K. visits lawyer Huld

One afternoon, while K. was busy preparing the post at the bank, his Uncle Karl, a small country land owner, burst into the room, pushing between two staff members carrying papers. K. had long expected his uncle to appear, but the sight of him now shocked K. far less than the prospect had done a month before. Uncle Karl was K.'s former guardian, and K. was duty-bound to help him in all his affairs and to offer him a bed for the night. The uncle, always in a hurry, suffered from the unfortunate belief that he had many things to do in the big city and had to settle all of them in one day. As soon as they had greeted each other, Uncle Karl, refusing to sit, said he wanted to speak briefly with K. in private, declaring it necessary for his peace of mind. K. immediately sent the junior staff from the room and told them to let no one in. "What's this that I've been hearing, Josef?" cried K.'s uncle when they were alone, sitting on the table and shoving various papers under himself without looking at them. K. said nothing, knowing what was coming, and looked out the window at a small, triangular section of the empty walls of houses between two shop windows. His uncle, raising his arms, demanded an answer: "Is it true, can it really be true?" K. obediently replied that he expected his uncle had heard about his trial. His uncle nodded slowly, confirming that his daughter Erna had written to him about it. She had learned of the trial from a bank clerk who mentioned legal proceedings against the chief clerk. Erna, a good child, had asked her father to look into the matter and do something through his great and influential connections. K.'s uncle read the relevant part of her letter aloud, wiping a few tears from his eyes. K. nodded, realizing he had completely forgotten about Erna and her birthday, and that the story of the chocolates she mentioned had clearly been invented so he wouldn't get in trouble with his aunt and uncle. When his uncle asked if the trial was a criminal one, K. confirmed it was. His uncle shouted, "And you sit quietly here while you've got a criminal trial round your neck?" K. replied in a tired voice that the more calm he was, the better it would be for the outcome. His uncle, getting ever louder, urged K. to think about himself, his family, and their good name, saying K. had always been their pride and should not now become their disgrace. K. stood up, saying his uncle was speaking too loud and that he found it rather unpleasant, suggesting they go somewhere else where he could answer all his questions. His uncle shouted that K. certainly did have to account to the family for what he did. K. summoned his deputy, gave instructions for the day's work in a calm voice, and then left the bank with his uncle. On the front steps, the doorkeeper seemed to be listening, so K. drew his uncle further down into the bustle of the street. His uncle took K.'s arm and stopped asking questions with such urgency, walking on in silence for a while before abruptly stopping and asking how it all came about. He suggested K. take a short holiday in the country to give him strength and get him away from the court, but K. argued that staying in the city would allow him to press the matter forward better. His uncle agreed and said he had important connections with several people who knew their way around these things, and that they had no time to lose. He stood on tiptoe to summon a taxi, pulled K. into the car, and called out an address to the driver: they were going to see Dr. Huld, the lawyer, an old school friend of his. K. was made uneasy by the rushed and urgent way his uncle was dealing with the matter, and it was not very encouraging to be taken to a lawyer for poor people. K. began telling his uncle about what had been happening, holding nothing back, and mentioned Miss Bürstner's name just once in passing. As he spoke, he looked out the window and saw they were getting closer to the suburb where the court offices were, drawing his uncle's attention to the coincidence, but his uncle did not find it especially remarkable. The taxi stopped in front of a dark building. K.'s uncle knocked at the very first door at ground level, smiling and whispering that eight o'clock was not the usual time to visit a lawyer, but Dr. Huld would not mind it from him. Two large, black eyes appeared in the spy-hatch in the door, stared at the two visitors for a while, and then disappeared, but the door did not open. K. and his uncle confirmed to each other that they had seen the two eyes. K.'s uncle, made very angry by the long wait, raised his fist against the door and called out that they were friends of Dr. Huld. A man in a dressing gown whispered from a doorway that Dr. Huld was ill. K.'s uncle turned abruptly and strode towards the gentleman in a way that seemed almost threatening. The gentleman pointed at the lawyer's door, which had now been opened. A young girl with dark, slightly bulging eyes stood in the hallway in a long white apron, holding a candle in her hand. K.'s uncle said, "Next time, open up sooner!" instead of a greeting, while the girl made a slight curtsey. K. slowly moved towards the girl, looking at her in amazement. She had a round face like a puppy's, not only the pale cheeks and the chin were round but the temples and the hairline were too. K.'s uncle rushed towards one of the doors, and the girl turned round to block the way, saying Dr. Huld was unwell. K.'s uncle asked if it was trouble with his heart, and the girl said she thought it was. She went ahead with the candle and opened the door into the room. In one corner, where the light of the candle did not reach, a face with a long beard looked up from the bed. The lawyer, unable to recognize his guests because he was dazzled by the candle, asked who was coming in. K.'s uncle identified himself as his old friend Albert. The lawyer fell back onto his pillow as if this visit meant he would not need to keep up appearances. K.'s uncle sat on the edge of the bed and asked if it was a recurrence of his heart trouble, but the lawyer said he could hardly breathe, could not sleep at all, and was getting weaker by the day. K.'s uncle pressed his panama hat firmly against his knee with his big hand and said it was bad news, adding that the room was depressing and dark, and that the young lady did not seem to have much life in her. The maid was still standing by the door with the candle, watching K. more than his uncle. K. leant against a chair he had pushed near the girl. The lawyer said Leni looked after him well, but K.'s uncle had visibly taken against his friend's carer and persecuted her with his scowl as she went over to the bed, put the candle on the bedside table, and made a fuss of tidying the pillows. K.'s uncle nearly forgot the need to show any consideration for the man who lay ill in bed, standing up and walking up and down behind the carer. K. looked on calmly, not even disappointed at finding the lawyer unwell, glad that his uncle's enthusiasm had been distracted. His uncle, probably wishing to be offensive, told the young lady to leave them alone as they had personal matters to discuss. The carer, still leant far over the invalid's bed, merely turned her head and said very quietly that Dr. Huld was so ill he could not discuss any matters at all. K.'s uncle jumped up as if he had just been stabbed, calling her a "damned..." before the invalid raised himself up, and K.'s uncle, somewhat calmer, said they had not lost their senses and asked her to go. The carer stood up straight by the bed, and K. thought he noticed that with one hand she was stroking the lawyer's hand. The invalid said in an imploring tone that they could say anything in front of Leni. K.'s uncle said it was not his business or his secrets, and then introduced K. as his nephew, Chief Clerk Josef K. The lawyer, now with much more life in him, reached out his hand towards K. and apologized for not noticing him. He then told Leni to go, stretching his hand out to her as if this were a farewell that would have to last for a long time. This time the girl offered no resistance. The lawyer, now looking much stronger, said to K.'s uncle that he had not come to visit because he was ill but on business. K.'s uncle said the lawyer already looked much better now that that witch had gone outside, and he sprang over to the door to check if she was listening, but found no one. The lawyer said K.'s uncle was mistaken about her, but did nothing more to defend her. In a much more committed tone, he went on to say that as far as K.'s affairs were concerned, this would be an extremely difficult undertaking and he would count himself lucky if his strength lasted out long enough for it. He said he was greatly afraid it would not do, but he did not want to leave anything untried, and if he did not last out K. could always get somebody else. He added that this matter interested him too much and he could not bring himself to give up the chance of taking some part in it, and that if his heart did totally give out then at least it would have found a worthy affair to fail in. K. believed he understood not a word of this entire speech and looked at his uncle for an explanation, but his uncle sat on the bedside table with the candle in his hand, nodding to everything the lawyer said and urging K. to show the same compliance. K. said he did not understand, and the lawyer, astonished and embarrassed, asked if he had been going too fast, thinking K. had come to speak about his trial. K.'s uncle confirmed it was about the trial. K. then asked how the lawyer knew anything about him and his case. The lawyer smiled and said he was a lawyer who moved in court circles, and people talked about various different cases, especially when they concerned the nephew of a friend. K. asked if the lawyer moved in this court's circles, and the lawyer confirmed he did. K.'s uncle asked K. what he wanted, saying he seemed uneasy. The lawyer added that it sounded indisputable, and K. gave no answer. The lawyer continued, explaining that he derived great advantage for his clients from mixing with those people, and that even though he was at a disadvantage now because of his illness, he still got visits from some good friends of his at the court and learned one or two things. He said he was receiving a very welcome visit right now, and pointed into a dark corner of the room. K. looked round uneasily and saw something begin to move there. In the light of the candle held up by K.'s uncle, an elderly gentleman could be seen sitting beside a small table. He had been sitting there for so long without being noticed that he could hardly have been breathing. He stood up with a great deal of fuss, clearly unhappy that attention had been drawn to him, flapping his hands about like short wings as if hoping to deflect any introductions and greetings. The lawyer introduced him as the office director, a friend of his. The office director spread himself out in an armchair near the bed and looked at the clock, saying business called and he would only be able to stay a few minutes more, but he would not want to miss the chance of meeting a friend of his friend. K.'s uncle seemed very happy with his new acquaintance and responded to the office director's words with embarrassed, but loud, laughter. K. was able to quietly watch everything as nobody paid any attention to him. The office director took over as leader of the conversation, the lawyer listened attentively with his hand to his ear, and K.'s uncle served as candle-bearer, balancing the candle on his thigh while the office director frequently glanced nervously at it. K., leaning against the bedpost, was totally ignored by the office director and served the old man only as audience. He had hardly any idea what the conversation was about and his thoughts soon turned to the care assistant and the ill treatment she had suffered from his uncle. He began to wonder whether he had not seen the office director somewhere before, perhaps among the people at his first hearing, among the old gentlemen with the thin beards in the first row. There was then a noise from the hallway as if something of porcelain were being broken. K. said he would go and see what had happened, and slowly left the room. He had hardly stepped into the hallway when another small hand placed itself on his and gently shut the door. It was the carer, who had been waiting there. She whispered that nothing had happened, she had just thrown a plate against the wall to get him out of there. K. replied uneasily that he had been thinking about her as well. She said, "So much the better," and led him to a frosted glass door, opening it to reveal the lawyer's office, fitted out with old, heavy furniture. She pointed to a dark trunk with a carved, wooden backrest and invited him to sit down. When he had sat down, K. continued to look round the room, a large room with a high ceiling where the clients of this lawyer for the poor must have felt quite lost. He thought he could see the little steps with which visitors would approach the massive desk. But then he forgot about all of this and had eyes only for the carer, who sat very close beside him, almost pressing him against the armrest. She said she had thought he would come out to her by himself without her having to call him first, and told him to call her Leni. K. agreed, but said he was not a bold person, if anything he was quite shy. Leni said that was not it, that he did not like her. K. said evasively that liking would not be very much. She exclaimed with a smile, thus making use of K.'s comment to gain an advantage over him. K. remained silent for a while, becoming used to the darkness in the room and able to make out various fixtures and fittings. He was especially impressed by a large picture hanging to the right of the door, depicting a man wearing a judge's robes, sitting on a lofty throne gilded in a way that shone forth from the picture. The odd thing about the picture was that this judge was not sitting there in dignified calm but had his left arm pressed against the back and armrest, his right arm completely free and only grasping the armrest with his hand, as if about to jump up any moment in vigorous outrage. K. pointed to the picture and said that might be his judge. Leni said she knew him, that he came there quite often, and that the picture was from when he was young, but he could never have looked anything like it as he was tiny, minute almost, but had himself made to look bigger in the picture as he was madly vain, just like everyone round here. She added that even she was vain and that made her very unhappy that K. did not like her. K. replied by embracing Leni and drawing her towards him, and she lay her head quietly on his shoulder. He asked what rank the judge was, and she said he was an examining judge. K. said in disappointment that it was just an examining judge once again, that the senior officials kept themselves hidden, but here he was sitting on a throne. Leni said that was all just made up, that really he was sitting on a kitchen chair with an old horse blanket folded over it. She then asked if K. had to be always thinking about his trial. He said no, that he probably even thought too little about it. Leni said that was not the mistake he was making, that he was too unyielding, that was what she had heard. K. asked who had said that, feeling her body against his chest and looking down on her rich, dark, tightly-bound hair. Leni answered that she would be saying too much if she told him, but urged him to stop making these mistakes, to stop being so unyielding, and to confess to the court as soon as he got the chance, as it was only then that they would give him the chance to get away. She said she wanted to help him herself. K. lifted her onto his lap, and she made herself comfortable, smoothing out her skirt and adjusting her blouse, then hung both her arms around his neck, leant back, and took a long look at him. K. asked if she could not help him if he did not confess, testing her out. He thought to himself that he was accumulating women to help him, first Miss Bürstner, then the court usher's wife, and now this little care assistant who seemed to have some incomprehensible need for him. Leni said she could not help him then, that he was too stubborn and would not be persuaded. She then asked if he had a lover. K. said no, but then admitted he did, and that he had even betrayed her while carrying her photograph with him. Leni insisted he show her the photograph of Elsa, and then, hunched on his lap, studied it closely. The photograph showed Elsa just after she had been in a wild dance, her skirt still flung out as she span round, her hands on her firm hips, her neck held taut, looking to one side with a laugh. Leni said she did not like her, that she was clumsy and crude, and asked if she would be capable of sacrificing herself for him. K. said no, that she was not gentle or friendly, and nor would she be capable of sacrificing herself for him, but he had never asked any of those things of her. Leni said K. could not think much of her then, and that she could not be his lover after all. K. insisted she was. Leni said she might be his lover now, but he would not miss her much if he lost her or exchanged her for somebody else, like herself. K. smiled and said that was conceivable, but that Elsa had one major advantage over her: she knew nothing about his trial and would not try to persuade him to be less unyielding. Leni said that was no advantage, and asked if Elsa had any bodily defects. K. asked what she meant, and Leni said she herself had a bodily defect, just a little one. She spread the middle and ring fingers of her right hand apart from each other, and between those fingers the flap of skin connecting them reached up almost as far as the top joint of the little finger. In the darkness, K. did not see at first what it was she wanted to show him, so she led his hand to it so that he could feel. K. said, "What a freak of nature," and when he had taken a look at the whole hand he added, "What a pretty claw!" Leni looked on with a kind of pride as K. repeatedly opened and closed her two fingers in amazement, until, finally, he briefly kissed them and let go. She exclaimed that he had kissed her, and hurriedly, with her mouth open, she clambered up K.'s lap with her knees. He was almost aghast as she was so close to him, a bitter, irritating smell like pepper coming from her. She grasped his head, leant out over him, and bit and kissed his neck, even biting into his hair, exclaiming from time to time that she had taken Elsa's place. Just then, her knee slipped out and, with a little cry, she nearly fell down onto the carpet. K. tried to hold her by putting his arms around her and was pulled down with her. She said, "Now you're mine." Her last words to him as he left were, "Here's the key to the door, come whenever you want," and she planted an undirected kiss on his back. When K. stepped out the front door there was a light rain falling, and he was about to go to the middle of the street to see if he could still glimpse Leni at the window when K.'s uncle leapt out of a car that K., thinking of other things, had not seen waiting outside the building. He took hold of K. by both arms and shoved him against the door as if he wanted to nail him to it. He shouted at K., calling him a young man and asking how he could have done a thing like that, saying things were going well with this business of his and now he had caused it terrible damage. He said K. had sloped off with some dirty, little thing who was obviously the lawyer's beloved, and stayed away for hours, not even trying to find an excuse or hide anything. He said that meanwhile they were sitting there, his uncle who was going to such effort for him, the lawyer who needed to be won over to his side, and above all the office director, a very important gentleman who was in direct command of his affair in its present stage. They wanted to discuss how best to help him, but K. had stayed away. Eventually they could not keep up the pretence any longer, and the office director stood up, made his farewell, and went. K.'s uncle said he had been glad he had gone, as he had been holding his breath all this time. He said all this had even more affect on the lawyer lying there ill, and that K. had probably contributed to his total collapse and so brought the very man he was dependent on closer to his death. He ended by saying that K. had left him, his own uncle, in the rain, wet through, waiting there for hours, sick with worry.