The Castle: Chapters 16–20

He liked looking into those blue, not enticing, not domineering, but shyly tranquil, shyly steadfast eyes.

“To me she seems especially unhappy,” said K., “but how can you reconcile your respect for her, say, with Barnabas’s duties as a messenger, which Amalia disapproves of and may even despise.”

Barnabas does not have this suit; that is not only, let’s say, shameful or demeaning...but it causes Barnabas and me—especially in bleak hours, which we do have now and then, and not all that infrequently—to despair about everything.

Even within the village there are some rather significant differences in the reports, differences in size, posture, corpulence, beard, and only concerning the coat do the reports happily agree.

But bear this in mind: up there are the authorities in their inextricable greatness—I thought I had an approximate conception of them before coming here, how childish all that was.

Only now did K. notice that Amalia was back in the room, but she was far off at her parents’ table, feeding her mother, who couldn’t move her rheumatic arms.

But from this day on Father is too tired and despondent to be able to help Seemann, he even seems too tired to try to understand what’s happening.

I’m not sure what we were waiting for, probably for Amalia’s decision; she had that morning seized the leadership of the family and kept a tight grip on it. Without recourse to special actions, orders, or pleas, almost solely by means of silence.

This was all quite natural and unavoidable, but not good, and indeed we kept getting more and more mired in the very thing we wanted to escape from.

Since in reality they could not offer us anything special for the overpayments, a clerk occasionally tried to do something for us, at least ostensibly, promising investigations and hinting that certain leads had been found that would be pursued not out of duty but merely as a favor to Father.

When the officials drive to the village or back to the Castle, it isn’t really a pleasure trip; work awaits them in the village and at the Castle, which is why they drive at top speed. Nor does it occur to them to look out the carriage window to search for supplicants; the carriages are crammed with files, which the officials are busy studying.

But just as the sequence of departures in relation to the roads is irregular and inscrutable, so too is the number of carriages.

Almost more important to him than the messages was Olga herself, her bravery, her prudence, her cleverness, and her sacrifices for her family.

He seemed older, wearier, more wrinkled, but with a fuller face; even his gait was completely different from the assistants’, which was nimble, as though their joints were electrified; he walked slowly, limping slightly, elegantly infirm.

Even though there was of course no doubt at all as to your whereabouts, I came here to establish conclusively that that was indeed the case; for after all that great excitement Frieda finally deserves a good night’s sleep, as do I.