XV
Seeing that with a somewhat astonished face K. remained standing where he was, Olga laughed at him and drew him towards the settle by the stove, she seemed to be really happy at the prospect of sitting there alone with him, but it was a contented happiness without a single hint of jealousy. And precisely this freedom of hers from jealousy and therefore from any kind of claim upon him did K. good, he was glad to look into her blue eyes which were not cajoling, nor hectoring, but shyly simple and frank. It was as if the warnings of Frieda and the landlady had made him, not more suspectible to all those things, but more observant and more discerning. And he laughed with Olga when she expressed her wonder at his calling Amalia good-natured, of all things, for Amalia had many qualities, but good-nature was certainly not one of them. Whereupon K. explained that of course his praise had been meant for Olga, only Amalia was so masterful that she not only took to herself whatever was said in her presence, but induced other people of their own free will to include her in everything. “That’s true,” said Olga, becoming more serious, “truer than you think. Amalia’s younger than me, and younger than Barnabas, but hers is the decisive voice in the family for good or for ill, of course she bears the burden of it more than anybody, the good as well as the bad.” K. thought that an exaggeration, for Amalia had just said that she paid no attention, for instance, to her brother’s affairs, while Olga knew all about them. “How can I make it clear?” said Olga, “Amalia bothers neither about Barnabas nor about me, she really bothers about nobody but the old people whom she tends day and night; now she had just asked them again if they want anything and has gone into the kitchen to cook them something, and for their sakes she has overcome her indisposition, for she’s been ill since midday and been lying here on the settle. But although she doesn’t bother about us we’re as dependent on her as if she were the eldest, and if she were to advise us in our affairs we should certainly follow her advice, only she doesn’t do it, she’s different from us. You have experience of people, you come from a strange land, don’t you think, too, that she’s extraordinarily clever?” “Extraordinarily unhappy is what she seems to me,” said K., “but how does it go with your respect for her that Barnabas, for example, takes service as a messenger, in spite of Amalia’s evident disapproval, and even her scorn?” “If he knew what else to do he would give up being a messenger at once, for it doesn’t satisfy him.” “Isn’t he an expert shoemaker?” asked K. “Of course he is,” said Olga, “and in his spare time he does work for Brunswick, and if he liked he could have enough work to keep him going day and night and earn a lot of money.” “Well then,” said K. “That would be an alternative to his service as a messenger.” “An alternative?” asked Olga in astonishment, “do you think he does it for the money?” “Maybe he does,” said K., “but didn’t you say he was discontented?” “He’s discontented, and for various reasons,” said Olga, “but it’s Castle service, anyhow a kind of Castle service, at least one would suppose so.” “What!” said K., “do you even doubt that?” “Well,” said Olga, “not really, Barnabas goes into the bureaux and is accepted by the attendants as one of themselves, he sees various officials, too, from the distance, is entrusted with relatively important letters, even with verbally delivered messages, that’s a good deal, after all, and we should be proud of what he has achieved for a young man of his years.” K. nodded and no longer thought of going home. “He has a uniform of his own, too?” he asked. “You mean the jacket?” said Olga, “no, Amalia made that for him long before he became a messenger. But you’re touching on a sore spot now. He ought long ago to have had, not a uniform, for there aren’t many in the Castle, but a suit provided by the department, and he has been promised one, but in things of that kind the Castle moves slowly, and the worst of it is that one never knows what this slowness means; it can mean that the matter’s being considered, but it can also mean that it hasn’t yet been taken up, that Barnabas for instance is still on probation, and in the long run it can also mean that the whole thing has been settled, that for some reason or other the promise has been cancelled, and that Barnabas will never get his suit. One can never find out exactly what is happening, or only a long time afterwards. We have a saying here, perhaps you’ve heard it: Official decisions are as shy as young girls.” “That’s a good observation,” said K., he took it still more seriously than Olga, “a good observation, and the decisions may have other characteristics in common with young girls.” “Perhaps,” said Olga. “But as far as the official suit’s concerned, that’s one of Barnabas’s great sorrows, and since we share all our troubles, it’s one of mine too. We ask ourselves in vain why he doesn’t get an official suit.
