pasture? Hadn’t he been summoned to a nocturnal hearing, and didn’t he know why such hearings were held at night? Such hearings—and here K. did get a new explanation of the point of them—were held at night with the sole purpose of questioning members of the public the sight of whom would be entirely intoler-able to the gentlemen by day, thus getting through the hearing quickly, by night and in artificial light, so that directly it was over the gentle-men could forget all that unpleasantness in slumber. K.’s conduct, however, had made a mockery of all these precautionary measures. Even ghosts disappear when morning comes, but K. had stayed there with his hands in his pockets, as if expecting that if he did not remove himself the entire corridor might remove itself instead, rooms and gentlemen and all. And he could be sure, they said, that just that would have happened if it had only been possible, for the gentlemen’s feelings were extremely sensitive. None of them would drive K. away, or even say, which was obvious, that he ought to go away, none of them would do that, although they were probably trembling with agitation all the time K. was there and spoiling the morning for them, their best time of day. Instead of taking any pro-ceedings to get rid of K. they preferred to suffer in silence, although no doubt hoping that K. would finally see what was so strikingly obvious, when he himself would suffer to the point where the pain of it was intolerable and matched the gentlemen’s own suffering, for it was so very wrong to be standing here in the corridor in the morning, where everyone could see him. But such hopes had been in vain. The gentlemen didn’t know, or in their kindness and condescension wouldn’t acknowledge, that there might be insensitive, hard hearts which could not be softened even by proper respect. Doesn’t even the night-flying moth, poor creature, seek out a quiet corner when day comes, flatten itself as if it would like to disappear, and suffer because it can’t?

But as for K., oh no, he stands where he is most conspicuous, and if he could prevent day from dawning like that then he would. Well, he can’t prevent it, but he could, unfortunately, delay it and make it much worse. Hadn’t he seen the files being dis-tributed? It was something that no one was allowed to see except those most closely concerned. Something that neither the landlord nor the landlady could witness in their own house. Something of which they had heard tell only in hints, like those dropped today by the servant. Hadn’t he seen the difficulties attendant on the distribu-tion of the files, something in itself beyond understanding, since every one of the gentlemen was simply serving the good cause, never thought of his own advantage, and must work with all his powers to ensure that the distribution of the files, that important and funda-mental part of the work, was done quickly, easily, and without any errors? And hadn’t K. really had even a distant presentiment that the main point of all the difficulties consisted in the fact that the distribu-tion of the files must take place with the doors almost closed, with no possibility of direct communication between the gentlemen, who could of course have agreed with one another in an instant, while communication through the servants was bound to drag on almost for hours, could never be done without complaints, which was a constant trial to both the gentlemen and the servants, and one which would probably have adverse consequences for the rest of the work done later. Why couldn’t the gentlemen communicate with one another directly? Did K. still not understand? Such a thing had never before happened to the landlady, she said—and the landlord confirmed it for himself—even though they had been obliged to deal with all kinds of recalcitrant persons. Things that one usually dared not mention must be told to him openly, for otherwise he wouldn’t understand the most essential point. Well, since it had to be said: it was on his account, only and exclusively on his account, that the gentlemen had not been able to come out of their rooms, since just after waking up in the morning they were too bashful, too vulnerable, to be exposed to the glance of strange eyes, they feel positively too exposed to show themselves, even if they happen to be fully clothed.

It is difficult to say why they feel bashful, perhaps, constant workers as they are, they were just ashamed of having gone to sleep. But perhaps they are even more bashful when it comes to seeing stran-gers than they feel about being seen themselves, and they do not now want to be suddenly and immediately confronted, first thing in the morning, with the distressing sight of members of the public, large as life and twice as natural, a sight that, fortunately, they have man-aged to overcome with the help of the nocturnal hearings. They are just not equal to it. And what kind of a human being wouldn’t respect that? Well, someone like K. Someone who would set himself above everything, above the law, above the most ordinary human consideration for others, and do it with dull indifference and leth-argy, someone who doesn’t mind making the distribution of the files all but impossible, who harms the reputation of their inn, and is the cause of something never known before: the gentlemen, driven to distraction, begin to defend themselves, and after summoning up what to ordinary people is almost unimaginable will-power, reach for their bells and ring for help in getting rid of K., since there is no other way of doing it. They, the gentlemen, calling for help! Wouldn’t the landlord and landlady and all their staff have come long before if they had only dared to appear before the gentlemen in the morning without being summoned, even if it was only to bring help and then go away at once? Quivering with their indignation at K.’s conduct, inconsolable at being so powerless, they had waited here at the begin-ning of the corridor, and the ringing of the bell that they had never really expected had been such a release for them! Well, the worst was over! If only they could get a glimpse of the happiness of the gentle-men now that they were finally delivered from K.! It wasn’t over yet for K. himself, of course, he would certainly have to answer for what he had done.

By now they had reached the bar; why the landlord, for all his anger, had brought K. here was not entirely clear, but perhaps he had realized that K.’s exhaustion made it impossible for him to leave the house at once. Without waiting to be asked to sit down, K. positively collapsed on to one of the casks. It was good to be there in the dark. Only one weak electric light above the beer-pulls was switched on. It was still dark outside too, and there seemed to be driving snow. He must be thankful to be here in the warm and take care not to be driven out. The landlord and landlady went on standing in front of him as if he still represented imminent danger, as if he were so totally unreliable that they couldn’t entirely exclude the possibility of his suddenly setting out to try getting back into the corridor. They were tired themselves after the nocturnal alarms and rising early, especially the landlady, who was wearing a wide-skirted brown dress that rus-tled like silk, and was rather carelessly buttoned and done up—where had she found it in her haste?—and had now laid her head on her husband’s shoulder, was dabbing her eyes with a delicate little hand-kerchief, now and then, like a child, casting angry glances at K. To mollify the couple, K. said that everything they had told him was entirely new to him, but that even though he had not been aware of it he would never have stayed so long in the corridor, where he really had no business and certainly no desire to upset anyone, except that he was so exhausted. He thanked them, he said, for putting an end to the painful scene. If he was to be called to account for it, he would welcome that, for only in that way could he prevent his conduct from being generally misunderstood. His weariness was solely to blame, nothing else. But that weariness arose from his not being used to the strain of the hearings. After all, he hadn’t been here very long. Once he had some experience of it nothing of the kind could happen again. Perhaps he took the hearings too seriously, but surely that wasn’t a bad thing in itself.

He had been through two hearings in quick suc-cession, one with Bürgel and the second with Erlanger, and the first in particular had worn him out, although the second hadn’t taken long, Erlanger had simply wanted to ask him a favour, but both together had been more than he could stand at once, perhaps some-thing of the kind might be too much for others too, even the land-lord. He had staggered away from the second hearing in what was almost a state of intoxication—after all, he had seen and heard the two gentlemen for the first time, and had been expected to answer them. As far as he knew it had all turned out well, but then the mis-fortune had happened, although he could hardly