Spring: -I- -II- -III-
The Stamp Album: -IV- -V- -VI- -VII- -VIII- -IX- -X- -XI- -XII-
In the Municipal Park: -XIII- -XIV- -XV- -XVI-
Springtime Twilight: -XVII-
The Villa: -XVIII- -XIX- -XX- -XXI- -XXII- -XXIII- -XXIV- -XXV- -XXVI- -XXVII-
Bianka’s Lineage: -XXVIII- -XXIX- -XXX- -XXXI- -XXXII- -XXXIII-
Hiatus: -XXXIV- -XXXV- -XXXVI- (XXXVII)
Finale: -XXXVIII- -XXXIX- -XL-
XXXVII
Negroes! Negroes — crowds of Negores in the town! They are seen here and there, at several points in the town at once. They run through the streets in a great raucous, ragged rabble — falling into the grocery shops, they ransack them. Jokes, nudges, laughter, the widely rolling whites of their eyes, their throaty cries and white, shining teeth. Before the police force could be mobilised, they had vanished into thin air.
I had forseen it; it could not have been otherwise. It was a natural consequence of the meteorological tension. Only now do I realise that I had felt it from the outset: this spring is underlain by Negroes.
How did the Negroes come to take over that sector — from where had those hordes of Negroes roamed in their striped cotton pyjamas? Had the great Barnum pitched his tent somewhere nearby, drawing behind it an innumerable train of people, animals and demons, or were his wagons standing somewhere in the vicinity, heaving with a perpetual hubbub of angels, beasts and acrobats? By no means whatsoever. Barnum was far away. My suspicion points in another direction entirely. I shall say nothing. For your sake, Bianka, I will remain silent — no torture will extract a statement from me.
> -XXXVIII- >