rung up and asked to go somewhere, but they forgot to tell me at what time.” “Well, you
can ring up and ask,” said the Assistant Manager. “It isn’t so important as all that,” said K.,
though in saying so he crippled still further his first lame excuse. The Assistant Manager,
turning to go, went on making remarks about other topics. K. forced himself to answer, but
what he was really thinking was that it would be best to go to the address at nine o’clock on
Sunday morning, since that was the hour at which all the law courts started their business
on weekdays.
Sunday was dull. K. was tired, for he had stayed late at his restaurant the night before
because of a celebration; he had nearly overslept. In a great hurry, without taking time to
think or co-ordinate the plans which he had drawn up during the week, he dressed and
rushed off, without his breakfast, to the suburb which had been mentioned to him.
Strangely enough, though he had little time to study passers-by, he caught sight of the
three clerks already involved in his case: Rabensteiner, Kullich, and Kaminer. The first
two were journeying in a streetcar which crossed in front of him, but Kaminer was sitting
on the terrace of a café‚ and bent inquisitively over the railing just as K. passed. All three
were probably staring after him and wondering where their chief was rushing off to; a sort
of defiance had kept K. from taking a vehicle to his destination, he loathed the thought of
chartering anyone, even the most casual stranger, to help him along in this case of his, also
he did not want to be beholden to anyone or to initiate anyone even remotely in his affairs,
and last of all he had no desire to belittle himself before the Court of Inquiry by a too
scrupulous punctuality. Nevertheless he was hurrying fast, so as to arrive by nine o’clock if
possible, although he had not even been required to appear at any specified time.
He had thought that the house would be recognizable even at a distance by some sign
which his imagination left unspecified, or by some unusual commotion before the door.
But Juliusstrasse, where the house was said to be and at whose end he stopped for a
moment, displayed on both sides houses almost exactly alike, high gray tenements
inhabited by poor people. This being Sunday morning, most of the windows were
occupied, men in shirt-sleeves were leaning there smoking or holding small children
cautiously and tenderly on the window-ledges. Other windows were piled high with
bedding, above which the disheveled head of a woman would appear for a moment. People
were shouting to one another across the street; one shout just above K.’s head caused great
laughter. Down the whole length of the street at regular intervals, below the level of the
pavement, there were little general grocery shops, to which short flights of steps led down.
Women were thronging into and out of these shops or gossiping on the steps outside. A
fruit hawker who was crying his wares to the people in the windows above, progressing
almost as inattentively as K. himself, almost knocked K. down with his pushcart. A
phonograph which had seen long service in a better quarter of the town began stridently to
murder a tune. K. penetrated deeper into the street, slowly, as if he had now abundant time, or as if the
Examining Magistrate might be leaning from one of the windows with every opportunity
of observing that he was on the way. It was a little after nine o’clock. The house was quite
far along the street, it was of unusual extent, the main entrance was particularly high and
wide. It was clearly a service entrance for trucks, the locked doors of various warehouses
surrounded the courtyard and displayed the names of firms some of which were known to
K. from the Bank ledgers. Against his usual habit, he studied these external appearances
with close attention and remained standing for a little while in the entrance to the
courtyard. Near him a barefooted man was sitting on a crate reading a newspaper. Two