The Castle (7 page)

"Frieda !", he called, and walked up and down the room several times.

Fortunately Frieda soon came back, she did not mention K., she only complained about the peasants, and in the course of looking round for K. went behind the counter, so that he was able to touch her foot. From that moment he felt safe. Since Frieda made no reference to K., however, the landlord was cornpelled to do it.

"And where is the Land Surveyor?" he asked. He was probably courteous by nature, refined by constant and relatively free intercourse with men who were much his superior, but there was remarkable consideration in his tone to Frieda, which was all the more striking because in his conversation he did not cease to be an employer addressing a servant, and a saucy servant at that.

"The Land Surveyor - I forgot all about him," said Frieda, setting her small foot on K.'s chest. "He must have gone out long ago."

"But I haven't seen him," said the landlord, "and I was in the hall nearly the whole time."

"Well, he isn't in here," said Frieda coolly.

"Perhaps he's hidden somewhere," went on the landlord. "From the impression I had of him he's capable of a good deal." "He would hardly have the cheek to do that," said Frieda, pressing her foot down on K.

There was a certain mirth and freedom about her which K. had not previously remarked, and quite unexpectedly it took the upper hand, for suddenly laughing she bent down to K.

with the words: "Perhaps he's hidden underneath here," kissed him lightly and sprang up again saying with a troubled air: "No, he's not there."

Then the landlord, too, surprised K. when he said: "It bothers me not to know for certain that he's gone. Not only because of Herr Klamm, but because of the rule of the house. And the rule applies to you, Fraulein Frieda, just as much as to me. Well, if you answer for the bar, I'll go through the rest of the rooms. Good night! Sleep well!"

He could hardly have left the room before Frieda had turned out the electric light and was under the counter beside K. "My darling! My darling !", she whispered, but she did not touch him.

As if swooning with love she lay on her back and stretched out her arms; time must have seemed endless to her in the prospect of her happiness, and she sighed rather than sang some little song or other. Then as K. still lay absorbed in thought, she started up and began to tug at him like a child: "Come on, it's too close down here," and they embraced each other, her little body burned in K.'s hands, in a state of unconsciousness which K.

tried again and again but in vain to master as they rolled a little way, landing with a thud on Klamm's door, where they lay among the small puddles of beer and other refuse gathered on the floor.

There, hours went past, hours in which they breathed as one, in which their hearts beat as one, hours in which K. was haunted by the feeling that he was losing himself or wandering into strange country, farther than ever man had wandered 45before, a country so strange that not even the air had anything in common with his native air, where one might die of strangeness, and yet whose enchantment was such that one could only go on and lose oneself further. So it came to him not as a shock but as a faint glimmer of comfort when from Klamm's room a deep, authoritative impersonal voice called for Frieda.

"Frieda," whispered K. in Frieda's ear, passing on the summons. With a mechanical instinct of obedience Frieda made as if to spring to her feet, then she remembered where she was, stretched herself, laughing quietly, and said:

"I'm not going, I'm never going to him again."

K. wanted to object, to urge her to go to Klamm, and began to fasten up her disordered blouse, but he could not bring himself to speak, he was too happy to have Frieda in his arms, too troubled also in his happiness, for it seemed to him that in letting Frieda go he would lose all he had. And as if his support had strengthened her Frieda clenched her fist and beat upon the door, crying:

"Ìm with the Land Surveyor!"

That silenced Klamm at any rate, but K. started up, and on his knees beside Frieda gazed round him in the uncertain light of dawn.

What had happened?

Where were his hopes?

What could he expect from Frieda now that she had betrayed everything?

Instead of feeling his way with the prudence befitting the greatness of his enemy and of his ambition, he had spent a whole night wallowing in puddles of beer, the smell of which was nearly overpowering.

"What have you done?" he said as if to himself. "We are both ruined."

"No," said Frieda, "it's only me that's ruined, but then I've won you. Don't worry. But just look how these two are laughing."

"Who?" asked K., and turned round.

There on the bar counter sat his two assistants, a little heavy-eyed for lack of sleep, but cheerful. It was a cheerfulness arising from a sense of duty well done.

"What are you doing here?" cried K. as if they were to blame for everything.

"We had to search for you," explained the assistants, "since you didn't come back to the inn; we looked for you at Barnabas's and finally found you here. We have been sitting here all night. Ours is no easy job."

"It's in the day-time I need you," said K., "not in the night, clear out."

"But it's day-time now," said they without moving.

It was really day, the doors into the courtyard were opened, the peasants came streaming in and with them Olga, whom K. had completely forgotten. Although her hair and clothes were in disorder Olga was as alert as on the previous evening, and her eyes flew to K. before she was well over the threshold.

"Why did you not come home with me?" she asked, almost weeping.

"All for a creature like that!" she said then, and repeated the remark several times.

Frieda, who had vanished for a moment, came back with a small bundle of clothing, and Olga moved sadly to one side.

"Now we can be off," said Frieda, it was obvious she meant that they should go back to the inn by the bridge.

K. walked with Frieda, and behind them the assistants; that was the little procession.

The peasants displayed a great contempt for Frieda, which was understandable, for she had lorded it over them hitherto; one of them even took a stick and held it as if to prevent her from going out until she had jumped over it, but a look from her sufficed to quell him.

When they were out in the snow K. breathed a little more freely. It was such a relief to be in the open air that the journey seemed less laborious; if he had been alone he would have got on still better. When he reached the inn he went straight to his room and lay down on the bed. Frieda prepared a couch for herself on the floor beside him. The assistants had pushed their way in too, and on being driven out came back through the window. K. was too weary to drive them out again. The landlady came up specially to welcome Frieda, who hailed her as "mother"; their meeting was inexplicably affectionate, with kisses and long embracings. There was little peace and quietness to be had in the room, for the maids too came clumping in with their heavy boots, bringing or seeking various articles, and whenever they wanted anything from the miscellaneous assortment on the bed they simply pulled it out from under K. They greeted Frieda as one of themselves.

In spite of all this coming and going K. stayed in bed the whole day through, and the whole night. Frieda performed little offices for him. When he got up at last on the following morning he was much refreshed, and it was the fourth day since his arrival in the village.

He would have liked an intimate talk with Frieda, but the assistants hindered this simply by their importunate presence, and Frieda, too, laughed and joked with them from time to time. Otherwise they were not at all exacting, they had simply settled down in a corner on two old skirts spread out on the floor. They made it a point of honour, as they repeatedly assured Frieda, not to disturb the Land Surveyor and to take up as little room as possible, and in pursuit of this intention, although with a good deal of whispering and giggling, they kept on trying to squeeze themselves into a smaller compass, crouching together in the corner so that in the dim light they looked like one large bundle. From his experience of them by daylight, however, K. was all too conscious that they were acute observers and never took their eyes off him, whether they were fooling like children and using their hands as spyglasses, or merely glancing at him while apparently completely absorbed in grooming their beards, on which they spent much thought and which they were for ever comparing in length and thickness, calling on Frieda to decide between them.

From his bed K. often watched the antics of all three with the completest indifference.

When he felt himself well enough to leave his bed, they all ran to serve him. He was not yet strong enough to ward off their services, and noted that that brought him into a state of dependence on them which might have evil consequences, but he could not help it.

Nor was it really unpleasant to drink at the table the good coffee which Frieda had brought, to warm himself at the stove which Frieda had lit, and to have the assistants racing ten times up and down the stairs in their awkwardness and zeal to fetch him soap and water, comb and lookingglass, and eventually even a small glass of rum because he had hinted in a low voice at his desire for one. Among all this giving of orders and being waited on, K. said, more out of good humour than any hope of being obeyed:

"Go away now, you two, I need nothing more for the present, and I want to speak to Fraulein Frieda by herself."

And when he saw no direct opposition on their faces he added, by way of excusing them:

"We three shall go to the village Superintendent afterwards, so wait downstairs in the bar for me."

Strangely enough they obeyed him, only turning to say before going: "We could wait here."

But K. answered: "I know, but I don't want you to wait here."

It annoyed him, however, and yet in a sense pleased him when Frieda, who had settled on his knee as soon as the assistants were gone, said:

"What's your objection to the assistants, darling? We don't need to have any mysteries before them. They are true friends."

"Oh, true friends," said K., "they keep spying on me the whole time, it's nonsensical but abominable."

"I believe I know what you mean," she said, and she clung to his neck and tried to say something else but could not go on speaking, and since their chair was close to it they reeled over and fell on the bed. There they lay, but not in the forgetfulness of the previous night. She was seeking and he was seeking, they raged and contorted their faces and bored their heads into each other's bosoms in the urgency of seeking something, and their embraces and their tossing limbs did not avail to make them forget, but only reminded them of what they sought; like dogs desperately tearing up the ground they tore at each other's bodies, and often, helplessly baffled, in a final effort to attain happiness they nuzzled and tongued each other's face. Sheer weariness stilled them at last and brought them gratitude to each other. Then the maids came in. "Look how they're lying there," said one, and sympathetically cast a coverlet over them.

When somewhat later K. freed himself from the coverlet and looked round, the two assistants - and he was not surprised at that-were again in their corner, and with a finger jerked towards K. nudged each other to a formal salute, but besides them the landlady was sitting near the bed knitting away at a stocking, an infinitesimal piece of work hardly suited to her enormous bulk which almost darkened the room.

"I've been here a long time," she said, lifting up her broad and much furrowed face which was, however, still rounded and might once have been beautiful.

The words sounded like a reproach, an ill-timed reproach, for K. had not desired her to come. So he merely acknowledged them by a nod, and sat up. Frieda also got up, but left K. to lean over the landlady's chair.

"If you want to speak to me," said K. in bewilderment, "couldn't you put it off until after I come back from visiting the Superintendent? I have important business with him."

"This is important, believe me, sir," said the landlady, "your other business is probably only a question of work, but this concerns a living person, Frieda, my dear maid."

"Oh, if that's it," said K., "then of course you're right, but I don't see why we can't be left to settle our own affairs."

"Because I love her and care for her," said the landlady, drawing Frieda's head towards her, for Frieda as she stood only reached up to the landlady's shoulder.

"Since Frieda puts such confidence in you," cried K., "I must do the same, and since not long ago Frieda called my assistants true friends we are all friends together. So I can tell you that what I would like best would be for Frieda and myself to get married, the sooner the better. I know, oh, I know that I'll never be able to make up to Frieda for all she has lost for my sake, her position in the Herrenhof and her friendship with Klamm."

Frieda lifted up her face, her eyes were full of tears and had not a trace of triumph.

"Why? Why am I chosen out from other people?"

"What?' asked K. and the landlady simultaneously.

"She's upset, poor child," said the landlady, "upset by the conjunction of too much happiness and unhappiness."

And as if in confirmation of those words Frieda now flung herself upon K., kissing him wildly as if there were nobody else in the room, and then weeping, but still clinging to him, fell on her knees before him. While he caressed Frieda's hair with both hands K.

asked the landlady:

"You seem to have no objection?"

"You are a man of honour," said the landlady, who also had tears in her eyes.

She looked a little worn and breathed with difficulty, but she found strength enough to say: "There's only the question now of what guarantees you are to give Frieda, for great as is my respect for you, you're a stranger here; there's nobody here who can speak for you, your family circumstances aren't known here, so some guarantee is necessary. You must see that, my dear sir, and indeed you touched on it yourself when you mentioned how much Frieda must lose through her association with you."