XIII

other in our arms as with iron bars, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more. But here⁠—look, there at the assistants! It’s not you they think of when they clasp their hands, but me.” “And it’s not I who am looking at them,” said K. , “but you.” “Certainly, me,” said Frieda almost angrily, “that’s what I’ve been saying all the time; why else should they be always at my heels, even if they are messengers of Klamm’s?” “Messengers of Klamm’s?” repeated K. extremely astonished by this designation, though it seemed natural enough at the same time. “Certainly, messengers of Klamm’s,” said Frieda. “Even if they are, still they’re silly boys too who need to have more sense hammered into them. What ugly black young demons they are, and how disgusting the contrast is between their faces, which one would say belonged to grownups, almost to students, and their silly childish behaviour. Do you think I don’t see that? It makes me feel ashamed for them. Well, that’s just it, they don’t repel me, but I feel ashamed for them. I can’t help looking at them. When one ought to be annoyed with them, I can only laugh at them. When people want to strike them, I can only stroke their hair. And when I’m lying beside you at night I can’t sleep and must always be leaning across you to look at them, one of them lying rolled up asleep in the blanket and the other kneeling before the stove door putting in wood, and I have to bend forward so far that I nearly waken you. And it wasn’t the cat that frightened me⁠—oh, I’ve had experience of cats and I’ve had experience as well of disturbed nights in the taproom⁠—it wasn’t the cat that frightened me, I’m frightened at myself. No, it didn’t need that big beast of a cat to waken me, I start up at the slightest noise. One minute I’m afraid you’ll waken and spoil everything, and the next I spring up and light the candle to force you to waken at once and protect me.” “I knew nothing of all this,” said K. , “it was only a vague suspicion of it that made me send them away; but now they’re gone, and perhaps everything will be all right.” “Yes, they’re gone at last,” said Frieda, but her face was worried, not happy, “only we don’t know who they are. Messengers of