All this had taken only a moment, but already the two men were one on each side of K., forcibly frogmarching him to the door, as if there were no other means of communication. The old man, watch-ing, seemed pleased about something, and clapped his hands. The washerwoman too laughed as she stood among the children, who were suddenly romping noisily.
As for K., he was soon out in the alley, with the two men watching him from the doorway. Snow was falling again, but it seemed a little brighter than before. The bearded man called impatiently: ‘Where do you want to go? This is the way to the castle, that’s the way to the village.’ K. did not answer, but said to the other man, who despite his superior status seemed more approachable: ‘Who are you?
To whom do I owe thanks for my rest here?’ ‘I am Lasemann,* the master tanner,’ was the reply, ‘and you owe no one any thanks.’ ‘Very well,’ said K. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again.’ ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said the man. At this moment the bearded man, raising a hand, called out: ‘Good day, Artur; good day, Jeremias!’ K. turned. So there were people out and about on the village streets after all! Two young men were com-ing along the road from the castle. They were of medium height, very lean, in close-fitting clothes, and their faces too were very much alike, with dark brown complexions setting off their very black goatee beards. They were walking remarkably fast, considering the present state of the roads, swinging their long legs in time. ‘What’s going on?’ called the bearded man. He had to raise his voice to communi-cate with them, they were walking so fast, and didn’t stop. ‘We have business here,’ they called back, laughing. ‘Where?’ ‘At the inn.’ ‘I’m going there too,’ shouted K., his voice suddenly rising above all the others. He very much wanted the two men to take him with them. Striking up an acquaintance with them didn’t seem as if it would lead anywhere much, but they would obviously be good, cheerful com-panions on a walk. However, although they heard what K. said, they simply nodded, walked on, and were gone in a moment.
K. was left standing in the snow, feeling disinclined to haul his foot out of it only to have it sink in again a little further on. The master tanner and his friend, happy to be rid of K. at last, made their way slowly back through the door of the house, which was only standing ajar, still keeping an eye on him. K. was left alone in the all-enveloping snow. ‘If I’d come here by chance and not on purpose,’ he thought, ‘I might fall into despair at this point.’
Then a tiny window opened in a cottage on his left. Closed, it had looked dark blue, perhaps reflecting the snow, and it was so very tiny that, now it had been opened, you couldn’t see the whole face of the person behind it, only that person’s eyes: they were old, brown eyes. ‘There he is,’ K. heard a quavering female voice say. ‘It’s the land surveyor,’ said a male voice. The man came to the window and asked, in not-unfriendly tones, but as if anxious to make sure that all was well with the street outside his house: ‘Who are you waiting for?’ ‘I’m waiting for a sleigh that will give me a lift,’ said K. ‘There won’t be any sleighs coming this way,’ said the man. ‘We don’t have traffic here.’ ‘But this is the road to the castle,’ K. objected. ‘All the same,’ said the man, with a certain implacable note in his voice, ‘we don’t have traffic here.’ Then they both fell silent. But the man was obvi-ously thinking something over, for the window was still open and smoke was pouring out of it. ‘It’s a bad road,’ said K., to help the conversation along. However, all the man said was: ‘Yes, to be sure.’ After a while, however, he did add: ‘I’ll take you in my own sleigh if you like.’ ‘Yes, please do,’ said K., delighted to hear it. ‘How much will you ask?’ ‘Nothing,’ said the man, to K.’s great surprise. ‘Well, you’re the land surveyor,’ he explained, ‘and you belong at the castle. Where do you want to go?’ ‘Why, to the castle,’ K. was quick to say. ‘Oh, then I’m not going,’ the man said at once. ‘But I belong at the castle,’ K. said, repeating the man’s own words. ‘Maybe,’ said the man coldly. ‘Take me to the inn, then,’ said K. ‘Very well,’ said the man. ‘I’ll bring the sleigh round in a minute.’ None of this exchange sounded particularly friendly; it was more like a kind of self-interested, anx-ious, pettily meticulous attempt to get K. away from where he was standing in front of the man’s house.
The yard gate opened, and a small, flat-bottomed sleigh appeared. It was for carrying light loads, had no seat of any kind, and was drawn by a feeble little horse, behind which the man came into view. Although he wasn’t old he seemed feeble himself, he stooped and walked with a limp, and his face was red, as if he had a cold. It seemed particularly small because of a woollen scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. The man was obviously sick, and had come out of the house only to get K. away from here. K. said something to that effect, but the man dismissed it. All K. learned was that he was Gerstäcker* the carrier, he had brought this uncomfortable sleigh because it happened to be standing ready, and getting another one would have taken too much time. ‘Sit down,’ he said, pointing to the back of the sleigh with his whip. ‘I’ll sit beside you,’ said K. ‘I’m going to walk,’ said Gerstäcker. ‘But why?’ asked K. ‘I’m going to walk,’ repeated Gerstäcker, and then succumbed to a fit of coughing which shook him so badly that he had to brace his legs in the snow and hold on to the side of the sleigh. K. said no more, but sat down at the back of the sleigh, the man’s coughing gradually subsided, and they started to move.
The castle up above, now curiously dark, the place that K. had hoped to reach today, was retreating into the distance again. As if sug-gesting that this was only a temporary farewell, however, a bell rang there with a lively, cheerful note, although the sound was painful too, and made his heart quail momentarily as if threatened with getting what it vaguely desired. But soon the clang of this great bell died away, to be succeeded by the faint, monotonous sound of a smaller bell, perhaps also up at the castle or perhaps in the village. Its note was certainly a more suitable accompaniment to their slow progress with the feeble but implacable driver.
‘You know,’ cried K. suddenly—they were already near the church, the road to the inn was not far away, and K. thought he might venture this remark—‘I’m very surprised to find you willing to drive me on your own responsibility. Is it allowed?’ Gerstäcker took no notice, and continued to walk along beside the horse. ‘Hey!’ cried K., mak-ing a snowball from the snow on the sleigh and throwing it. It hit Gerstäcker right on the ear. At this he did stop and turned, but when K. saw him so close—the sleigh had moved a little further on—when he saw the man’s bent form, as if physically mistreated, the red, nar-row face with cheeks that somehow looked lopsided, one smooth and the other fallen in, the almost toothless mouth constantly open as if to help him listen better, he found he had to repeat what he had just said in malice but this time with compassion, asking whether Gerstäcker might be punished for giving K. a lift in his sleigh. ‘What are you getting at?’ asked Gerstäcker blankly, but waiting for no further explanation he called to the little horse and they moved on.
When they had almost reached the inn, which K. recognized by a bend in the road, he saw to his surprise that the place was already entirely dark. Had he been out so long? Only one or two hours, by his calculations. And he had left in the morning, and had not felt hungry since. Again, it had been full daylight until a little while ago, and only now was it dark. ‘Short days, short days,’ he said to himself, slipping off the sleigh and going towards the inn.
On the small flight of steps up to the house he saw a welcome sight: the landlord raising
