Court,” said the priest. “So why should I want anything from you? The Court wants
nothing from you. It receives you when you come and it dismisses you when you go.” Chapter 10
The End
ON THE evening before K.’s thirty-first birthday — it was about nine o’clock, the time
when a hush falls on the streets — two men came to his lodging. In frock coats, pallid and
plump, with top hats that were apparently irremovable. After some exchange of formalities
regarding precedence at the front door, they repeated the same ceremony more elaborately
before K.’s door. Without having been informed of their visit, K. was sitting also dressed in
black in an armchair near the door, slowly pulling on a pair of new gloves that fitted tightly
over the fingers, looking as if he were expecting guests. He stood up at once and
scrutinized the gentlemen with curiosity. “So you are meant for me?” he asked. The
gentlemen bowed, each indicating the other with the hand that held the top hat. K. admitted
to himself that he had been expecting different visitors. He went to the window and took
another look at the dark street. Nearly all the windows at the other side of the street were
also in darkness; in many of them the curtains were drawn. At one lighted tenement
window some babies were playing behind bars, reaching with their little hands toward each
other although not able to move themselves from the spot. “Tenth-rate old actors they send
for me,” said K. to himself, glancing round again to confirm the impression. “They want to
finish me off cheaply.” He turned abruptly toward the men and asked: “What theater are
you playing at?” “Theater?” said one, the corners of his mouth twitching as he looked for
advice to the other, who acted as if he were a dumb man struggling to overcome a stubborn
disability. “They’re not prepared to answer questions,” said K. to himself and went to fetch
his hat. While still on the stairs the two of them tried to take K. by the arms, and he said:
“Wait till we’re in the street, I’m not an invalid.” But just outside the street door they
fastened on him in a fashion he had never before experienced. They kept their shoulders
close behind his and instead of crooking their elbows, wound their arms round his at full
length, holding his hands in a methodical, practiced, irresistible grip. K. walked rigidly
between them, the three of them were interlocked in a unity which would have brought all
three down together had one of them been knocked over. It was a unity such as can hardly
be formed except by lifeless matter.
Under the street lamps K. attempted time and time again, difficult though it was at
such very close quarters, to see his companions more clearly than had been possible in the
dusk of his room. “Perhaps they are tenors,” he thought, as he studied their fat double
chins. He was repelled by the painful cleanliness of their faces. One could literally see that
the cleansing hand had been at work in the corners of the eyes, rubbing the upper lip,
scrubbing out the furrows at the chin. *
When that occurred to K. he halted, and in consequence the others halted too; they
stood on the verge of an open, deserted square adorned with flower beds. “Why did they send you, of all people!” he said; it was more a cry than a question. The gentlemen
obviously had no answer to make, they stood waiting with their free arms hanging, like
sickroom attendants waiting while their patient takes a rest. “I won’t go any farther,” said
K. experimentally. No answer was needed to that, it was sufficient that the two men did
not loosen their grip and tried to propel K. from the spot; but he resisted them. “I shan’t
need my strength much longer, I’ll expend all the strength I have,” he thought. Into his
mind came a recollection of flies struggling away from the flypaper till their little legs
were torn off. “The gentlemen won’t find it easy.”
And then before them Fräulein Bürstner appeared, mounting a small flight of steps