XXXIII
Anamalis fobil! shrieked the griots, as, with eyes inflamed, muscles taut, bodies dripping with sweat, they beat their tom-toms.
And the whole assembly, frenziedly clapping their hands, repeated Anamalis fobil! Anamalis fobil! ... words whose translation would blister these pages.... “Anamalis fobil!” the first words, the motive and refrain of a diabolical song, delirious with licentious passion, the song of the spring bamboulas....
Anamalis fobil! the howling of frenzied desire of the sap of negroes heated to excess by the sun, of burning hysteria ... the negro’s alleluia of love, a hymn of seduction chanted likewise by nature, air, earth, plants, and scents.
At the spring bamboulas, the young men mingled with the young girls who had just arrayed themselves in the pomp of their wedding finery. To a maddening rhythm, to a frantic melody, they all sang, as they danced upon the sand, Anamalis fobil! ...
XXXIV
Anamalis fobil! All the big, milky buds on the baobabs had burst into tender leaf....
And Jean felt this negro spring-time burning in his blood, flowing like a consuming poison through his veins....
He was exhausted by all this renewal of life, because it was a life in which he had no part. The blood that boiled in men’s veins was black; the sap that rose in the plants was poisonous; the perfume of the flowers was dangerous, and the insects were swollen with venom.