The gossip in the apartment is Frau Berndt, who is in one of her moods. She has retreated into the concierge's lodge and stayed there for two weeks, speaking to nobody. Music comes from the radio inside, the notes rising and falling frequently, but the shutters stay closed. Meanwhile, outside the walls of the apartment block, tuberculosis, the Viennese disease, hangs on street corners. 'Is the world becoming terrible?' Julia asks, as they walk. They pass the African exhibit, where the Somalis lounge in the shade, playing cards. It has been so popular that the Somalis have been invited to stay, their pay doubled, and superior lodgings found in a modern block near the Rathaus; some of them have accepted the offer. Then into the long grass of the meadow. Poppies nod around Julia's skirt, and Eve lifts her legs like a wading bird. They laugh at each other. The world cannot be terrible. 

But someone nearby is crying - somewhere close to the ground. The grass stems part and a head appears, bobbing towards them. Red hair, like Julia's, and skin that's pink from the sun. The child holds its arms out and runs, wailing, towards Julia. It clutches her around the knees and buries its face in her skirt.