K. leaned there, his hands pressed to his eyes, oblivious of everything. Then he took a sip of the brandy and pushed it back, saying it was undrinkable. “All the gentlemen drink it,” replied Pepi curtly, poured out the remainder, washed the glass and set it on the rack. “The gentlemen have better stuff as well,” said K. “It’s possible,” replied Pepi, “but I haven’t,” and with that she was finished with K. and once more at the gentleman’s service, who, however, was in need of nothing, and behind whom she only kept walking to and fro in circles, making respectful attempts to catch a glimpse of the papers over his shoulder; but that was only her senseless curiosity and self-importance, which the landlady, too, reprehended with knitted brows.
Then suddenly the landlady’s attention was distracted, she stared, listening intently, into vacancy. K. turned round, he could not hear anything in particular, nor did the others seem to hear anything; but the landlady ran on tiptoe and taking large steps to the door which led to the courtyard, peered through the keyhole, turned then to the others with wide, staring eyes and flushed cheeks, signed to them with her finger to come near, and now they peered through the keyhole by turns; the landlady had, of course the lion’s share, but Pepi too was considered; the gentleman was on the whole the most indifferent of the three. Pepi and the gentleman came away soon, but the landlady kept on peering anxiously, bent double, almost kneeling; one had almost the feeling that she was only imploring the keyhole now to let her through, for there had certainly been nothing more to see for a long time. When at last she got up, passed her hands over her face, arranged her hair, took a deep breath, and now at last seemed to be trying with reluctance to accustom her eyes again to the room and the people in it, K. said, not so much to get his suspicions confirmed, as to forestall the announcement, so open to attack did he feel now: “Has Klamm gone already then?” The landlady walked past him in silence, but the gentleman answered from his table: “Yes, of course. As soon as you gave up your sentry go, Klamm was able to leave. But it’s strange how sensitive he is. Did you notice, landlady, how uneasily Klamm looked around him?” The landlady did not appear to have noticed it, but the gentleman went on: “Well, fortunately there was nothing more to be seen, the coachman had effaced even the footprints in the snow.” “The landlady didn’t notice anything,” said K., but he said it without conviction, merely provoked by the gentleman’s assertion, which was uttered in such a final and unanswerable tone. “Perhaps I wasn’t at the keyhole just then,” said the landlady presently, to back up the gentleman, but then she felt compelled to give Klamm his due as well, and added: “All the same, I can’t believe in this terrible sensitiveness of Klamm. We are anxious about him and try to guard him, and so go on to infer that he’s terribly sensitive. That’s as it should be and it’s certainly Klamm’s will. But how it is in reality we don’t know. Certainly, Klamm will never speak to anybody that he doesn’t want to speak to, no matter how much trouble this anybody may take, and no matter how insufferably forward he may be; but that fact alone, that Klamm will never speak to him, never allow him to come into his presence, is enough in itself: why after all should it follow that he isn’t able to endure seeing this anybody? At any rate, it can’t be proved, seeing that it will never come to the test.” The gentleman nodded eagerly. “That is essentially my opinion too, of course,” he said, “if I expressed myself a little differently, it was to make myself comprehensible to the Land Surveyor. All the same it’s a fact that when Klamm stepped out of the doorway he looked round him several times.” “Perhaps he was looking for me,” said K. “Possibly,” said the gentleman, “I hadn’t thought of that.” They all laughed, Pepi, who hardly understood anything that was being said, loudest of all.
“Seeing we’re all so happy here now,” the gentleman went on, “I want to beg you very seriously, Land Surveyor, to enable me to complete my papers by answering a few questions.” “There’s a great deal of writing there,” said K. glancing at the papers from where he was standing. “Yes, a wretched bore,” said the gentleman laughing again, “but perhaps you don’t know yet who I am. I’m Momus, the village secretary.” At these words seriousness descended on the room; although the landlady and Pepi knew quite well who the gentleman was, yet they seemed staggered by the utterance of his name and rank. And even the gentleman himself, as if he had said more than his judgment sanctioned, and as if he were resolved to escape at least from any aftereffects of the solemn import implicit in his own words, buried himself in his papers and began to write, so that nothing was heard in the room but the scratching of his pen. “What is that: village secretary?” asked K. after a pause. The landlady answered for Momus, who now that he had introduced himself did not regard it seemly to give such explanations himself: “Herr Momus is Klamm’s secretary in the same sense as any of Klamm’s secretaries, but his official province, and if I’m not mistaken, his official standing”—still writing Momus shook his head decidedly and the landlady amended her phrase—“well then, his official province, but not his official standing, is confined to the village. Herr Momus despatches any clerical work of Klamm’s which may
