Page 169 - the-trial

more that glance at any of these things, he wanted to get
things over with here as soon as possible, to exchange just
a few words to find out how things stood with the painter
and go straight back to the bank. Even if he had just some
tiny success here it would still have a good effect on his work
at the bank for that day. On the third floor he had to slow
down his pace, he was quite out of breath the steps, just like
the height of each floor, were much higher than they needed
to be and he’d been told that the painter lived right up in the
attic. The air was also quite oppressive, there was no proper
stairwell and the narrow steps were closed in by walls on
both sides with no more than a small, high window here
and there. Just as K. paused for a while some young girls
ran out of one of the flats and rushed higher up the stairs,
laughing. K. followed them slowly, caught up with one of
the girls who had stumbled and been left behind by the oth-
ers, and asked her as they went up side by side, “Is there a
painter, Titorelli, who lives here?” The girl, hardly thirteen
years old and somewhat hunchbacked, jabbed him with her
elbow and looked at him sideways. Her youth and her bodi-
ly defects had done nothing to stop her being already quite
depraved. She did not smile once, but looked at K. earnestly,
with sharp, acquisitive eyes. K. pretended not to notice her
behaviour and asked, “Do you know Titorelli, the painter?”
She nodded and asked in reply, “What d’you want to see him
for?” K. thought it would be to his advantage quickly to find
out something more about Titorelli. “I want to have him
paint my portrait,” he said. “Paint your portrait?” she asked,
opening her mouth too wide and lightly hitting K. with her

1 The Trial