The Trial: A New Translation Based on the Restored Text

by Franz Kafka

  BLOCK, THE MERCHANT

  DISMISSAL OF THE LAWYER

  At long last K. had decided to withdraw his case from the lawyer. Doubts as to whether it was the right thing to do could not be totally rooted out, but the firm conviction of its necessity outweighed them. This resolution drained K. of a great deal of energy the day he planned to visit the lawyer; he worked at an unusually slow pace, stayed late at the office, and it was past ten before he finally stood at the lawyer’s door. Before actually ringing the bell, he asked himself if it might be better to dismiss the lawyer by telephone or letter; a personal discussion was bound to prove painful. But in the final analysis, K. did not want to forgo that opportunity; any other manner of dismissal might be accepted silently or with a few formal phrases and, unless Leni could perhaps learn something, K. would never find out how the lawyer took the dismissal and what, in his by no means insignificant opinion, the consequences of this action might be for K. But if the lawyer were sitting across from K. and the dismissal caught him by surprise, K. could easily learn everything he wanted to know from the lawyer’s expression and demeanor, even if he couldn’t coax much out of him. It was even possible he might be persuaded of the wisdom of leaving his defense in his lawyer’s hands after all, and retract the dismissal.

  The first ring at the lawyer’s door was, as usual, in vain. “Leni could be a little quicker,” thought K. But it would be good fortune enough just not to have a third party mix in, as they often did, whether it was the man in the dressing gown or someone else who started interfering. As K. pressed the button a second time, he looked back at the other door, but this time it too remained closed. Finally two eyes appeared at the peephole in the lawyer’s door, but they weren’t Leni’s. Someone unlocked the door, braced himself against it for the moment, however, called back into the apartment “It’s him,” and only then opened the door wide. K. had pressed up against the door, for behind him he could hear the key being turned hastily in the lock of the door to the other apartment. Thus, when the door suddenly gave way before him, he practically stormed into the entranceway and caught sight of Leni, to whom the cry of warning from the man at the door had been directed, running off down the hall between the rooms in her slip. He stared after her for a moment and then turned to look at the man who had opened the door. He was a scrawny little man with a full beard, holding a candle in his hand. “Do you work here?” K. asked. “No,” the man replied, “I’m not part of the household, the lawyer just represents me; I’m here on a legal matter.” “Without a jacket?” K. asked, and indicated with a wave of his hand the man’s inappropriate state of dress. “Oh, do forgive me,” said the man, and cast the light of the candle upon himself, as if he were seeing his own state for the first time. “Is Leni your mistress?” K. asked curtly. His legs were slightly spread, his hands, in which he held his hat, were clasped behind him. The mere possession of a heavy overcoat made him feel quite superior to the short skinny man. “Oh goodness,” said the other, and raised one hand before his face in shocked repudiation, “no, no, what are you thinking of?” “You look trustworthy,” said K. with a smile, “but yet—let’s go.” He gestured with his hat for him to lead the way. “What’s your name?” asked K. as they went along. “Block, Block the merchant,” the little man said, turning around to K. as he introduced himself, but K. didn’t allow him to stop. “Is that your real name?” asked K. “Of course,” was the answer, “why would you doubt it?” “I thought you might have some reason to conceal it,” said K. He felt totally at ease, the way one normally feels speaking with inferiors in a foreign country, avoiding everything personal, just talking indifferently about their interests, thereby elevating them in importance, but also in a position to drop them at will. K. stopped before the door of the lawyer’s study, opened it, and called out to the merchant, who had continued docilely onward: “Not so fast! Bring the light here.” K. thought Leni might have hidden herself there; he had the merchant check all the corners, but the room was empty. Before the painting of the judge, K. held the merchant back by his suspenders. “Do you know him?” he asked, and pointed upward. The merchant lifted the candle, squinted up, and said: “It’s a judge.” “A high judge?” asked K. and stepped to the side of the merchant to observe the impression the picture made on him. The merchant gazed up in admiration. “It’s a high judge,” he said. “You don’t know much,” said K. “He’s the lowest of the lower examining magistrates.” “Now I remember,” said the merchant and lowered the candle, “I’ve already heard that.” “But of course,” cried K., “yes I forgot, of course you would have already heard that.” “But why, why?” asked the merchant as he moved toward the door, impelled by K.’s hands. In the hall outside K. said: “You know where Leni’s hidden herself, don’t you?” “Hidden herself?” said the merchant, “no, but she may be in the kitchen cooking soup for the lawyer.” “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” asked K. “I was taking you there, but you called me back,” replied the merchant, as if confused by the contradictory orders. “You probably think you’re pretty clever,” said K., “lead on then!” K. had never been in the kitchen; it was surprisingly spacious and well equipped. The stove alone was three times the size of a normal stove, but no other details were visible, for the kitchen was illuminated at the moment only by a small lamp hanging by the door. Leni was standing at the stove in her usual white apron, breaking eggs into a saucepan over an alcohol flame. “Good evening, Josef,” she said with a sidelong glance. “Good evening,” said K. and pointed to a chair off to the side that the merchant was to sit on, which he did. K., however, went up close behind Leni, bent over her shoulder and asked: “Who is this man?” Leni grasped K. with one hand while the other stirred the soup, pulled him forward, and said: “He’s a pitiful fellow, a poor merchant named Block. Just look at him.” They both looked back. The merchant was sitting in the chair K. had indicated; he had blown out the candle, its light now unnecessary, and was pinching the wick to stop the smoke. “You were in your slip,” said K., turning her head back to the stove with his hand. She was silent. “Is he your lover?” asked K. She started to lift the soup pan, but K. seized both her hands and said: “Answer me!” She said: “Come into the study, I’ll explain everything.” “No,” said K. “I want you to explain here.” She clung to him, wanting to give him a kiss, but K. fended her off and said: “I don’t want you kissing me now.” “Josef,” said Leni, staring at K. imploringly yet frankly, “you’re surely not jealous of Herr Block.” “Rudi,” she said then, turning to the merchant, “help me out, you can see I’m under suspicion, put that candle down.” One might have thought he hadn’t been paying attention, but he knew just what she meant. “I really don’t know what you have to be jealous about,” he said, not very quick-wittedly. “I really don’t know either,” said K., and regarded the merchant with a smile. Leni laughed aloud, took advantage of K.’s distraction to slip her arm in his, and whispered: “Let him alone now, you see what sort of a man he is. I took a little interest in him because he’s a major client of the lawyer, for no other reason. And you? Do you want to speak to the lawyer yet today? He’s very sick today, but if you wish, I’ll let him know you’re here. But you’ll stay overnight with me, that’s definite. You haven’t been here for such a long time that even the lawyer asked about you. Don’t neglect your trial! And I’ve learned a few things I want to tell you about. But first take off your coat!” She helped him off with it, removed his hat, ran into the hall with them to hang them up, then came back and checked on the soup. “Shall I first tell him you’re here, or bring him his soup first?” “First tell him I’m here,” said K. He was annoyed; he’d originally intended to discuss his situation with Leni, particularly the question of dismissal, but given the presence of the merchant he no longer wished to. But now he felt his case was after all too important for this small-time merchant to have any decisive influence on it, so he called Leni, who was already in the hall, back again. “Go ahead and take him his soup first,” he s
aid, “he should gather his strength for our conference; he’s going to need it.” “You’re one of the lawyer’s clients too,” the merchant said softly from his corner, as if to confirm it. But it wasn’t well received. “What difference does it make to you?” said K., and Leni said: “Will you be quiet.” “I’ll take him the soup first then,” said Leni to K. and poured the soup into a bowl. “The only worry is he might fall asleep then; he usually drops off to sleep right after he eats.” “What I have to say will keep him awake,” said K.; he wanted to keep intimating that he had something of major importance to discuss with the lawyer; he wanted Leni to ask what it was and only then seek her advice. But she merely carried out his spoken instructions promptly. As she passed by with the bowl she deliberately nudged him softly and whispered: “As soon as he’s eaten his soup, I’ll tell him you’re here; that way I’ll get you back as quickly as possible.” “Go on,” said K., “just go on.” “Try being a little friendlier,” she said, turning around once again in the doorway, bowl in hand.