The Ghost and The Snake

BLOLO STORIES

   One night Angakot and Léarelma were sitting on a dock.  It had stormed earlier in the evening, and flashes of lightning could still be seen, far away, in the shaded grey sky.  The dock stood on a wide stretch of coast, and looked out to the dark choppy sea.  Angakot and Léarelma had met at a wedding just two weeks ago and were seeing a lot of each other since.  They enjoyed this night together: Angakot found his passion in lightning-storms, and Léarelma found herself always drawn to the open sea.

   They looked up, at the stars, and at the round full face of Moon.  They admired the moonlight as it played on the surface of the sea, on the rocks that sat comfortably around the shore, on the old sturdy wood of the dock, and on each other.

   Their minds turned to Blolo-spirits, who were told, by those who tell such things, to be made of pure moonlight.  It seemed a fitting topic, since the groom at the wedding was himself such a spirit.

   "They are known by many names," said Angakot.  "Most - and 'most' are mostly incorrect - call them Angels.  In my research I know them to be called Daemons."

   "I have heard other names, whispered, traveling themselves over the sea," said Léarelma.  "They are the spirits of the Duende," she continued; and in a hoarse whisper, she spouted "Eshu, Eshu!  They are the kin of Eshu, and they are Devas also."

   "These are all good names for them," answered Angakot, "but, amongst the humans closest to them, they are certainly Daemons - angelic, yes, but demonic also.  Lean closer, and I will tell you this story.

   "It is said that each of these spirits is slightly taller than the human it guides.  I know not why this is so.  If either of us was a human or a Daemon, perhaps we could reach a better understanding of it.  But, in the end, it makes little difference, since humans are slightly taller than the crowns of their heads anyway.

   "But there was one man who saw his Daemon, and discovered that she was exactly one inch taller than he was.  He was so upset!  This wouldn't stand with him.  He spat and insulted her, and pulled her hair, and told her to come back the next day.

   "When she returned, she found him walking around stiffly, strangely - but taller.  He was wearing boots with tall lifts under the soles.  He clapped and grinned like a mangy badger.

   "She followed behind him as he walked around.   When he finally turned around he saw that she was, once again, taller than him.  She was now walking a foot above the ground: her toes no longer touched the Earth as she passed along the air behind him."

   "A Duende that never touches the Earth as it walks," remarked Léarelma, "is a most dangerous Duende indeed."

   "Yes, but this man didn't know that.  He had become too furious, and he was obsessed with dominating her.  He spat and swore and yanked and told her to come back the next day.

   "When she returned, she saw him walking down the street.  He was hard to miss.  He had gotten several hats: a newsman's cap, a policeman's visor, a gentleman's derby, a painter's floppy chapeau, a ballplayer's cap, a bishop's mitre, a poet's beret, a soldier's helmet, a peasant's mobcap, a traveler's sombrero, a scholar's mortarboard, and a chef's poofy hat.  In truth, he was none of these things at all, but he was wearing all of these hats at the same time, one on top of the other.  He was no taller than yesterday, but now he commanded several more feet in the air above him as he gingerly capered away, delightedly laughing at his Daemon.

   "As for her, she laughed not at all, but she smiled that wicked grin that only those of her kind have truly mastered.  When the man turned around, he saw that she had grown many more times larger than she had ever been.  Compared to her, his stack of hats looked as sad and pathetic as a pile of pebbles.

   "Well, that pile of pebbles tumbled to the ground as he kicked the air below her levitating feet, and he spat and swore and told her not to come back until the next day.

   "That night he got to work, with gears and pulleys, with springs and levers, with nuts and bolts, with motors and rods and belts and blades.  He had built a robotic machine, several score feet high, that he could control from a small control booth inside.  By the small hours of the morning, he was clomping and crashing across the Earth: gouging machine-footprints into the ground, smashing the streets, dripping and scraping the blood of those beneath him across the landscape.

   "Sun was about to break, and this time the man was sure that he had outwitted the Daemon.  She was nowhere to be found - not anywhere around or above him, and not behind him either.

   "But then he turned to the horizon in the East, and saw Sun rise, hot and red and wavy.  And, as Sun rose, the man realized that there was something in front of it, hazing it in a dizzy shadow.  Oh!  It was not Sun that was blood-red and awful, no: it was the Daemon herself, as large and terrible as the greatest being in the sky.

   "She came upon him and wrested him from the machine, and tossed him to the ground.  In the end, he was no taller than ever - in fact, he groveled like the lowliest of worms.  Yet his Daemon had grown to eclipse the Sun.  She picked him up by his hair, and licked him like a morsel, and dropped him into her dreadful black maw.

   "Of course, no one else would have seen it like that - all of that really happened in his soul.  When they found him, he was lain dead by his own hand."

   Léarelma paused to soak in the story, and sighed.  A rumble of thunder moaned in the distance.  "Yes, Ang, my love, those Blolo-spirits can seem to be cruel.  But perhaps she was only challenging him to be a better person?  What if he had used his knowledge of machines for progress, and for good?  If you ask me, I think he was too weak to understand the wonderful power he had been given in his Daemon.

   "Lean closer," she continued, "and listen to another story of a Blolo-spirit.

   "It is said that these spirits grant Imagination and Creativity, and all Art, to their humans.  But they themselves refuse to do any of the work: it bears upon the human to type, or to paint, or to build, and earn money, and feed her belly, and on and on."

   "Yes, Daemons are a flighty bunch," interrupted Angakot.  "Or maybe they're just lazy."

   "No!" bursted Léarelma, followed by soft giggles.  "I believe that they give the work to their humans, lovingly, with dignity, as gifts.  A person's work wouldn't be hers if it was just handed out by a Duende.

   "Also, I believe that the spirits are too scared to do work.  Truly: they've never had human hands to hold, and touch, and feel a real, well-made book written with care.  They speak with their thoughts, so how could they appreciate the magic involved in writing: in forming words from thoughts, and sentences from words - each little letter on a printed page, living a little life to blossom as it will, in both sound and concept, in the mind of another?  Could they taste the apple in a well-painted still-life, or feel the velvet and fingernails seen in a portrait?  These are things of which they have no understanding, and it makes them nervous.  Perhaps other spirits who have known these things... Ah!  But on to my story.

   "There once was a woman who had a dream for herself: she wanted to write a book.  Not just any cheap pamphlet, though; oh no!  This would be a book of deep human expression from her heart and mind.  Before she fell asleep at night, she could visualize it, perfectly - she saw the thick, crisp leather, and heard the spine pop and groan as she mentally opened the cover, and she could smell that old, venerable paper as she flipped through.  But she always fell asleep, and drifted, before she could read what was written on the pages.

   "One night, in her dreams, she saw her Blolo-man.  She greeted him, and tried to ask him about her book, but the words didn't tumble out of her mouth right. 

   "But he grinned, and looked down at his hands.  What do you suppose he was holding?  Yes!  He held her book in his hands.  She leapt to grab it, or just to touch it - but he yanked it away.  The book was squarely firm in his hands."

   "You just told me that Daemons couldn't hold books," Angakot muttered.

   Léarelma shot a disgusted breath of air from her throat, and rolled her eyes.  "This is happening in her dream - there's different rules for dreams, you dork!

   "Anyway, the woman looked at the book, and looked pleadingly into her Blolo-man's eyes.  'O great spirit of the heavens,' she prayed to him, as she dropped to kneel, 'please, oh please, show me what's to be written in my book!'

   "The Duende just shook his head.  'I cannot... I will not write your book.  But I will be there with you, every moment, as you write it.'

   "She stood up, and thought about that.  In all the time she spent dreaming about the book, she had no idea how to start writing it.  She held his gaze again, as much as she could, and begged for just one small, tiny line of the book to get her started.

   "Well, Duende-spirits can never resist giving clues - even though they may be out of context, or vague, or in code, or completely misleading.

   "He smiled and nodded.  He opened the book at the first page, and said:

      
   We shall walk in Peace on the Isle of the Morrow.

   "Suddenly the woman was being pulled away, and up, and she was flying uncontrollably.  She had awoken from her dream, and was left with one small, tiny line of her book in her head.

   "Sadly, she didn't know what to do with that line.  It made no sense to her, and it didn't have anything to do with what she wanted to write about. 

   "Then she realized what she was saying: there were things - other things - she wanted to write about.  She put pen to paper, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

   "Days passed into months, and years passed, and she continued to write.  Reams of paper were crossed out, or highlighted, or grafted onto other reams of paper, or simply screwed up and tossed into the bin.  She wrote at night, after she fed and washed her family and put them to bed.  She became an old woman, and the book still didn't exist - but the dream of it, and all her work, still remained.

   "She lied in bed one night, weak and frail, giving one last little bit of strength to write a line of text near the bottom of a page.  Twenty years before, she had decided that her book would be an epic poem, so she had spent her elder and twilight years turning every last idea to verse.  The line she had just written was the penultimate line of a large section, but she couldn't think of a rhyme to end it.  She thought upon her work, from beginning to end, and was satisfied to think that this page would be the last.

   "As she smiled on that thought, she saw someone standing in the corner of the room.  It was her Blolo-man.

   " 'There you are,' she rasped, in a dry, weak voice.  'Come closer, and be with me.  You were no help to me, of course, but my book is almost done.'

   "He smiled, and leaned in to stroke her tatty hair.  'Don't you recognize me?' he asked.  'I've been the magic, the blood, the passion, in every word you've written.'  He sat on the bed and handed her her papers.  'Read to me the last - that is, the second to last - line of your manuscript here,' he said. 

   "She took the papers and focused her hazy eyes on the page, and spoke:

      When we have passed through Joy, and passed through Sorrow,

   " 'and there it ends, for now,' she sighed.

   " 'Don't you remember our dream?' he asked.  'I gave you a line from your book.  Of course, I was holding it upside-down, so I was actually reading from the last page.'

   "Her mind wandered down the twists and turns of her memory.  With a shock and a start, she remembered the line, and wrote it at the bottom of the page:

      We shall walk in Peace on the Isle of the Morrow.

   "She smiled, and held his hands.  He gave her body Death then, and they passed away from that room."

   Angakot sat with the story in his mind and Léarelma in his arms for a long while, and listened to the storms passing, far off in the distance.  They listened to the ocean's waves hit the dock and the shoreline in a soothing, poetic rhythm.

   "What happened to the book?" he finally asked.

   "Oh," said Léarelma, pushing the air with the back of her hand.  "One of her grandkids held on to it.  He typed it on nice paper, and bound it in leather, and passed it on to his descendants.  Everyone in the village loved that book."  She giggled softly, and added, "They say that true geniuses are never recognized in their own times."

   "Yes," said Angakot, "Daemons are like that."

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LALA THE CLOUD

   Once upon a time there was a cloud named Lala.  Lala was very interested in watching Sun and Moon chase each other.  In fact, she sometimes got so excited that she made herself a part of the chase.

   One night, for instance, she was floating lazily across the sky when she saw Moon glide past.  She knew that Sun would soon be on his way.  Minutes crept like hours, but soon the indigo sky of night burned away in the glow of daybreak - Sun was coming!

   Lala made herself big and gray, and very hazy.  She put herself right into Sun's path.  Now the people watching from Earth could barely see Sun at all.

   "Lala," Sun cried, "what in the world are you doing?  I can't very well see where I'm going with you behaving like this!"

   'Ha, ha!" Lala laughed.  "You'll never catch Moon now!"  She stuck out her tongue and giggled a made-up song of her name:  "La-la-la, la-la-la-la..."

   Lala clouded Sun's path all day.  She sometimes did this to Moon at night, too.  Both Sun and Moon were getting frustrated.

   But Lala was having so much fun!  The people on Earth noticed her, and liked to see what she would do next.

   "Look everyone, she's turning into the shape of a butterfly!"

   "Oooh - now that cloud Lala looks like a lizard!"

   "Yesterday, as she was floating lazily across the sky, she looked just like an eagle."

  Sun and Moon had just about enough of Lala's showboating.  That night, as Sun was hidden on the other side of Earth, he called across the Lake of the Universe.

   "Agathos, this is Sun!  Come quickly from the Land of Blolo!  I was wondering if you could lend a hand over here on Earth."

   Agathos, who resembled a sprightly young man with wings, and seemed good-natured enough despite his strange smirk, ambled over to Sun and began walking with him.  Sun pulled him near and lowly told him what to do about Lala.

   The dew was on the ground and the dreamy perfume of Moon was still in the air when Sun rounded the corner and broke the day.  He pretended not to notice Lala as she set herself to ambush him with mist and fog.  As he came closer, Lala excitedly gusted herself into his path.

   She fell right into Sun's trap: Agathos jumped out from his hiding place and seized Lala.

   "Lala, we've had enough of your shenanigans, monkeyshines, and general tomfoolery," declared Sun.  "Moon's nephew, Agathos, is here to escort you away to the Land of Ghosts, where we'll never have to deal with your horsing around again!"

   As Agathos pulled Lala away, her endless giddiness turned to sadness.  She began to weep, and she rained onto the Earth for days.

   "Now, now, don't cry, little cloud," soothed Agathos.  "The Land of Ghosts can't be as bad as you think, can it?"

   Though Agathos meant well, his words didn't do much to comfort her.

   "Don't worry," he pleaded.  "Listen: I want to stop at home for a little bit.  We'll go there first, alright?"

    Agathos held Lala's hand as he flapped his wings and took off, out of the sky, past the Lake of the Universe, and into the Land of Blolo.

   When they arrived, Lala marvelled.  She certainly didn't know of any place like it back on Earth.  The ground grew like frozen fireworks out of clusters of stars and milky ways.  Ancient palaces and castles grew like crystals out of the ground.  People like Agathos flew and flitted around so fast that Lala could barely tell them apart.  Everything felt like the wind playing with your hair, and pulsed with a certain glow that reminded her of the moon's reflection.  

   She also heard music, but it too was like nothing she had heard before.  Instruments and throats alike seemed to chant a subtle, high-pitched tune.  Strangely, each musician seemed to be playing by his or her own rhythm - and yet, taken as a whole, the music worked its own sort of enchanting meter.  

   "We provide the harmonies," explained Agathos mysteriously, as they landed on an upper floor in his stately tower.  "Our people are actually the melodies."

   Before she could ask him to clarify, other winged, angelic beings like Agathos arrived.  He sat and held counsel with them in the tower, motioning to Lala to make herself comfortable for a while.  His easy manners, tempered with something like a proud air, suggested to Lara that he had long been regarded as an authority in the Land of Blolo.

   "Agathos, I shared that dream with my person, like you suggested," spoke one of them.  "She saw me there in her nightmares, awful and terrific, challenging her towards realizing the best of her Soul.  Thank you for your help." 

   Agathos appeared glad to hear this news.   He relished as his friend went on to describe the surreal, un-Earthly images that he was able to produce in his person's mind.  He hugged his fellow Blolo-man, and an electric purple light sparked when their wings touched.

   "Nightmares?  Awful and terrific?" thought Lala to herself, repeating the words that the Blolo-man had used.  As she toyed with these words in her mind, they wouldn't sit still, and they moved about on their own: 'awful' evolved into 'awesome' and 'terrific' leapt to become 'terrible.'  It seemed as though the walls of Agathos' tower, and the very atmosphere itself, moved like paintstrokes in colors and shapes - dark purple red, and black, and a metallic gleam like light playing on a snake's skin - giving form to those words colliding with her thoughts.  She caught herself and blinked.  No, the walls were as solid as they were before.  It must have been her imagination.

   Another spirit stepped forward, and also discussed her relationship with her human.  After some brief conversation, she got to the heart of the matter: her human didn't seem to be receiving the nurturing messages that she sent to him, whether they be in dreams, or in idle thoughts, or in impulses.

   Agathos flashed his wry smile.  "The two of you need to get to know each other a little better.  Don't forget that they have Time in their world - the Inspiration you sent him is blossoming in his two-months-from-now-Self.  He won't hear that song that reminds him of you for a while yet.  Besides, it's up to him to make his life better."

   "Nurturing, and Inspiration... yes, that's better!" thought Lala to herself.

   Later, a third being, one that looked a little more solid than the others, entered the fold.  "Agathos, it's been so long... that 'Time' thing is starting to rub off on me.  Anyway, my person has been writing a book!"  He was excited to discuss the project, but also slightly exhausted.  Agathos was glad to hear of the progress, and encouraged him to obsess his human as demonically as he could.

   "It's all Aunt Moon asks of us," replied Agathos.  "You must be that Imagination that our humans so flimsily define.  Just keep playing that movie-that-doesn't-exist in her mind, and leave it to your person to write down her words."

   Lala had begun to feel giddily sluggish; she thought she might nod off at any moment.  But like a dream that hazily ends too soon, she jerked her head up and blinked.  She found herself floating, hand in hand with Agathos, away from the tower, away from the Land of Blolo. 

   "If you want to know who we are, and what the Earth people have named us," said Agathos, anticipating Lala's many questions, "listen carefully to the music."  She could hear the lyrics now:

   Eshu, Deva, Duende, Fravashi,

   Kami, Yidam, Angel, Mercury;

   Aumakua, Blolo Bla, Sicun, Shai,

   Genius, Daemon, Eros, Adonai.

   "Each of us belongs to a person, living over there on Earth," said Agathos in an awed whisper.  He continued, laughingly, "We guide them towards Destiny, whether they know it or not.  If it weren't for us, they'd forget how to be crazy like the souls that they are.  Sun would see to that!"

   "Crazy - in a good way?" ventured Lala.

   "What is 'good?' " Agathos asked, rhetorically, with a smirk.  "What is 'bad?'  My friends and I live above and beyond... morals," he drawled, searching for the word that came rarely to his mind.

   Lala didn't really like his answer.  She cared for the people of Earth in her own way, and was more than ready to counter some of Agathos' philosophy with her own opinions.  True, his people seemed to be wise and creative, but she wasn't sure how these 'crazy' spirits really helped anything by 'obsessing' people; and, though she was a bit of a trickster herself, she certainly saw the need for morals. 

   Loading her question with teasing contempt, she poked him: "So, you don't care if your human has a good life or a bad life?"

   "I'm unattached at the moment," he answered, dodging her question's punch.  "Some of us rarely pair with a human, if ever at all; yet many do so quite consecutively.  I haven't in many, many years," he said, distantly.

   "But - alright," asked Lala, "who put all this into motion?  Is Moon behind this, or is Sun in charge of everything?"

   "Neither and both," replied Agathos.  "We are sent by the One within and beyond Sun and Moon."

   Their hazy dream shifted again.  They found themselves pacing gravely through a green field, with plenty of sunshine.  The entire atmosphere seemed ready to bloom into life at any moment, though it was held in limbo somehow.  It was as if spring was in the air, but winter had never been there, nor would summer.

   "Is this another place in your world... the Land of Blolo?" asked Lala.

   "No!" shot Agathos, ready with a surprise.  "This is the Land of Ghosts."

   At that, Lala looked around to see the spirits of people coming towards them - not menacingly or hauntingly, although they did float in a way.

   "They're ghosts, aren't they!" Lala cried.

   "That's just what outsiders call them.  They'd prefer to be called Grandmother and Grandfather spirits.  Some of them have died, yes; but others haven't been born yet.  And, actually, some of them are alive - though they're too young, old, or incapacitated to express their spirits with their bodies.  You'll also find that a few 'alive' ones are just having a visit here during their dreams."

   "Kind sir and gentle cloud," greeted one spirit, "could you please go to Earth and talk to my granddaughter?  She's having a very hard time, and I wish I could let her know that I'm trying to help her!"

   "Mister, mister!" cried one little boy, who tugged on Agathos' wing.  "The lady who's going to be my mommy is worried about me.  Can you let her know that I'll be born OK?"

   As Agathos dealt with the spirits as best he could, Lala watched, thoughtfully.  Her musings were broken when she noticed a young man approach her.

   "Excuse me," he meekly said to Lala.  "I'm not sure if you're a god, or a spirit, or something.  I'm asleep right now.  When I come here, I always promise myself to show my family how much I love them - but then, when I'm awake, I never seem to remember.  Is there anything you can do to help me?"

   Lala gazed at him with a loving smile and held his hands.

   "Agathos, I know what I need to do.  These spirits need to communicate with their people in the same way that you and your 'Angels' do.  Maybe I don't know how to write books, or play music," she explained; and, with a wry smirk of her own, "but I do know how to get people's attention!"

   Together, they put Lala's plan into action.  They changed her name to Lara, so that neither Sun nor Moon would mistake her for the same mischievous cloud that she was.  She returned to Earth and turned herself into shapes to convey the Grandmothers and Grandfathers' messages - she found that different animals reminded people of their loved ones.  The granddaughter felt her grandfather's presence when Lara turned into a horse.  The young pregnant woman saw a big, strong ox, and knew that her child would be born healthy.  And the young man thought to call his family when he saw a dog-shape in the clouds.  Lara also learned how to use the magic of dreams and Imagination from Agathos, and still uses her powers to divert people's minds long enough to think about the spirits around them.

   The people soon learned to thank Lara, the impish little cloud, whenever they felt their families' spirits nearby.

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Here's Myth #1 in my collection of stories.  It was written well over a year ago, and I've made just a few changes since.  Originally, Sun and Moon were siblings as well as lovers -- this was an ancient-Egyptianism that, on second thought, wasn't necessary.  Also, Sun was more specific in his leering advances towards Moon.
   The main reason I made those changes is that this story is THE source of all the stories that follow -- all the subsequent myths are pre-figured (to some degree or another) in this one.  I wanted to make it as "appropriate" as possible, to be told to and enjoyed by anyone of any age or sensitivity.
   Other than that, I've hardly touched it -- it's purposefully short and simple -- so I'd say I'm about 98% satisfied with it.
   One word of warning: this story (as well as all my stories) were physically typed on an old Mac, transferred by a USB hard-drive to a newish PC, opened in Word, and copied-and-pasted into this text-box I'm currently typing in.  That process could certainly collect some bugs in the text, so if you see something like this: ***---__0976&&^#@)(*#$))-----))), I didn't actually intend to type that.  Also, I might miss an italic or two while editing the text here (italicizing doesn't translate at all between the Mac and the PC, and unfortunately I tend to use it a lot).
   So, here it is...

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SUN CHASES MOON

   One day, before the Earth was made, Sun was traveling through the Lake of the Universe.  He stopped here and there to visit with his friends, the Stars.  At the end of the day he rested at an empty space.  As he was sitting there, he saw his friend, Moon, across the way.

   "My lovely Moon," he cried, "I see you over there.  Come here to this empty space so we can hug and kiss."

   "Oh! Lovely Sun," Moon responded, "I'd rather not."

   Sun was anxious to be with Moon.  "Moon, lovely Moon!  If you do not come to me, I will chase you, because I love you!"

   "Sun, lovely Sun!  You will surely have to catch me first!"

   Sun rose from his spot and ran towards Moon.  Moon, meanwhile, skipped away from Sun, demurely avoiding his embraces. 

   "Give up the chase, my beloved, because I almost have you," shouted Sun, as he reached out his fiery arms at her white feet.

   "Never, you fool!" Moon said, as she effortlessly kept running.  "Whenever you take a single step towards me, I likewise move a step away." 

   Sun grumbled.  He was so frustrated that he didn't even notice the path that Moon was taking.  She was simply running in circles, keeping Sun a half-turn away from her.  Sometimes she would turn to look at her friend with her round, bright face, and laugh at him.  Other times, when she looked away, Sun couldn't even see her.

   They chased like this all through the night, running in circles; Sun groaning, Moon giggling.  Their path began churning the Lake between them.  Waves whirled into the center and started to thicken.  When Sun flailed his fiery arms, the empty space of Lake, whirling in between them, formed into a shape like a ball.  When Moon played her cool fingers along the other side, hiding from Sun, the ball slowly became set and polished.  By morning the ball was dry and solid, and it was Earth.

   "Moon, lovely Moon!" Sun panted out, "I cannot even see you at all anymore, because there is something between us."

   "See what you have done, you fool," Moon called back.  "Your desire for me has created the Earth."

   Sun tisked at her.  "Tsk, tsk!  Oh, but see what you have done, my beloved!  You have not allowed me to know you, so it is your mystery that has created the Earth."

   Sun and Moon slowed their pace, walking thoughtfully around the Earth, mulling over the situation.

   After a long time, Moon said, "Sun, lovely Sun, we must both take care of this Earth."

   "You're right.  This is both our doing.  But how will we cooperate?  I still want to chase you, and you will never let me catch you."

   "Let's just keep walking like this - you on one side of the Earth, and I on the other.  Soon the people will come, and, since they will live on our Earth, they will help us figure out our problem."

   And this is how it was.  Sun's light helped things grow on Earth, and soon people came.  When the people came to Earth, they each had the rays of Sun to keep them healthy.  Each person was also given a little piece of Moon's reflection - this was something that each person desired and imagined about, but could never easily catch.  This piece of Moon in each person gave the people dreams at night.

   This is how Sun and Moon made the Earth for people.

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