The meeting with the chairman caused K. little concern, almost to his own surprise. He sought to explain this to himself on the grounds that, judging by his previous experiences, dealing with the Count’s authorities was very simple for him. On one hand, this was due to their having issued for his affairs, apparently once and for all, a definite ruling that was outwardly very much in his favor, and on the other, to the admirable consistency of the service, which was, one suspected, especially perfect on occasions when it appeared to be missing. Sometimes when thinking of such matters K. almost concluded that his situation was quite satisfactory, though he always told himself quickly after such fits of satisfaction that this is precisely where the danger lay. Dealing directly with the authorities wasn’t all that difficult, for no matter how well organized they were, they only had to defend distant and invisible causes on behalf of remote and invisible gentlemen, whereas he, K., was fighting for something vitally close, for himself, and what’s more of his own free will, initially at least, for he was the assailant, and he was not struggling for himself on his own, there were also other forces, which he knew nothing of, but could believe in because of the measures adopted by the authorities. By mostly obliging him from the start in some of the more trivial matters—and no more had been at stake until now—the authorities were depriving him not only of the chance to gain a few easy little victories but also of the corresponding satisfaction and the resulting well-founded confidence for other, greater battles. Instead they let K. wander about as he wished, even if only in the village, spoiling and weakening him, barred all fighting here, and dispatched him to this extra-official, completely unclear, dull, and strange life. If this went on, if he weren’t always on guard, he might one day, despite the friendly attitude of the authorities, despite his meticulous fulfillment of his exaggeratedly light official duties, be deceived by the favor seemingly granted him and lead the rest of his life so imprudently that he would fall to pieces, and the authorities, gentle and friendly as ever, would have to come, as though against their will but actually at the behest of some official ordinance of which he knew nothing, in order to clear him out of the way. And what did that actually amount to here, the other part of his life? Nowhere else had K. ever seen one’s official position and one’s life so intertwined as they were here, so intertwined that it sometimes seemed as though office and life had switched places. How great, say, was the power Klamm wielded over K.’s service, which up to now had been no more than a formality, compared with the power Klamm possessed in actual fact in K.’s bedroom. That’s why a slightly more frivolous approach, a certain easing of tension, was appropriate only when dealing directly with the authorities, whereas otherwise you always had to exercise great caution and look about on all sides before each step you took. K. initially found his view of the local authorities very much confirmed at the chairman’s. A friendly fat clean-shaven man, the chairman was ill, he had a severe attack of gout and received K. in bed. “So you must be our surveyor,” he said, intending to sit up and greet K., but he couldn’t manage it and, pointing apologetically to his legs, threw himself back down on the pillows. A woman, quite still, almost shadowlike in the dimly lit room, whose small curtained windows made it even darker, brought K. a chair and put it by the bed. “Sit down, sit down, Surveyor,” said the chairman, “and tell me what you want.” K. read Klamm’s letter aloud and then added a few comments. Again he thought he felt the extraordinary ease of dealing with the authorities. They bore the whole burden, quite literally, you could leave everything up to them and remain free and untouched yourself. As though sensing this in his own way, the chairman stirred uneasily in his bed. Finally he said: “Surveyor, as you’ve noticed, I knew about the entire affair. The reason I haven’t seen to it yet is, first, I have been ill, and then you took so long to come I thought you had given up the affair. But now that you’re so kind as to call on me, I must of course let you know the entire unpleasant truth. You were, as you say, taken on as a surveyor, but we don’t need a surveyor. There wouldn’t be the least bit of work for a person like that. The boundaries of our small holdings have been marked out, everything has been duly registered, the properties themselves rarely change hands, and whatever small boundary disputes arise, we settle ourselves. So why should we have any need for a surveyor?” K., despite having never really thought about this before, was convinced deep down that he had been expecting some such communication. For that very reason he was immediately able to say: “I find this most surprising. It upsets all my plans. I can only hope there’s been a misunderstanding.” “Unfortunately not,” said the chairman, “it is as I say.” “But how is that possible?” cried K. “After all, I didn’t set out on this endless journey only to be sent back now.” “That is a different matter,” said the chairman, “and one that’s not for me to decide, though I can explain how this misunderstanding was possible. In an administration as large as the Count’s, it can happen at some point that one department issues an order, another a second, neither department knows of the other, the higher-ranking control agency is indeed extremely precise, but by nature it intervenes too late, and so a little confusion can nonetheless arise. Of course, this happens only in the tiniest matters, such as yours, in a large affair I have never heard of an error, but even the small cases are often quite embarrassing. Now, as for your case, without turning this into an official secret—I’m simply not enough of an official for that, I’m only a peasant, and that’s good enough for me—I want to give you a frank description of what happened. A long time ago, I had only been chairman for a few months, a decree came—I cannot recall from which department—stating in the categorical manner so typical of the gentlemen up there that a surveyor would be summoned and instructing the local council to be ready with all the plans and records needed for his work. This decree obviously cannot have been about you, for that was many years ago, and I wouldn’t even have thought of it if I weren’t ill in bed with all the time in the world to think about the silliest matters. Mizzi,” he said, suddenly interrupting his account, to the woman, who was still flitting about the room on some incomprehensible errand, “please look in the cabinet, perhaps you’ll find the decree. You see,” he told K. by way of explanation, “it’s from the early days when I still kept everything.” The woman opened the cabinet right away, K. and the chairman watched. The cabinet was crammed with papers; once it was open, two large packs of files tied together in a bundle like firewood came rolling out, the woman started and jumped aside. “Down below, it should be down below,” said the chairman, directing from his bed. After obediently gathering the files in both arms so as to reach the papers underneath, the woman threw out the entire contents of the cabinet. The papers already covered half the room. “We’ve certainly accomplished a great deal,” said the chairman, nodding, “and that’s only a small part of it. I stored the bulk of it in the barn, but most of it got lost. Who could keep all that together! But there is still a great deal left in the barn. You think you can find the decree?” he said, turning again to his wife, “You should look for a file with the word ‘surveyor’ underlined in blue.” “It’s too dark here, I’ll get a candle,” said the woman, walking on the papers as she went to the door. “My wife,” said the chairman, “she’s such a great help in carrying out this difficult official work, which is only part-time, I have one other aide, the teacher, for written work, but it’s still impossible to finish everything, a large portion never gets done, but we have put that away in the cabinet there,” and he pointed to another cabinet. “And especially now that I am ill, everything is quite out of hand,” he said, lying down again, tired yet proud. “Well,” K. said, the woman had come back with the candle and was on her knees looking for the decree, “couldn’t I help your wife look?” The chairman shook his head and smiled: “As I said, I’m not keeping official secrets from you, but to let you look through the files would be going too far.” There was now silence in the room, all one could hear was the rustling of papers, perhaps the chairman was dozing off. A light knock at the door made K. turn around. The assistants, of course. Still, they had picked up some manners, didn’t barge into the room right away, but whispered first through the slightly open door: “It’s too cold outside.” “Who is it?” asked the chairman, starting. “Only my assistants,” said K., “I’m not sure where I should get them to wait for me, it’s too cold outside, and they’re a nuisance here.” “They won’t bother me,” said the chairman agreeably, “let them in. Incidentally, I know them. Old acquaintances.” “But they do bother me,” said K. frankly, letting his eyes wander from the assistants to the chairman and back again to the assistants; he found the smiles of all three indistinguishable. “Well, now that you’re here,” he added as a test, “stay and help the chairman’s wife look for a file with the word ‘surveyor’ underlined in blue.” The chairman did not object to this; what K. was not permitted, the assistants were now being permitted; they immediately threw themselves on the papers, but instead of searching, they merely rummaged about in the pile, and each time one of them spelled out the words on a file, the other tore the file from his hand. But the woman was still kneeling in front of the empty cabinet, she seemed to have stopped looking altogether, the candle was now some distance from her.
“The assistants,” said the chairman with a self-satisfied smile, as though he himself had arranged all this without anybody else’s knowledge, “so they bother you. But they’re your own assistants.” “No,” said K. coolly, “they simply ran up to me here.” “Why ‘ran up’?” he said. “You must mean ‘were assigned.’ ” “Fine, ‘were assigned’ then,” said K., “but they could just as easily have fallen like snowflakes, given how little thought went into assigning them.” “Nothing ever happens here without due thought,” said the chairman, who even forgot about the pain in his foot and sat up. “Nothing,” said K., “and what about my being summoned here?” “Even the decision to summon you was carefully considered,” said the chairman, “but a few minor details introduced some confusion, I can prove this through the files.” “Well, the files won’t be found,” said K. “Won’t be found?” cried the chairman, “Mizzi, do hurry a bit with your search! I can first tell you the story, though, even without the files. We responded to the decree I mentioned earlier by pointing out gratefully that we don’t need a surveyor. However, this reply seems never to have reached the first department—which I shall call A—and went by error to another department, B. So Department A was left without an answer, and unfortunately B didn’t receive our entire answer; either because the contents of the file never left us, or because the file itself got lost on the way—though certainly not in the department itself, I’ll vouch for that—all that came to Department B in any case was the file folder, which simply had on it a note saying that the enclosed, though in reality unfortunately missing, file dealt with the summoning of a surveyor. Meanwhile, Department A was waiting for our answer, they had preliminary notes on the affair, but as often happens, and this is quite understandable and even justifiable given the precision with which such matters must be handled, the designated official was expecting that we would answer and he would then summon a surveyor or, if need be, engage us in further correspondence about the matter. As a result he paid no attention to his preliminary notes and the entire matter slipped his mind. In Department B the folder reached a functionary famous for his conscientiousness, Sordini is his name, an Italian, even an insider such as myself cannot understand how a man of his abilities can be kept in what is virtually the lowest position of all. Now this Sordini did of course return the empty folder to us for completion. But by now many months, if not years, had passed since we had received the message from Department A, understandably, for when, as is the rule, a file heads the right way, it arrives at its department in one day at the latest and is dealt with that same day, but should it ever lose its way, the excellence of the organization is such that the file must zealously seek the wrong way, for otherwise it won’t find it, and then it does indeed take a long time. So when we got Sordini’s memorandum, we had only the vaguest memories of the affair, there were only two of us then for all this work, Mizzi and I, the teacher hadn’t been assigned yet, and we kept copies only in the most important cases—in short, we could answer only vaguely to the effect that we knew of no such summons and that there was no need for a surveyor here.
“But,” said the chairman, interrupting himself as if he had gone too far in his eagerness to tell the story, or as if it were at least possible that he had gone too far, “does the story bore you?”
“No,” said K., “it amuses me.”
At that, the chairman said: “I am not telling you this for your amusement.”
“It amuses me,” said K., “only because it gives me some insight into the ridiculous tangle that may under certain circumstances determine a person’s life.”
“You still haven’t gained any insight,” the chairman said gravely, “and so I can go on. Well of course our answer couldn’t satisfy a Sordini. I admire the man, even though he torments me. You see, he distrusts everyone, even if for instance on countless occasions he finds that someone is a most trustworthy person, on the very next occasion he mistrusts him, as if he didn’t know him or, more precisely, as if he knew him to be a rascal. I think that is right, that’s how an official must behave, unfortunately by nature I cannot follow that precept myself, you can see how I’m telling all this openly to you, a stranger, I simply cannot help it. But Sordini immediately distrusted our answer. A lengthy correspondence came about. Sordini asked why I had suddenly realized that a surveyor shouldn’t be summoned; with the help of Mizzi’s excellent memory I answered that the initial proposal had come from his own office (that a different office had been involved we had of course long since forgotten), and then Sordini said: why was I mentioning this official memorandum only now; I: because I had only just recalled it; Sordini: that was quite odd; I: it wasn’t odd in a long-drawn-out affair like this; Sordini: it certainly was odd, for the memorandum that I recalled did not exist; I: of course it didn’t exist, since the whole file had been lost; Sordini: still, there should be a preliminary note concerning that first memorandum, but there was none. Then I faltered, for I was not so daring as to claim, or even to think, that Sordini’s department had made a mistake. Surveyor, in your thoughts you may be reproaching Sordini for not having been prompted by my claim to make inquiries about the matter in other departments. But that would have been wrong, and I want this man cleared of all blame even in your thoughts. One of the operating principles of the authorities is that the possibility of error is simply not taken into account. This principle is justified by the excellence of the entire organization and is also necessary if matters are to be discharged with the utmost rapidity. So Sordini couldn’t inquire in other departments, besides those departments wouldn’t have answered, since they would have noticed right away that he was investigating the possibility of an error.”
“Chairman, allow me to interrupt you with a question,” said K., “didn’t you mention a control agency? As you describe it, the organization is such that the very thought that the control agency might fail to materialize is enough to make one ill.”
“You’re very severe,” said the chairman, “but multiply your severity by a thousand and it will still be as nothing compared with the severity that the authorities show toward themselves. Only a total stranger could ask such a question. Are there control agencies? There are only control agencies. Of course they aren’t meant to find errors, in the vulgar sense of that term, since no errors occur, and even if an error does occur, as in your case, who can finally say that it is an error.”
“That would be something completely new,” cried K.
“It’s very old as far as I’m concerned,” said the chairman. “Not altogether unlike you, I’m convinced that there has been an error, that Sordini became seriously ill out of despair over this, and that the first control agencies, to which we owe the discovery of the source of the error, also recognize the error here. But who can claim that the second control agencies will judge likewise and the third, and so on?”
“Perhaps,” said K., “but I would rather not start interfering with considerations like that yet, and also this is the first I have heard of these control agencies, and so naturally I can’t understand them yet. Still, I think two things must be distinguished here, first, what happens inside the offices, which can then be officially interpreted this way or that, and second, the actual person, me, who stands outside those offices and is threatened by those offices with a restriction that would be so senseless that I still cannot believe in the gravity of the danger. Chairman, as regards the former, the matters you have just spoken of with such admirably uncommon expertise are probably valid, but I should also like to hear a few words about me.”
“I’m getting there,” said the chairman, “but you wouldn’t be able to understand it if I didn’t say a few other things first. Even my mentioning of the control agencies just now was premature. So I’m going back to the differences with Sordini. As I said, my defenses gradually weakened. But if Sordini has even the slightest advantage over a person, then he has already won, for this sharpens his attention, energy, and wits, and for those under attack he is a terrible sight, but a splendid one for the enemies of the person under attack. Only because I experienced the latter in other cases can I speak of him as I do. By the way, I have never yet succeeded in setting eyes on him, he cannot come down, he’s over-burdened with work, I was once told that the walls in his room are hidden behind columns of large bundles of files piled on top of one another, those are only the files Sordini is working on just then, and since files are constantly being taken from and added to the bundles, all this at great speed, the stacks are constantly falling down, and it’s precisely those endless thuds in rapid succession that have come to seem typical of Sordini’s study. Well, Sordini is indeed a worker and pays as much attention to the smallest case as to the biggest.”
“Chairman,” said K., “you’re always calling my case one of the smallest and yet it has kept many officials very busy and, even if it was perhaps quite small at first, it has through the zeal of officials of the same type as Mr. Sordini become a big case. Unfortunately and very much against my will; for my ambition is not to have big stacks of files concerning me piling up and then crashing down, but to work quietly as a little surveyor at his little drawing board.”
“No,” said the chairman, “it isn’t a big case, you have no cause for complaint in that respect, it’s one of the smallest of the small cases. It’s not the amount of work that determines the rank of a case, you’re still far from an understanding of the authorities if you believe that. But even if the amount of work were decisive, your case would still be one of the least significant; the ordinary cases, that is, those without so-called errors, create a far greater quantity of admittedly much more productive work. Incidentally, you still have no idea of the actual work caused by your case, so I want to tell you about that first. Initially, Sordini left me out of it, but his officials came, every day formal hearings were held at the Gentlemen’s Inn with respected members of the community. Most stood by me, but a few became suspicious, land surveying is an issue that deeply affects peasants, they scented some sort of secret deals and injustice, they also found a leader, and Sordini had to conclude from their presentations that if I had raised the matter at the local council not everybody would have opposed the summoning of a surveyor. And so this perfectly obvious point—namely, that there’s no need for a surveyor—was at the very least made to seem problematic. In all this a certain Brunswick played a prominent role, you probably don’t know him, perhaps he isn’t bad, just stupid and given to fantasy, he’s the brother-in-law of Lasemann.”
“Of the master tanner?” asked K., and he described the man with the full beard whom he had seen at Lasemann’s.
“Yes, that’s he,” said the chairman.
“I know his wife too,” K. said, just on an off-chance.
“That’s possible,” the chairman said, and he fell silent.
“She’s beautiful,” said K., “though rather pale and sickly. She probably comes from the Castle?” this was said half as a question.
The chairman glanced at the clock, poured medicine into a spoon, and swallowed it quickly.
“So you are merely acquainted with the office furnishings at the Castle?” K. asked rudely.
“Yes,” said the chairman, with an ironic and yet grateful smile, “they’re the most important thing about it. As for Brunswick: if we could expel him from the community, virtually everyone would be happy, Lasemann not least of all. But Brunswick gained some influence at that time, he’s not a speaker but a shouter, and that’s good enough for some. And so I was forced to lay the matter before the council, which by the way was Brunswick’s only success at first, since the council naturally decided by a large majority to have nothing to do with the surveyor. That too was years ago, but the matter still hasn’t died down, partly through the conscientiousness of Sordini, who tried to probe the motives of both majority and opposition by means of the most meticulous inquiries, partly through the stupidity and ambition of Brunswick, who has various personal contacts with the authorities that he was able to bring into play thanks to his boundless imagination. Sordini, though, didn’t let himself be duped by Brunswick—how could Brunswick dupe Sordini?—but precisely so as not to be duped, he had to set up new inquiries, but before they had ended Brunswick had already thought up something else, he’s actually quite quick, that’s one form his stupidity takes. And now I’m going to talk about a special feature of our official apparatus. In keeping with its precision it is extremely sensitive. When a matter has been deliberated on at great length, it can happen, even before the deliberations have ended, that suddenly, like lightning, in some unforeseeable place, which cannot be located later on, a directive is issued that usually justly, but nonetheless arbitrarily, brings the matter to a close. It’s as if the official apparatus could no longer bear the tension and irritation stemming year in year out from the same perhaps inherently trivial affair and had all by itself, without help from the officials, made the decision. Of course, there was no miracle and some official or other certainly wrote the directive or reached an unwritten decision, at any rate one cannot determine from down here, or indeed even from the administrative offices, which official reached the decision in this case and on what grounds. This is only determined much later by the control agencies, and so we never get to hear any more about it, and anyhow by then the matter would scarcely interest anybody. Now, as I said, it’s precisely these decisions that are mostly excellent, the only disturbing thing is that one only gets to hear about them when it’s too late, for one is still passionately discussing a matter that has long since been resolved. I don’t know whether such a decision was reached in your case—there is evidence both for and against—but if that had happened, they would have sent for you and you would have set off on that long journey, which would have taken time, while Sordini would have been working on the same case to the point of exhaustion, Brunswick would have kept up his intrigues, and I would have been tormented by both. I’m only suggesting this as a possibility, but the following I know for sure: A control agency discovered meanwhile that many years previously Department A had sent the local council an inquiry concerning a surveyor, but still hadn’t received a reply. Recently they sent me an inquiry that actually resolved the entire matter, Department A was satisfied with my reply stating that no surveyor was needed, Sordini had to acknowledge that he wasn’t responsible for the case and that he had—though of course through no fault of his own—gone to a great deal of useless, nerve-wracking trouble. If new work hadn’t come pouring in as usual from all sides, and if your case hadn’t been only a very minor case—the most minor of minor cases, one could almost say—we would all have breathed sighs of relief, even Sordini would, I believe, have done so, Brunswick was the only one who muttered about it, but that was quite ridiculous. And just imagine how disappointed I was, Surveyor, after the happy conclusion of the entire affair—and a great deal of time has gone by since then—when suddenly you appear and it seems as if everything is about to begin all over again. That I want to prevent this from happening, insofar as it lies in my power, is something you’ll surely understand, won’t you?”
“Certainly,” said K., “but I have an even better understanding of the dreadful mistreatment that I, and perhaps the laws as well, are being subjected to here. I, for one, know how to combat this.”
“How do you plan to do so?” asked the chairman.
“I cannot give that away,” said K.
“I don’t want to intrude,” said the chairman, “but keep in mind that you have in me—I don’t want to say a friend, since we’re actually total strangers—a business acquaintance, as it were. The only thing I shall not permit is your being taken on as a surveyor, but otherwise you can always approach me with confidence, though only within the limits of my power, which isn’t great.”
“You’re always saying that I am going to be taken on as surveyor,” said K., “but I have already been taken on, here’s Klamm’s letter.”
“Klamm’s letter,” said the chairman, “well, it is valuable and even venerable because of Klamm’s signature, which appears to be genuine, but otherwise—still, I wouldn’t risk saying anything about it on my own. Mizzi!” he called, adding: “But what are you doing?”
The assistants, who had been left unobserved for such a long time, and Mizzi, had evidently not found the file they were looking for and had then tried to lock everything up in the cabinet again, but the jumble of files was so large that they hadn’t succeeded. Then it had surely been the assistants who had hit upon the idea that they were now carrying out. They had put the cabinet on the floor, stuffed all the files in, then sat down with Mizzi on the cabinet door and were now trying to force it down slowly.
“So the file hasn’t been found,” said the chairman, “a pity, but of course you already know the story, we no longer need the file, besides it’ll turn up, it must be at the teacher’s, he has many more files. But come here with the candle, Mizzi, so you can read the letter with me.”
Mizzi came over, she looked even more insignificant and gray sitting on the edge of the bed and clasping her strong and vigorous husband, who had his arm around her. All one could make out in the candlelight was her small face with its distinct stern lines, softened only by the decay of age. She had barely looked at the letter when she clasped her hands lightly, “From Klamm,” she said. They read the letter together, whispering to each other from time to time, and finally, as the assistants shouted “Hurrah,” for they had finally pushed the cabinet door shut, and Mizzi watched them in silent gratitude, the chairman said:
“Mizzi agrees with me completely, and now I can probably risk saying what I think. This letter isn’t an official letter but rather a private one. That is already clearly apparent from the heading ‘My dear Sir!’ Besides, it doesn’t say a word about your having been taken on as surveyor, rather it refers only in general terms to the lordly services, and even then the phrasing isn’t binding, since you have merely been taken on ‘as you know,’ in other words, the burden of proving that you’ve been taken on rests with you. Lastly, you’re referred exclusively to me, the chairman, who, as your immediate superior, will provide you with all further particulars, and that has, of course, already been largely taken care of. All this is utterly clear to anyone who is capable of reading official letters and therefore better still at reading unofficial ones; that you, a stranger, cannot make this out doesn’t surprise me. All in all, the letter merely means that Klamm intends to look after you personally, should you be accepted into the lordly services.”
“Chairman,” said K., “you interpret the letter so well that all that’s finally left is a signature on a blank sheet of paper. Can’t you see how you’re disparaging the name of Klamm, which you pretend to respect.”
“That is a misunderstanding,” said the chairman, “the significance of the letter hasn’t escaped me, nor am I disparaging it with my interpretation, quite the contrary. A private letter from Klamm has far greater significance than would an official letter, but not the significance you give it.”
“You know Schwarzer?” asked K.
“No,” said the chairman, “perhaps you do, Mizzi? You don’t either. No, we don’t know him.”
“That’s odd,” said K., “he is the son of a substeward.”
“Dear Surveyor,” said the chairman, “how am I supposed to know all the sons of all the substewards?”
“Fine,” said K., “then you have to believe me when I say it’s he. The day I came, I had an annoying encounter with this Schwarzer. He then made inquiries by telephone, spoke to a substeward called Fritz, and was told they had taken me on as surveyor. How do you explain that, Chairman?”
“Quite simple,” said the chairman, “you haven’t ever really come into contact with our authorities. All those contacts are merely apparent, but in your case, because of your ignorance of the situation here, you think they’re real. As for the telephone: look, in my own house, though I certainly deal often enough with the authorities, there’s no telephone. At inns and in places like that it may serve a useful purpose, along the lines, say, of an automated phonograph, but that’s all. Have you ever telephoned here, you have? Well then, perhaps you can understand me. At the Castle the telephone seems to work extremely well; I’ve been told the telephones up there are in constant use, which of course greatly speeds up the work. Here on our local telephones we hear that constant telephoning as a murmuring and singing, you must have heard it too. Well, this murmuring and singing is the only true and reliable thing that the local telephones convey to us, everything else is deceptive. There is no separate telephone connection to the Castle and no switchboard to forward our calls; when anyone here calls the Castle, all the telephones in the lowest-level departments ring, or all would ring if the ringing mechanism on nearly all of them were not, and I know this for certain, disconnected. Now and then, though, an overtired official needs some diversion—especially late in the evening or at night—and turns on the ringing mechanism, then we get an answer, though an answer that’s no more than a joke. That’s certainly quite understandable. For who can claim to have the right, simply because of some petty personal concerns, to ring during the most important work, conducted, as always, at a furious pace? Nor can I understand how even a stranger can believe that if he calls Sordini, for instance, it really is Sordini who answers. Quite the contrary, it’s probably a lowly filing clerk from an entirely different department. But it can also happen, if only at the most auspicious moment, that someone telephones the lowly filing clerk and Sordini himself answers. Then of course it’s best to run from the telephone before hearing a sound.”
“But that isn’t how I saw it,” said K. “I couldn’t have known the details, but I had little confidence in those telephone conversations and always knew that the only things that are of any real significance are those one discovers or accomplishes at the Castle itself.”
“No,” said the chairman, seizing one phrase, “those telephone answers are of ‘real significance,’ how could it be otherwise? How could the information supplied by a Castle official be meaningless? I said so already in relation to Klamm’s letter. All these statements have no official meaning; if you attach official meaning to them, you’re quite mistaken, though their private meaning as expressions of friendship or hostility is very great, usually greater than any official meaning could ever be.”
“Fine,” said K., “if all that is indeed so, then I must have plenty of good friends at the Castle; on closer inspection the idea the department had many years ago of possibly sending for a surveyor at some point was a friendly gesture toward me, and from then on there was one such gesture after the other until it came to a bad end with my being enticed here and threatened with being thrown out.”
“There is some truth in your view,” said the chairman, “you’re right that the Castle’s statements shouldn’t be taken literally. Still, caution is always necessary, not only here, and the more important the statement, the greater the need for caution. But what you then say about your being enticed here I find incomprehensible. If you had paid closer attention to my observations, you would know that the question of your being summoned here is far too difficult to be dealt with in one little conversation.”
“Well, then,” said K., “the only possible conclusion is that everything is very unclear and insoluble except for my being thrown out.”
“Who would dare to throw you out, Surveyor,” said the chairman, “it’s precisely the lack of clarity in the preliminary questions that guarantees you the most courteous treatment, only it seems that you are too sensitive. Nobody is keeping you here, but that still doesn’t mean you’re being thrown out.”
“Oh, Chairman,” said K., “now it’s once again you who is seeing certain matters far too clearly. I shall list for you certain things that keep me here: the sacrifices I had to make to get away from home, the long difficult journey, the reasonable hopes I held out for myself of being taken on here, my complete lack of fortune, the impossibility of finding suitable work at home, and finally, my fiancée, who comes from here.”
“Oh, Frieda!” said the chairman, not at all surprised. “I know. But Frieda would follow you anywhere. As for the rest, though, certain considerations must indeed be taken into account and I shall report this to the Castle. If a decision comes or if it’s necessary to question you again, I shall send for you. Do you approve of this?”
“No, absolutely not,” said K., “what I want from the Castle is not charity, but my rights.”
“Mizzi,” said the chairman to his wife, who still sat pressed up against him, dreamily playing with Klamm’s letter, which she had turned into a little boat; startled, K. now took it away from her, “Mizzi, my leg is beginning to hurt again, we’ll have to change the compress.”
K. rose, “Then I shall take my leave,” he said. “Yes,” said Mizzi, who was already preparing some ointment, “besides, it’s too drafty.” K. turned around; upon hearing K.’s comment the assistants had in their usual misplaced zeal immediately opened both door panels. Obliged to shield the sickroom from the powerful blast of cold air, K. was only able to bow quickly to the chairman. Then, dragging the assistants along, he ran from the room, quickly closing the door.