A little while later there was a light knock. “Barnabas!” K. shouted, threw down the broom, and in a few bounds was at the door. Frieda, startled more by the name than by anything else, looked at him. With his unsteady hands K. couldn’t immediately open the old lock. “I’m opening up,” he kept repeating, instead of asking who was knocking. And then he had to watch entering through the now wide-open front door, not Barnabas but the small boy who had once wanted to speak to K. But K. had no desire to remember him. “Well, what are you doing here?” he said, “classes are next door.” “I came from there,” said the boy, looking up at K. with large brown eyes, erect, his arms close to his body. “So what do you want? Quick!” said K., bending down a little, for the boy spoke softly. “Can I help you?” asked the boy. “He wants to help us,” K. said to Frieda, and then to the boy: “So what’s your name?” “Hans Brunswick,” said the boy, “fourth grade, son of Otto Brunswick, master shoemaker, Madeleine Street.” “Well then, your name is Brunswick,” said K., who now became friendlier. It turned out that Hans had become so upset over the bloody welts the schoolmistress had raised on K.’s hand that he had then decided to help him. Without asking, he had at the risk of severe punishment crept from the other classroom like a deserter. He was no doubt largely driven by such boyish notions. They were matched by the earnestness evident in everything he did. Only initially hampered by shyness, he soon got used to K. and Frieda, and on being given good hot coffee to drink he grew lively and confiding and his questions eager and insistent, as if he wanted to ascertain the essential as quickly as possible in order to be able to make decisions for K. and Frieda on his own. There was also a certain imperiousness in his nature, but mixed with childish innocence so that you were glad to submit to him, half sincerely, half jokingly. In any case he monopolized everybody’s attention, all work had ceased, breakfast was dragging on. Although he was seated on a bench, K. above at the teacher’s table, and Frieda on a nearby chair, it looked as if Hans were the teacher, as if he were examining them and judging their answers, a faint smile around his soft mouth seemed to suggest he knew very well that this was merely a game, but this only made him concentrate all the more intently, perhaps it wasn’t so much a smile as the happiness of childhood that played about his lips. It took him a remarkably long time to admit that he knew K. from the time he had come by Lasemann’s. This pleased K. “You were playing at the woman’s feet?” K. asked. “Yes,” said Hans, “that was my mother.” And now he had to speak about his mother, but he did so only hesitantly; after repeated requests, however, it became clear that he was indeed a young boy, from whom, especially when he was asking questions, there seemed to issue a voice, perhaps in a premonition of the future, but perhaps this was merely a sensory illusion on the part of the uneasy tense listener, the voice of an almost energetic, clever man with foresight, but then without transition he was once again a schoolboy who was incapable of understanding certain questions and misinterpreted others and spoke too softly, with a childish inconsiderateness, even though this failing was repeatedly pointed out to him, and then, faced with some especially penetrating questions, he fell quite silent, as though out of stubbornness, and also without the slightest embarrassment, in a way no adult could have done. Indeed it seemed as if he thought that he alone was permitted to ask questions and that questions from the others would only break some rule and waste time. He could sit there quietly for a long time, body erect, head lowered, lower lip pouting. This so pleased Frieda that she often asked him questions in the hope that they would silence him in this way. Sometimes she even succeeded, but this annoyed K. On the whole one didn’t learn much, Hans’s mother was rather sickly, but the exact nature of the illness was still unclear, the child that Frau Brunswick had been holding on her lap was Hans’s sister and was called Frieda (Hans wasn’t pleased to discover that the woman questioning him had the same name), they all lived in the village, though not at Lasemann’s, they had only gone there for a bath since Lasemann had the large tub in which the small children—Hans no longer counted as such—loved to bathe and frolic; Hans spoke of his father with reverence or fear, but only when there was no mention of his mother; when set against his mother, his father evidently counted for little; incidentally, no matter how you questioned him about his family life, he never responded, all you learned about his father’s trade was that he was the largest shoemaker in the village, nobody else came near, as Hans repeated often enough in response to entirely unrelated questions; the father even gave out work to other shoemakers, such as Barnabas’s father, but in that particular case Brunswick must have done so as a special favor, as indicated by the proud way Hans tossed his head, which made Frieda jump down and kiss him. Asked whether he had ever been at the Castle, he answered only after repeated questioning, and what’s more with a “No”; when asked the same question concerning his mother he simply did not answer. K. finally wearied of this, the questioning seemed useless even to him, for in that respect he agreed with the boy, there was also something rather shameful about this effort to probe family secrets in a roundabout way through an innocent child, and indeed doubly so if you couldn’t even come up with anything. And finally, when K. asked the boy how he proposed to help, he was no longer surprised to learn that Hans merely wanted to help them with their tasks so as to ensure that the teacher and schoolmistress ceased scolding K. K. explained to Hans that no such help was needed, it was probably in the teacher’s nature to be a scold, and one could scarcely escape this even through the most meticulous work, the work itself wasn’t that difficult and only because of certain chance events had he fallen behind today, and in any case this scolding didn’t affect K. as it would a pupil, he simply shook it off, it meant almost nothing to him, and he hoped to escape soon from the teacher. Since this merely concerned help against the teacher, K. thanked him very much and said he could go back now, he hoped he wouldn’t be punished. Although K. never emphasized this and only intimated it involuntarily, it was only the help against the teacher that he didn’t need, whereas he wasn’t ruling out the possibility of another sort of help, Hans clearly took note of this and asked whether K. needed help of some other kind, he would be very glad to help him, and if he couldn’t, he would ask his mother to do so, and then success would be assured. Besides, when Father had worries he also asked Mother for help. And Mother had once even asked about K., she hardly ever left the house, her presence that day at Lasemann’s was exceptional, but he, Hans, often went there to play with Lasemann’s children, and Mother had once asked him whether the surveyor had ever come back. Well, one shouldn’t ask Mother needless questions, for she was weak and ill, and so he had simply told her that he hadn’t seen the surveyor there, and nothing more was said; on finding K. here in the school, though, he had to speak to him so that he could inform his mother. For Mother liked it best if you carried out her wishes without explicit orders. At that, after a moment’s reflection, K. said he didn’t need help, he had everything he needed, but it was very kind of Hans to want to help him and he thanked him for his good intentions, it was certainly possible he might need something later, then he would turn to him, he did have his address. But this time maybe he, K., could be of some help, he was sorry that Hans’s mother was ailing and that nobody here evidently understood her illness; in a case as badly neglected as this, even illnesses that are quite minor in and of themselves can become quite serious. Well, he, K., not only had some medical knowledge but also, and this was even more valuable, experience treating patients. There were cases where doctors had failed and he had succeeded. At home, on account of his healing powers, they always called him “the bitter herb.” Anyhow, he would like to take a look at Hans’s mother and talk to her. Perhaps he could give some good advice, he would gladly do so, even if only for Hans’s sake. At first Hans’s eyes lit up at this offer, tempting K. to become even more insistent, though the result was unsatisfactory, for in answer to repeated questions and without even expressing regret Hans said that no strangers were allowed to visit Mother since she needed constant care; though K. had barely spoken to her that one time, she had had to spend a few days in bed afterwards, but this was a frequent occurrence. Father had become very angry at K. and would certainly never allow K. to come and visit Mother, indeed he had actually wanted to go and see K. in order to punish him for his behavior, except Mother had dissuaded him. But above all Mother herself generally didn’t want to speak to anyone and her question about K. was no exception to that rule, on the contrary, in mentioning him she could have said that she wished to see him, but she had not done so, and had thus made her intentions plain. She only wanted to hear about K. and didn’t want to speak to him. By the way it wasn’t actually an illness she suffered from, she was fully aware of the cause of her condition and sometimes hinted as much, it was probably the air here that didn’t agree with her, but then again because of Father and the children she didn’t want to leave the village, and also her condition was much better than it had been. And this is all K. learned; Hans’s powers of reasoning had noticeably improved now that he had to shield his mother from K., the very person whom he supposedly wanted to help; indeed, in the good cause of keeping K. from his mother, he even contradicted some of his own previous statements, those, for instance, concerning her illness. Nonetheless, K. could now see too that Hans still viewed him favorably, only he forgot everything else because of his mother; anybody one happened to mention in the same breath as his mother immediately got put in the wrong, just now it was K., but it could just as easily be someone like, say, his father. K. wanted to test that last notion and said that it was certainly very sensible of Hans’s father to shield his mother from all disturbances and if he, K., had had even the slightest inkling of that he certainly wouldn’t have risked speaking to his mother and so he was asking Hans to convey his belated apologies to the family. Still, he couldn’t quite understand why, if the causes of the illness were so clearly established, his father was preventing his mother from recovering in the air someplace else; one had to say that his father was preventing her since it was only for his sake and the children’s that she didn’t go away, but she could take the children with her, she certainly needn’t go away for long, nor very far either; for up on the Castle hill the air was entirely different. His father needn’t fear the cost of such an excursion, he was after all the largest shoemaker in the village, and he or his mother surely had relatives or acquaintances at the Castle who would gladly take her in. Why wouldn’t he let her go? He shouldn’t underestimate an ailment of that sort, K. had caught only a glimpse of his mother, but it was her striking paleness and infirmity that had prompted him to speak to her, and even then he had been surprised that Hans’s father had left that sick woman in the bad air of a room used for communal bathing and washing and hadn’t tempered his own loud voice either. His father probably didn’t know what was at stake, it could be that the ailment had improved of late, that sort of ailment is fickle, but in the end if you don’t fight it, it gathers force and comes back, and nothing more can be done. Well, if K. couldn’t speak to Hans’s mother, it would perhaps be a good idea to speak with his father and make him aware of all this.
Hans had listened intently, understood the majority, and strongly sensed the threat in the remainder, which he found incomprehensible. Nonetheless, he said that K. couldn’t speak to Father, Father disliked him and would surely treat him as the teacher had done. All smiles and shyness when talking about K., he was all bitterness and grief whenever he mentioned his father. Yet he added that K. could perhaps speak to Mother, but only without Father’s knowledge. After reflecting for a moment with a fixed gaze, like a woman who wants to do something forbidden and seeks a way to carry it out with impunity, Hans said that it would perhaps be possible the day after tomorrow; in the evenings Father went to the Gentlemen’s Inn, he had meetings there, and so in the evening he, Hans, would come and lead K. to Mother, but only if Mother agreed, which was still quite unlikely. Above all else she never did anything contrary to Father’s will, submitted to him in everything, including matters whose unreasonableness even he, Hans, could clearly recognize. In reality Hans was looking for K.’s help against his father, it was as if he had deceived himself, for he had thought that he wanted to help K. whereas what he had truly wanted, since nobody in their old circle could help them, was to determine whether this stranger, whose sudden appearance even Mother had noted, might perhaps be able to help them. How unintentionally reserved and almost underhanded the boy was, one couldn’t have gathered this from his appearance or his speech, only through the rather belated confessions extracted from him by chance or design. And now in long conversations with K. he considered what difficulties had to be overcome; even with the best intentions of Hans these difficulties were almost insurmountable; lost in thought but also seeking help, he stared the whole time with uneasily twinkling eyes at K. Until Father left, he couldn’t say anything to Mother, otherwise Father would find out and it would be all over, so he could only mention it later, but even then out of consideration for his mother he would have to ask her consent, not quickly and all of a sudden but slowly and on some suitable occasion, and only then could he come to get K., but wouldn’t that be too late, wouldn’t his father’s return be already dangerously imminent? Indeed, it couldn’t be done. But K. showed that it could be done. There was no reason to fear there not being enough time, a short conversation, a short meeting would be enough, and Hans needn’t come for K. K. would wait in hiding somewhere near the house and at a sign from Hans he would come at once. No, said Hans, K. shouldn’t wait near the house—once again it was his sensitivity about his mother that governed him—without Mother’s knowledge K. shouldn’t set out on his way; he, Hans, shouldn’t enter into any such secret agreement which left out Mother, he must come and get K. from the school, but not before Mother knew of it and gave her permission. Fine, said K., then it was really dangerous, for it was conceivable that Hans’s father would catch him in the house and, even if this didn’t happen, his mother would fear as much and wouldn’t let Hans go, and so the whole plan would fail because of his father. Here again Hans objected, and in this way the argument went back and forth. Some time ago K. had called Hans, who was seated in the bench, to the teacher’s desk, pulled him between his knees, and patted him soothingly a few times. And despite some resistance from Hans, this closeness actually helped them come to an understanding. They finally agreed to the following: Hans would first tell his mother the whole truth, but to make it easier for her to give her consent he would add that K. also wanted to speak with Brunswick himself, not about Hans’s mother but about his own affairs. That was true, too; during the conversation it had occurred to K. that Brunswick, no matter how dangerous and evil a person he was in other respects, couldn’t really be his adversary, for he was after all, at least according to the council chairman’s report, the leader of the faction that had, even if merely on political grounds, demanded the summoning of a surveyor. So Brunswick must have welcomed K.’s arrival in the village; but then the irritated greeting from him that first day and the dislike of which Hans had spoken were almost incomprehensible, but perhaps Brunswick felt hurt precisely because K. hadn’t turned first to him for help, perhaps there was some other misunderstanding that could be resolved in a few words. Once that was done, though, K. could surely count on Brunswick for support against the teacher, and even against the council chairman; all the official chicanery—what else could you call it?—with which the council chairman and the teacher kept him from the Castle authorities and forced him to take the janitorial post could be exposed, and if it soon came to a fight between Brunswick and the council chairman over K., then Brunswick would have to take K. on his side, K. would be a guest in Brunswick’s house, Brunswick’s means of combat would be placed at his disposal in defiance of the council chairman, who knows how far he would get in this way, and in any case he would often be near the woman—thus he played with his dreams and they with him, while Hans, thinking only of his mother, observed K.’s silence with concern, just as one does with a doctor who is lost in thought in an effort to find a cure for a serious case. K.’s proposal to speak to Brunswick about the surveyor position met with Hans’s approval, though only because it ensured his mother some protection from his father and, besides, merely concerned an emergency situation that would hopefully never come about. Hans simply asked how K. would explain the late hour of his visit to his father, and finally contented himself, if with a slightly glum face, with K.’s statement that the unbearable janitorial post and dishonorable treatment by the teacher had in a sudden attack of despair made him lose all sense of consideration.
Then, when everything had been thus considered, insofar as one could see, and the possibility of success could at least no longer be ruled out, Hans, relieved of his burdensome reflections, became more cheerful, chattered childishly for a while, first with K. and then also with Frieda, who had sat there a long time, as though thinking of entirely different matters, and only now began to take part in the conversation again. Among other things she asked him what he wanted to be, he didn’t think for long before saying that he wanted to be a man like K. Then, when asked why, he naturally couldn’t answer, and the question whether he wanted to be a janitor, for instance, he answered with an emphatic “No.” It was only after further questioning that one noticed in what a roundabout way he had obtained his wish. K.’s current situation was not so much enviable as sad and contemptible; Hans, too, saw this clearly himself and didn’t have to observe others to make it out, he would have dearly liked to preserve his mother from every look and every word of K.’s. Nevertheless, he came to K. and asked him for help and would be happy if K. agreed to this, in others too he detected something similar, and his mother especially had spoken of K. This contradiction led him to believe that K., low and frightening though he was right now, would, if only in the almost inconceivably distant future, outstrip everyone else. And it was precisely this absolutely foolish distance, and the proud development it was supposed to usher in, that tempted Hans; to gain this prize he was even prepared to make allowances for K. as he currently was. What was so especially childish and precocious about this wish was that Hans looked down on K. as though on a younger child whose future extended beyond his own, the future of a small boy. And it was with an almost bleak gravity, after insistent questioning by Frieda, that he spoke of these matters. It took K. to cheer him up by saying that he knew what it was Hans envied him for, namely, K.’s beautiful knobby walking stick, which lay on the table and which Hans had absentmindedly played with during the conversation. Well, K. knew how to make walking sticks like that, and once their plan had worked, he would make an even more beautiful one for Hans. It was no longer entirely clear that Hans hadn’t simply been thinking of the walking stick, so pleased was he with K.’s promise, and he cheerfully took his leave, though not before pressing K.’s hand firmly and saying: “So the day after tomorrow, then.”