No More Learning

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. They even influence those who
aren't involved. My position gets harder all the time. " "You don't
understand the facts," said the priest, "the verdict does not come
suddenly, proceedings continue until a verdict is reached gradually. "
"I see," said K. , lowering his head. "What do you intend to do about
your case next? " asked the priest. "I still need to find help," said
K. , raising his head to see what the priest thought of this. "There are
still certain possibilities I haven't yet made use of. " "You look for
too much help from people you don't know," said the priest
disapprovingly, "and especially from women. Can you really not see
that's not the help you need? " "Sometimes, in fact quite often, I could
believe you're right," said K. , "but not always. Women have a lot of
power. If I could persuade some of the women I know to work together
with me then I would be certain to succeed. Especially in a court like
this that seems to consist of nothing but woman-chasers. Show the
examining judge a woman in the distance and he'll run right over the
desk, and the accused, just to get to her as soon as he can. " The
priest lowered his head down to the balustrade, only now did the roof
over the pulpit seem to press him down. What sort of dreadful weather
could it be outside? It was no longer just a dull day, it was deepest
night. None of the stained glass in the main window shed even a flicker
of light on the darkness of the walls. And this was the moment when the
man in the cassock chose to put out the candles on the main altar, one
by one. "Are you cross with me? " asked K. "Maybe you don't know what
sort of court it is you serve. " He received no answer. "Well, it's
just my own experience," said K. Above him there was still silence. "I
didn't mean to insult you," said K. At that, the priest screamed down
at K. : "Can you not see two steps in front of you? " He shouted in
anger, but it was also the scream of one who sees another fall and,
shocked and without thinking, screams against his own will.

The two men, then, remained silent for a long time. In the
darkness beneath him, the priest could not possibly have seen K.
distinctly, although K. was able to see him clearly by the light of the
little lamp. Why did the priest not come down? He had not given a
sermon, he had only told K. a few things which, if he followed them
closely, would probably cause him more harm than good. But the priest
certainly seemed to mean well, it might even be possible, if he would
come down and cooperate with him, it might even be possible for him to
obtain some acceptable piece of advice that could make all the
difference, it might, for instance, be able to show him not so much to
influence the proceedings but how to break free of them, how to evade
them, how to live away from them. K. had to admit that this was
something he had had on his mind quite a lot of late. If the priest
knew of such a possibility he might, if K. asked him, let him know about
it, even though he was part of the court himself and even though, when
K. had criticised the court, he had held down his gentle nature and
actually shouted at K.

"Would you not like to come down here? " asked K. "If you're not
going to give a sermon come down here with me. " "Now I can come down,"
said the priest, perhaps he regretted having shouted at K. As he took
down the lamp from its hook he said, "to start off with I had to speak
to you from a distance. Otherwise I'm too easily influenced and forget
my duty. "

K. waited for him at the foot of the steps. While he was still on
one of the higher steps as he came down them the priest reached out his
hand for K. to shake. "Can you spare me a little of your time? " asked
K. "As much time as you need," said the priest, and passed him the
little lamp for him to carry. Even at close distance the priest did not
lose a certain solemnity that seemed to be part of his character. "You
are very friendly towards me," said K. , as they walked up and down
beside each other in the darkness of one of the side naves. "That makes
you an exception among all those who belong to the court. I can trust
you more than any of the others I've seen. I can speak openly with
you. " "Don't fool yourself," said the priest. "How would I be fooling
myself? " asked K. "You fool yourself in the court," said the priest,
"it talks about this self-deceit in the opening paragraphs to the law.
In front of the law there is a doorkeeper. A man from the countryside
comes up to the door and asks for entry. But the doorkeeper says he
can't let him in to the law right now. The man thinks about this, and
then he asks if he'll be able to go in later on. 'That's possible,'
says the doorkeeper, 'but not now'. The gateway to the law is open as
it always is, and the doorkeeper has stepped to one side, so the man
bends over to try and see in. When the doorkeeper notices this he
laughs and says, 'If you're tempted give it a try, try and go in even
though I say you can't. Careful though: I'm powerful. And I'm only the
lowliest of all the doormen. But there's a doorkeeper for each of the
rooms and each of them is more powerful than the last. It's more than I
can stand just to look at the third one. ' The man from the country had
not expected difficulties like this, the law was supposed to be
accessible for anyone at any time, he thinks, but now he looks more
closely at the doorkeeper in his fur coat, sees his big hooked nose, his
long thin tartar-beard, and he decides it's better to wait until he has
permission to enter. The doorkeeper gives him a stool and lets him sit
down to one side of the gate. He sits there for days and years. He
tries to be allowed in time and again and tires the doorkeeper with his
requests. The doorkeeper often questions him, asking about where he's
from and many other things, but these are disinterested questions such
as great men ask, and he always ends up by telling him he still can't
let him in. The man had come well equipped for his journey, and uses
everything, however valuable, to bribe the doorkeeper. He accepts
everything, but as he does so he says, 'I'll only accept this so that
you don't think there's anything you've failed to do'. Over many years,
the man watches the doorkeeper almost without a break. He forgets about
the other doormen, and begins to think this one is the only thing
stopping him from gaining access to the law. Over the first few years he
curses his unhappy condition out loud, but later, as he becomes old, he
just grumbles to himself. He becomes senile, and as he has come to know
even the fleas in the doorkeeper's fur collar over the years that he has
been studying him he even asks them to help him and change the
doorkeeper's mind. Finally his eyes grow dim, and he no longer knows
whether it's really getting darker or just his eyes that are deceiving
him. But he seems now to see an inextinguishable light begin to shine
from the darkness behind the door. He doesn't have long to live now.
Just before he dies, he brings together all his experience from all this
time into one question which he has still never put to the doorkeeper.
He beckons to him, as he's no longer able to raise his stiff body. The
doorkeeper has to bend over deeply as the difference in their sizes has
changed very much to the disadvantage of the man. 'What is it you want
to know now? ' asks the doorkeeper, 'You're insatiable. ' 'Everyone wants
access to the law,' says the man, 'how come, over all these years, no-
one but me has asked to be let in? ' The doorkeeper can see the man's
come to his end, his hearing has faded, and so, so that he can be heard,
he shouts to him: 'Nobody else could have got in this way, as this
entrance was meant only for you. Now I'll go and close it'. "

"So the doorkeeper cheated the man," said K. immediately, who had
been captivated by the story. "Don't be too quick," said the priest,
"don't take somebody else's opinion without checking it. I told you the
story exactly as it was written. There's nothing in there about
cheating. " "But it's quite clear," said K. , "and your first
interpretation of it was quite correct. The doorkeeper gave him the
information that would release him only when it could be of no more
use. " "He didn't ask him before that," said the priest, "and don't
forget he was only a doorkeeper, and as doorkeeper he did his duty. "
"What makes you think he did his duty? " asked K. , "He didn't. It might
have been his duty to keep everyone else away, but this man is who the
door was intended for and he ought to have let him in. " "You're not
paying enough attention to what was written and you're changing the
story," said the priest. "According to the story, there are two
important things that the doorkeeper explains about access to the law,
one at the beginning, one at the end. At one place he says he can't
allow him in now, and at the other he says this entrance was intended
for him alone. If one of the statements contradicted the other you
would be right and the doorkeeper would have cheated the man from the
country. But there is no contradiction. On the contrary, the first
statement even hints at the second. You could almost say the doorkeeper
went beyond his duty in that he offered the man some prospect of being
admitted in the future. Throughout the story, his duty seems to have
been merely to turn the man away, and there are many commentators who
are surprised that the doorkeeper offered this hint at all, as he seems
to love exactitude and keeps strict guard over his position. He stays
at his post for many years and doesn't close the gate until the very
end, he's very conscious of the importance of his service, as he says,
'I'm powerful,' he has respect for his superiors, as he says, 'I'm only
the lowliest of the doormen', he's not talkative, as through all these
years the only questions he asks are 'disinterested', he's not
corruptible, as when he's offered a gift he says, 'I'll only accept this
so that you don't think there's anything you've failed to do,' as far as
fulfilling his duty goes he can be neither ruffled nor begged, as it
says about the man that, 'he tires the doorkeeper with his requests',
even his external appearance suggests a pedantic character, the big
hooked nose and the long, thin, black tartar-beard. How could any
doorkeeper be more faithful to his duty? But in the doorkeeper's
character there are also other features which might be very useful for
those who seek entry to the law, and when he hinted at some possibility
in the future it always seemed to make it clear that he might even go
beyond his duty. There's no denying he's a little simple minded, and
that makes him a little conceited. Even if all he said about his power
and the power of the other doorkeepers and how not even he could bear
the sight of them - I say even if all these assertions are right, the
way he makes them shows that he's too simple and arrogant to understand
properly. The commentators say about this that, 'correct understanding
of a matter and a misunderstanding of the same matter are not mutually
exclusive'. Whether they're right or not, you have to concede that his
simplicity and arrogance, however little they show, do weaken his
function of guarding the entrance, they are defects in the doorkeeper's
character. You also have to consider that the doorkeeper seems to be
friendly by nature, he isn't always just an official. He makes a joke
right at the beginning, in that he invites the man to enter at the same
time as maintaining the ban on his entering, and then he doesn't send
him away but gives him, as it says in the text, a stool to sit on and
lets him stay by the side of the door. The patience with which he puts
up with the man's requests through all these years, the little
questioning sessions, accepting the gifts, his politeness when he puts
up with the man cursing his fate even though it was the doorkeeper who
caused that fate - all these things seem to want to arouse our sympathy.
Not every doorkeeper would have behaved in the same way. And finally,
he lets the man beckon him and he bends deep down to him so that he can
put his last question. There's no more than some slight impatience -
the doorkeeper knows everything's come to its end - shown in the words,
'You're insatiable'. There are many commentators who go even further in
explaining it in this way and think the words, 'you're insatiable' are
an expression of friendly admiration, albeit with some condescension.
However you look at it the figure of the doorkeeper comes out
differently from how you might think. " "You know the story better than
I do and you've known it for longer," said K. They were silent for a
while. And then K. said, "So you think the man was not cheated, do
you? " "Don't get me wrong," said the priest, "I'm just pointing out the
different opinions about it. You shouldn't pay too much attention to
people's opinions. The text cannot be altered, and the various opinions
are often no more than an expression of despair over it.
There's even
one opinion which says it's the doorkeeper who's been cheated. " "That
does seem to take things too far," said K. "How can they argue the
doorkeeper has been cheated? " "Their argument," answered the priest,
"is based on the simplicity of the doorkeeper. They say the doorkeeper
doesn't know the inside of the law, only the way into it where he just
walks up and down. They see his ideas of what's inside the law as
rather childish, and suppose he's afraid himself of what he wants to
make the man frightened of. Yes, he's more afraid of it than the man,
as the man wants nothing but to go inside the law, even after he's heard
about the terrible doormen there, in contrast to the doorkeeper who
doesn't want to go in, or at least we don't hear anything about it. On
the other hand, there are those who say he must have already been inside
the law as he has been taken on into its service and that could only
have been done inside. That can be countered by supposing he could have
been given the job of doorkeeper by somebody calling out from inside,
and that he can't have gone very far inside as he couldn't bear the
sight of the third doorkeeper. Nor, through all those years, does the
story say the doorkeeper told the man anything about the inside, other
than his comment about the other doorkeepers. He could have been
forbidden to do so, but he hasn't said anything about that either. All
this seems to show he doesn't know anything about what the inside looks
like or what it means, and that that's why he's being deceived. But
he's also being deceived by the man from the country as he's this man's
subordinate and doesn't know it. There's a lot to indicate that he
treats the man as his subordinate, I expect you remember, but those who
hold this view would say it's very clear that he really is his
subordinate. Above all, the free man is superior to the man who has to
serve another. Now, the man really is free, he can go wherever he
wants, the only thing forbidden to him is entry into the law and, what's
more, there's only one man forbidding him to do so - the doorkeeper. If
he takes the stool and sits down beside the door and stays there all his
life he does this of his own free will, there's nothing in the story to
say he was forced to do it. On the other hand, the doorkeeper is kept
to his post by his employment, he's not allowed to go away from it and
it seems he's not allowed to go inside either, not even if he wanted to.
Also, although he's in the service of the law he's only there for this
one entrance, therefore he's there only in the service of this one man
who the door's intended for. This is another way in which he's his
subordinate. We can take it that he's been performing this somewhat
empty service for many years, through the whole of a man's life, as it
says that a man will come, that means someone old enough to be a man.
That means the doorkeeper will have to wait a long time before his
function is fulfilled, he will have to wait for as long as the man
liked, who came to the door of his own free will. Even the end of the
doorkeeper's service is determined by when the man's life ends, so the
doorkeeper remains his subordinate right to the end. And it's pointed
out repeatedly that the doorkeeper seems to know nothing of any of this,
although this is not seen as anything remarkable, as those who hold this
view see the doorkeeper as deluded in a way that's far worse, a way
that's to do with his service. At the end, speaking about the entrance
he says, 'Now I'll go and close it', although at the beginning of the
story it says the door to the law is open as it always is, but if it's
always open - always - that means it's open independently of the
lifespan of the man it's intended for, and not even the doorkeeper will
be able to close it. There are various opinions about this, some say
the doorkeeper was only answering a question or showing his devotion to
duty or, just when the man was in his last moments, the doorkeeper
wanted to cause him regret and sorrow. There are many who agree that he
wouldn't be able to close the door. They even believe, at the end at
least, the doorkeeper is aware, deep down, that he's the man's
subordinate, as the man sees the light that shines out of the entry to
the law whereas the doorkeeper would probably have his back to it and
says nothing at all to show there's been any change. " "That is well
substantiated," said K. , who had been repeating some parts of the
priest's explanation to himself in a whisper. "It is well
substantiated, and now I too think the doorkeeper must have been
deceived. Although that does not mean I've abandoned what I thought
earlier as the two versions are, to some extent, not incompatible. It's
not clear whether the doorkeeper sees clearly or is deceived. I said
the man had been cheated. If the doorkeeper understands clearly, then
there could be some doubt about it, but if the doorkeeper has been
deceived then the man is bound to believe the same thing. That would
mean the doorkeeper is not a cheat but so simple-minded that he ought to
be dismissed from his job immediately; if the doorkeeper is mistaken it
will do him no harm but the man will be harmed immensely. " "There
you've found another opinion," said the priest, "as there are many who
say the story doesn't give anyone the right to judge the doorkeeper.
However he might seem to us he is still in the service of the law, so he
belongs to the law, so he's beyond what man has a right to judge. In
this case we can't believe the doorkeeper is the man's subordinate.
Even if he has to stay at the entrance into the law his service makes
him incomparably more than if he lived freely in the world. The man has
come to the law for the first time and the doorkeeper is already there.
He's been given his position by the law, to doubt his worth would be to
doubt the law. " "I can't say I'm in complete agreement with this view,"
said K. shaking his head, "as if you accept it you'll have to accept
that everything said by the doorkeeper is true. But you've already
explained very fully that that's not possible. " "No," said the priest,
"you don't need to accept everything as true, you only have to accept it
as necessary. " "Depressing view," said K. "The lie made into the rule
of the world. "

K. said that as if it were his final word but it was not his
conclusion. He was too tired to think about all the ramifications of
the story, and the sort of thoughts they led him into were not familiar
to him, unrealistic things, things better suited for officials of the
court to discuss than for him. The simple story had lost its shape, he
wanted to shake it off, and the priest who now felt quite compassionate
allowed this and accepted K. 's remarks without comment, even though his
view was certainly very different from K. 's.

In silence, they carried on walking for some time, K. stayed close
beside the priest without knowing where he was. The lamp in his hand
had long since gone out. Once, just in front of him, he thought he
could see the statue of a saint by the glitter of the silver on it,
although it quickly disappeared back into the darkness. So that he
would not remain entirely dependent on the priest, K. asked him, "We're
now near the main entrance, are we? " "No," said the priest, "we're a
long way from it. Do you already want to go? " K. had not thought of
going until then, but he immediately said,
"Yes, certainly, I have to go. I'm the chief clerk in a bank and there
are people waiting for me, I only came here to show a foreign business
contact round the cathedral. " "Alright," said the priest offering him
his hand, "go then. " "But I can't find my way round in this darkness by
myself," said K. "Go to your left as far as the wall," said the priest,
"then continue alongside the wall without leaving it and you'll find a
way out. " The priest had only gone a few paces from him, but K. was
already shouting loudly, "Please, wait! " "I'm waiting," said the
priest. "Is there anything else you want from me? " asked K. "No," said
the priest. "You were so friendly to me earlier on," said K. , "and you
explained everything, but now you abandon me as if I were nothing to
you. " "You have to go," said the priest.
"Well, yes," said K. , "you need to understand that. " "First, you need
to understand who I am," said the priest. "You're the prison chaplain,"
said K. , and went closer to the priest, it was not so important for him
to go straight back to the bank as he had made out, he could very well
stay where he was. "So that means I belong to the court," said the
priest. "So why would I want anything from you? the court doesn't want
anything from you. It accepts you when you come and it lets you go when
you leave. "




Chapter Ten
End

The evening before K. 's thirty-first birthday - it was about nine
o'clock in the evening, the time when the streets were quiet - two men
came to where he lived. In frock coats, pale and fat, wearing top hats
that looked like they could not be taken off their heads. After some
brief formalities at the door of the flat when they first arrived, the
same formalities were repeated at greater length at K. 's door. He had
not been notified they would be coming, but K. sat in a chair near the
door, dressed in black as they were, and slowly put on new gloves which
stretched tightly over his fingers and behaved as if he were expecting
visitors. He immediately stood up and looked at the gentlemen
inquisitively. "You've come for me then, have you? " he asked. The
gentlemen nodded, one of them indicated the other with the top hand now
in his hand. K. told them he had been expecting a different visitor.
He went to the window and looked once more down at the dark street.
Most of the windows on the other side of the street were also dark
already, many of them had the curtains closed. In one of the windows on
the same floor where there was a light on, two small children could be
seen playing with each other inside a playpen, unable to move from where
they were, reaching out for each other with their little hands. "Some
ancient, unimportant actors - that's what they've sent for me," said K.
to himself, and looked round once again to confirm this to himself.
"They want to sort me out as cheaply as they can. " K. suddenly turned
round to face the two men and asked, "What theatre do you play in? "
"Theatre? " asked one of the gentlemen, turning to the other for
assistance and pulling in the corners of his mouth. The other made a
gesture like someone who was dumb, as if he were struggling with some
organism causing him trouble. "You're not properly prepared to answer
questions," said K. and went to fetch his hat.

As soon as they were on the stairs the gentlemen wanted to take
K. 's arms, but K. said "Wait till we're in the street, I'm not ill. "
But they waited only until the front door before they took his arms in a
way that K. had never experienced before. They kept their shoulders
close behind his, did not turn their arms in but twisted them around the
entire length of K. 's arms and took hold of his hands with a grasp that
was formal, experienced and could not be resisted. K. was held stiff
and upright between them, they formed now a single unit so that if any
one of them had been knocked down all of them must have fallen. They
formed a unit of the sort that normally can be formed only by matter
that is lifeless.

Whenever they passed under a lamp K. tried to see his companions
more clearly, as far as was possible when they were pressed so close
together, as in the dim light of his room this had been hardly possible.
"Maybe they're tenors," he thought as he saw their big double chins.
The cleanliness of their faces disgusted him. He could see the hands
that cleaned them, passing over the corners of their eyes, rubbing at
their upper lips, scratching out the creases on those chins.

When K. noticed that, he stopped, which meant the others had to
stop too; they were at the edge of an open square, devoid of people but
decorated with flower beds. "Why did they send you, of all people! " he
cried out, more a shout than a question. The two gentleman clearly knew
no answer to give, they waited, their free arms hanging down, like
nurses when the patient needs to rest. "I will go no further," said K.
as if to see what would happen. The gentlemen did not need to make any
answer, it was enough that they did not loosen their grip on K. and
tried to move him on, but K. resisted them. "I'll soon have no need of
much strength, I'll use all of it now," he thought. He thought of the
flies that tear their legs off struggling to get free of the flypaper.
"These gentleman will have some hard work to do".

Just then, Miss Burstner came up into the square in front of them
from the steps leading from a small street at a lower level. It was not
certain that it was her, although the similarity was, of course, great.
But it did not matter to K. whether it was certainly her anyway, he just
became suddenly aware that there was no point in his resistance. There
would be nothing heroic about it if he resisted, if he now caused
trouble for these gentlemen, if in defending himself he sought to enjoy
his last glimmer of life. He started walking, which pleased the
gentlemen and some of their pleasure conveyed itself to him. Now they
permitted him to decide which direction they took, and he decided to
take the direction that followed the young woman in front of them, not
so much because he wanted to catch up with her, nor even because he
wanted to keep her in sight for as long as possible, but only so that he
would not forget the reproach she represented for him. "The only thing
I can do now," he said to himself, and his thought was confirmed by the
equal length of his own steps with the steps of the two others, "the
only thing I can do now is keep my common sense and do what's needed
right till the end. I always wanted to go at the world and try and do
too much, and even to do it for something that was not too cheap. That
was wrong of me. Should I now show them I learned nothing from facing
trial for a year? Should I go out like someone stupid? Should I let
anyone say, after I'm gone, that at the start of the proceedings I
wanted to end them, and that now that they've ended I want to start them
again? I don't want anyone to say that. I'm grateful they sent these
unspeaking, uncomprehending men to go with me on this journey, and that
it's been left up to me to say what's necessary".

Meanwhile, the young woman had turned off into a side street, but
K. could do without her now and let his companions lead him. All three
of them now, in complete agreement, went over a bridge in the light of
the moon, the two gentlemen were willing to yield to each little
movement made by K. as he moved slightly towards the edge and directed
the group in that direction as a single unit. The moonlight glittered
and quivered in the water, which divided itself around a small island
covered in a densely-piled mass of foliage and trees and bushes.
Beneath them, now invisible, there were gravel paths with comfortable
benches where K. had stretched himself out on many summer's days. "I
didn't actually want to stop here," he said to his companions, shamed by
their compliance with his wishes. Behind K. 's back one of them seemed
to quietly criticise the other for the misunderstanding about stopping,
and then they went on. The went on up through several streets where
policemen were walking or standing here and there; some in the distance
and then some very close. One of them with a bushy moustache, his hand
on the grip of his sword, seemed to have some purpose in approaching
the group, which was hardly unsuspicious. The two gentlemen stopped,
the policeman seemed about to open his mouth, and then K. drove his
group forcefully forward. Several times he looked back cautiously to
see if the policeman was following; but when they had a corner between
themselves and the policeman K. began to run, and the two gentlemen,
despite being seriously short of breath, had to run with him.

In this way they quickly left the built up area and found
themselves in the fields which, in this part of town, began almost
without any transition zone. There was a quarry, empty and abandoned,
near a building which was still like those in the city. Here the men
stopped, perhaps because this had always been their destination or
perhaps because they were too exhausted to run any further. Here they
released their hold on K. , who just waited in silence, and took their
top hats off while they looked round the quarry and wiped the sweat off
their brows with their handkerchiefs. The moonlight lay everywhere with
the natural peace that is granted to no other light.

After exchanging a few courtesies about who was to carry out the
next tasks - the gentlemen did not seem to have been allocated specific
functions - one of them went to K. and took his coat, his waistcoat, and
finally his shirt off him. K. made an involuntary shiver, at which the
gentleman gave him a gentle, reassuring tap on the back. Then he
carefully folded the things up as if they would still be needed, even if
not in the near future. He did not want to expose K. to the chilly
night air without moving though, so he took him under the arm and walked
up and down with him a little way while the other gentleman looked round
the quarry for a suitable place. When he had found it he made a sign
and the other gentleman escorted him there. It was near the rockface,
there was a stone lying there that had broken loose. The gentlemen sat
K. down on the ground, leant him against the stone and settled his head
down on the top of it. Despite all the effort they went to, and despite
all the co-operation shown by K. , his demeanour seemed very forced and
hard to believe. So one of the gentlemen asked the other to grant him a
short time while he put K. in position by himself, but even that did
nothing to make it better. In the end they left K. in a position that
was far from the best of the ones they had tried so far. Then one of
the gentlemen opened his frock coat and from a sheath hanging on a belt
stretched across his waistcoat he withdrew a long, thin, double-edged
butcher's knife which he held up in the light to test its sharpness.
The repulsive courtesies began once again, one of them passed the knife
over K. to the other, who then passed it back over K. to the first. K.
now knew it would be his duty to take the knife as it passed from hand
to hand above him and thrust it into himself. But he did not do it,
instead he twisted his neck, which was still free, and looked around.