ARREST

Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything wrong, he was arrested. His landlady, Frau Grubach, had a cook who brought him breakfast each day around eight, but this time she didn’t appear. That had never happened before. K. waited a while longer, watching from his pillow the old woman who lived across the way, who was peering at him with a curiosity quite unusual for her; then, both put out and hungry, he rang. There was an immediate knock at the door and a man he’d never seen before in these lodgings entered. He was slender yet solidly built, and was wearing a fitted black jacket, which, like a traveler’s outfit, was provided with a variety of pleats, pockets, buckles, buttons and a belt, and thus appeared eminently practical, although its purpose remained obscure. “Who are you?” asked K., and immediately sat halfway up in bed. But the man ignored the question, as if his presence would have to be accepted, and merely said in turn: “You rang?” “Anna’s to bring me breakfast,” K. said, scrutinizing him silently for a moment, trying to figure out who he might be. But the man didn’t submit to his inspection for long, turning instead to the door and opening it a little in order to tell someone who was apparently standing just behind it: “He wants Anna to bring him breakfast.” A short burst of laughter came from the adjoining room; it was hard to tell whether more than one person had joined in. Although the stranger could hardly have learned anything new from this, he nonetheless said to K., as if passing on a message: “It’s impossible.” “That’s news to me,” K. said, jumping out of bed and quickly pulling on his trousers. “I’m going to find out who those people are next door, and how Frau Grubach can justify such a disturbance just opposite me.” Although he realized at once that he shouldn’t have spoken aloud, and that by doing so he had, in a sense, acknowledged the stranger’s right to oversee his actions, that didn’t seem important at the moment. Still, the stranger took it that way, for he said: “Wouldn’t you rather stay here?” “I have no wish to stay here, nor to be addressed by you, until you’ve introduced yourself.” “I meant well,” the stranger said, and now opened the door of his own accord. In the adjoining room, which K. entered more slowly than he had intended, everything looked at first glance almost exactly as it had on the previous evening. It was Frau Grubach’s living room; perhaps there was slightly more space than usual amid the clutter of furniture coverlets china and photographs, but it wasn’t immediately obvious, especially since the major change was the presence of a man sitting by the open window with a book, from which he now looked up. “You should have stayed in your room! Didn’t Franz tell you that?” “What is it you want, then?” K. said, glancing from the new man to the one called Franz, who had stopped in the doorway, and then back again. Through the open window the old woman was visible again, having moved with truly senile curiosity to the window directly opposite, so she could keep an eye on everything. “I’d still like Frau Grubach—” K. said, and started to walk out, making a gesture as if he were tearing himself loose from the two men, who were, however, standing some distance from him. “No,” said the man by the window, tossing his book down on a small table and standing up. “You can’t leave, you’re being held.” “So it appears,” said K. “But why?” “We weren’t sent to tell you that. Go to your room and wait. Proceedings are under way and you’ll learn everything in due course. I’m exceeding my instructions by talking to you in such a friendly way. But I hope no one hears except Franz, and he’s being friendly too, although it’s against all regulations. If you’re as fortunate from now on as you’ve been with the choice of your guards, you can rest easy.” K. wanted to sit down, but he now saw that there was nowhere to sit in the entire room except for the chair by the window. “You’ll come to realize how true that all is,” said Franz, walking toward him with the other man. The latter in particular towered considerably over K. and patted him several times on the shoulder. Both of them examined K.’s nightshirt, saying that he would have to wear a much worse one now, but that they would look after this one, as well as the rest of his undergarments, and if his case turned out well, they’d return them to him. “You’re better off giving the things to us than leaving them in the depository,” they said, “there’s a lot of pilfering there, and besides, they sell everything after a time, whether the proceedings in question have ended or not. And trials like this last so long, particularly these days! Of course you’d get the proceeds from the depository in the end, but first of all they don’t amount to much, since sales aren’t based on the size of the offer but on the size of the bribe, and secondly, experience shows that they dwindle from year to year as they pass from hand to hand.” K. scarcely listened to this speech; he attached little value to whatever right he might still possess over the disposal of his things, it was much more important to him to gain some clarity about his situation; but he couldn’t even think in the presence of these men: the belly of the second guard—they surely must be guards—kept bumping against him in a positively friendly way, but when he looked up he saw a face completely at odds with that fat body: a dry, bony face, with a large nose set askew, consulting above his head with the other guard. What sort of men were they? What were they talking about? What office did they represent? After all, K. lived in a state governed by law, there was universal peace, all statutes were in force; who dared assault him in his own lodgings? He’d always tended to take things lightly, to believe the worst only when it arrived, making no provision for the future, even when things looked bad. But that didn’t seem the right approach here; of course he could treat the whole thing as a joke, a crude joke his colleagues at the bank were playing on him for some unknown reason, perhaps because today was his thirtieth birthday, that was certainly possible, perhaps all he had to do was laugh in the guards’ faces and they would laugh with him, perhaps they were porters off the street-corner, they looked a little like porters—nevertheless, from the moment he’d first seen the guard named Franz, he had decided firmly that this time he wouldn’t let even the slightest advantage he might have over these people slip through his fingers. K. knew there was a slight risk someone might say later that he hadn’t been able to take a joke, but he clearly recalled—although he generally didn’t make it a practice to learn from experience—a few occasions, unimportant in themselves, when, unlike his friends, he had deliberately behaved quite recklessly, without the least regard for his future, and had suffered the consequences. That wasn’t going to happen again, not this time at any rate: if this was a farce, he was going to play along.

He was still free. “Pardon me,” he said, and walked quickly between the guards into his room. “He seems to be reasonable,” he heard them say behind him. In his room he yanked open the drawers of his desk at once; everything lay there in perfect order, but at first, in his agitation, he couldn’t find the one thing he was looking for: his identification papers. Finally he found his bicycle license and was about to take that to the guards, but then it seemed too insignificant a document and he kept on looking until his found his birth certificate. When he returned to the adjoining room, the door opposite opened and Frau Grubach started to enter. She was only visible for a moment, for no sooner had she noticed K. than she seemed seized by embarrassment, apologized, and disappeared, closing the door carefully behind her. “Come on in,” K. barely had time to say. But now he remained standing in the middle of the room with his papers, still staring at the door, which did not reopen, until he was brought to himself by a call from the guards, who were sitting at the small table by the open window and, as K. now saw, eating his breakfast. “Why didn’t she come in?” he asked. “She’s not allowed to,” said the tall guard, “after all, you’re under arrest.” “How can I be under arrest? And in this manner?” “Now there you go again,” said the guard, dipping his buttered bread into the little honey pot. “We don’t answer such questions.” “You’re going to have to answer them,” said K. “Here are my papers, now show me yours, starting with the arrest warrant.” “Good heavens!” said the guard, “you just can’t accept your situation; you seem bent on annoying us unnecessarily, although we’re probably the human beings closest to you now.” “That’s right, you’d better believe it,” said Franz, not lifting the coffee cup in his hand to his mouth but staring at K. with a long and no doubt meaningful, but incomprehensible, look. K. allowed himself to become involved in an involuntary staring match with Franz, but at last thumped his papers and said: “Here are my identification papers.” “So what?” the taller guard cried out, “you’re behaving worse than a child. What is it you want? Do you think you can bring your whole damn trial to a quick conclusion by discussing your identity and arrest warrant with your guards? We’re lowly employees who can barely make our way through such documents, and whose only role in your affair is to stand guard over you ten hours a day and get paid for it. That’s all we are, but we’re smart enough to realize that before ordering such an arrest the higher authorities who employ us inform themselves in great detail about the person they’re arresting and the grounds for the arrest. There’s been no mistake. After all, our department, as far as I know, and I know only the lowest level, doesn’t seek out guilt among the general population, but, as the Law states, is attracted by guilt and has to send us guards out. That’s the Law. What mistake could there be?” “I don’t know that law,” said K. “All the worse for you,” said the guard. “It probably exists only in your heads,” said K.; he wanted to slip into his guards’ thoughts somehow and turn them to his own advantage or accustom himself to them. But the guard merely said dismissively: “You’ll feel it eventually.” Franz broke in and said: “You see, Willem, he admits that he doesn’t know the Law and yet he claims he’s innocent.” “You’re right there, but he can’t seem to understand anything,” said the other. K. said nothing more; why should I let the idle talk of these lowly agents—they admit themselves that’s what they are—confuse me even further? he thought. After all, they’re discussing things they don’t understand. Their confidence is based solely on ignorance. A few words spoken with someone of my own sort will make everything incomparably clearer than the longest conversations with these two. He paced back and forth a few times through the cleared space of the room; across the way he saw the old woman, who had pulled an ancient man far older than herself to the window and had her arms wrapped about him; K. had to bring this show to an end: “Take me to your supervisor,” he said. “When he wishes it; not before,” said the guard called Willem. “And now I advise you,” he added, “to go to your room, remain there quietly, and wait to find out what’s to be done with you. We advise you not to waste your time in useless thought, but to pull yourself together; great demands will be placed upon you. You haven’t treated us as we deserve, given how accommodating we’ve been; you’ve forgotten that whatever else we may be, we are at least free men with respect to you, and that’s no small advantage. Nevertheless we’re prepared, if you have any money, to bring you a small breakfast from the coffeehouse across the way.”

K. stood quietly for a moment without responding to this offer. Perhaps if he were to open the door to the next room, or even the door to the hall, the two would not dare stop him, perhaps the best solution would be to bring the whole matter to a head. But then they might indeed grab him, and once subdued he would lose any degree of superiority he might still hold over them. Therefore he preferred the safety of whatever solution would surely arise in the natural course of things and returned to his room without a further word having passed on either side.

He threw himself onto his bed and took from the nightstand a nice apple that he had placed out the previous evening to have with breakfast. Now it was his entire breakfast, and in any case, as he verified with the first large bite, a much better breakfast than he could have had from the filthy all-night café through the grace of his guards. He felt confident and at ease; he was missing work at the bank this morning of course, but in light of the relatively high position he held there, that would be easily excused. Should he give the real excuse? He considered doing so. If they didn’t believe him, which would be understandable given the circumstances, he could offer Frau Grubach as a witness, or even the two old people across the way, who were probably even now on the march to the window opposite him. K. was surprised, at least from the guards’ perspective, that they had driven him into his room and left him alone there, where it would be ten times easier to kill himself. At the same time he asked himself from his own perspective what possible reason he could have for doing so. Because those two were sitting next door and had taken away his breakfast? Committing suicide would be so irrational that even had he wished to, the irrationality of the act would have prevented him. Had the intellectual limitations of the guards not been so obvious, he might have assumed this same conviction led them to believe there was no danger in leaving him alone. Let them watch if they liked as he went to the little wall cupboard in which he kept good schnapps and downed a small glass in place of breakfast, then a second one as well, to give himself courage, a mere precaution, in the unlikely event it might be needed.

Then a shout from the adjoining room startled him so that he rattled his teeth on the glass. “The inspector wants you!” It was the cry alone that startled him: a short clipped military cry that he would never have expected from the guard Franz. The order itself he gladly welcomed: “It’s about time,” he called back, locked the cupboard, and hurried into the adjoining room. The two guards were standing there and, as if it were a matter of course, chased him back into his room. “What are you thinking of?” they cried. “Do you want to see the inspector in your nightshirt? He’ll have you soundly flogged and us along with you!” “Let go of me, damn you,” cried K., who was already pushed back against his wardrobe, “if you assault me in bed, you can hardly expect to find me in formal attire.” “It’s no use,” said the guards, who, whenever K. shouted at them, fell into a calm, almost sad state that either put him at a loss or restored him somewhat to his senses. “Ridiculous formalities!” he grumbled, but he was already lifting a coat from the chair and holding it up for a moment in both hands, as if submitting it to the judgment of the guards. They shook their heads. “It has to be a black coat,” they said. K. threw the coat to the floor in response and said—without knowing himself in what sense he meant it—: “But this isn’t the main hearing yet.” The guards smiled, but stuck to their words: “It has to be a black coat.” “If that will speed things up, it’s fine with me,” said K., opened the wardrobe himself, took his time going through his many clothes, selected his best black suit, an evening jacket that had caused a small sensation among his friends because it was so stylish, then changed his shirt as well and began dressing with care. He secretly believed he’d managed to speed up the whole process after all, for the guards had forgotten to make him bathe. He watched to see if they might recall it now, but of course it didn’t occur to them, although Willem did remember to send Franz to the inspector with the message that K. was getting dressed.

When he was fully dressed, he had to walk just ahead of Willem through the empty room next door into the following room, the double doors to which were already thrown open. As K. well knew, this room had been newly occupied not long ago by a certain Fräulein Bürstner, a typist, who usually left for work quite early and came home late, and with whom K. had exchanged no more than a few words of greeting. Now the nightstand by her bed had been shoved to the middle of the room as a desk for the hearing and the inspector was sitting behind it. He had crossed his legs and placed one arm on the back of the chair. In a corner of the room three young men stood looking at Fräulein Bürstner’s photographs, which were mounted on a mat on the wall. A white blouse hung on the latch of the open window. Across the way, the old couple were again at the opposite window, but their party had increased in number, for towering behind them stood a man with his shirt open at the chest, pinching and twisting his reddish goatee.

“Josef K.?” the inspector asked, perhaps simply to attract K.’s wandering gaze back to himself. K. nodded. “You’re no doubt greatly surprised by this morning’s events?” asked the inspector, arranging with both hands the few objects lying on the nightstand—a candle with matches, a book, and a pincushion—as if they were tools he required for the hearing. “Of course,” said K., overcome by a feeling of relief at finally standing before a reasonable man with whom he could discuss his situation, “of course I’m surprised, but by no means greatly surprised.” “Not greatly surprised?” asked the inspector, placing the candle in the middle of the table and grouping the other objects around it. “Perhaps you misunderstand me,” K. hastened to add. “I mean—” Here K. interrupted himself and looked around for a chair. “I can sit down, can’t I?” he asked. “It’s not customary,” answered the inspector. “I mean,” K. continued without further pause, “I’m of course greatly surprised, but when you’ve been in this world for thirty years and had to make your way on your own, as has been my lot, you get hardened to surprises and don’t take them too seriously. Particularly not today’s.” “Why particularly not today’s?” “I’m not saying I think the whole thing’s a joke, the preparations involved seem far too extensive for that. All the lodgers at the boardinghouse would have to be in on it, and all of you, which would go far beyond a joke. So I’m not saying it’s a joke.” “That’s right,” said the inspector, checking the number of matches in the matchbox. “But on the other hand,” K. continued, as he turned to all of them, and would have gladly turned even to the three by the photographs, “on the other hand, it can’t be too important a matter. I conclude that from the fact that I’ve been accused of something but can’t think of the slightest offense of which I might be accused. But that’s also beside the point, the main question is: Who’s accusing me? What authorities are in charge of the proceedings? Are you officials? No one’s wearing a uniform, unless you want to call your suit”—he turned to Franz—“a uniform, but it’s more like a traveler’s outfit. I demand clarification on these matters, and I’m convinced that once they’ve been clarified we can part on the friendliest of terms.” The inspector flung the matchbox down on the table. “You’re quite mistaken,” he said. “These gentlemen and I are merely marginal figures in your affair, and in fact know almost nothing about it. We could be wearing the most proper of uniforms and your case would not be a whit more serious. I can’t report that you’ve been accused of anything, or more accurately, I don’t know if you have. You’ve been arrested, that’s true, but that’s all I know. Perhaps the guards have talked about other things, if so it was just that, idle talk. If, as a result, I can’t answer your questions either, I can at least give you some advice: think less about us and what’s going to happen to you, and instead think more about yourself. And don’t make such a fuss about how innocent you feel; it disturbs the otherwise not unfavorable impression you make. And you should talk less in general; almost everything you’ve said up to now could have been inferred from your behavior, even if you’d said only a few words, and it wasn’t terribly favorable to you in any case.”

K. stared at the inspector. Was he to be lectured like a schoolboy by what might well be a younger man? To be reprimanded for his openness? And to learn nothing about why he had been arrested and on whose orders? He grew increasingly agitated, paced up and down, freely and without hindrance, pushed his cuffs back, felt his chest, brushed his hair into place, went past the three men, muttering, “It’s completely senseless,” at which they turned and looked at him in a friendly but serious way, and finally came to a stop before the inspector’s table. “Hasterer, the public prosecutor, is a good friend of mine,” he said, “can I telephone him?” “Certainly,” said the inspector, “but I don’t see what sense it makes, unless you have some private matter to discuss with him.” “What sense?” K. cried out, more startled than annoyed. “Who do you think you are? You ask what sense it makes, while you stage the most senseless performance imaginable? Wouldn’t it break a heart of stone? First these gentlemen assault me, and now they sit around or stand about and put me through my paces before you. What sense is there in telephoning a lawyer when I’ve supposedly been arrested? Fine, I won’t telephone.” “But do,” said the inspector, and waved toward the hall, where the telephone was, “please do telephone.” “No, I no longer wish to,” K. said, and went to the window. Across the way the group was still at the window, their peaceful observation now slightly disturbed as K. stepped to the window. The old couple started to rise, but the man behind them calmed them down. “There’s more of the audience over there,” K. cried out to the inspector and pointed outside. “Get away from there,” he yelled at them. The three immediately retreated a few steps, the old couple even withdrawing behind the man, who shielded them with his broad body and, judging by the movement of his lips, apparently said something that couldn’t be understood at that distance. They didn’t disappear entirely, however, but instead seemed to wait for the moment when they could approach the window again unnoticed. “Obnoxious, thoughtless people!” said K., turning back to the room. The inspector may have agreed with him, as he thought he noticed with a sideways glance. But it was equally possible he hadn’t been listening at all, for he had pressed his hand firmly down on the table and seemed to be comparing the length of his fingers. The two guards were sitting on a chest draped with an embroidered coverlet, rubbing their knees. The three young men had placed their hands on their hips and were gazing around aimlessly. Everything was silent, as in some deserted office. “Now, gentlemen,” K. said firmly, and for a moment it seemed to him as if he bore them all upon his shoulders, “judging by your expressions, this affair of mine must be closed. In my view, it would be best to stop worrying whether or not your actions were justified and end the matter on a note of reconciliation, by shaking hands. If you share my view, then please—” and he stepped up to the inspector’s table and held out his hand. The inspector looked up, chewed his lip, and regarded K.’s outstretched hand; K. still believed that the inspector would grasp it. But instead he rose, lifted a hard bowler from Fräulein Bürstner’s bed, and donned it carefully with both hands, like someone trying on a new hat. “How simple everything seems to you!” he said to K. as he did so. “So you think we should end this matter on a note of reconciliation? No, I’m afraid we really can’t. Although that’s not at all to say you should despair. Why should you? You’re under arrest, that’s all. I was to inform you of that, I’ve done so, and I’ve noted your reaction. That’s enough for today, and we can take our leave, temporarily of course. No doubt you wish to go to the bank now?” “To the bank?” K. asked. “I thought I was under arrest.” K. said this with a certain insistence, for although no one had shaken his hand, he was beginning to feel increasingly independent of these people, particularly once the inspector had stood up. He was toying with them. If they did leave, he intended to follow them to the door of the building and offer to let them arrest him. And so he said again: “How can I go to the bank if I’m under arrest?” “Oh, I see,” said the inspector, who was already at the door, “you’ve misunderstood me; you’re under arrest, certainly, but that’s not meant to keep you from carrying on your profession. Nor are you to be hindered in the course of your ordinary life.” “Then being under arrest isn’t so bad,” said K., approaching the inspector. “I never said it was,” he replied. “But in that case even the notification of arrest scarcely seems necessary,” said K., stepping closer still. The others had approached as well. Everyone was now gathered in a small area by the door. “It was my duty,” said the inspector. “A stupid duty,” said K. relentlessly. “Perhaps so,” replied the inspector, “but let’s not waste our time with such talk. I assumed you wished to go to the bank. Since you weigh every word so carefully, let me add that I’m not forcing you to go to the bank, I simply assumed you would want to. And to facilitate that, and to render your arrival at the bank as inconspicuous as possible, I’ve arranged for three of your colleagues here to be placed at your disposal.” “What?” K. cried out, and stared at the three in amazement. These so uncharacteristically anemic young men, whom he recalled only as a group by the photographs, were indeed clerks from his bank, not colleagues, that would be an overstatement, and indicated a gap in the inspector’s omniscience, but they were certainly lower-level clerks from the bank. How could K. have failed to notice that? How preoccupied he must have been by the inspector and the guards not to recognize these three. Wooden, arm-swinging Rabensteiner, blond Kullich with his deep-set eyes, and Kaminer with his annoying smile, produced by a chronic muscular twitch. “Good morning!” K. said after a moment, and held out his hand to the men, who bowed courteously. “I completely failed to recognize you. So now we can go to work, right?” The men nodded, laughing and eager, as if that was what they’d been waiting for all along, but when K. missed his hat, which he’d left in his room, all three tripped over each other’s heels to get it, which indicated a certain embarrassment on their part after all. K. stood still and watched them pass through the two open doors, the lethargic Rabensteiner bringing up the rear, of course, having broken into no more than an elegant trot. Kaminer handed over the hat and K. had to remind himself, as he often did at the bank, that Kaminer’s smile was not deliberate and that in fact he couldn’t smile deliberately at all. In the hall, Frau Grubach, not looking as if she felt any particular sense of guilt, opened the outer door for the whole company and K. looked down, as so often, at her apron strings, which cut so unnecessarily deeply into her robust body. Downstairs, watch in hand, K. decided to go by car so as not to extend unnecessarily what was already a half-hour delay. Kaminer ran to the corner to get a cab; the other two apparently felt they should entertain K. somehow, since Kullich suddenly pointed to the door of the building across the way, in which the man with the blond goatee had just appeared, and, at first embarrassed by now showing himself full-length, had retreated to the wall and leaned against it. The old couple were probably still on the stairs. K. was annoyed at Kullich for having pointed out the man, since he had already seen him himself, and in fact had been expecting him. “Don’t look over there,” he said quickly, without realizing how strange it must sound to speak that way to grown men. But no explanation was necessary, for at that moment the cab arrived, they got in, and it pulled away. Then K. remembered that he hadn’t seen the inspector and the guards leave: the inspector had diverted his attention from the three clerks, and now the clerks had done the same for the inspector. That didn’t show much presence of mind, and K. resolved to pay greater attention to such things. Even now he turned around involuntarily and leaned across the rear panel of the car to see if the inspector and guards might still be in sight. But he turned around again immediately, without having made the slightest effort to locate anyone, and leaned back comfortably into the corner of the cab. Despite appearances, he could have used some conversation, but now the men seemed tired: Rabensteiner gazed out of the car to the right, and Kullych to the left, leaving only Kaminer and his grin, which common decency unfortunately forbade as a topic of humor.