by Franz Kafka
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.”
XIV.
FRIEDA’S REPROACH
It was high time Hans left, for before long the teacher flung open the door and, on seeing K. and Frieda sitting quietly at the table, shouted: “Excuse th
e disturbance! But tell me, when are you finally going to tidy up in here. We must sit packed together next door, it’s bad for the teaching, but you lie about and stretch out in the big gymnasium, and to make even more room for yourselves you have even sent away the assistants. The least you can do now is stand up and get a move on!” And to K. alone: “And you, bring me my luncheon from the Bridge Inn.” He had shouted all this angrily, but the words themselves were relatively mild, even the rather crude form of address. Though K. was instantly ready to comply, simply in order to sound out the teacher he said: “But I’m dismissed.” “Dismissed or not dismissed, bring me my luncheon,” said the teacher. “Dismissed or not dismissed, that’s precisely what I want to know,” said K. “What are you talking about?” said the teacher, “You never accepted the dismissal.” “So that’s enough to set it aside?” asked K. “Not for me,” said the teacher, “believe me when I say so, though it is enough for the council chairman, quite incomprehensibly so. But now run along, otherwise you’ll really end up being thrown out.” K. was satisfied, so in the meantime the teacher had spoken to the council chairman, or could it be that he hadn’t even spoken to him but had simply adopted the chairman’s probable opinion, which was in K.’s favor. Now K. wanted to rush out at once for the luncheon, but the teacher called him back from the corridor, either because he had merely wanted to test K.’s willingness to carry out his duty by giving this special order, in order to be able to respond accordingly in the future, or because he once again felt like giving orders, for he liked making K. run off at an order from him and then wheel about just as quickly, like a waiter. K., for his part, knew that by giving in too much he would turn himself into the teacher’s slave and whipping boy, but he intended to accept the teacher’s moods, patiently, up to a certain point, for if the teacher couldn’t legally dismiss him, as had just become clear, then he could certainly make the position unbearably excruciating. But this position meant more to K. now than it had before. The conversation with Hans had given him new, admittedly unlikely, entirely baseless but no longer forgettable hopes, they even half-obscured Barnabas. If he tried to pursue them, and he had no other choice, then he would have to gather all his strength and not worry about anything else, about food, housing, the village authorities, not even about Frieda, and this was essentially all about Frieda, because everything else mattered to him only with regard to her. So he would have to try to hold on to this position which gave Frieda some security, and he ought not to regret that with this goal in mind he would have to put up with more of the teacher than he could have forced himself to put up with otherwise. All this wasn’t too painful, it was part of the series of life’s endless little sufferings, it was nothing in comparison with what K. was striving for, he had not come here in order to lead a life in honor and peace.