The Hasidic Panda Boy and Josef K. (part one)

by the Panda

One morning, Josef K. awoke before dawn, not because anyone had knocked at the door but because the silence of the corridor felt unusually heavy. The court had not summoned him that day. This alone was unsettling.

He walked through the narrow streets toward the administrative quarter where the court offices lay hidden in attic rooms and behind staircases that seemed to multiply like reflections in mirrors.

The city was quiet.

When he entered the courtyard of the old tenement building where the court sometimes held its hearings, he noticed something unusual.

A boy sat on the stone steps.

The boy wore a black coat that seemed slightly too large for him, and from beneath the brim of a wide hat escaped two soft dark curls. In his hands, he held a small notebook filled with drawings.

But what startled Josef K. most was the boy’s face.

It had the gentle expression of a panda.

Not literally, of course—Josef K. was not a superstitious man—but something about the boy’s eyes and the softness of his features gave the impression of a creature that had wandered accidentally into a place designed for wolves.

The boy looked up.

“Are you also waiting?” he asked.

“For what?” Josef K. replied.

“For them to decide.”

Josef K. felt an uncomfortable familiarity in the words.

“They never tell you exactly what they are deciding,” he said.

The boy nodded calmly.

“Yes. They talk in other rooms first.”

“You know this?”

“They say it is for protection.”

Josef K. sat beside him.

“For whose protection?”

The boy thought for a moment.

“That part is less clear.”

They sat quietly as the morning light slowly crept across the courtyard walls.

From somewhere above them came the sound of papers being shuffled and footsteps moving along wooden floors.

Josef K. looked upward.

“They are discussing something again,” he said.

“Yes,” the boy replied.

“How do you know?”

“They always begin early.”

Josef K. watched the windows.

“Do they ever invite you inside?”

The boy smiled gently.

“Sometimes later.”

“And before that?”

“They gather information.”

Josef K. laughed bitterly.

“Yes. That sounds like them.”

The boy opened his notebook and showed Josef K. one of the drawings. It depicted a large labyrinth made of corridors and staircases. In the centre of the labyrinth stood a small panda wearing a hat.

Josef K. stared at it.

“Is that supposed to be you?”

The boy shrugged.

“It might be.”

“And the labyrinth?”

“The building.”

Josef K. sighed.

“You understand the court better than I do.”

“No,” said the boy quietly.

“I just draw what it feels like.”

At that moment, a clerk opened a window above them and looked down for a moment. His eyes paused on the two figures in the courtyard before disappearing again.

Josef K. lowered his voice.

“You should be careful.”

“Why?”

“They might think you are unusual.”

The boy tilted his head slightly.

“Is that dangerous?”

Josef K. hesitated.

“It depends on who is deciding.”

The boy closed his notebook.

“Sometimes they send doctors,” he said.

Josef K. frowned.

“Doctors?”

“Yes. They say the labyrinth can confuse people.”

“And what do the doctors do?”

“They ask questions. Then they write things down.”

Josef K. shivered.

“And afterwards?”

“Sometimes they give medicine.”

Josef K. stared at the boy carefully now.

“And does the medicine help?”

The boy thought for a long time.

“It makes the labyrinth quieter.”

“That sounds helpful.”

“Yes,” said the boy softly.

“But it also makes the drawings fade.”

Josef K. felt a sudden heaviness in his chest.

The windows above them remained closed.

No one called their names.

The boy stood up.

“Where are you going?” Josef K. asked.

“To look for another door.”

“There are no other doors,” Josef K. replied.

The boy smiled.

“There are always other doors.”

“And if they find you?”

“Then they will decide something.”

Josef K. looked around the courtyard—the narrow staircases, the dusty windows, the endless offices hidden behind ordinary walls.

“And if they never explain the decision?”

The boy placed the notebook gently into his coat.

“Then perhaps the labyrinth is still learning how to listen.”

With that, he walked toward a narrow passageway that Josef K. had never noticed before.

Josef K. remained on the stone steps for a long time after the boy disappeared.

Above him, the court continued its quiet work.

Papers shuffled.

Voices murmured.

Decisions were being prepared somewhere beyond the walls.

But for the first time since his arrest, Josef K. wondered whether the labyrinth might not be the entire world.

Perhaps there were still paths no clerk had mapped.

And somewhere in those paths, a gentle panda boy was still drawing the exits.