Gurdweill thought to himself: ‘Now him too, that little rotter!’ He knew only too well what Thea meant by ‘ridiculous’. Whenever she called anyone ‘ridiculous’ it was a sure sign that she was interested in him. Why did she have to tell him these things! ‘He’s not in the least ridiculous,’ he said. ‘Only a little limited.’

But he regretted the words before they were out of his mouth and, berating himself silently for his idiocy, added aloud, ‘Everyone’s a little ridiculous, if you like. Each in his own way.’

‘He told me some strange stories,’ Thea continued with a meaningful smile, ‘about his family life. Fascinating.’

‘What would you like to do now, children?’ said Dr Astel, and stood up. ‘Why don’t you come down with us for a while? It’s such a lovely evening.’

They all agreed. It was already eight o’clock. Dr Astel was hungry and suggested that they go first to a restaurant and then see what they felt like doing afterwards. He led them to a good restaurant on the corner of Heinestrasse, where they all ate heartily except for Gurdweill, who had no appetite. Then they went to the Prater.

Crowds of people were streaming in and out of the Prater, which was illuminated with a garish orange light; and milling about like a swarm of ants. A Sunday crowd of workers, clerks, and servants, avid for excitement and adventure to see them through the six dreary, monotonous days ahead. The Prater roared and shrieked with thousands of clashing voices, inviting the crowds with its hustlers and organ grinders, clowns with painted faces, monkeys, dwarfs, gigantic Fat Women; its fake Indians and Negroes, its part-time athletes with their bare, muscular arms like butchers in an abattoir; its still wax figures in glass cases, acrobats in flesh-coloured tights; its conjurers and magicians and sword-swallowers — and inviting with its deafening cries and blinding lights: ‘Don’t miss the opportunity of a lifetime! Come in, ladies and gentlemen, come in!’ There was a flea circus; there were all kinds of swings and roundabouts, shooting ranges with boring prizes for the winners, tawdry circuses and cinemas showing westerns; a roller-coaster, a Ferris wheel, merry-go-rounds, cheap cabarets; hawkers selling piping-hot sausages, pastries, and fruit; bars, sprawling drunks, prostitutes of the worst kind — everything to satisfy the naive and simple tastes of the lower classes. But behind all this, behind the entertainment hawkers and their customers, lay grinding poverty, suffering, and disease; and they were the true, permanent nucleus, the quintessence of it all — Gurdweill sensed this with a terrible clarity as they passed the entrance to the Volksprater, and his throat constricted as if all the oxygen had suddenly drained out of the air. A deathly loneliness seized hold of him, and an angry vein began hammering almost audibly in his temples. He gripped Lotte’s arm with such suddenness that she cried in alarm: ‘Gurdweill, what’s the matter?’