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Title: The Trial

Author: Franz Kafka

Translator: David Wyllie

Posting Date: August 13, 2012 [EBook #7849]
Release Date: April, 2005
First Posted: May 16, 2003

Language: English


*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRIAL ***














The Trial
Franz Kafka

Translation Copyright (C) by David Wyllie
Translator contact email: dandelion@post. cz




Chapter One
Arrest - Conversation with Mrs. Grubach - Then Miss Burstner

Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K. , he knew he had
done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested. Every day at
eight in the morning he was brought his breakfast by Mrs. Grubach's
cook - Mrs. Grubach was his landlady - but today she didn't come. That
had never happened before. K. waited a little while, looked from his
pillow at the old woman who lived opposite and who was watching him with
an inquisitiveness quite unusual for her, and finally, both hungry and
disconcerted, rang the bell. There was immediately a knock at the door
and a man entered. He had never seen the man in this house before. He
was slim but firmly built, his clothes were black and close-fitting,
with many folds and pockets, buckles and buttons and a belt, all of
which gave the impression of being very practical but without making it
very clear what they were actually for. "Who are you? " asked K. ,
sitting half upright in his bed. The man, however, ignored the question
as if his arrival simply had to be accepted, and merely replied, "You
rang? " "Anna should have brought me my breakfast," said K. He tried to
work out who the man actually was, first in silence, just through
observation and by thinking about it, but the man didn't stay still to
be looked at for very long. Instead he went over to the door, opened it
slightly, and said to someone who was clearly standing immediately
behind it, "He wants Anna to bring him his breakfast. " There was a
little laughter in the neighbouring room, it was not clear from the
sound of it whether there were several people laughing. The strange man
could not have learned anything from it that he hadn't known already,
but now he said to K. , as if making his report "It is not possible. "
"It would be the first time that's happened," said K. , as he jumped out
of bed and quickly pulled on his trousers. "I want to see who that is
in the next room, and why it is that Mrs. Grubach has let me be
disturbed in this way. " It immediately occurred to him that he needn't
have said this out loud, and that he must to some extent have
acknowledged their authority by doing so, but that didn't seem important
to him at the time. That, at least, is how the stranger took it, as he
said, "Don't you think you'd better stay where you are? " "I want
neither to stay here nor to be spoken to by you until you've introduced
yourself. " "I meant it for your own good," said the stranger and opened
the door, this time without being asked. The next room, which K.
entered more slowly than he had intended, looked at first glance exactly
the same as it had the previous evening. It was Mrs. Grubach's living
room, over-filled with furniture, tablecloths, porcelain and
photographs. Perhaps there was a little more space in there than usual
today, but if so it was not immediately obvious, especially as the main
difference was the presence of a man sitting by the open window with a
book from which he now looked up. "You should have stayed in your room!
Didn't Franz tell you? " "And what is it you want, then? " said K. ,
looking back and forth between this new acquaintance and the one named
Franz, who had remained in the doorway. Through the open window he
noticed the old woman again, who had come close to the window opposite
so that she could continue to see everything. She was showing an
inquisitiveness that really made it seem like she was going senile. "I
want to see Mrs. Grubach . . . ," said K. , making a movement as if tearing
himself away from the two men - even though they were standing well away
from him - and wanted to go. "No," said the man at the window, who
threw his book down on a coffee table and stood up. "You can't go away
when you're under arrest. " "That's how it seems," said K. "And why am
I under arrest? " he then asked. "That's something we're not allowed to
tell you. Go into your room and wait there. Proceedings are underway
and you'll learn about everything all in good time. It's not really
part of my job to be friendly towards you like this, but I hope no-one,
apart from Franz, will hear about it, and he's been more friendly
towards you than he should have been, under the rules, himself. If you
carry on having as much good luck as you have been with your arresting
officers then you can reckon on things going well with you. " K. wanted
to sit down, but then he saw that, apart from the chair by the window,
there was nowhere anywhere in the room where he could sit. "You'll get
the chance to see for yourself how true all this is," said Franz and
both men then walked up to K. They were significantly bigger than him,
especially the second man, who frequently slapped him on the shoulder.
The two of them felt K. 's nightshirt, and said he would now have to wear
one that was of much lower quality, but that they would keep the
nightshirt along with his other underclothes and return them to him if
his case turned out well. "It's better for you if you give us the
things than if you leave them in the storeroom," they said. "Things
have a tendency to go missing in the storeroom, and after a certain
amount of time they sell things off, whether the case involved has come
to an end or not. And cases like this can last a long time, especially
the ones that have been coming up lately. They'd give you the money
they got for them, but it wouldn't be very much as it's not what they're
offered for them when they sell them that counts, it's how much they get
slipped on the side, and things like that lose their value anyway when
they get passed on from hand to hand, year after year. " K. paid hardly
any attention to what they were saying, he did not place much value on
what he may have still possessed or on who decided what happened to
them. It was much more important to him to get a clear understanding of
his position, but he could not think clearly while these people were
here, the second policeman's belly - and they could only be policemen -
looked friendly enough, sticking out towards him, but when K. looked up
and saw his dry, boney face it did not seem to fit with the body. His
strong nose twisted to one side as if ignoring K. and sharing an
understanding with the other policeman. What sort of people were these?
What were they talking about? What office did they belong to? K. was
living in a free country, after all, everywhere was at peace, all laws
were decent and were upheld, who was it who dared accost him in his own
home? He was always inclined to take life as lightly as he could, to
cross bridges when he came to them, pay no heed for the future, even
when everything seemed under threat. But here that did not seem the
right thing to do. He could have taken it all as a joke, a big joke set
up by his colleagues at the bank for some unknown reason, or also
perhaps because today was his thirtieth birthday, it was all possible of
course, maybe all he had to do was laugh in the policemen's face in some
way and they would laugh with him, maybe they were tradesmen from the
corner of the street, they looked like they might be - but he was
nonetheless determined, ever since he first caught sight of the one
called Franz, not to lose any slight advantage he might have had over
these people. There was a very slight risk that people would later say
he couldn't understand a joke, but - although he wasn't normally in the
habit of learning from experience - he might also have had a few
unimportant occasions in mind when, unlike his more cautious friends, he
had acted with no thought at all for what might follow and had been made
to suffer for it. He didn't want that to happen again, not this time at
least; if they were play-acting he would act along with them.

He still had time. "Allow me," he said, and hurried between the
two policemen through into his room. "He seems sensible enough," he
heard them say behind him. Once in his room, he quickly pulled open the
drawer of his writing desk, everything in it was very tidy but in his
agitation he was unable to find the identification documents he was
looking for straight away. He finally found his bicycle permit and was
about to go back to the policemen with it when it seemed to him too
petty, so he carried on searching until he found his birth certificate.
Just as he got back in the adjoining room the door on the other side
opened and Mrs. Grubach was about to enter. He only saw her for an
instant, for as soon as she recognised K. she was clearly embarrassed,
asked for forgiveness and disappeared, closing the door behind her very
carefully. "Do come in," K. could have said just then. But now he stood
in the middle of the room with his papers in his hand and still looking
at the door which did not open again. He stayed like that until he was
startled out of it by the shout of the policeman who sat at the little
table at the open window and, as K. now saw, was eating his breakfast.
"Why didn't she come in? " he asked. "She's not allowed to," said the
big policeman. "You're under arrest, aren't you. " "But how can I be
under arrest? And how come it's like this? " "Now you're starting
again," said the policeman, dipping a piece of buttered bread in the
honeypot. "We don't answer questions like that. " "You will have to
answer them," said K. "Here are my identification papers, now show me
yours and I certainly want to see the arrest warrant. " "Oh, my God! "
said the policeman. "In a position like yours, and you think you can
start giving orders, do you? It won't do you any good to get us on the
wrong side, even if you think it will - we're probably more on your side
that anyone else you know! " "That's true, you know, you'd better
believe it," said Franz, holding a cup of coffee in his hand which he
did not lift to his mouth but looked at K. in a way that was probably
meant to be full of meaning but could not actually be understood. K.
found himself, without intending it, in a mute dialogue with Franz, but
then slapped his hand down on his papers and said, "Here are my identity
documents. " "And what do you want us to do about it? " replied the big
policeman, loudly. "The way you're carrying on, it's worse than a
child. What is it you want? Do you want to get this great, bloody trial
of yours over with quickly by talking about ID and arrest warrants with
us? We're just coppers, that's all we are. Junior officers like us
hardly know one end of an ID card from another, all we've got to do with
you is keep an eye on you for ten hours a day and get paid for it.
That's all we are. Mind you, what we can do is make sure that the high
officials we work for find out just what sort of person it is they're
going to arrest, and why he should be arrested, before they issue the
warrant. There's no mistake there. Our authorities as far as I know,
and I only know the lowest grades, don't go out looking for guilt among
the public; it's the guilt that draws them out, like it says in the law,
and they have to send us police officers out. That's the law. Where
d'you think there'd be any mistake there? " "I don't know this law,"
said K. "So much the worse for you, then," said the policeman. "It's
probably exists only in your heads," said K. , he wanted, in some way, to
insinuate his way into the thoughts of the policemen, to re-shape those
thoughts to his benefit or to make himself at home there. But the
policeman just said dismissively, "You'll find out when it affects you. "
Franz joined in, and said, "Look at this, Willem, he admits he doesn't
know the law and at the same time insists he's innocent. " "You're quite
right, but we can't get him to understand a thing," said the other. K.
stopped talking with them; do I, he thought to himself, do I really have
to carry on getting tangled up with the chattering of base functionaries
like this? - and they admit themselves that they are of the lowest
position. They're talking about things of which they don't have the
slightest understanding, anyway. It's only because of their stupidity
that they're able to be so sure of themselves. I just need few words
with someone of the same social standing as myself and everything will
be incomparably clearer, much clearer than a long conversation with
these two can make it. He walked up and down the free space in the room
a couple of times, across the street he could see the old woman who,
now, had pulled an old man, much older than herself, up to the window
and had her arms around him. K. had to put an end to this display,
"Take me to your superior," he said. "As soon as he wants to see you.
Not before," said the policeman, the one called Willem. "And now my
advice to you," he added, "is to go into your room, stay calm, and wait
and see what's to be done with you. If you take our advice, you won't
tire yourself out thinking about things to no purpose, you need to pull
yourself together as there's a lot that's going to required of you.
You've not behaved towards us the way we deserve after being so good to
you, you forget that we, whatever we are, we're still free men and
you're not, and that's quite an advantage. But in spite of all that
we're still willing, if you've got the money, to go and get you some
breakfast from the cafe over the road. "

Without giving any answer to this offer, K. stood still for some
time. Perhaps, if he opened the door of the next room or even the front
door, the two of them would not dare to stand in his way, perhaps that
would be the simplest way to settle the whole thing, by bringing it to a
head. But maybe they would grab him, and if he were thrown down on the
ground he would lose all the advantage he, in a certain respect, had
over them. So he decided on the more certain solution, the way things
would go in the natural course of events, and went back in his room
without another word either from him or from the policemen.

He threw himself down on his bed, and from the dressing table he
took the nice apple that he had put there the previous evening for his
breakfast. Now it was all the breakfast he had and anyway, as he
confirmed as soon as he took his first, big bite of it, it was far
better than a breakfast he could have had through the good will of the
policemen from the dirty cafe. He felt well and confident, he had
failed to go into work at the bank this morning but that could easily be
excused because of the relatively high position he held there. Should
he really send in his explanation? He wondered about it. If nobody
believed him, and in this case that would be understandable, he could
bring Mrs. Grubach in as a witness, or even the old pair from across the
street, who probably even now were on their way over to the window
opposite. It puzzled K. , at least it puzzled him looking at it from the
policemen's point of view, that they had made him go into the room and
left him alone there, where he had ten different ways of killing
himself. At the same time, though, he asked himself, this time looking
at it from his own point of view, what reason he could have to do so.
Because those two were sitting there in the next room and had taken his
breakfast, perhaps? It would have been so pointless to kill himself
that, even if he had wanted to, the pointlessness would have made him
unable. Maybe, if the policemen had not been so obviously limited in
their mental abilities, it could have been supposed that they had come
to the same conclusion and saw no danger in leaving him alone because of
it. They could watch now, if they wanted, and see how he went over to
the cupboard in the wall where he kept a bottle of good schnapps, how he
first emptied a glass of it in place of his breakfast and how he then
took a second glassful in order to give himself courage, the last one
just as a precaution for the unlikely chance it would be needed.

Then he was so startled by a shout to him from the other room that
he struck his teeth against the glass. "The supervisor wants to see
you! " a voice said. It was only the shout that startled him, this curt,
abrupt, military shout, that he would not have expected from the
policeman called Franz. In itself, he found the order very welcome.
"At last! " he called back, locked the cupboard and, without delay,
hurried into the next room. The two policemen were standing there and
chased him back into his bedroom as if that were a matter of course.
"What d'you think you're doing? " they cried. "Think you're going to see
the supervisor dressed in just your shirt, do you? He'd see to it you
got a right thumping, and us and all! " "Let go of me for God's sake! "
called K. , who had already been pushed back as far as his wardrobe, "if
you accost me when I'm still in bed you can't expect to find me in my
evening dress. " "That won't help you," said the policemen, who always
became very quiet, almost sad, when K. began to shout, and in that way
confused him or, to some extent, brought him to his senses. "Ridiculous
formalities! " he grumbled, as he lifted his coat from the chair and kept
it in both his hands for a little while, as if holding it out for the
policemen's inspection. They shook their heads. "It's got to be a
black coat," they said. At that, K. threw the coat to the floor and
said - without knowing even himself what he meant by it - "Well it's not
going to be the main trial, after all. " The policemen laughed, but
continued to insist, "It's got to be a black coat.
" It immediately occurred to him that he needn't
have said this out loud, and that he must to some extent have
acknowledged their authority by doing so, but that didn't seem important
to him at the time. That, at least, is how the stranger took it, as he
said, "Don't you think you'd better stay where you are? " "I want
neither to stay here nor to be spoken to by you until you've introduced
yourself. " "I meant it for your own good," said the stranger and opened
the door, this time without being asked. The next room, which K.
entered more slowly than he had intended, looked at first glance exactly
the same as it had the previous evening. It was Mrs. Grubach's living
room, over-filled with furniture, tablecloths, porcelain and
photographs. Perhaps there was a little more space in there than usual
today, but if so it was not immediately obvious, especially as the main
difference was the presence of a man sitting by the open window with a
book from which he now looked up. "You should have stayed in your room!
Didn't Franz tell you? " "And what is it you want, then? " said K. ,
looking back and forth between this new acquaintance and the one named
Franz, who had remained in the doorway. Through the open window he
noticed the old woman again, who had come close to the window opposite
so that she could continue to see everything. She was showing an
inquisitiveness that really made it seem like she was going senile. "I
want to see Mrs. Grubach . . . ," said K. , making a movement as if tearing
himself away from the two men - even though they were standing well away
from him - and wanted to go. "No," said the man at the window, who
threw his book down on a coffee table and stood up. "You can't go away
when you're under arrest. " "That's how it seems," said K. "And why am
I under arrest? " he then asked. "That's something we're not allowed to
tell you. Go into your room and wait there. Proceedings are underway
and you'll learn about everything all in good time. It's not really
part of my job to be friendly towards you like this, but I hope no-one,
apart from Franz, will hear about it, and he's been more friendly
towards you than he should have been, under the rules, himself. If you
carry on having as much good luck as you have been with your arresting
officers then you can reckon on things going well with you. " K. wanted
to sit down, but then he saw that, apart from the chair by the window,
there was nowhere anywhere in the room where he could sit. "You'll get
the chance to see for yourself how true all this is," said Franz and
both men then walked up to K. They were significantly bigger than him,
especially the second man, who frequently slapped him on the shoulder.
The two of them felt K. 's nightshirt, and said he would now have to wear
one that was of much lower quality, but that they would keep the
nightshirt along with his other underclothes and return them to him if
his case turned out well. "It's better for you if you give us the
things than if you leave them in the storeroom," they said. "Things
have a tendency to go missing in the storeroom, and after a certain
amount of time they sell things off, whether the case involved has come
to an end or not. And cases like this can last a long time, especially
the ones that have been coming up lately. They'd give you the money
they got for them, but it wouldn't be very much as it's not what they're
offered for them when they sell them that counts, it's how much they get
slipped on the side, and things like that lose their value anyway when
they get passed on from hand to hand, year after year. " K. paid hardly
any attention to what they were saying, he did not place much value on
what he may have still possessed or on who decided what happened to
them. It was much more important to him to get a clear understanding of
his position, but he could not think clearly while these people were
here, the second policeman's belly - and they could only be policemen -
looked friendly enough, sticking out towards him, but when K. looked up
and saw his dry, boney face it did not seem to fit with the body. His
strong nose twisted to one side as if ignoring K. and sharing an
understanding with the other policeman. What sort of people were these?
What were they talking about? What office did they belong to? K. was
living in a free country, after all, everywhere was at peace, all laws
were decent and were upheld, who was it who dared accost him in his own
home? He was always inclined to take life as lightly as he could, to
cross bridges when he came to them, pay no heed for the future, even
when everything seemed under threat. But here that did not seem the
right thing to do. He could have taken it all as a joke, a big joke set
up by his colleagues at the bank for some unknown reason, or also
perhaps because today was his thirtieth birthday, it was all possible of
course, maybe all he had to do was laugh in the policemen's face in some
way and they would laugh with him, maybe they were tradesmen from the
corner of the street, they looked like they might be - but he was
nonetheless determined, ever since he first caught sight of the one
called Franz, not to lose any slight advantage he might have had over
these people. There was a very slight risk that people would later say
he couldn't understand a joke, but - although he wasn't normally in the
habit of learning from experience - he might also have had a few
unimportant occasions in mind when, unlike his more cautious friends, he
had acted with no thought at all for what might follow and had been made
to suffer for it. He didn't want that to happen again, not this time at
least; if they were play-acting he would act along with them.

He still had time. "Allow me," he said, and hurried between the
two policemen through into his room. "He seems sensible enough," he
heard them say behind him. Once in his room, he quickly pulled open the
drawer of his writing desk, everything in it was very tidy but in his
agitation he was unable to find the identification documents he was
looking for straight away. He finally found his bicycle permit and was
about to go back to the policemen with it when it seemed to him too
petty, so he carried on searching until he found his birth certificate.
Just as he got back in the adjoining room the door on the other side
opened and Mrs. Grubach was about to enter. He only saw her for an
instant, for as soon as she recognised K. she was clearly embarrassed,
asked for forgiveness and disappeared, closing the door behind her very
carefully. "Do come in," K. could have said just then. But now he stood
in the middle of the room with his papers in his hand and still looking
at the door which did not open again. He stayed like that until he was
startled out of it by the shout of the policeman who sat at the little
table at the open window and, as K. now saw, was eating his breakfast.
"Why didn't she come in? " he asked. "She's not allowed to," said the
big policeman. "You're under arrest, aren't you. " "But how can I be
under arrest? And how come it's like this? " "Now you're starting
again," said the policeman, dipping a piece of buttered bread in the
honeypot. "We don't answer questions like that. " "You will have to
answer them," said K. "Here are my identification papers, now show me
yours and I certainly want to see the arrest warrant. " "Oh, my God! "
said the policeman. "In a position like yours, and you think you can
start giving orders, do you? It won't do you any good to get us on the
wrong side, even if you think it will - we're probably more on your side
that anyone else you know! " "That's true, you know, you'd better
believe it," said Franz, holding a cup of coffee in his hand which he
did not lift to his mouth but looked at K. in a way that was probably
meant to be full of meaning but could not actually be understood. K.
found himself, without intending it, in a mute dialogue with Franz, but
then slapped his hand down on his papers and said, "Here are my identity
documents. " "And what do you want us to do about it? " replied the big
policeman, loudly. "The way you're carrying on, it's worse than a
child. What is it you want? Do you want to get this great, bloody trial
of yours over with quickly by talking about ID and arrest warrants with
us? We're just coppers, that's all we are. Junior officers like us
hardly know one end of an ID card from another, all we've got to do with
you is keep an eye on you for ten hours a day and get paid for it.
That's all we are. Mind you, what we can do is make sure that the high
officials we work for find out just what sort of person it is they're
going to arrest, and why he should be arrested, before they issue the
warrant. There's no mistake there. Our authorities as far as I know,
and I only know the lowest grades, don't go out looking for guilt among
the public; it's the guilt that draws them out, like it says in the law,
and they have to send us police officers out. That's the law. Where
d'you think there'd be any mistake there? " "I don't know this law,"
said K. "So much the worse for you, then," said the policeman. "It's
probably exists only in your heads," said K. , he wanted, in some way, to
insinuate his way into the thoughts of the policemen, to re-shape those
thoughts to his benefit or to make himself at home there. But the
policeman just said dismissively, "You'll find out when it affects you. "
Franz joined in, and said, "Look at this, Willem, he admits he doesn't
know the law and at the same time insists he's innocent. " "You're quite
right, but we can't get him to understand a thing," said the other. K.
stopped talking with them; do I, he thought to himself, do I really have
to carry on getting tangled up with the chattering of base functionaries
like this? - and they admit themselves that they are of the lowest
position. They're talking about things of which they don't have the
slightest understanding, anyway. It's only because of their stupidity
that they're able to be so sure of themselves. I just need few words
with someone of the same social standing as myself and everything will
be incomparably clearer, much clearer than a long conversation with
these two can make it. He walked up and down the free space in the room
a couple of times, across the street he could see the old woman who,
now, had pulled an old man, much older than herself, up to the window
and had her arms around him. K. had to put an end to this display,
"Take me to your superior," he said. "As soon as he wants to see you.
Not before," said the policeman, the one called Willem. "And now my
advice to you," he added, "is to go into your room, stay calm, and wait
and see what's to be done with you. If you take our advice, you won't
tire yourself out thinking about things to no purpose, you need to pull
yourself together as there's a lot that's going to required of you.
You've not behaved towards us the way we deserve after being so good to
you, you forget that we, whatever we are, we're still free men and
you're not, and that's quite an advantage. But in spite of all that
we're still willing, if you've got the money, to go and get you some
breakfast from the cafe over the road. "

Without giving any answer to this offer, K. stood still for some
time. Perhaps, if he opened the door of the next room or even the front
door, the two of them would not dare to stand in his way, perhaps that
would be the simplest way to settle the whole thing, by bringing it to a
head. But maybe they would grab him, and if he were thrown down on the
ground he would lose all the advantage he, in a certain respect, had
over them. So he decided on the more certain solution, the way things
would go in the natural course of events, and went back in his room
without another word either from him or from the policemen.

He threw himself down on his bed, and from the dressing table he
took the nice apple that he had put there the previous evening for his
breakfast. Now it was all the breakfast he had and anyway, as he
confirmed as soon as he took his first, big bite of it, it was far
better than a breakfast he could have had through the good will of the
policemen from the dirty cafe. He felt well and confident, he had
failed to go into work at the bank this morning but that could easily be
excused because of the relatively high position he held there. Should
he really send in his explanation? He wondered about it. If nobody
believed him, and in this case that would be understandable, he could
bring Mrs. Grubach in as a witness, or even the old pair from across the
street, who probably even now were on their way over to the window
opposite. It puzzled K. , at least it puzzled him looking at it from the
policemen's point of view, that they had made him go into the room and
left him alone there, where he had ten different ways of killing
himself. At the same time, though, he asked himself, this time looking
at it from his own point of view, what reason he could have to do so.
Because those two were sitting there in the next room and had taken his
breakfast, perhaps? It would have been so pointless to kill himself
that, even if he had wanted to, the pointlessness would have made him
unable. Maybe, if the policemen had not been so obviously limited in
their mental abilities, it could have been supposed that they had come
to the same conclusion and saw no danger in leaving him alone because of
it. They could watch now, if they wanted, and see how he went over to
the cupboard in the wall where he kept a bottle of good schnapps, how he
first emptied a glass of it in place of his breakfast and how he then
took a second glassful in order to give himself courage, the last one
just as a precaution for the unlikely chance it would be needed.

Then he was so startled by a shout to him from the other room that
he struck his teeth against the glass. "The supervisor wants to see
you! " a voice said. It was only the shout that startled him, this curt,
abrupt, military shout, that he would not have expected from the
policeman called Franz. In itself, he found the order very welcome.
"At last! " he called back, locked the cupboard and, without delay,
hurried into the next room. The two policemen were standing there and
chased him back into his bedroom as if that were a matter of course.
"What d'you think you're doing? " they cried. "Think you're going to see
the supervisor dressed in just your shirt, do you? He'd see to it you
got a right thumping, and us and all! " "Let go of me for God's sake! "
called K. , who had already been pushed back as far as his wardrobe, "if
you accost me when I'm still in bed you can't expect to find me in my
evening dress. " "That won't help you," said the policemen, who always
became very quiet, almost sad, when K. began to shout, and in that way
confused him or, to some extent, brought him to his senses. "Ridiculous
formalities! " he grumbled, as he lifted his coat from the chair and kept
it in both his hands for a little while, as if holding it out for the
policemen's inspection. They shook their heads. "It's got to be a
black coat," they said. At that, K. threw the coat to the floor and
said - without knowing even himself what he meant by it - "Well it's not
going to be the main trial, after all. " The policemen laughed, but
continued to insist, "It's got to be a black coat. " "Well that's
alright by me if it makes things go any faster," said K. He opened the
wardrobe himself, spent a long time searching through all the clothes,
and chose his best black suit which had a short jacket that had greatly
surprised those who knew him, then he also pulled out a fresh shirt and
began, carefully, to get dressed. He secretly told himself that he had
succeeded in speeding things up by letting the policemen forget to make
him have a bath. He watched them to see if they might remember after
all, but of course it never occurred to them, although Willem did not
forget to send Franz up to the supervisor with the message saying that
K. was getting dressed.

Once he was properly dressed, K. had to pass by Willem as he went
through the next room into the one beyond, the door of which was already
wide open. K. knew very well that this room had recently been let to a
typist called 'Miss Burstner'. She was in the habit of going out to
work very early and coming back home very late, and K. had never
exchanged more than a few words of greeting with her. Now, her bedside
table had been pulled into the middle of the room to be used as a desk
for these proceedings, and the supervisor sat behind it. He had his
legs crossed, and had thrown one arm over the backrest of the chair.

In one corner of the room there were three young people looking at
the photographs belonging to Miss Burstner that had been put into a
piece of fabric on the wall. Hung up on the handle of the open window
was a white blouse. At the window across the street, there was the old
pair again, although now their number had increased, as behind them, and
far taller than they were, stood a man with an open shirt that showed
his chest and a reddish goatee beard which he squeezed and twisted with
his fingers. "Josef K. ? " asked the supervisor, perhaps merely to
attract K. 's attention as he looked round the room. K. nodded. "I
daresay you were quite surprised by all that's been taking place this
morning," said the supervisor as, with both hands, he pushed away the
few items on the bedside table - the candle and box of matches, a book
and a pin cushion which lay there as if they were things he would need
for his own business. "Certainly," said K. , and he began to feel
relaxed now that, at last, he stood in front of someone with some sense,
someone with whom he would be able to talk about his situation.
"Certainly I'm surprised, but I'm not in any way very surprised. "
"You're not very surprised? " asked the supervisor, as he positioned the
candle in the middle of the table and the other things in a group around
it. "Perhaps you don't quite understand me," K. hurriedly pointed out.
"What I mean is . . .