to make good use of my knowledge.” “But I mean it seriously,” said K., “or at least halfseriously,
as you yourself mean it. The case is too trifling to need a lawyer, but I could do
very well with an adviser.” “Yes, but if I am to be an adviser I must know what it’s all
about,” said Fräulein Bürstner. “That’s just the trouble,” said K. “I don’t know that myself.”
“Then you’ve simply been making fun of me,” said Fräulein Bürstner, extravagantly
disappointed, “it was surely unnecessary to choose this late hour for doing so.” And she
walked away from the photographs, where they had been standing together for a long time.
“But, Fräulein,” said K., “I’m not making fun of you. Why won’t you believe me? I have
already told you all I know. In fact more than I know, for it was not a real Court of Inquiry. I called it that because I didn’t know what else to call it. There was no interrogation at all, I
was merely arrested, but it was done by a Commission.” Fräulein Bürstner sat down on the
sofa and laughed again. * “What was it like, then?” she asked. “Horrible,” said K., but he
was no longer thinking of what he was saying, for he was completely taken up in staring at
Fräulein Bürstner, who was leaning her head on one hand — her elbow was resting on the
sofa cushions — while with the other she slowly caressed her hip. “That’s too general,” she
said. “What’s too general?” asked K. Then he came to himself and asked: “Shall I let you
see how it happened?” He wanted to move about and yet he did not want to leave. “I’m
tired,” said Fräulein Bürstner. “You came home so late,” said K. “So you’ve gone the
length of reproaching me, and I deserve it, too, for I should never have let you in. And
there was no need for it, either, that’s evident.” “There was a need for it. I’ll make you see
that in a minute,” said K. “May I shift this night table from beside your bed?” “What an
idea !” cried Fräulein Bürstner. “Of course not !” “Then I can’t show you how it happened,”
said K. in agitation, as if some immeasurable wrong had been inflicted upon him. “Oh, if
you need it for your performance, shift the table by all means,” said Fräulein Bürstner, and
after a pause added in a smaller voice: “I’m so tired that I’m letting you take too many
liberties.” K. stationed the table in the middle of the room and sat down behind it. “You
must picture to yourself exactly where the various people are, it’s very interesting. I am the
Inspector, over there on the chest two warders are sitting, beside the photographs three
young men are standing. At the latch of the window — just to mention it in passing — a
white blouse is dangling. And now we can begin. Oh, I’ve forgotten about myself, the most
important person; well, I’m standing here in front of the table. The Inspector is lounging at
his ease with his legs crossed, his arm hanging over the back of the chair like this, an
absolute boor. And now we can really begin. The Inspector shouts as if he had to waken
me out of my sleep, he actually bawls; I’m afraid, if I am to make you understand, I’ll have
to bawl too, but he only bawls my name.” Fräulein Bürstner, who was listening with
amusement, put her finger to her lips to keep K. from shouting, but it was too late, K. was
too absorbed in his role, he gave a long-drawn shout: “Joseph K.,” less loud indeed than he
had threatened, but with such explosive force that it hung in the air a moment before
gradually spreading through the room.
Then there was a knocking at the door of the adjoining room, a loud, sharp regular
tattoo. Fräulein Bürstner turned pale and put her hand to her heart. K. was violently
startled, it took him a moment or so to withdraw his thoughts from the events of the
morning and the girl before whom he was acting them. No sooner had he come to himself