The landlady’s threats did not daunt K.; of the hopes with which she tried to catch him he was weary. Klamm was far away. Once the landlady had compared Klamm to an eagle, and that had seemed absurd in K.’s eyes, but it did not seem absurd now; he thought of Klamm’s remoteness, of his impregnable dwelling, of his silence, broken perhaps only by cries such as K. had never yet heard, of his downward-pressing gaze, which could never be proved or disproved, of his wheelings which could never be disturbed by anything that K. did down below, which far above he followed at the behest of incomprehensible laws and which only for instants were visible—all these things Klamm and the eagle had in common. But assuredly these had nothing to do with the protocol, over which just now Momus was crumbling a roll dusted with salt, which he was eating with beer to help it out, in the process all the papers becoming covered with salt and carroway seeds.
“Good night,” said K. “I’ve an objection to any kind of examination,” and now he went at last to the door. “He’s going after all,” said Momus almost anxiously to the landlady. “He won’t dare,” said she; K. heard nothing more, he was already in the hall. It was cold and a strong wind was blowing. From a door on the opposite side came the landlord, he seemed to have been keeping the hall under observation from behind a peephole. He had to hold the tail of his coat round his knees, the wind tore so strongly at him in the hall. “You’re going already, Land Surveyor?” he asked. “You’re surprised at that?” asked K. “I am,” said the landlord, “haven’t you been examined then?” “No,” replied K. “I didn’t let myself be examined.” “Why not?” asked the landlord. “I don’t know,” said K., “why I should let myself be examined, why I should give in to a joke or an official whim. Perhaps some other time I might have taken it on my side too as a joke or at a whim, but not today.” “Why certainly, certainly,” said the landlord, but he agreed only out of politeness, not from conviction. “I must let the servants into the taproom now,” he said presently, “it’s long past their time. Only I didn’t want to disturb the examination.” “Did you consider it as important as all that?” asked K. “Well, yes,” replied the landlord. “I shouldn’t have refused,” said K. “No,” replied the landlord, “you shouldn’t have done that.” Seeing that K. was silent, he added, whether to comfort K. or to get away sooner; “Well, well, the sky won’t rain sulphur for all that.” “No,” replied K., “the weather signs don’t look like it.” And they parted laughing.
X
K. stepped out into the windswept street and peered into the darkness. Wild, wild weather. As if there were some connection between the two he reflected again how the landlady had striven to make him accede to the protocol, and how he had stood out. The landlady’s attempt had of course not been a straightforward one, surreptitiously she had tried to put him against the protocol at the same time; in reality he could not tell whether he had stood out or given in. An intriguing nature, acting blindly, it seemed, like the wind, according to strange and remote behests which one could never guess at.
He had only taken a few steps along the main street when he saw two swaying lights in the distance; these signs of life gladdened him and he hastened towards them, while they too made in his direction. He could not tell why he was so disappointed when he recognised the assistants. Still, they were coming to meet him, evidently sent by Frieda, and the lanterns which delivered him from the darkness roaring round him were his own; nevertheless he was disappointed, he had expected something else, not those old acquaintances who were such a burden to him. But the assistants were not alone: out of the darkness between them Barnabas stepped out. “Barnabas!” cried K. and he held out his hand, “have you come to see me?” The surprise at meeting him again drowned at first all the annoyance which he had once felt at Barnabas. “To see you,” replied Barnabas unalterably friendly as before, “with a letter from Klamm.” “A letter from Klamm!” cried K. throwing back his head. “Lights here!” he called to the assistants, who now pressed close to him on both sides holding up their lanterns. K. had to fold the large sheet in small compass to protect it from the wind while reading it. Then he read: “To the Land Surveyor at the Bridge Inn. The surveying work which you have carried out thus far has been appreciated by me. The work of the assistants too deserves praise. You know how to keep them at their jobs. Do not slacken in your efforts! Carry your work on to a fortunate conclusion. Any interruption would
