Conversation with Pepi

When K. wakes in the Castle Inn bar after a sleep of over twelve hours, he finds the room warm and empty, lit by a single weak electric light above the beer-pulls, with night still outside the windows. The cushion he had been given has fallen to the floor, and the creaking of the board and casks brings Pepi at once. She tells him it is evening, and that the landlady has asked after him several times during the day; Gerstäcker, who had been sitting over a beer in the dark when K. spoke to the landlady that morning but had not liked to disturb him, has also looked in once to see how he was. Finally, Frieda herself has come in and stood beside K. for a little while, but she had not really come on his account, only because she had several things to get ready before returning to her old job that evening. Pepi asks, not in her old malicious way but sadly, as if she has now come to know the malice of the world for herself, whether Frieda no longer fancies him, and she speaks to K. like a companion in misfortune. When she thinks the coffee is not sweet enough for him, she brings the full sugar-bowl. Her melancholy has not kept her from decking herself out even more extravagantly than before, with a profusion of bows and ribbons threaded through her carefully curled hair, and a necklace hanging down into the low-cut neck of her blouse. When K., glad to have had a long sleep and some good coffee, surreptitiously takes hold of one of the bows and tries to undo it, Pepi says wearily, "Leave me alone," and sits down on a cask beside him.

Pepi's Account of Her Rise and Fall

Pepi begins her story without needing to be asked, her gaze fixed on K.'s coffee-pot as if she needs something to distract her mind while she tells it. First she reveals that K. himself is to blame for her unhappiness, though she does not bear him a grudge for it. She explains that by taking Frieda away from the bar, K. made it possible for Pepi to rise to the position of barmaid. She had been a chambermaid, an insignificant job with few prospects, and had never seriously expected to get very far. But when Frieda suddenly left, the landlord, lacking a suitable replacement, turned to Pepi, who had put herself forward. At that time she loved K. as she had never loved anyone before, seeing him as a hero and deliverer of maidens who had opened the way for her to rise, even though he had done it unknowingly. On the night of her appointment, she spent hours whispering her thanks into his ear. She had even entertained the idea that K. might come to prefer her to Frieda, and she had dreamed of giving up everything to teach him true love. But it all turned out differently, and she blames K. first and foremost, and then Frieda's crafty, sly nature. She describes her four days as barmaid as exciting, hard-working, and successful, but too short. She had introduced innovations, leaving the supervision of the servants to the cellar lads, and had been friendly to everyone, winning friends and patrons. A clerk called Bratmeier had given her a chain and locket with his picture in it. But Klamm, although he had been in the village for the first two of those days, had not come down to the guest-room, and Pepi had waited for him in the forbidden corridor, huddled in a niche, her heart palpitating. She now knows why he did not come: Frieda would not let him. Frieda, she claims, has connections that nobody knows about, and she used them to keep Klamm away, to stir up bad feeling against Pepi, and to announce her own return.

The Chambermaids' Life and Frieda's Cunning

Pepi contrasts her brief glory with the wretched life of a chambermaid, which she is about to resume. She describes the maids' room as a big cupboard with three compartments, where the beds are above each other, and the constant fear of hearing someone slinking outside the door at night. The work is tough, with never a word of praise, only blame, and the frequent accusation that files have been lost. She tells of commissions of inquiry that search the maids' room for hours, finding nothing, and of the noise and disturbance that never cease. She explains that Frieda, despite her pathetic appearance, knew how to make herself seem a beauty in the bar, and that her alleged relationship with Klamm was a clever lie that she used to elevate herself. Pepi insists that Frieda's story of being Klamm's lover was a calculated deception, and that Frieda's real art was her quick lying and deceptive nature. She recounts how Frieda, seeing her position threatened, decided on a scandal: she would throw herself at the first man who came along, someone totally insignificant, to attract attention and remind people of what it meant to be Klamm's lover. That man was K., the land surveyor, who fell into the trap on the very first evening. Pepi describes how Frieda then used the assistants as messengers and to make K. jealous, and how she finally decided to return to the bar, exploiting the landlord's fear that Klamm would not come down while Pepi was serving. Pepi concludes that Frieda's return is a triumph of cunning over merit, and that she, Pepi, is the victim.

K.'s Response and the Landlady's Interruption

K. listens to Pepi's long account and then responds with a measured critique. He tells her she has a wild imagination, and that her notions are nothing but dreams from the dark, cramped room she shares with the other chambermaids. He says her dress and hairstyle, on which she prides herself, are the fantastic outcome of that darkness, and that everyone laughs at them. He denies that he has been misused or betrayed, and defends Frieda, saying that he neglected her, but that he would be happy if she came back. He tells Pepi that she is not suitable for the position of barmaid, that she does everything with excessive enthusiasm, and that her friendliness is a nuisance to the guests. He praises Frieda's experience, coolness, and control, and says that Klamm could indeed have loved Frieda, despite Pepi's disbelief. He suggests that both he and Pepi have tried too hard, too noisily, and too childishly to gain something that can be easily and quietly had with Frieda's calm and objectivity. Pepi, undeterred, invites K. to come and live with her and the other chambermaids, promising that they will make him comfortable and that he will be safe from the winter. She describes the long, monotonous winter, and how spring and summer seem as short as two days. The door opens, and it is not Frieda but the landlady, who seems surprised to find K. still there. K. excuses himself, thanks her for letting him spend the night, and prepares to leave, but the landlady brings up his remark about her dress from the previous day. She is angry and forbids him to mention her dresses, but then asks where he got his knowledge of dresses. She leads him to her private office, where she shows him a wardrobe full of old-fashioned, over-trimmed dresses, and reveals that she has two more wardrobes full upstairs. She calls him a fool, a child, or a bad, dangerous man, and tells him to go away. As K. leaves, Gerstäcker is waiting in the hall, and the landlady calls after him that she is having a new dress delivered tomorrow and may let him fetch it.

Departure with Gerstäcker

Gerstäcker, angrily waving his hand as if to silence the landlady, asks K. to go with him. He will not explain why at first, and does not take much notice of K.'s objection that he ought to go to the school now. Only when K. resists being dragged off does Gerstäcker tell him not to worry, that he will have everything he needs at his own place, and that he can give up the post of school janitor. He says he has been waiting for K. all day, and that his mother does not know where he is. Slowly yielding, K. asks how Gerstäcker plans to provide board and lodging for him. Gerstäcker answers briefly that he needs K. to help with the horses, and that if K. wants payment, he will give him payment. But K. stops dead, saying he does not know anything about horses. Gerstäcker, impatient, clasps his hands pleadingly, and K. finally asks why he wants him to come. Gerstäcker admits it is because he thinks K. can bring influence to bear on Erlanger for him. K. laughs, takes Gerstäcker's arm, and lets the man lead him away through the darkness. In Gerstäcker's living-room, dimly lit by the fire and a candle-end, his mother sits stooped in a niche under the sloping rafters, reading a book. She gives K. her trembling hand and makes him sit down beside her, speaking with difficulty.