“Barnabas,” said K. , and could not keep his voice from trembling. “I have something else to say to you. And that reminds me that it’s a bad arrangement to leave me dependent on your chance comings for sending a message to the Castle. If I hadn’t happened to catch you just now—how you fly along, I thought you were still in the house—who knows how long I might have had to wait for your next appearance.” “You can ask the Chief,” said Barnabas, “to send me at definite times appointed by yourself.” “Even that would not suffice,” said K. , “I might have nothing to say for a year at a time, but something of urgent importance might occur to me a quarter of an hour after you had gone.”
“Well,” said Barnabas, “shall I report to the Chief that between him and you some other means of communication should be established instead of me?” “No, no,” said K. , “not at all, I only mention the matter in passing, for this time I have been lucky enough to catch you.” “Shall we go back to the inn,” said Barnabas, “so that you can give me the new message there?” He had already taken a step in the direction of the inn. “Barnabas,” said K. , “it isn’t necessary, I’ll go a part of the way with you.” “Why don’t you want to go to the inn?” asked Barnabas. “The people there annoy me,” said K. , “you saw for yourself how persistent the peasants are.” “We could go into your room,” said Barnabas. “It’s the maids’ room,” said K. , “dirty and stuffy—it’s to avoid staying there that I want to accompany you for a little, only,” he added, in order finally to overcome Barnabas’ reluctance, “you must let me take your arm, for you are surer of foot than I am.” And K. took his arm. It was quite dark, K. could not see Barnabas’ face, his figure was only vaguely discernible, he had had to grope for his arm a minute or two.