No More Learning

" "Don't let anyone bother you," said the lawyer,
"and do what seems to you to be right. " "I will," said Block, as if
speaking to himself to give himself courage, and with a quick glance to
the side he kneeled down close beside the bed. "I'm kneeling now Dr.
Huld, sir," he said. But the lawyer remained silent. With one hand,
Block carefully stroked the bed cover. In the silence while he did so,
Leni, as she freed herself from K. 's hands, said, "You're hurting me.
Let go of me. I'm going over to Block. " She went over to him and sat
on the edge of the bed. Block was very pleased at this and with lively,
but silent, gestures he immediately urged her to intercede for him with
the lawyer. It was clear that he desperately needed to be told
something by the lawyer, although perhaps only so that he could make use
of the information with his other lawyers. Leni probably knew very well
how the lawyer could be brought round, pointed to his hand and pursed
her lips as if making a kiss. Block immediately performed the hand-kiss
and, at further urging from Leni, repeated it twice more. But the
lawyer continued to be silent. Then Leni leant over the lawyer, as she
stretched out, the attractive shape of her body could be seen, and, bent
over close to his face, she stroked his long white hair. That now
forced him to give an answer. "I'm rather wary of telling him," said
the lawyer, and his head could be seen shaking slightly, perhaps so that
he would feel the pressure of Leni's hand better. Block listened
closely with his head lowered, as if by listening he were breaking an
order. "What makes you so wary about it? " asked Leni. K. had the
feeling he was listening to a contrived dialogue that had been repeated
many times, that would be repeated many times more, and that for Block
alone it would never lose its freshness. "What has his behaviour been
like today? " asked the lawyer instead of an answer. Before Leni said
anything she looked down at Block and watched him a short while as he
raised his hands towards her and rubbed them together imploringly.
Finally she gave a serious nod, turned back to the lawyer and said,
"He's been quiet and industrious. " This was an elderly businessman, a
man whose beard was long, and he was begging a young girl to speak on
his behalf. Even if there was some plan behind what he did, there was
nothing that could reinstate him in the eyes of his fellow man. K.
could not understand how the lawyer could have thought this performance
would win him over. Even if he had done nothing earlier to make him
want to leave then this scene would have done so. It was almost
humiliating even for the onlooker. So these were the lawyer's methods,
which K. fortunately had not been exposed to for long, to let the client
forget about the whole world and leave him with nothing but the hope of
reaching the end of his trial by this deluded means. He was no longer a
client, he was the lawyer's dog. If the lawyer had ordered him to crawl
under the bed as if it were a kennel and to bark out from under it, then
he would have done so with enthusiasm. K. listened to all of this,
testing it and thinking it over as if he had been given the task of
closely observing everything spoken here, inform a higher office about
it and write a report. "And what has he been doing all day? " asked the
lawyer. "I kept him locked in the maid's room all day," said Leni, "so
that he wouldn't stop me doing my work. That's where he usually stays.
From time to time I looked in through the spyhole to see what he was
doing, and each time he was kneeling on the bed and reading the papers
you gave him, propped up on the window sill. That made a good
impression on me; as the window only opens onto an air shaft and gives
hardly any light. It showed how obedient he is that he was even reading
in those conditions. " "I'm pleased to hear it," said the lawyer. "But
did he understand what he was reading? " While this conversation was
going on, Block continually moved his lips and was clearly formulating
the answers he hoped Leni would give. "Well I can't give you any
certain answer to that of course," said Leni, "but I could see that he
was reading thoroughly. He spent all day reading the same page, running
his finger along the lines. Whenever I looked in on him he sighed as if
this reading was a lot of work for him. I expect the papers you gave
him were very hard to understand. " "Yes," said the lawyer, "they
certainly are that. And I really don't think he understood anything of
them. But they should at least give him some inkling of just how hard a
struggle it is and how much work it is for me to defend him. And who am
I doing all this hard work for? I'm doing it - it's laughable even to
say it - I'm doing it for Block. He ought to realise what that means,
too. Did he study without a pause? " "Almost without a pause," answered
Leni. "Just the once he asked me for a drink of water, so I gave him a
glassful through the window. Then at eight o'clock I let him out and
gave him something to eat. " Block glanced sideways at K. , as if he were
being praised and had to impress K. as well. He now seemed more
optimistic, he moved more freely and rocked back and forth on his knees.
This made his astonishment all the more obvious when he heard the
following words from the lawyer: "You speak well of him," said the
lawyer, "but that's just what makes it difficult for me. You see, the
judge did not speak well of him at all, neither about Block nor about
his case. " "Didn't speak well of him? " asked Leni. "How is that
possible? " Block looked at her with such tension he seemed to think
that although the judge's words had been spoken so long before she would
be able to change them in his favour. "Not at all," said the lawyer.
"In fact he became quite cross when I started to talk about Block to
him. 'Don't talk to me about Block,' he said. 'He is my client,' said
I. 'You're letting him abuse you,' he said. 'I don't think his case is
lost yet,' said I. 'You're letting him abuse you,' he repeated. 'I
don't think so,' said I. 'Block works hard in his case and always knows
where it stands. He practically lives with me so that he always knows
what's happening. You don't always find such enthusiasm as that. He's
not very pleasant personally, I grant you, his manners are terrible and
he's dirty, but as far as the trial's concerned he's quite immaculate. '
I said immaculate, but I was deliberately exaggerating. Then he said,
'Block is sly, that's all. He's accumulated plenty of experience and
knows how to delay proceedings. But there's more that he doesn't know
than he does. What do you think he'd say if he learned his trial still
hasn't begun, if you told him they haven't even rung the bell to
announce the start of proceedings? ' Alright Block, alright," said the
lawyer, as at these words Block had begun to raise himself on his
trembling knees and clearly wanted to plead for some explanation. It
was the first time the lawyer had spoken any clear words directly to
Block. He looked down with his tired eyes, half blankly and half at
Block, who slowly sank back down on his knees under this gaze. "What
the judge said has no meaning for you," said the lawyer. "You needn't
be frightened at every word. If you do it again I won't tell you
anything else at all. It's impossible to start a sentence without you
looking at me as if you were receiving your final judgement. You should
be ashamed of yourself here in front of my client! And you're
destroying the trust he has for me. Just what is it you want? You're
still alive, you're still under my protection. There's no point in
worrying! Somewhere you've read that the final judgement can often come
without warning, from anyone at any time. And, in the right
circumstances, that's basically true, but it's also true that I dislike
your anxiety and fear and see that you don't have the trust in me you
should have. Now what have I just said? I repeated something said by
one of the judges. You know that there are so many various opinions
about the procedure that they form into a great big pile and nobody can
make any sense of them. This judge, for instance, sees proceedings as
starting at a different point from where I do. A difference of opinion,
nothing more. At a certain stage in the proceedings tradition has it
that a sign is given by ringing a bell. This judge sees that as the
point at which proceedings begin. I can't set out all the opinions
opposed to that view here, and you wouldn't understand it anyway,
suffice it to say that there are many reasons to disagree with him. "
Embarrassed, Block ran his fingers through the pile of the carpet, his
anxiety about what the judge had said had let him forget his inferior
status towards the lawyer for a while, he thought only about himself and
turned the judges words round to examine them from all sides. "Block,"
said Leni, as if reprimanding him, and, taking hold of the collar of his
coat, pulled him up slightly higher. "Leave the carpet alone and listen
to what the lawyer is saying. "

This chapter was left unfinished.




Chapter Nine
In the Cathedral

A very important Italian business contact of the bank had come to
visit the city for the first time and K. was given the task of showing
him some of its cultural sights. At any other time he would have seen
this job as an honour but now, when he was finding it hard even to
maintain his current position in the bank, he accepted it only with
reluctance. Every hour that he could not be in the office was a cause
of concern for him, he was no longer able to make use of his time in the
office anything like as well as he had previously, he spent many hours
merely pretending to do important work, but that only increased his
anxiety about not being in the office. Then he sometimes thought he saw
the deputy director, who was always watching, come into K. 's office, sit
at his desk, look through his papers, receive clients who had almost
become old friends of K. , and lure them away from him, perhaps he even
discovered mistakes, mistakes that seemed to threaten K. from a thousand
directions when he was at work now, and which he could no longer avoid.
So now, if he was ever asked to leave the office on business or even
needed to make a short business trip, however much an honour it seemed -
and tasks of this sort happened to have increased substantially recently
- there was always the suspicion that they wanted to get him out of his
office for a while and check his work, or at least the idea that they
thought he was dispensable. It would not have been difficult for him to
turn down most of these jobs, but he did not dare to do so because, if
his fears had the slightest foundation, turning the jobs down would have
been an acknowledgement of them. For this reason, he never demurred
from accepting them, and even when he was asked to go on a tiring
business trip lasting two days he said nothing about having to go out in
the rainy autumn weather when he had a severe chill, just in order to
avoid the risk of not being asked to go. When, with a raging headache,
he arrived back from this trip he learned that he had been chosen to
accompany the Italian business contact the following day. The
temptation for once to turn the job down was very great, especially as
it had no direct connection with business, but there was no denying that
social obligations towards this business contact were in themselves
important enough, only not for K. , who knew quite well that he needed
some successes at work if he was to maintain his position there and
that, if he failed in that, it would not help him even if this Italian
somehow found him quite charming; he did not want to be removed from his
workplace for even one day, as the fear of not being allowed back in was
too great, he knew full well that the fear was exaggerated but it still
made him anxious. However, in this case it was almost impossible to
think of an acceptable excuse, his knowledge of Italian was not great
but still good enough; the deciding factor was that K. had earlier known
a little about art history and this had become widely known around the
bank in extremely exaggerated form, and that K. had been a member of the
Society for the Preservation of City Monuments, albeit only for business
reasons. It was said that this Italian was an art lover, so the choice
of K. to accompany him was a matter of course.

It was a very rainy and stormy morning when K. , in a foul temper
at the thought of the day ahead of him, arrived early at seven o'clock
in the office so that he could at least do some work before his visitor
would prevent him. He had spent half the night studying a book of
Italian grammar so that he would be somewhat prepared and was very
tired; his desk was less attractive to him than the window where he had
spent far too much time sitting of late, but he resisted the temptation
and sat down to his work. Unfortunately, just then the servitor came in
and reported that the director had sent him to see whether the chief
clerk was already in his office; if he was, then would he please be so
kind as to come to his reception room as the gentleman from Italy was
already there. "I'll come straight away," said K. He put a small
dictionary in his pocket, took a guide to the city's tourist sites under
his arm that he had compiled for strangers, and went through the deputy
director's office into that of the director. He was glad he had come
into the office so early and was able to be of service immediately,
nobody could seriously have expected that of him. The deputy director's
office was, of course, still as empty as the middle of the night, the
servitor had probably been asked to summon him too but without success.
As K. entered the reception room two men stood up from the deep
armchairs where they had been sitting. The director gave him a friendly
smile, he was clearly very glad that K. was there, he immediately
introduced him to the Italian who shook K. 's hand vigorously and joked
that somebody was an early riser. K. did not quite understand whom he
had in mind, it was moreover an odd expression to use and it took K. a
little while to guess its meaning. He replied with a few bland phrases
which the Italian received once more with a laugh, passing his hand
nervously and repeatedly over his blue-grey, bushy moustache. This
moustache was obviously perfumed, it was almost tempting to come close
to it and sniff. When they had all sat down and begun a light
preliminary conversation, K. was disconcerted to notice that he
understood no more than fragments of what the Italian said. When he
spoke very calmly he understood almost everything, but that was very
infrequent, mostly the words gushed from his mouth and he seemed to be
enjoying himself so much his head shook. When he was talking in this
way his speech was usually wrapped up in some kind of dialect which
seemed to K. to have nothing to do with Italian but which the director
not only understood but also spoke, although K. ought to have foreseen
this as the Italian came from the south of his country where the
director had also spent several years. Whatever the cause, K. realised
that the possibility of communicating with the Italian had been largely
taken from him, even his French was difficult to understand, and his
moustache concealed the movements of his lips which might have offered
some help in understanding what he said. K. began to anticipate many
difficulties, he gave up trying to understand what the Italian said -
with the director there, who could understand him so easily, it would
have been pointless effort - and for the time being did no more than
scowl at the Italian as he relaxed sitting deep but comfortable in the
armchair, as he frequently pulled at his short, sharply tailored jacket
and at one time lifted his arms in the air and moved his hands freely to
try and depict something that K. could not grasp, even though he was
leaning forward and did not let the hands out of his sight. K. had
nothing to occupy himself but mechanically watch the exchange between
the two men and his tiredness finally made itself felt, to his alarm,
although fortunately in good time, he once caught himself nearly getting
up, turning round and leaving. Eventually the Italian looked at the
clock and jumped up. After taking his leave from the director he turned
to K. , pressing himself so close to him that K. had to push his chair
back just so that he could move. The director had, no doubt, seen the
anxiety in K. 's eyes as he tried to cope with this dialect of Italian,
he joined in with this conversation in a way that was so adroit and
unobtrusive that he seemed to be adding no more than minor comments,
whereas in fact he was swiftly and patiently breaking into what the
Italian said so that K. could understand. K. learned in this way that
the Italian first had a few business matters to settle, that he
unfortunately had only a little time at his disposal, that he certainly
did not intend to rush round to see every monument in the city, that he
would much rather - at least as long as K. would agree, it was entirely
his decision - just see the cathedral and to do so thoroughly. He was
extremely pleased to be accompanied by someone who was so learned and so
pleasant - by this he meant K. , who was occupied not with listening to
the Italian but the director - and asked if he would be so kind, if the
time was suitable, to meet him in the cathedral in two hours' time at
about ten o'clock. He hoped he would certainly be able to be there at
that time. K. made an appropriate reply, the Italian shook first the
director's hand and then K. 's, then the director's again and went to the
door, half turned to the two men who followed him and continuing to talk
without a break. K. remained together with the director for a short
while, although the director looked especially unhappy today. He
thought he needed to apologise to K. for something and told him - they
were standing intimately close together - he had thought at first he
would accompany the Italian himself, but then - he gave no more precise
reason than this - then he decided it would be better to send K. with
him. He should not be surprised if he could not understand the Italian
at first, he would be able to very soon, and even if he really could not
understand very much he said it was not so bad, as it was really not so
important for the Italian to be understood. And anyway, K. 's knowledge
of Italian was surprisingly good, the director was sure he would get by
very well. And with that, it was time for K. to go. He spent the time
still remaining to him with a dictionary, copying out obscure words he
would need to guide the Italian round the cathedral. It was an
extremely irksome task, servitors brought him the mail, bank staff came
with various queries and, when they saw that K. was busy, stood by the
door and did not go away until he had listened to them, the deputy
director did not miss the opportunity to disturb K. and came in
frequently, took the dictionary from his hand and flicked through its
pages, clearly for no purpose, when the door to the ante-room opened
even clients would appear from the half darkness and bow timidly to him
- they wanted to attract his attention but were not sure whether he had
seen them - all this activity was circling around K. with him at its
centre while he compiled the list of words he would need, then looked
them up in the dictionary, then wrote them out, then practised their
pronunciation and finally tried to learn them by heart. The good
intentions he had had earlier, though, seemed to have left him
completely, it was the Italian who had caused him all this effort and
sometimes he became so angry with him that he buried the dictionary
under some papers firmly intending to do no more preparation, but then
he realised he could not walk up and down in the cathedral with the
Italian without saying a word, so, in an even greater rage, he
pulled the dictionary back out again.

At exactly half past nine, just when he was about to leave, there
was a telephone call for him, Leni wished him good morning and asked how
he was, K.
thanked her hurriedly and told her it was impossible for him
to talk now as he had to go to the cathedral. "To the cathedral? " asked
Leni. "Yes, to the cathedral. " "What do you have to go to the
cathedral for? " said Leni. K. tried to explain it to her briefly, but
he had hardly begun when Leni suddenly said, "They're harassing you. "
One thing that K. could not bear was pity that he had not wanted or
expected, he took his leave of her with two words, but as he put the
receiver back in its place he said, half to himself and half to the girl
on the other end of the line who could no longer hear him, "Yes, they're
harassing me. "

By now the time was late and there was almost a danger he would
not be on time. He took a taxi to the cathedral, at the last moment he
had remembered the album that he had had no opportunity to give to the
Italian earlier and so took it with him now. He held it on his knees
and drummed impatiently on it during the whole journey. The rain had
eased off slightly but it was still damp chilly and dark, it would be
difficult to see anything in the cathedral but standing about on cold
flagstones might well make K. 's chill much worse. The square in front
of the cathedral was quite empty, K. remembered how even as a small
child he had noticed that nearly all the houses in this narrow square
had the curtains at their windows closed most of the time, although
today, with the weather like this, it was more understandable. The
cathedral also seemed quite empty, of course no-one would think of going
there on a day like this. K. hurried along both the side naves but saw
no-one but an old woman who, wrapped up in a warm shawl, was kneeling at
a picture of the Virgin Mary and staring up at it. Then, in the
distance, he saw a church official who limped away through a doorway in
the wall. K. had arrived on time, it had struck ten just as he was
entering the building, but the Italian still was not there. K. went
back to the main entrance, stood there indecisively for a while, and
then walked round the cathedral in the rain in case the Italian was
waiting at another entrance. He was nowhere to be found. Could the
director have misunderstood what time they had agreed on? How could
anyone understand someone like that properly anyway? Whatever had
happened, K. would have to wait for him for at least half an hour. As
he was tired he wanted to sit down, he went back inside the cathedral,
he found something like a small carpet on one of the steps, he moved it
with his foot to a nearby pew, wrapped himself up tighter in his coat,
put the collar up and sat down. To pass the time he opened the album
and flicked through the pages a little but soon had to give up as it
became so dark that when he looked up he could hardly make out anything
in the side nave next to him.

In the distance there was a large triangle of candles flickering
on the main altar, K. was not certain whether he had seen them earlier.
Perhaps they had only just been lit. Church staff creep silently as
part of their job, you don't notice them. When K. happened to turn
round he also saw a tall, stout candle attached to a column not far
behind him. It was all very pretty, but totally inadequate to
illuminate the pictures which were usually left in the darkness of the
side altars, and seemed to make the darkness all the deeper. It was
discourteous of the Italian not to come but it was also sensible of him,
there would have been nothing to see, they would have had to content
themselves with seeking out a few pictures with K. 's electric pocket
torch and looking at them one small part at a time. K. went over to a
nearby side chapel to see what they could have hoped for, he went up a
few steps to a low marble railing and leant over it to look at the altar
picture by the light of his torch. The eternal light hung disturbingly
in front of it. The first thing that K. partly saw and partly guessed
at was a large knight in armour who was shown at the far edge of the
painting. He was leaning on his sword that he had stuck into the naked
ground in front of him where only a few blades of grass grew here and
there. He seemed to be paying close attention to something that was
being played out in front of him. It was astonishing to see how he
stood there without going any closer. Perhaps it was his job to stand
guard. It was a long time since K. had looked at any pictures and he
studied the knight for a long time even though he had continually to
blink as he found it difficult to bear the green light of his torch.
Then when he moved the light to the other parts of the picture he found
an interment of Christ shown in the usual way, it was also a
comparatively new painting. He put his torch away and went back to his
place.

There seemed to be no point in waiting for the Italian any longer,
but outside it was certainly raining heavily, and as it was not so cold
in the cathedral as K. had expected he decided to stay there for the
time being. Close by him was the great pulpit, there were two plain
golden crosses attached to its little round roof which were lying almost
flat and whose tips crossed over each other. The outside of the
pulpit's balustrade was covered in green foliage which continued down to
the column supporting it, little angels could be seen among the leaves,
some of them lively and some of them still. K. walked up to the pulpit
and examined it from all sides, its stonework had been sculpted with
great care, it seemed as if the foliage had trapped a deep darkness
between and behind its leaves and held it there prisoner, K. lay his
hand in one of these gaps and cautiously felt the stone, until then he
had been totally unaware of this pulpit's existence. Then K. happened
to notice one of the church staff standing behind the next row of pews,
he wore a loose, creased, black cassock, he held a snuff box in his left
hand and he was watching K. Now what does he want? thought K. Do I
seem suspicious to him? Does he want a tip? But when the man in the
cassock saw that K. had noticed him he raised his right hand, a pinch of
snuff still held between two fingers, and pointed in some vague
direction. It was almost impossible to understand what this behaviour
meant, K. waited a while longer but the man in the cassock did not stop
gesturing with his hand and even augmented it by nodding his head. "Now
what does he want? " asked K. quietly, he did not dare call out loud
here; but then he drew out his purse and pushed his way through the
nearest pews to reach the man. He, however, immediately gestured to
turn down this offer, shrugged his shoulders and limped away. As a
child K. had imitated riding on a horse with the same sort of movement
as this limp. "This old man is like a child," thought K. , "he doesn't
have the sense for anything more than serving in a church. Look at the
way he stops when I stop, and how he waits to see whether I'll
continue. " With a smile, K. followed the old man all the way up the
side nave and almost as far as the main altar, all this time the old man
continued to point at something but K. deliberately avoided looking
round, he was only pointing in order to make it harder for K. to follow
him. Eventually, K. did stop following, he did not want to worry the
old man too much, and he also did not want to frighten him away
completely in case the Italian turned up after all.

When he entered the central nave to go back to where he had left
the album, he noticed a small secondary pulpit on a column almost next
to the stalls by the altar where the choir sat. It was very simple,
made of plain white stone, and so small that from a distance it looked
like an empty niche where the statue of a saint ought to have been. It
certainly would have been impossible for the priest to take a full step
back from the balustrade, and, although there was no decoration on it,
the top of the pulpit curved in exceptionally low so that a man of
average height would not be able stand upright and would have to remain
bent forward over the balustrade. In all, it looked as if it had been
intended to make the priest suffer, it was impossible to understand why
this pulpit would be needed as there were also the other ones available
which were large and so artistically decorated.

And K. would certainly not have noticed this little pulpit if
there had not been a lamp fastened above it, which usually meant there
was a sermon about to be given. So was a sermon to be given now? In
this empty church? K. looked down at the steps which, pressed close
against the column, led up to the pulpit. They were so narrow they
seemed to be there as decoration on the column rather than for anyone to
use. But under the pulpit - K. grinned in astonishment - there really
was a priest standing with his hand on the handrail ready to climb the
steps and looking at K. Then he nodded very slightly, so that K.
crossed himself and genuflected as he should have done earlier. With a
little swing, the priest went up into the pulpit with short fast steps.
Was there really a sermon about to begin? Maybe the man in the cassock
had not been really so demented, and had meant to lead K. 's way to the
preacher, which in this empty church would have been very necessary.
And there was also, somewhere in front of a picture of the Virgin Mary,
an old woman who should have come to hear the sermon. And if there was
to be a sermon why had it not been introduced on the organ? But the
organ remained quiet and merely looked out weakly from the darkness of
its great height.

K. now considered whether he should leave as quickly as possible,
if he did not do it now there would be no chance of doing so during the
sermon and he would have to stay there for as long as it lasted, he had
lost so much time when he should have been in his office, there had long
been no need for him to wait for the Italian any longer, he looked at
his watch, it was eleven. But could there really be a sermon given?
Could K. constitute the entire congregation? How could he when he was
just a stranger who wanted to look at the church? That, basically, was
all he was. The idea of a sermon, now, at eleven o'clock, on a workday,
in hideous weather, was nonsense. The priest - there was no doubt that
he was a priest, a young man with a smooth, dark face - was clearly
going up there just to put the lamp out after somebody had lit it by
mistake.

But there had been no mistake, the priest seemed rather to check
that the lamp was lit and turned it a little higher, then he slowly
turned to face the front and leant down on the balustrade gripping its
angular rail with both hands. He stood there like that for a while and,
without turning his head, looked around. K. had moved back a long way
and leant his elbows on the front pew. Somewhere in the church - he
could not have said exactly where - he could make out the man in the
cassock hunched under his bent back and at peace, as if his work were
completed. In the cathedral it was now very quiet! But K. would have
to disturb that silence, he had no intention of staying there; if it was
the priest's duty to preach at a certain time regardless of the
circumstances then he could, and he could do it without K. 's taking
part, and K. 's presence would do nothing to augment the effect of it.
So K. began slowly to move, felt his way on tiptoe along the pew,
arrived at the broad aisle and went along it without being disturbed,
except for the sound of his steps, however light, which rang out on the
stone floor and resounded from the vaulting, quiet but continuous at a
repeating, regular pace. K. felt slightly abandoned as, probably
observed by the priest, he walked by himself between the empty pews, and
the size of the cathedral seemed to be just at the limit of what a man
could bear. When he arrived back at where he had been sitting he did
not hesitate but simply reached out for the album he had left there and
took it with him. He had nearly left the area covered by pews and was
close to the empty space between himself and the exit when, for the
first time, he heard the voice of the priest. A powerful and
experienced voice. It pierced through the reaches of the cathedral
ready waiting for it! But the priest was not calling out to the
congregation, his cry was quite unambiguous and there was no escape from
it, he called "Josef K. ! "

K. stood still and looked down at the floor. In theory he was
still free, he could have carried on walking, through one of three dark
little wooden doors not far in front of him and away from there. It
would simply mean he had not understood, or that he had understood but
chose not to pay attention to it. But if he once turned round he would
be trapped, then he would have acknowledged that he had understood
perfectly well, that he really was the Josef K. the priest had called to
and that he was willing to follow. If the priest had called out again
K. would certainly have carried on out the door, but everything was
silent as K. also waited, he turned his head slightly as he wanted to
see what the priest was doing now. He was merely standing in the pulpit
as before, but it was obvious that he had seen K. turn his head. If K.
did not now turn round completely it would have been like a child
playing hide and seek. He did so, and the priest beckoned him with his
finger. As everything could now be done openly he ran - because of
curiosity and the wish to get it over with - with long flying leaps
towards the pulpit. At the front pews he stopped, but to the priest he
still seemed too far away, he reached out his hand and pointed sharply
down with his finger to a place immediately in front of the pulpit. And
K. did as he was told, standing in that place he had to bend his head a
long way back just to see the priest. "You are Josef K. ," said the
priest, and raised his hand from the balustrade to make a gesture whose
meaning was unclear. "Yes," said K. , he considered how freely he had
always given his name in the past, for some time now it had been a
burden to him, now there were people who knew his name whom he had never
seen before, it had been so nice first to introduce yourself and only
then for people to know who you were. "You have been accused," said the
priest, especially gently. "Yes," said K. , "so I have been informed. "
"Then you are the one I am looking for," said the priest. "I am the
prison chaplain. " "I see," said K. "I had you summoned here," said the
priest, "because I wanted to speak to you. " "I knew nothing of that,"
said K. "I came here to show the cathedral to a gentleman from Italy. "
"That is beside the point," said the priest. "What are you holding in
your hand? Is it a prayer book? " "No," answered K. , "it's an album of
the city's tourist sights. " "Put it down," said the priest. K. threw
it away with such force that it flapped open and rolled across the
floor, tearing its pages. "Do you know your case is going badly? " asked
the priest. "That's how it seems to me too," said K. "I've expended a
lot of effort on it, but so far with no result. Although I do still
have some documents to submit. " "How do you imagine it will end? " asked
the priest. "At first I thought it was bound to end well," said K. ,
"but now I have my doubts about it. I don't know how it will end. Do
you know? " "I don't," said the priest, "but I fear it will end badly.
You are considered guilty. Your case will probably not even go beyond a
minor court. Provisionally at least, your guilt is seen as proven. "
"But I'm not guilty," said K. , "there's been a mistake. How is it even
possible for someone to be guilty. We're all human beings here, one
like the other. " "That is true," said the priest, "but that is how the
guilty speak. " "Do you presume I'm guilty too? " asked K. "I make no
presumptions about you," said the priest. "I thank you for that," said
K. "but everyone else involved in these proceedings has something
against me and presumes I'm guilty.