CHAPTER 12The air was fresh; the promenade was filled with other theater- and concertgoers, who moved with a pace that was brisker than the afternoon stroll. Hubert and Helga talked and talked; sometimes one had to be immersed in the noise of a busy crowd to take strides and measure the vast space of the moment. The faces that rushed by, the quick glances, the silhouettes of hats and coats, the whiffs of perfume, sweat, deodorant, and brandy that were pregnant with cues; the promenade was a large, disordered dictionary become flesh.
They approached a brightly-lit kiosk that seemed to hold an unusual attraction: a long line of people stood in front of the window where tickets were being sold. Stepping closer, Helga read the sign to Hubert, who was still squinting his eyes.
“Annual City Ra
