“I say,” cried K. suddenly—they were already near the church, the inn was not far off, and K. felt he could risk something—“I’m surprised that you have the nerve to drive me round on your own responsibility; are you allowed to do that?” Gerstäcker paid no attention, but went on walking quietly beside the little horse. “Hi!” cried K., scraping some snow from the sledge and flinging a snowball which hit Gerstäcker full in the ear. That made him stop and turn round; but when K. saw him at such close quarters—the sledge had slid forward a little—this stooping and somehow ill-used figure with the thin red tired face and cheeks that were different—one being flat and the other fallen in—standing listening with his mouth open, displaying only a few isolated teeth, he found that what he had just said out of malice had to be repeated out of pity, that is, whether Gerstäcker was likely to be penalised for driving him about. “What do you mean?” asked Gerstäcker uncomprehendingly, but without waiting for an answer he spoke to the horse and they moved on again.
II
When by a turn in the road K. recognised that they were near the inn, he was greatly surprised to see that darkness had already set in. Had he been gone for such a long time? Surely not for more than an hour or two, by his reckoning. And it had been morning when he left. And he had not felt any need of food. And just a short time ago it had been uniform daylight, and now the darkness of night was upon them. “Short days, short days,” he said to himself, slipped off the sledge, and went towards the inn.
At the top of the little flight of steps leading into the house stood the landlord, a welcome figure, holding up a lighted lantern. Remembering his conductor for a fleeting moment K. stood still, there was a cough in the darkness behind him, that was he. Well, he would see him again soon. Not until he was level with the landlord, who greeted him humbly, did he notice two men, one on either side of the doorway. He took the lantern from his host’s hand and turned the light upon them; it was the men he had already met, who were called Arthur and Jeremiah. They now saluted him. That reminded him of his soldiering days, happy days for him, and he laughed. “Who are you?” he asked, looking from one to the other. “Your assistants,” they answered. “It’s your assistants,” corroborated the landlord in a low voice. “What?” said K. “are you my old assistants whom I told to follow me and whom I am expecting?” They answered in the affirmative. “That’s good,” observed K. after a short pause. “I’m glad you’ve come.” “Well,” he said, after another pause, “you’ve come very late, you’re very slack.” “It was a long way to come,” said one of them. “A long way?” repeated K., “but I met you just now coming from the Castle.” “Yes,” said they, without further explanation. “Where is the apparatus?” asked K. “We haven’t any,” said they. “The apparatus I gave you?” said K. “We haven’t any,” they reiterated. “Oh, you are fine fellows!” said K., “do you know anything about surveying?” “No,” said they. “But if you are my old assistants you must know something about it,” said K. They made no reply. “Well, come in,” said K. pushing them before him into the house.
They sat down then all three together over their beer at a small table, saying little, K. in the middle with an assistant on each side. As on the other evening, there was only one other table occupied by a few peasants. “You’re a difficult problem,” said K., comparing them, as he had already done several times, “how am I to know one of you from the other? The only difference between you is your names, otherwise you’re as like as. …” He stopped, and then went on involuntarily, “you’re as like as two snakes.” They smiled. “People usually manage to distinguish us quite well,” they said in self-justification. “I am sure they do,” said K., “I was a witness of that myself, but I can only see with my own eyes, and with them I can’t distinguish you. So I shall treat you as if you were one man and call you both Arthur, that’s one of your names, yours, isn’t it?” he asked one of them. “No,” said the man, “I’m Jeremiah.” “It doesn’t matter,” said K. “I’ll call you both Arthur. If I tell Arthur to go anywhere you must both go, if I give Arthur something to do you must both do it, that has the great disadvantage for me of preventing me from employing you on separate jobs, but the advantage that you will both be equally responsible for anything I tell you to do. How you divide the work between you doesn’t matter to me, only you’re not to excuse yourselves by blaming each other, for me you’re only one man.” They considered this, and said: “We shouldn’t like that at all.” “I don’t suppose so,” said K.; “of course you won’t like it, but that’s how it
