He held that arm more firmly; Barnabas was almost pulling him along, and they preserved an unbroken silence. All K. knew about the way they were going was that, judging by the state of the road surface, they had turned into another side-alley. He resolved not to be deterred from going on by any difficulty on the road, or indeed by anxiety about finding his own way back; his strength would surely hold out. And could this walk go on for ever? By day the castle had seemed an easy place to reach, and a messenger from it was sure to know the shortest way.
Then Barnabas stopped. Where were they? Didn’t their path go any further? Was Barnabas going to say goodbye to him now? He would not succeed. K. held Barnabas by the arm so tightly that it almost hurt his own fingers. Or could the incredible have happened, and they were already in the castle or at its gates? But so far as K. was aware they had not gone up any hill.
Or had Barnabas led him along a way that climbed only imperceptibly? ‘Where are we?’ K. asked quietly, more to himself than his companion. ‘Home,’ said Barnabas just as quietly. ‘Home?’ ‘Take care now, sir, mind you don’t slip. This path goes downhill.’ Downhill? ‘It’s only a few steps,’ Barnabas added, and he was already knocking at a door.
A girl opened it. They were standing in the doorway of a large room, which was almost dark, for only one tiny oil-lamp hung over a table to the left at the back of the room. ‘Who’s this with you, Barnabas?’ asked the girl. ‘The land surveyor,’ he said. ‘The land surveyor?’ repeated the girl in a louder voice, looking at the table. Two old people sitting there rose to their feet, a man and a woman, and so did another girl. They greeted K. Barnabas introduced them all to him: they were his parents and his sisters Olga and Amalia. K. hardly looked at them. They took his wet coat from him to dry it by the stove, and K. let them do as they liked.
So they weren’t home, or rather only Barnabas was. But why were they here? K. took Barnabas aside and asked: ‘Why did you come here to your home? Or do you live in the castle precincts?’ ‘In the castle precincts?’ repeated Barnabas, as if he didn’t understand K. ‘Barnabas,’ said K., ‘you were leaving the inn to go up to the castle.’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ said Barnabas, ‘I was going home, I don’t go up to the castle until morning. I never sleep there.’ ‘I see,’ said K. ‘You weren’t going to the castle, only here.’ He felt that his smile was wearier and he himself more insignificant. ‘Why didn’t you tell me so?’ ‘You didn’t ask, sir,’ said Barnabas. ‘You only wanted to give me another mes-sage, but not in the saloon bar at the inn or in your room there, so I thought you could give me the message here, at your leisure, at home with my parents—they’ll all go away at once if you say so—and if you like it better here with us you could spend the night. Did I do wrong?’ K. could not reply. So it had been a misunderstanding, a stupid, ordinary misunderstanding, and K. had swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. He had let himself be captivated by the silken gleam of Barnabas’s close-fitting jacket, which he now unbuttoned, reveal-ing a coarse, grey, much-mended shirt over a powerful broad chest like a labourer’s.
And everything around him was not only in harmony with this sight but went further: the gouty old father who made his way forward, more with the help of his groping hands than his slow, stiff legs; the mother with her arms crossed over her breast, so stout that she too could take only the tiniest of steps. Both of them, father and mother, had left their corner when K. entered the room, moving towards him, and they were nowhere near him yet. The sisters, two blondes, resembling both each other and Barnabas, but with harsher features than their brother, were tall, strong girls. They stood near the two new arrivals, expecting some kind of greeting from K., but he couldn’t get out a word. He had been thinking that everyone here in the village would matter to him, and no doubt that was so, but he wasn’t interested in these particular people. If he had been able to make his way back to the inn on his own, he would have set off at once. Even the chance of getting into the castle with Barnabas in the morning didn’t entice him.* He had wanted to get into the castle now, by night and unnoticed, guided by Barnabas, but by Barnabas as he had appeared to K. until now, a man more congenial to him than anyone else he had yet seen here, and who, so he had also thought, was closely connected with the castle, far more so than his visible status might suggest. But it was impossible, a hopelessly ridiculous plan, to try going up to the castle in full daylight arm in arm with the son of this family, a family of which he, Barnabas, was entirely a part, sitting with them now at their table, a man who, significantly enough, might not even sleep at the castle.
K. sat down on a window-seat, determined to spend the night there and accept no further favours from the family.
The villagers who sent him away or seemed to fear him struck him as less dangerous, for basically they were rejecting only his person while helping him to concentrate his forces. Such apparent helpers as these, however, putting on a little masquerade so as to take him to the bosom of their family rather than the castle, were distracting him whether or not they meant to, working to destroy his powers. He ignored a call invit-ing him to the family table and stayed where he was, his head bent. Then Olga, the gentler of the two sisters and the one who showed a touch of girlish awkwardness, came over to K. and again invited him to join them; there was bread and bacon, she said, and she would go to fetch some beer. ‘Where from?’ asked K. ‘Why, the inn,’ she said. This was welcome news to K. He asked her to accompany him to the inn, where he said he had left some important work, instead of going to fetch beer. However, now it turned out that she didn’t intend to go as far as the inn where he was staying, but to another and much closer one, the Castle Inn. All the same, K. asked her to let him be her companion; perhaps, he thought, there’ll be a bed for me there. Whatever it was like, he’d have preferred it to the best bed in this house. Olga did not reply at once, but looked at the table. Her brother, standing there, nodded readily, and said: ‘Oh yes, if that’s what the gentleman wants.’ This consent almost brought K. to withdraw his request; if the man agreed to it, the idea must be worthless. But when they discussed the question of whether K. would be allowed into the inn, and everyone present doubted it, he insisted on going with Olga, although without taking the trouble to invent some reasonable pre-text for his request. This family must take him as he was, and it was a fact that he felt no sense of shame in front of them. He was slightly put off only by Amalia with her grave, direct gaze. Her expression was unimpressed, but perhaps a little stupid too.
On the short walk to the inn—K. had taken Olga’s arm and, despite himself, found that she was pulling him along very much as her brother had done earlier—he learned that this inn was really meant only for gentlemen from the castle, who ate and sometimes even spent the night there when they had business in the village. Olga spoke to K. quietly and as if she knew him well. It was pleasant to walk with her, just as it had been pleasant with her brother. K. fought against this sense of pleasure, but it was there.
Outwardly, the inn resembled the one where K. was staying. There were probably no great outward differences in the whole village, but he noticed small ones at once: the front steps had a handrail, there was a handsome lantern over the door, and as they entered some-thing fluttered overhead: a banner in the count’s colours. They were greeted at once in the front hall by the landlord, who was obviously on his rounds keeping an eye on the place. His small eyes, enquiring or sleepy, examined K. in passing, and he said: ‘The land surveyor’s not allowed anywhere but the bar.’ ‘Of course,’ said Olga, answering for K. ‘He’s just keeping me company.’ The ungrateful K., however, let go of Olga’s arm and took the landlord aside, while Olga waited patiently at the other end of the hall. ‘I’d like to spend the night here,’ said K. ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ replied the landlord. ‘You don’t seem to know that this inn is exclusively for the use of the gentlemen from the castle.’ ‘Those may be the rules,’ said K., ‘but surely you can find me a corner to sleep in somewhere.’ ‘I’d be
