From the report of 𐄍, Senior Lieutenant of the Secret Service, responsible for the operation of detention
There was no difficulty in identifying the subject among the passengers disembarked from the Athenian ship, for he was considerably older than his companions. His behaviour also differed from that of the rest of the party. If the younger men and women were showing signs of anxiety and fear, the subject was smiling, joking and even trying to flirt with Her Majesty and the princesses who were all present at the farewell dinner.
The following morning, before entering the Maze, the subject bribed the guard to let him smuggle a bladed weapon*. As the guard immediately informed his superiors, the agents were keeping an eye on the subject at all times ready to disarm him. At the same time, they were under strict orders not to harm him in any way.
Once in the Maze, the subject deployed a so-called “thread”, likely as a tracking device. The analysis has shown that the thread was identical to those on sale in the Ariadne Wools shop, one of the tourist traps of Amnisos. The thread had snapped approximately half-way to the central chamber which could be explained by the poor quality of the wool. This occurrence, when discovered, caused the subject to panic and run back towards the entrance; in reality, by repeatedly taking wrong turns, he was moving in the opposite direction.
The subject was apprehended in the central chamber of the facility where a group of operatives, myself included, were waiting for him. The subject was interrogated in situ whereby he grew agitated and aggressive. He did not provide any meaningful answer to the interviewer’s questions, instead interrupting this latter with questions of his own. After asking repeatedly where he could find “the monitor”, the subject was shown a mirror. The subject remained in a state of shock for several hours, until the Emergency Physician arrived (the Patient Visit Report is attached).
*
The cash obtained thus was fully accounted for and transferred to the Treasury, as is the standard practice for funds raised through controlled bribery activity.
I went to see the closing screening of this year’s Ibértigo, expecting to see a bit of comedy. Well Wikipedia says “dystopian black comedy-drama”, surely it must have some comedy in it?
Not really. There was not a single moment that made me laugh. So it doesn’t count.
Even so, Zafari was well worth watching. The film’s setting — the apartment block, its swimming pool and a neighboouring zoo — is a microcosm of an unnamed Latin American country clearly inspired by the director’s motherland, Venezuela. Things ain’t going well and the arrival of Zafari the hippo doesn’t help... Prepare to be disturbed, but — the only spoiler I’ll give you — there is a glimpse of hope, if not exactly an happy end, for the protagonist. Starring Daniela Ramírez, Francisco Denis and Samantha Castillo.
I read the programme of this year’s Ibértigo and decided to watch the two films whose one-line summaries sounded least depressing. I think I made the right choice.
Devenir Rosa
a film by Valeri Hernani
A Peruvian short is a poignant dialogue between generations, that of Valeri and her grandmother Rosa.
Not much happens in this documentary set in Laredo, Texas (not to be confused with real Laredo), and thank goodness for that. Two teenage friends enjoy “doing nothing together”, they know it’s not gonna last, and it’s beautiful.
These youngsters were the crème de la crème of the new generation of Athenians. Not only rich but well educated, excelling in sports and arts and, let’s admit it, good-looking. Yet it seemed that, by sheepishly accepting their destiny, all of them lost the will to fight. Throughout the journey, the mood on the ship was positively funereal. I tried to cheer them up, but to no avail. On top of that, I heard words like “jerk” and “nuts” behind my back. What a bunch of losers.
After a few days in this disagreeable company, I was almost happy when we landed at Amnisos. In the port, we were met by a group of local dignitaries and a unit of royal guards. After a short welcome speech by one of the former, we were escorted directly to the royal palace. There we were in for a pleasant surprise. Yet another welcome speech — this time, by His Majesty the King himself — was followed by a sumptuous meal. Last supper, they called it jokingly. I, for one, didn’t get the joke.
One thing that irritated me in the beginning was that they sat down the boys, including me, separately from girls. The reason for that became clear when I realised that watching over the girls were two attractive female guards. Nice touch. The King was somewhat grumpy — as if the whole sacrifice thing was not his idea — and excused himself early, just after starters. As a consequence, the atmosphere in the banquet hall had visibly improved. The princesses were charming and chatty. One of them, who looked and behaved fairly different from her sisters, approached the boys’ table. She found friendly words for everyone and then, without hesitation, asked me to follow her. I took it as an order and gladly obliged.
To my disappointment, we didn’t go very far, just to the corner farthest from the tables. The princess and I had a brief conversation, of which later. Then she gave me a quick hug, a rather perfunctory one I thought, and urged me to return to my companions. Which I fully intended to do but was intercepted halfway by Her Majesty the Queen. Surprise surprise, she also wanted to talk to me.
I have to say that the women’s fashion here is extraordinary. In particular, the Queen’s attire as she wore that evening would make most Athenians blush. That includes me.
She led me to another corner and then, through a stoa, or a gallery, or a portico — one of those things there, I never remember which is which — to a small, tastefully decorated room.
Her Majesty told me, in so many words, to stay away from the princesses because there is no future in this sort of relationship. On the other hand, she added, if there is any interest at all in intelligent after-dinner conversations and possibly more, she could clear her schedule up to early hours of tomorrow.
“Alas, my friend, I can’t offer you much, apart from a night that you’ll remember till the end of your days.”
That’s what she said.
Call me picky but, in the light of my imminent slaughter, I wasn’t particularly taken by the offer. I mumbled something along the lines of me being tired after the sea trip and that I have to get up early, thanked her for the honour and rushed back to the dining room.
While I was away, the ambience had changed once again. The boys at my table, probably affected by wine consumption, perked up and were engaged in a lively discussion. Meanwhile, the girls were singing. I noticed one of the princesses at their table joining in the chorus. On the contrary, I was overcome by anxiety. I couldn’t wait for the dinner to end. The Queen returned to her place and from time to time was making fleeting eye contact with me, all the while adjusting her décolleté, but I was too distracted even to acknowledge the royal glances. Now I understand how rude it was of me.
My mind was flying back to the conversation with the princess. She asked some pretty neutral, I’d say innocent, questions such as “How was the sea journey?” or “Did you like the main course?”. Thank gods she didn’t inquire about my family. I had a distinct impression that all this chit-chat was for somebody else’s ears. And then, as she was hugging me, she discreetly slipped something soft in my belt pouch and whispered: “It’s your fate”.
The banquet was over shortly after midnight. I dreaded that we’ll have to sleep in some godawful shared dormitory, like we did on the ship. It was a relief when they brought me to my sleeping quarters, in a separate wing of the palace. At last, a private bedroom, even though for one night only and with an armed guard outside.
When I was completely sure in my privacy, I inspected the contents of my pouch. It included a ball of shiny silky thread (what the underground?) and a small papyrus scroll. A message! As I was scrolling (pun intended) through it, my heart started to beat with joy. The letter contained instructions how to reach the centre of the Maze and get back — with the help of the thread. Her plan was as genius as it was simple, why didn’t I think of it myself? I was kind of planning to use breadcrumbs for the same purpose, except I forgot to do anything about it, like to save a roll or two at the dinner. The thread is so much more reliable — and tidier.
The letter concluded with the line:
Good luck, xoxo Ari
Gods, so that was her name! During our short rendez-vous, she didn’t introduce herself, and why should she? Neither did the Queen. Nor did I, for that matter.
So I take it that Ari wants me to succeed and get back from my mission. Maybe we have a future after all? Good thing I didn’t hang after dinner with her nymphomaniac mother.
I was so excited with new hope, I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was wrong.
I was woken to a gentle but persistent knocking on the door.
“Who’s there?” I shouted, momentarily forgetting that I was not in my home.
The guard half-opened the door.
“Would you care for some breakfast, sir?”
“Pardon me?”
“The thing is, you were randomly selected to be the first of your party to enter the Maze. By tradition, the person about to be sacrificed is given a choice: room service or to join their companions in the canteen for buffet.”
“Er... Give me a moment. Too much information to digest.”
Somehow the first part of the guard’s message was what I was foreseeing all along; I didn’t believe for a moment my selection was random but hey, it could play into my hands.
“Of course, sir. I hope it doesn’t take too long though. The kitchen is not open all morning, you know. Give me a shout when you are ready.”
With these words, he tossed me a papyrus scroll and closed the door behind him. Another letter? My heart began to pound again. With hands shaking, I unwound the scroll.
“Dear sacrificee #1”, it read (the number ‘1’ had been written in by a different hand). “We hope you enjoyed your stay at the Royal Palace. Your opinion matters to us. We would be grateful if you could provide feedback on your guest experience by completing the anonymous questionnaire (attached). Thank you for your visit, and we wish you every success for the future, whether or not —”
Furious, I crumpled the papyrus up and hurled it in the corner of the bedroom.
“Room service!” I yelled.
“Minoan or continental?” readily asked the guard from behind the door.
“Bring them both.”
We went to see this film thanks to Timur. I never thought I would emphatise with any character played by Leonardo DiCaprio, ever. I’m glad I was wrong. In the role of a stoner ex-revolutionary, DiCaprio is simply great. So it Benicio del Toro as sensei St. Carlos. And Sean Penn makes a very convincing villain. But the best thing about One Battle After Another is its comedy side. The names like Chicken Licken Frozen Food Farm, Sisters of the Brave Beaver, Chupacabra Hills and Christmas Adventurers Club made my day.
Loosely based on the 1990 novel Vineland by Thomas Pynchon, the film is unmistakeably about now. Like, right now. I write this as millions of Americans take to the streets in “No Kings” rallies. My inner pessimist says, too little, too late. My inner optimist says, maybe not all is lost. ¡Viva la revolución!
This animation tells the stories of Valeria, Tanit and Shaila, three migrant women from different parts of the world. A Spanish-Panamanian co-production, directed by the Canarian David Baute and featuring the original song by Rubén Blades.
From the (classified) memoirs of Her Holiness the High Priestess
I categorically deny that the youth undergo any type of brain-washing to instill hatred towards Athens. Why should we do that when the facts speak for themselves: it was their compatriots who turned their back on them, by sending them to sure death. Here, instead of brutally killing them, we offer these young people homes, loving families, the best schools in the region, health care — in short, everything possible for harmonious integration in our progressive matriarchal society. All under the simple and common-sensical condition: never return to Athens. But who’d want that, knowing perfectly well what fate is in store for them in their fatherland?
But of course we wanted to keep the true nature of the Programme secret from the Athenians: we need young men and women from overseas to bring fresh blood into the Island’s population. And, frankly, seven men and seven women every seven years is not too much to ask. Athens kill many more of their own citizens in mindless wars. As a matter of fact, we were doing a favour to them, and to humankind in general, by preserving the very best of their youth. The First and Second Sacrifices, sorry, Social Integration Exercises, were a resounding success. And then, as we were putting the finishing touches on the Third Exercise, we received an intelligence report that among the young Athenians en route to Amnisos there was a spy. And not just a spy: an assassin.
When I was a little boy, I didn’t think of the Facility as a prison. It was my home. And when I was transferred to the Maze, it became another, bigger home. I wasn’t intimidated by its size. I set to explore it and within weeks I knew the Maze as the back of my hand.
I was not a lonely child. Mother and Ari were with me. The teachers came to give me classes. I made friends with the cook and the cleaners. I loved the doctor’s visits because she always told jokes and brought me little presents. And when I was alone, I was not lonely either. There were so many things to do and to learn.
I think it was still my first year in the Maze when I received a visit from the High Priestess. She explained that a very important Celebration was coming to the capital, with many spectacular events planned. Unfortunately, due to my special status, I wouldn’t be able to attend any of them in person. Moreover, the Maze was designated as one of the venues and it was to be open to the public for two weeks. Not to the general public, but to a group of overseas guests without security clearance. During these two weeks, I was arranged to be moved to my old Facility to prevent inadvertent contact with the foreigners. All the usual security arrangements and calls of relatives remained in place, but for two weeks I wouldn’t have access to the modern amenities of the Maze.
“Sorry for the inconvenience”, she said.
I was not upset at all to spend two weeks in my old home. In fact, I enjoyed it. When I was back in the Maze, I noticed that they cleaned the floor and removed most of my scribblings on the walls, for the sake of foreign tourists I suppose.
This Celebration, whatever it was, was repeated in seven years’ time, complete with my two-week holiday at the Facility. The house seemed to be much smaller than I remembered it but all the cozier for that. Once again, Mother was coming daily, like in good old times.
One day, already in my teens, wandering about the Maze, I met an old man whom I’d never seen before but who appeared to know me. A man in his fifties, that was an old man to me.
“Greetings to you, Asterion”, he said.
“Greetings to you too, sir. And you are — ”
“I’m dead”, shrugged the man as if stating the obvious.
“With all respect, sir, you look alive and well to me.”
“It’s my name, young man. Dead. They call me Dead.”
What a conversation starter!
Dead said he was an architect, which was fair enough, and claimed that he built the Maze. This I couldn’t believe as he evidently had difficulties navigating his own creation. He said he entered the Maze for a routine inspection but left the map at home. I took him to the exit in no time. Dead was astounded.
“How do you do that?”
“I live here. I can find my way around here with my eyes closed.”
“And, if you don’t mind me asking… have you ever thought of escaping?”
“The exits are guarded. And what would I do outside? Where would I go?”
Dead assented gravely.
“Indeed. Oh well, I guess I’ll see you next time I’m here.”
Since then, we’ve met countless times. I reckon Dead was coming to the Maze more often than was necessary for inspection. I learned later that he had serious problems at home. For one of my birthdays, Dead presented me with a set of dice. He made me interested in probability theory so we spent many an hour playing dice trying to prove or disprove some of Dead’s more outlandish theorems.
Once Dead asked me:
“Can you show me where we are on the map?”
Ah. The famous map was produced.
“Sure I can,” I answered, perusing it. “Let me see, we are here. But what’s this?”
It turned out, I didn’t know the Maze that well after all. Criss-crossing the map, there were several paths that I had no recollection of whatsoever.
“Ah, them. These are tunnels.”
“Why have I never seen them?”
“Because the entrances are concealed.”
“And this?” I pointed at the pair of dashed lines that was disappearing beyond the edge of the map.
“Another tunnel that leads to the port. We were using it to bring the building materials for the Maze. Oh. Completely forgot. I was meant to carry out an inspection of the southern auxiliary tunnel.”
I bet he’d made it up.
“Can I join you?”
Dead gave it some consideration.
“Mmm... well... why not. Let’s go.”
As I followed him, I heard Dead muttering something like “see, I am not supposed to show that to anybody... especially to the boy... then again... what the underworld!” and so on.
That’s how I opened to myself a whole new dimension of the Maze. And not only that. For the first time, I was doing something forbidden.
Although Dead never showed me the map or mentioned the tunnels again, with time I explored all of them. I located the entrance to the “port tunnel” but it was cluttered with construction waste and I wasn’t able to go very far. To my great joy, I hit on a number of tunnels that were not on Dead’s map. As a consequence, my mental image of the Maze, while increasing in complexity, shrunk in size. Using tunnels as shortcuts, I could get from any point to any other point in less than a quarter of an hour.
It was exciting, exhilarating even. Also dangerous. Maybe that’s why it was so exciting. I am trying to rationalise it now, but then I simply felt I had a secret that was not to be shared with anybody. Not even with Ari. Especially with Ari.
In parallel with the transformation of my Maze universe, my relationship with Ari also evolved. Other dimensions sprouted and the distance between us shortened. One dimension was temporal. When I was a child, I didn’t think much about time or the distant future. Now Ari and I were spending hours on end talking about what lies ahead for both of us. Ari always had her own life beyond the Maze and was looking forward to her, hopefully bright, future in the wide open world. My future had been decided by others, and there was little we could do about it.
“What do you think would happen if I ever get out of here?” I asked Ari once.
“You’ll see that the Island is another prison, only bigger,” she responded.
It dawned at me that I was on the brink of blabbing about the tunnels. Thanks to her response, I didn’t.
In any case, our conversations made both of us appreciate the moments where we still were together.
Another new dimension was also related to us growing up. Yes, you guessed right. I was not ashamed of me becoming physically attracted to Ari then as I am not ashamed of it now. Again, it was both exciting and frightening. It was new. Ari was a part of my life, well, forever. My sister, friend, confidante. We felt safe together and we felt safe when we parted because we knew that tomorrow we’d be together again. And now I was afraid. I thought if we crossed the line, I might lose her.
Dead used to say that nobody can see the future. What we can know is the chance of a certain event happening. One day, or rather evening — Ari got permission to stay overnight — I tried to express my confused thoughts in terms of probabilities whilst pacing to and fro about the room.
“If we, for example, multiply the predetermined probability of me staying in the Maze till the end of my life, which is one, by the uncertain probability of you...”
“Quit talking gibberish and come over here,” Ari proposed. “And stop fiddling with those dice.”
That night, we found ourselves on the other side of the line. And we were not afraid anymore.
Yes, it is. This is the first Spanish edition. The Catalan version, translated by Albert Nolla, also appeared this year. The book, as ポートレイト・イン・ジャズ (Pōtoreito in jazu), was first published in 1997 by Shinchosha and so far hasn’t been translated to English.
Even though the order of the authors on the cover may imply otherwise, the book is not a collection of writings by Murakami illustrated by Wada. Just the opposite: a series of portraits created by Wada to which Murakami provided short essays, with a recommendation of one album, from his vast collection of vinyls. The first edition of the book contained 52 portraits, and the for the second edition the authors added three “bonus tracks”, that is, portraits of Art Pepper, Frank Sinatra and Gil Evans.
What I found surprising is how unsurprising is the selection of the musicians. All featured artists are American, apart from Django Reinhardt, Oscar Peterson and Gil Evans, and then both Peterson and Evans spent most of their lives in the United States. This is not to say that I dislike any one of Wada’s choices. Besides, it’s the music both authors were growing with.
Of course, the same argument could be applied to album recommendations, although in this case they were chosen by Murakami. I was pleased to see there Ella and Louis Again, Full House, The Sidewinder, Waltz for Debby and Maiden Voyage; I completely agree with Murakami that the latter album is indeed the Herbie Hancock best work. I thought so in the 1990s, I still think the same in 2025. But I am puzzled why no original recordings by Tony Bennett, Glenn Miller or Fats Waller were recommended. There seems to be no good explanation apart from that the corresponding tribute albums just happened to be in Murakami’s collection.
As a curiosity, Murakami says that he wrote South of the Border, West of the Sun being convinced that he heard the version of South of the Border by Nat King Cole. In reality, this song was never a part of Cole’s repertoire. One of the albums that Murakami recommends is ¡Olé Tormé! which, indeed, contains South of the Border. I couldn’t find a confirmation that George Gershwin based character of Sportin’ Life on Cab Calloway, but it’s a good story anyway.
I like Murakami’s sense of humour, like, for example, here:
Desconozco cuántos fans de Eddie Condon quedan hoy en día, pero tengo la impresión de que no deben de ser demasiados. <...> Trataba de mimetizarse con la escenografía para no llamar la atención, y por mucho que uno aguzara el oído, no lograba entender qué estaba tocando exactamente a la guitarra.
Or writing about Oscar Peterson:
Su discografía no conoce obras fallidas; toda ella mantiene un nivel considerablemente alto, y, sin embargo, debo confesar que no me entusiasma demasiado, no como para correr a comprar sus discos. Es cierto que en casa tengo más de cincuenta de sus álbumes como solista...
The translation by Juan Francisco González Sánchez is a pleasure to read, albeit I have to say that the use of the words cedé (for CD) and elepé (for LP) irritated me a lot. There is a number of typos, such as Kind of Blues instead of Kind of Blue, and some catalogue numbers are wrong, although those could have come unchecked from the Japanese original. I hope they will be corrected in the future editions.
Soundtrack
Chet Baker: Chet Baker Quartet (Pacific Jazz PJLP-3, 10″) 🔊
Benny Goodman: Benny Goodman Presents Eddie Sauter Arrangements (Columbia CL-523)
6 September: Troveros de Asieta «30 años de son» @ Auditorio José Antonio Ramos, Parque Doramas, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria
Troveros de Asieta featuring Francis Concepción (vocals, guitar), Pedro Brito (tres, backing vocals), Fran Martín “Ciani” (vocals, percussion), José Humberto Martín (trumpet), Oscar Herrera (trumpet), Carlos Perdomo (baby bass), Julio González (percussion), David Platero (percussion) and Alberto Martín (piano), plus a guest singer Mayelín Naranjo.
All the free shows of the 29th edition of TEMUDAS (18—28 September 2025) took place in Santa Catalina, so it was very convenient for us. (We passed on the container terminal concert this year.) This is what we’ve seen:
18 September, 18:00: «SinSolo» @ Plaza de Canarias
Compañía Faltan7 (Comunidad de Madrid) opened the festival with this charming contemporary circus show. Starring Katharina Gruener, Luca Sartor, Naikel Blázquez, Moran Shoval, Paula Garo, Yifat (Fifi) Rosenblat and Olivia (Libby) Halliday. Directed by Miguel Muñoz.
18 September, 19:00: «Maña» @ Plaza de Canarias
Compañía Manolo Alcántara (Catalonia). I never thought that watching two guys silently moving around wooden blocks for one hour could be that fascinating. But it was.
18 September, 21:30 and 19 September, 22:00: «Légendaire» @ Parque Santa Catalina/Luis Morote
Remue Ménage (France). Installation, circus.
19 September, 20:00: «Wild» @ Plaza de Canarias
Circus and modern dance by Motionhouse (UK). Created and directed by Kevin Finnan. Starring Alex De La Bastide, Olly Bell, Llewelyn Brown, Sophie O'Leary, Daniel Massarella and Beth Pattison.
19 September, 21:00: «Canto al trabajo Sinfónico» @ Plaza de Canarias
A show by Pieles and La Banda Sinfónica Municipal de Las Palmas de Gran Canaria. Authors: Jonatan Rodríguez and Oswaldo Bordón. Featuring Fátima Rodríguez, Laura Álvarez, José Félix Álvarez, Fernanda Alonso, Germán G. Arias, Jeremías Martín, Juan Antonio Mora, Ithaisa Darias, Guillermo Molina, Ventor de la Guardia, Fede Beuster, Carlos Castañeda and Jonatan Rodríguez.
20 September, 17:30: «Out of the Deep Blue» @ Plaza de Canarias
Autin Dance Theatre (Birmingham, UK). Featuring a 13-foot tall puppet operated by five puppeteers and a dancer.
21 September, 18:30: «Verbena» @ Plaza de Canarias
Colectivo Lamajara Danza (Catalonia). Dancers: Anna Sagrera Conde, Agnès Balfegó Brull, Daniel Rosado Ávila, José David Ortega Cerda and Paloma Hurtado de la Cruz.
21 September, 20:30: «Sinergia 3.0» @ Plaza de Canarias
Compañía Nueveuno (Madrid). Contempoary circus starring Miguel Frutos, Josu Montón, Isaac Posac and Jorge Silvestre.
25 September, 20:00: «Esencial» @ Plaza de Canarias
Vaivén Circo (Granada).
25 September, 21:00: «Xpectro» @ Plaza de Canarias
Zen del Sur (Granada). Starring Carlos López and Noemí Pareja.
27 September, 11:30: «Pols» @ Plaza de Canarias
Modern dance performed by Pepa Cases (C. Valenciana).
27 September, 11:45: «The» @ Plaza de Canarias
Modern dance. Created and performed by Miguel Jiménez & Andrea Carrión (Murcia).
27 September, 12:00: «Naufragio Universal» @ Plaza de Canarias
Modern dance, flamenco. Created and performed by Marco Vargas & Chloé Brûlé (Murcia).
27 and 28 September, 20:30: «Le Lac des Cygnes» @ Plaza de Canarias
Weird, beautiful and comic sketches from the life of waterfowl: L’eolienne (France) presented their take on Tchaikovsky’s classic. The story, if there is one, has nothing to do with the original Swan Lake libretto and is all the better for that. I liked it so much that I went to both shows. Those who left early missed that hilarious pièce de résistance, Danse des petits cygnes. Author and choreographer: Florence Caillon. Starring: Anouk Weiszberg, Guilhèm Charrier, Madeleine Peylet, Marco Guillemet, Ancelin Dugue and Johanna Dalmon.
27 September, 22:00: «Le Grand Mire» @ Parque de Santa Catalina
Aerial dance by Deus Ex Machine (France). This could be a great 30-minute show if not for the pair of annoying emcees. Also, we felt that this magical sphere was underused.
28 September, 17:00: «Nilu» @ Plaza de Canarias
A show by Infinit (C. Valenciana). Performed by Enric Romaguera.
The last concert from the cycle Música Antigua en el Patio this year:
30 September: «Cantus Memoriæ» @ Casa de Colón, Calle Colón, 1
Camerata Iberia featuring Jorge Enrique García (countertenor), Bruno Campelo (countertenor), Juan Carlos de Mulder (vihuela) and Carlos Oramas (vihuela). I can’t say I am a big fan of countertenor but their rendition of Ay luna que reluzes was pure magic. The programme included:
