddenly, however, the landlady pricked up her ears and stared into space, listening with great concentration. K. turned. He could hear nothing special, and no one else seemed to either, but the land-lady, striding out on tiptoe, went to the door at the back leading into the yard, looked through the keyhole, then turned to the others with her eyes wide and her face flushed, crooked a finger, and beckoned them over. Now they too looked through the keyhole in turn, although the landlady still had the lion’s share. But Pepi too had a turn; the gentleman, relatively speaking, was the least interested. Pepi and the gentleman soon came back, only the landlady kept look-ing, bending low, practically kneeling, you almost felt as if she were adjuring the keyhole to let her through, for there could be nothing left to see any more. When she finally straightened up, passed her hands over her face, tidied her hair and took a deep breath, apparently obliged to accustom her eyes to the room and the people here again and reluctant to do so, K. asked: ‘Has Klamm left, then?’ He said it not to have what he already knew confirmed but to anticipate an attack, for he rather feared he was vulnerable now. The landlady walked past him in silence, but the gentleman said, from his little table: ‘Yes, to be sure. Once you had left the place where you were standing guard, Klamm was able to go out. But it’s amazing what a sensitive gentleman he is. Did you notice, ma’am,’ he asked the land-lady, ‘how nervously Klamm looked around?’ The landlady did not seem to have noticed, but the gentleman went on: ‘Well, luckily there was nothing left to be seen. The driver had covered up the tracks in the snow.’ ‘The landlady here didn’t notice anything,’ said K., but not hopefully, only annoyed by the gentleman’s remark, which was meant to sound so final and conclusive. ‘Perhaps I wasn’t at the key-hole just then,’ said the landlady at first, showing that she was on the gentleman’s side, but she wanted to do Klamm justice too, and added: ‘Although I don’t believe Klamm is so very sensitive. We are anxious about him, to be sure, we try to protect him, so we start by assuming Klamm’s extreme sensitivity. That is good, and certainly what Klamm wants.
But how matters really are we don’t know. To be sure, Klamm will never speak to someone he doesn’t want to speak to, however much trouble that person may take and however insufferably intrusive he is, but the mere fact that Klamm will never speak to him or give him an interview is enough. And why shouldn’t he be able to stand the sight of someone? Well, that can’t be proved, for it will never be put to the test.’ The gentleman nodded eagerly. ‘Of course, in principle that’s my own opinion,’ he said. ‘If I didn’t put it quite like that, it was so that the land surveyor here would understand me. It’s a fact, however, that when Klamm stepped out of doors he turned in a semicircle several times, looking around him.’ ‘Perhaps he was looking for me,’ said K. ‘Possibly,’ said the gentleman, ‘but somehow I never hit upon that idea.’ Everyone laughed, Pepi loudest of all, although she understood hardly any of what was going on.
‘As we are all so merry together now,’ said the gentleman, ‘I
