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! Crowds of Negores in the town! Now here, now there, they are seen in several different places at once. They run through the streets in a great raucous, ragged rabble. They fall into grocery shops and ransack them. Joking, nudging and laughing, the whites of their eyes rolling widely — their throaty cries, their white shining teeth — before the police force could be mobilised, they vanished into thin air.
I had already forseen this. Never could it have been otherwise. It was a natural consequence of the meteorological tension. Only now do I see clearly what I have dimly sensed from the outset — this spring is underlain with Negroes.
But how did they come to take over that sector? From where had those hordes of Negroes arrived, in their striped cotton pyjamas? Had the great Barnum pitched his tent somewhere nearby, drawing an innumerable train of people, animals and demons behind it? Were his wagons standing somewhere in the vicinity, heaving with a perpetual hubbub of angels, beasts and acrobats? Never in the world. Barnum was far away. My suspicion points in another direction entirely. But I shall say nothing. For your sake, Bianka, I will remain silent. No torture will ever extract a statement from me.
> -XXXVIII- >