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Notturno Veneziano

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Wednesday night

The Doctor wakes me from the sudden swoon, I am lying on a trolley, I’m having an injection. I sit up.

'Did I faint?'

'Yes, only a few moments, you fell off the chair.'

'And Vio – how is he? What happened?'

'A car driven by a road racer hit him while he was crossing, we have done our best... but the wounds were too serious... Madam, I offer my condolences.'

'No! No! Vio! My love, no! Can I see him?'

‘Not just yet. You can see him later when the body has been prepared, ready for identification.'

A police officer, a kind-looking woman, enters the small room.

'Madam, I offer my condolences, I was at the scene of the accident and we recovered the things that belonged to Sgr. Zane. Are you his wife?'

'Yes ... that is, I’m his partner, we were going to get married as soon as possible after the public notice...'

'Among the papers found in his wallet, there is indeed a document relating to an application for marriage. As things stand, I’m afraid we can’t give you his belongings... because we’ve opened a murder inquiry. The circumstances of the incident suggest that it was intentional, the car’s licence plate does not correspond to any actual vehicle. Please, Madam, do you know the password for his phone? The address book is protected, if you know the password, it will avoid difficulties in the investigation.'

'You think he was murdered? But he’s ... he was, he was such a good man ... the password? Try 'Gaby', that’s the name he used to call me.'

'Yes, it works! Thank you.'

'And now what do I do?'

'Soon you will have to make the formal identification, If you know any of his relatives, please give us details so we can inform them.'

'Relatives? Vio had no-one, his parents died a few years ago, he was alone... no ... he just had me. He told me he was the last of his family, the last one, alone, and I’m alone now too... but even before that, I was orphaned early... '

‘We'll have to check. Do you know the name of whoever was responsible for his financial affairs? His accountant, for example?'

'No, I don’t know... when he talked about it he just said “the accountant”. I'm not inquisitive, and I respected his privacy.’

'I understand. Could you help us to connect the names we see here on the phone to people you know? There are only first names, not surnames.'

'It was his way, he used first names or nicknames. Gaby is me, but I didn’t meet his friends, and he didn’t talk about them.'

‘Ah well, it will be a longer job for us ...'
 
As usual, many many thanks to l'bogo and Eulalia. :)

_____________________________________________________________________

Meanwhile, the nurse Mirella has come in, she nods, the Doctor who had left us during the interview returns.

'Let's go. Be strong. If you feel dizzy, hold onto the nurse.'

My legs are trembling, I take hold of the nurse's arm straightaway. The care room is not far away. Vio is lying covered by a green surgical sheet, the doctor lifts the edge to show me his face. It seems serene, I’m surprised, I see no traces of suffering. It comforts me to think that it was sudden - all too sudden. I lean down to kiss him, the Doctor holds me back.

'My poor love - I cannot even say goodbye to you for the last time!'

I’m crying, all the tears I had held back in my effort to control the pain. The nurse supports me, hugging me. I want to stay here forever, not to leave him alone, even in death, alone as he had lived before finding me...

'Be brave, madam - but you must tell us that you recognise Sgr. Zane, it is necessary that you confirm that.'

'Yes it's him, it's Vito Zane.'

'Thank you. Now we have to go.’

'Tomorrow you will have to bring us his clothes, so we can dress him.'

The nurse takes care to remind me of this necessity.

'His clothes are in his lodgings here in Mestre, I haven’t got the keys, he kept them.'

'We have them, they were in his bag. We can’t hand them over to you now, tomorrow we’ll accompany you there,' the police officer explains.

'Where do I go now?'

'We’ll go together to the hotel nearby, I shall stay with you, we cannot leave you alone - the suspicion of murder requires us to keep a watch on you.'

'But I won’t run away ...'

'No, it's a precaution against any risk, we don’t want to have to investigate two murders .'

'Do I have to fear for my life?'

'We don’t think so, not for now. But we must go.'
 
Thursday

The whole night is a nightmare, black ghosts hovering around me, dark, stormy, anguished thoughts, pain in my soul and pain in my body. I seem to be suffocating, drowning, carried away by monsters, preyed on by devilish creatures, devoured from within by this sense of emptiness, absence of any future, cosmic solitude...

The trilling of my guardian angel's phone suddenly brings me back to reality, but perhaps reality is worse than nightmare, now I shall have to face a day that will be, at very least, hell. I gulp down a coffee, that’s all my breakfast. A police officer, a young woman of athletic appearance replaces the colleague, who bids me farewell, with a hug, though it’s against the regulations.

We arrive at Vio’s place, I immediately recognize the key on the ring, the officer opens the door. There is someone in the house, the maid who comes to do the cleaning. Frightened, she asks what is going on, she has arrived and has not found anyone.

The officer puts the keys away, apologises that no-one had considered this possibility. I ask the woman to tell me which clothes can be used for dressing the body, the poor thing is terrified.

'No, not that shirt, it’s a little tight on the abdomen ...' She makes sure to get everything just right. 'Here, here’s a garment bag, so you don’t crease it ,' she says, moaning and repeating invocations to Our Lady and all the saints.

A beautiful grey suit, of winter-weight cloth, a white shirt with a striped tie, socks, shoes, that will be all that he will wear for the trip. The woman says goodbye to me with eyes full of tears as a colleague of my 'bodyguard' comes to accompany her to the Police Station to tell them whatever she knows.

To get to the mortuary you have to walk along a corridor lit by neon tubes spaced regularly, an armoured door guards the kingdom of the yet unbried dead that lies beyond it. We live ones are intruders here.

The kindness of the nurse who has the care of the poor bodies breaks my anguish for a moment.
She asks me if I have already contacted the funeral service for the funeral. The officer replies that it would be premature, we must wait for clearance from the police before we arrange the funeral ceremony. The body will be kept in cold storage. Pain is added to pain, poor Vio, his Calvary is not yet finished, he cannot yet rest in his grave. I look through the window in the heavy door, trying to see his body, but it is hidden by the cloth that is covering it.

I ask the officer if I can make a call, I would like to contact Frau Helga, she consents so long as the conversation is audible and she can listen, because of the investigation. I speak with a feeble voice,

'Frau, Frau Helga, it’s Gaby ... it's a tragedy, a terrible tragedy, I need help!'

'Gaby, my love, I was waiting for you to call ...'

'He’s dead. Vio is dead.’

'My poor love! Where are you?'

'At the hospital, at the mortuary now. They’ve asked me who I’ll book for the undertaker’s services, I don’t know anyone ... '

'Poor love, don’t worry, now - I know who I should get for you, I’ll let you know, in under an hour.'

'Frau, I’ll... I need some money too... to pay ... I haven’t got much money.'

'There's no problem, I'll take care of it. I'll even do the obituary announcement to be published in the press, just send me the name and ...'

'I can send the name but I don’t know when the funeral will be yet... as soon as the police give clearance... there’s an investigation underway, they’re looking for a murderer...'

'As soon as you know anything, tell me. As for the date, I’ll say it will be announced later.'

'Thank you Frau ... sorry if I’ve troubled you, I'm so lonely, I don’t know what to do ...'

'You know we're a family, if we didn’t help you, it would be scandalous. Now try to get some strength back.’

'Thankyou, Frau – I’ll call you again later.'

The officer nods.
 
With the usual many many thanks to l'bogo and Eulalia... :clap:
_____________________________________________________________________________

'Can we go back to the hotel? I need to rest for a bit.'

'Come with me, I’ll come with you, I have orders not to leave you alone.'

I am already destroyed and it is only eleven o'clock in the morning. I’m glad I have this bodyguard, she’s kind and considerate, if anything bad happens she’ll help me. I dare not think of a danger that’s haunting me in the form of something elusive, mysterious, it chills my spine.

I have sent a message to Frau Helga, with Vio’s name, surname, age, place of residence, the parish where the rosary will be recited for him, possibly this evening. If his accountant were to come, I could find out more from him what further developments there may be. As she promised, Frau Helga calls me back, it is about midday.

'Gaby, my darling, I have arranged everything, just let me know the date of the funeral. The rosary will be prayed tonight in the church of Santo Stefano at 6 pm, just a few steps from La Fenice.'

‘Thank you, Frau Helga. There’s just one more little thing, I haven’t got any suitable clothes... before going to attend the rosary I’ll stop off there, can you find me something? A stage dress will do.'
'Oh honey! Yes, anything you need will be here. Come to the dressing-room, I'll get the dresser for you.’

Two police officers accompany me to La Fenice in a police car, a police launch is waiting for us to board at the Piazzale Roma, the pilot turn along the Giudecca Canal, we disembark at the pier on the Rio de la Vesta, from where I started my Odyssey...

Frau Helga runs towards me as soon as she sees me arrive at the threshold of the room. She casts an inquisitive glance at the male officer, there’s a brief exchange of sharp-edged jokes with the young policeman:

'You won’t be watching while she’s taking a shower I hope?'

At last I can wash and change my clothes. It's not vanity, but I just need to see myself in the mirror ‑ I look as if I’ve just arrived from St. Petersburg. The Director, representing the whole dance company of La Fenice, as well as the inevitable guard dog, accompany me to the church.

Once in the churchyard of Santo Stefano we wait in case anyone comes for the recitation of the rosary, but no-one appears. We enter the church, already some pious women have intoned the gloomy chant of litanies, the parish priest says something I don’t catch, my thoughts are too much preoccupied. No-one, no-one at all, not even friends? Acquaintances? Just a couple of women who stop in the back pew of the church, and leave immediately afterwards. In the dim light I see what seem to be four monks, dark-habited, then they too go without introducing themselves. The accountant has not come, maybe he won’t have read or heard the news yet. The officer informs me that the incident has been reported on the news page of the evening paper, and also that he has received notification that the clearance has been issued, tomorrow it will be possible to arrange the funeral. I’m still amazed - nobody, nobody, he was alone, I was the sole purpose of his life.
 
riday, the first in Lent

The black clouds of this thundery morning complement my gloomy spirit. I am waiting for the barge that is bringing me the remains of my lost love, here on the cold grey stones of the quay on the Grand Canal, just me and the priest. The dark shape ploughs a furrow through the inky black water, then it flows back together. Behind me emerge seven hooded figures, in black cassocks, their tall, pointed, conical hats cover their heads and faces entirely, with only holes for the eyes. I am seized with terror.

'Who are you? What do you want? Go away!'

One of the black figures is carrying a cloak folded over his arms. He descends into the barge and lays the cloth on the coffin.

'What are you doing? Take that rag away!’

Why is the priest saying nothing? Who are these demonic figures out of hell?

One of them approaches me, his hands crossed on his chest. He removes the horrible hood, it is a human ...

'Our brother Vio is dead, now we must accompany him to his home. It is our duty.'
'Brother? What are you talking about? Who are you?'

'We are the Brothers of the Confraternity of Mercy. Vio was one of our number. Don’t be alarmed, Madam, we are Christians, good Christians - see here, I bear the symbol of the cross embroidered on my chest.'

'Vio has never told me about this ... Confraternity.'

'Membership remains secret until death, when everyone can and must know. I am allowed to show my face, having received special dispensation from the bond of secrecy, but my Brothers cannot reveal themselves.'

His voice is calm, reassuring, but I am still uneasy, still frightened by the dismal appearance of this hooded brotherhood. The priest blesses the body, reciting litanies in Latin. The Brother who has spoken to me offers his hand, inviting me to go down, hesitantly I take hold, it is warm.

I sit alongside the coffin, surrounded by the black-hooded figures. The pilot steers away from the pier, retracing the route out towards the sea across the Bacino di San Marco. They are taking me to hell for all my sins ...

After we have circumnavigated the city, in the distance, through the mist, appears the island. San Michele has only one harbour, the island is encircled by high walls like a prison. Inside is the cemetery, from where its residents can certainly not get out - or perhaps it is a castle to protect its defenceless inhabitants. Here among the great ones are the tombs of Stravinsky and Diaghilev.

The funeral ceremony in the church of San Michele is conducted in Latin, I cannot follow anything that is being said, I only grasp that the priest is singing the praises of my poor love as a good Christian. The umpteenth blessing comes with the sprinkling of holy water, and then the censing with its penetrating smoke, it seems that death is entering my body.

With the coffin loaded onto their shoulders, the six hooded men head towards the new cemetery area. It was designed by the architect David Chipperfield, made with all the concrete exposed, necessary to appear contemporary, glacial, irreparably rigid, gloomy and sterile. It must have cost a lot because it is the only part of the cemetery one is signed, with a plaque that, for the sake of brevity, bears only the word Chipperfield – literally, ‘lively meadow’ (campo allegro), in the cemetery, nothing but a mocking irony.

And here will Vio remain forever, my love fallen too soon into the darkness: ‘abstulit atra dies et funere mersit acerbo’ (Aeneid VI 429). Here my love is buried with him, love that has only just blossomed, only now do I realise, now that I must lose him forever, than I did love him.

I place a bunch of red roses on the tombstone.
 
As usual, many many thanks to Eulalia and l'bogo, who do all the job! :)

_________________________________________________________________________________


A week later, Friday

I have drained my eyes of all the tears they could shed.

Finally the old Teatro del Ridotto is ready. The space is disconcerting, it expands into a minimalist but elegant scenography in its bare essentiality, and without reveals its most interesting artifice: a long, slightly sloping scythe, an inclined plane that allows two levels of action to be seen on the stage, so the improvised balcony in the famous scene of the unveiling of the lovers is destined to become Juliet's death-bed, after her beloved, believing her spirit has flown, makes the last gesture that puts an end to his life. But it is too empty, I ask the architect to add some new elements - a tall white parallelopiped as a symbol of the building as a wing to the right of the audience, and a pair of black-coloured screens on the left. He will have to consult Madame Chloé, the choreographer of the ballet.

On Tuesday the rehearsals will begin.

There’s a surprise as we leave the theater, a freak snowfall, with a strong, cold wind. It is the Buran, the wind off the Russian steppes, channeled through the 'gate of the Bora into the Gulf of Trieste. The water is already high, lapping the quays, the walkways almost waiting for it. The gondolas covered with snow look like surreal crescent moons, the lagoon is waiting anxiously.

The architect supports me with one arm around my shoulders, as if a gust of the sudden storm might steal me away. We are not masked like we were ten days ago, when we went carefree to the Carnival, but unrecognizable because our faces are covered by our collars to protect us from the cold while we walk along the Riva degli Schiavoni to reach Piazza San Marco. There are no sellers of pancakes, but the municipal workers who are putting out walkways. When we reach the Clock Tower, we turn left under the porticos of the Procuratie Vecchie, the buildings that overlook the square will give us a little protection; the shops are closed but some surprised tourists are still wandering in hope of finding a shelter.

'Poor Gaby, lucky the wind didn’t blow you away!'

Frau Helga welcomes us, embracing me,

'Come, I'll get something hot right away, you'll need it.'

Frau Helga is busy, tonight is the first performance of the ballet in the opera 'Zenobia, Queen of Palmyrene', in which I shall not be dancing. The other dancers do not yet know that I am to be prima ballerina, the Juliet in Prokofiev’s ballet. They think I’ve been left out because I am too tall, an anomaly, alien, not integrated into the corps de ballet, which is made up of little brunettes, the slavegirls of Zenobia. They look at me with an air of superiority, proud, ‘I’m here, you aren’t!’ they seem to want to say, and they seem to dodge me, glancing aside at each other, nodding their heads as I pass by.

Frau Helga had a room made ready for me on the third floor of the theatre, so I could stay near after the tragedy of Vio's death. She was almost a mother to me whiIe was alone and frightened, she pampered me.


'Gaby, Gaby my darling, I nearly forgot, this letter came for you!'

‘Office of Giovanni Da Sor, Notary’ is printed on the outside of the envelope, with a family coat of arms. Under the letterhead of the office, a few lines:

Dear Madam,

Please be present at our office in Calle dei Avocati 18 on Monday next at 10 am
accompanied by your legal adviser, for important communications concerning S.V.

Yours faithfully
Giovanni Da Sor
Notary in Venice
22nd February 2018

What will these people want with me? I'll have to return the keys to Vio's lodging, I'll have to pay more for the funeral, I have no ‘legal adviser’ (Legale di Fiducia) – and, above all, I have no money...

'What's the matter Gaby? I can see you’re looking pale.’

'I’m sorry, Frau, it says I have to go to the Notary’s office accompanied by a lawyer ...'

Why does it always have to happen to me ...

'Frau, I don’t know any lawyer, I... and it’s for Monday morning, it’s already Friday afternoon, where do I find a lawyer for Monday? Why does everything always happens to me all of a sudden?

'My dear, the lawyer is not a problem, I'll call him on the phone right away.'

'What would I do without my Frau Helga?'

The high water has washed a few centimeters across the lower part of the city, but now the tide has ebbed, the first night of 'Zenobia' is safe. I think it's the first time I've watched a ballet as a spectator, the theatre is packed, and I have a knight at my side, the architect cum set-designer with whom I’ve been working so intensely all the week, when I was not busy with my daily exercises. The wardrobe mistress has found me a nice evening dress, it’s black, is a must for two reasons, long to the ground, with a vertiginous neckline, I look like an actress on the 'red carpet' at the Oscars!

I feel their looks on me, the desire of the men, the envy of the women, while I sip a glass of champagne in the foyer bar. My knight would like to spend the night with me, I can understand him from his gaze, but I have been a 'widow' for too little time, I must show a little respect for poor Vio, I would not want him to get too jealous and come back to blame me... Yes, maybe this champagne is working on me a little, what strange thoughts... my poor love ...
 
Monday 26th February

I’ve spent Sunday idly in the company of the architect, who is courting me a bit too earnestly, but I dare not push him away from me.

A pale silver sun shines on the Lagoon with cold rays, unable to bring warmth to the water lashed by the Siberian wind. The sea in front of the Riva degli Schiavoni has a colour like ice, rippling with the gusts of the 'buran'. The moored gondolas stir uneasily, like my soul. Needles of ice, flying from who knows where, hit my face, flags dance as if they were on a ship-mast in the middle of an ocean storm. Even my heart is in the eyes of a storm.

We eat a good hot lunch, vegetable soup, at the trattoria just beyond l'Ospedale della Pietà. A few steps more as I look at the windows full of everything, from Murano glass, beautiful and richly coloured, to junk for tourists. Then, out of the storm at last, in the little room on the third floor of the theatre, I am alone with my thoughts, with the fears that make my life so restless.

Morning.

The lawyer that Frau Helga has found for me is waiting, sitting quietly in the foyer of the theatre, he is a handsome man, well-dressed.

'Attorney, this is Miss Gabriella, about whom I spoke to you on Friday,'

Frau Helga does the introductions,
,
'and this is Attorney Vanin, our trusted consultant for several years,' she informs me.

'As I’ve told you, Gabriella has received a letter from the office of the Notary Da Sor, but the reasons for the invitation were not specified. I beg you to assist her in any way she requires, and in any eventuality. As for the fee, I’ve commit myself as agreed. I’ll leave you now, I'm in a hurry to give my lessons.'

'Good morning, Attorney.' I hand him the Notary's letter, the two thin lines give no clues, but they seem threatening.

'Good morning, Signorina. All we have to do is go, the lawyers' address is not far.' His voice is calm, warm and deep, he immediately inspires confidence. 'The Notary Da Sor is a very well known person here in Venice.'

The office is located in a seventeenth-century building, an engraved brass plate proclaims it its belongs to the Signoria Da Sor. It is near the corner of Campo Sant'Angelo. The entrance is open, a flight of stairs leads to the first floor. The glass door of the reception area opens before the lawyer can ring the bell, we are expected.

The courteous secretary takes us to the door of the Notary's private office, she opens it.
It is a large room, more than twice as long as wide, and as high as two floors of the building. Frescoes are on the side walls and ceiling, a row of windows lines the back wall, there are carpets, statues, paintings, the typical ornaments and architecture of patrician Venetian houses.

At the Notary's desk, silhouetted by the windows, are two figures I cannot make out, both because of the distance and the back-lighting. One is sitting, the other standing. The secretary waves us forward. Forty paces before we reach the seats in front of the desk - this already denotes the psychological and social distance that separates those who enter from those who reign here.

The seated figure, doubtless the Notary, gestures to me sit down without a word. The lawyer pulls up a small armchair, making a sign to me to take a seat. He stands next to me almost like an esquire. Moments of silence that seem eternal, embarrassing...

'Good morning, Signorina Gabriella, I'm the Notary, Alessandro Da Sor.'

But wasn’t Giovanni the Notary’s name?

'Good morning to you, Signor Notary,' I answer his greeting in a faint voice.

'Here next to me is Dr. Venier.'

Pause.

I bow my head in greeting, since the Doctor has not uttered a word. I am feeling uncomfortable.
The Notary is old, he must be more than seventy, the Doctor maybe fifty. On the desk, in addition to the usual, completely useless, objects, there is a folder with a leather cover, certainly ancient.
 
Pause.

I nod my head in greeting, since the Doctor has not uttered a word. I am feeling uncomfortable.
The Notary is old, he must be more than seventy, the Doctor maybe fifty. On the desk, in addition to the usual, completely useless, objects, there is a folder with a leather cover, certainly ancient.

Pause.

‘Before we turn the reason why you are here, I would like to give you a brief introduction. You will certainly know the historical origin of our families, mine that and of the Doctor here, as well as that of the Attorney who is accompanying you ...'

Perfect strangers. He seems to be puffing himself up, to make me feel I’m a nobody. I make no response.

Pause

'Our families include some of the Doges among our ancestors ...'

Swelled up sausage! I just want to get up and leave, not listen to him.

Pause

'And even the family of the late Vito Zane ...'

Ah, so it’s poor Vio we’re talking about –

'... he had among his ancestors, important figures in our Republic.'

Pause

A family of immense fortunes ...'
Poor Vio, has anyone ever been less fortunate than you?

'... such was the greatness of the family’s fortune, back in the sixteenth century, “to have the house of Zane” was a way of saying, to possess enormous wealth.'

So, to humiliate me all the more, to make me feel like a pauper girl, a destitute dancer who, in order to put together two crumbs of bread, is forced to make a commodity of her own body. But I’ve had to ask for a loan - I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to repay it - to meet the funeral expenses of my 'poor' Vio. What do they want from me? Now they’ll ask for the return of the rings, the house keys, yes, all those things, they’re not my stuff.

Pause

'We have received the mandate to evaluate your behaviour, your actions...'

Poor me, I take the rings off my finger and go to place them on the desk.

'... what are you doing, Miss? No, you don’t understand ... I said, evaluate your actions, as prescribed in his will.'

Pause

I don’t understand anything. His will? What’s that got to do with me?

Pause

I’m feeling like a little kitten cornered by the big farm-dogs, but I haven’t got a tail to stick up, no claws to show, I can’t hiss to scare away my attackers. My poor nerves are stretched like violin strings - twang, and I’d scratch the face of the Notary...
 
An uncomfortable and not quite understood situation. Is she about to be arrested or receive an inheritance? Things do not seem quite in order. Excellent story!
 
Pause

We have observed with how much love, you, Signorina, have arranged everything in honour of Signor Vito Zane ...'

What does he mean? It was the least I could do.

... and therefore it has been judged proper, in accordance with the testamentary provisions which we must implement, that inheritance of the estate of Signor Vito Zane should pass to you.'

If I do not faint now, it will never happen for the rest of my life...

'Now I shall read the last will and testament as set out in these documents, with the list of properties that are to be transferred to the sole heir.'

He opens the leather folder that is on the desk. I cannot even understand what he is reading - palaces, villas, income, investments, bank accounts, ... I don’t understand the figures ... millions.

Pause

Are you well, Madam? Do you need help, you look very pale ... '

I would almost say dead.

'... ah, I forgot, here's this envelope, it's the amount you paid for the funeral.'

With a trembling voice I dare to speak:

'I didn’t pay it, I was borrowed from ...'

'We know, we know, that’s why our judgment of your behaviour was so positive, you put yourself into debt to give a dignified farewell to your beloved Vio.'

Pause

If you wish, you can continue to avail yourself of the advice of Dr. Venier, accountant of the deceased, on management of the inherited assets and tax obligations, or you may dispose otherwise.

Ah, here comes the accountant. I’ve lost my voice, I look at the lawyer who gestures me to accept – well, he’s the one who knows all that’s necessary. Taking my hand to settle the deal, the accountant kisses it.

'One last thing, you can use the family coat of arms, it belongs to you now, Signora Zane.'



'Now may I introduce you to my son, the Notary Giovanni Da Sor. He asked me to deal with these proceedings, so as not to cause embarrassment.'

A figure in a wheelchair comes through the door to the right of the desk. I've seen him before - it's him, the person I knocked down on the pedestrian crossing...
 
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