unhealthy.” “Oh, no,” said the painter in defense of his window. “Because it’s hermetically
sealed it keeps the warmth in much better than a double window, though it’s only a simple
pane of glass. And if I want to air the place, which isn’t really necessary, for the air comes
in everywhere through the chinks, I can always open one of the doors or even both of
them.” Somewhat reassured by this explanation, K. glanced round to discover the second
door. The painter saw what he was doing and said: “It’s behind you, I had to block it up by
putting the bed in front of it.” Only now did K. see the little door in the wall. “This is really
too small for a studio,” said the painter, as if to forestall K.’s criticisms. “I had to manage
as best I could. Of course it’s a bad place for a bed, just in front of that door. The Judge
whom I’m painting just now, for instance, always comes in by that door, and I’ve had to
give him a key for it so that he can wait for me in the studio if I happen to be out. Well, he
usually arrives early in the morning, while I’m still asleep. And of course however fast
asleep I am, it wakes me with a start when the door behind my bed suddenly opens. You
would lose any respect you have for the Judges if you could hear the curses that welcome
him when he climbs over my bed in the early morning. I could certainly take the key away
from him again, but that would only make things worse. It is easy enough to burst open
any of the doors here.” All during these exchanges K. kept considering whether he should
take off his jacket, but at last he realized that if he did not he would be incapable of staying
any longer in the room, so he took it off, laying it, however, across his knee, to save time
in putting it on again whenever the interview was finished. Scarcely had he taken off his
jacket when one of the girls cried: “He’s taken off his jacket now,” and he could hear them
all crowding to peer through the cracks and view the spectacle for themselves. “The girls
think,” said the painter, “that I’m going to paint your portrait and that’s why you are taking
off your jacket.” “I see,” said K., very little amused, for he did not feel much better than
before, although he was now sitting in his shirt-sleeves. Almost morosely he asked: “What
did you say the other two possibilities were?” He had already forgotten what they were
called. “Ostensible acquittal and indefinite postponement,” said the painter. “It lies with
you to choose between them. I can help you to either of them, though not without taking
some trouble, and, as far as that is concerned, the difference between them is that
ostensible acquittal demands temporary concentration, while postponement taxes your
strength less but means a steady strain. First, then, let us take ostensible acquittal. If you
decide on that, I shall write down on a sheet of paper an affidavit of your innocence. The text for such an affidavit has been handed down to me by my father and is unassailable.
Then with this affidavit I shall make a round of the Judges I know, beginning, let us say,
with the Judge I am painting now, when he comes for his sitting tonight. I shall lay the
affidavit before him, explain to him that you are innocent, and guarantee your innocence
myself. And that is not merely a formal guarantee but a real and binding one.” In the eyes
of the painter there was a faint suggestion of reproach that K. should lay upon him the
burden of such a responsibility. “That would be very kind of you,” said K. “And the Judge
would believe you and yet not give me a definite acquittal?” “As I have already explained,”
replied the painter. “Besides, it is not in the least certain that every Judge will believe me;
some Judges, for instance, will ask to see you in person. And then I should have to take