The Castle

has to be.” For some little time one of the peasants had been sneaking round the table and K. had noticed him; now the fellow took courage and went up to one of the assistants to whisper something. “Excuse me,” said K., bringing his hand down on the table and rising to his feet, “these are my assistants and we’re discussing private business. Nobody is entitled to disturb us.” “Sorry, sir, sorry,” muttered the peasant anxiously, retreating backwards towards his friends. “And this is my most important charge to you,” said K., sitting down again. “You’re not to speak to anyone without my permission. I am a stranger here, and if you are my old assistants you are strangers too. We three strangers must stand by each other therefore, give me your hands on that.” All too eagerly they stretched out their hands to K. “Never mind the trimming,” said he, “but remember that my command holds good. I shall go to bed now, and I recommend you to do the same. Today we have missed a day’s work, and tomorrow we must begin very early. You must get hold of a sleigh for taking me to the Castle and have it ready outside the house at six o’clock.” “Very well,” said one. But the other interrupted him. “You say ‘very well,’ and yet you know it can’t be done.” “Silence,” said K. “You’re trying already to dissociate yourselves from each other.” But then the first man broke in: “He’s right, it can’t be done, no stranger can get into the Castle without a permit.” “Where does one apply for a permit?” “I don’t know, perhaps to the Castellan.” “Then we’ll apply by telephone, go and telephone to the Castellan at once, both of you.” They rushed to the instrument, asked for the connection⁠—how eager they were about it! in externals they were absurdly docile⁠—and enquired if K. could come with them next morning into the Castle. The “No” of the answer was audible even to K. at his table. But the answer went on and was still more explicit, it ran as follows: “Neither tomorrow nor at any other time.” “I shall telephone myself,” said K., and got up. While K. and his assistants hitherto had passed nearly unremarked except for the incident with the one peasant, his last statement aroused general attention. They all got up when K. did, and although the landlord tried to drive them away, crowded round him in a close semicircle at the telephone. The general opinion among them was that K. would get no answer at all. K. had to beg them to be quiet, saying he did not want to hear their opinion.

The receiver gave out a buzz of a kind that K. had never before heard on a telephone. It was like the hum of countless children’s voices⁠—but yet not a hum, the echo rather of voices singing at an infinite distance⁠—blended by sheer impossibility into one high but resonant sound which vibrated on the ear as if it were trying to penetrate beyond mere hearing. K. listened without attempting to telephone, leaning his left arm on the telephone shelf.

He did not know how long he had stood there, but he stood until the landlord pulled at his coat saying that a messenger had come to speak with him. “Go away!” yelled K. in an access of rage, perhaps into the mouthpiece, for someone immediately answered from the other end. The following conversation ensued: “Oswald speaking, who’s there?” cried a severe, arrogant voice with a small defect in its speech, as seemed to K., which its owner tried to cover by an exaggerated severity. K. hesitated to announce himself, for he was at the mercy of the telephone, the other could shout him down or hang up the receiver, and that might mean the blocking of a not unimportant way of access. K.’s hesitation made the man impatient. “Who’s there?” he repeated, adding, “I should be obliged if there was less telephoning from down there, only a minute ago somebody rang up.” K. ignored this remark, and announced with sudden decision: “The Land Surveyor’s assistant speaking.” “What Land Surveyor? What assistant?” K. recollected yesterday’s telephone conversation, and said briefly, “Ask Fritz.” This succeeded, to his own astonishment. But even more than at his success he was astonished at the organisation of the Castle service. The answer came: “Oh, yes. That everlasting Land Surveyor. Quite so. What about it? What assistant?” “Joseph,” said K. He was a little put out by the murmuring of the peasants behind his back, obviously they disapproved of his ruse. He had no time to bother about them, however, for the conversation absorbed all his attention. “Joseph?” came the question. “But the assistants are called⁠ ⁠…” there was a short pause, evidently to enquire the names from somebody else, “Arthur and Jeremiah.” “These are the new assistants,” said K. “No, they are the old ones.” “They are the new ones, I am the old assistant; I came today after the Land Surveyor.” “No,” was shouted back. “Then who am I?” asked K. as blandly as before.

And after a pause the same voice with the same defect answered him, yet with a deeper and more authoritative tone: “You are the old assistant.”

K. was listening to the new note, and almost missed the question: “What is it you want?” He felt like laying down the receiver. He had ceased to expect anything from this conversation. But being pressed, he replied quickly: “When can my master come to the Castle?” “Never,” was the answer. “Very well,” said K., and hung the receiver up.

Behind him the peasants had crowded quite close. His assistants, with many side glances in his direction, were trying to keep them back. But they seemed not to take