Once Upon a Winter's Night

11

Camille gasped and drew back, but the man who had called himself Alain made no advance. Instead, somewhat as if he were pleading, palm up, he held out his hand. “Lady Camille, for reasons I cannot explain, I must wear this mask, such that I can never show you my face.” Now he took a tentative step into the full, bright lanternlight, where the mask could wholly be seen. Fitted to the contour of his face, it was, and made of silk layered and stiffened, all but two panels of silk along his cheeks to the corners of his mouth, which gave way with his chin as he spoke. And it was blue, matching the blue of his silken shirt and breeks and hose, and silver-buckled shoes. Held on by a broad silk ribbon tied behind, from hairline to under chin it reached, with only his lips and his somber grey eyes exposed, and here Camille had to suppress a gasp, for ne’er had she e’er seen such a tortured look in another’s gaze…

… If the eyes are truly windows to the soul, as Fra Galanni said, then here is a soul in dire torment…

… Camille came back to what he was saying, noting that his entire body had become quite taut, as if bracing for some onslaught, or a defeat…

“… and since this was unknown to you, as well as to me, at the time of my proposal and your consent, though I will keep my pledge to your parents, I release you from your pledge to me.”

Alain paused, waiting for a response, which did not come. And his body seemed to ease, and he said, “Nevertheless, I would have you stay awhile and see whether or no”-he reached up and touched the mask-“this presents a barrier we neither one can breach.”

Camille took a deep breath and exhaled it, trying to calm her racing heart. And then she curtseyed and murmured, “My lord.”

Alain bowed, and then stepped forward and offered her his arm. “Would you sup with me?”

Yet trembling slightly, Camille slipped her arm in his, and together they strolled along white stone pathways through blossoming gardens and to the great chateau, though neither said aught on that fleeting journey ’neath endless deep indigo skies.

They sat at opposite ends of a very long table, he at the head, she at the foot, and the distance between seemed uncrossable. When the manifold attendants had served the first course, a fragrant split-pea soup, with white bread and pale yellow butter at hand, at a gesture from the prince, the servers retired from the room.

Oh, my. Would that I had known that gesture. I wouldn’t have had all those eyes watching me eat. Even so, how-?

“My lady”-Alain looked down the length of the long oaken board-“I would have come to you sooner, but I had just returned from an arduous journey, one where I did not sleep, and I fell into my bed and failed to awaken for two days, it seems, and spent the third merely shaking off the effects of such a trial. Else we would have met ere now.”

“There is no need to apologize, my lord, for Steward Lanval said as much,” replied Camille. “The Bear-is it your Bear? — regardless, the Bear and I had quite a journey as well, and he took the best care of me.”

“I had known he would, for him I do well comprehend. Yet I am told that you were beset upon by Goblins within the Winterwood.”

“Redcaps, my lord, the worst of the lot, or so I am told. And a Troll as well. Your brother, Prince Borel, and his Wolves came to our aid, rescued me, in fact, from a rather wretched end.”

“If it does not distress you, I would hear of this rescue,” said Alain.

“Would that I were a bard, my lord, for it is a tale well worth the telling, quite dreadful in the doing, but splendid in recount. Yet a bard I am not, but I will try my best to do it justice.”

Alain canted his head and gestured for her to go on.

“We had stopped for the night, the Bear and I, there in the Winterwood, and, in spite of the bitter cold, I had fallen quite asleep…”

Camille’s retelling lasted awhile, and when she came to the end, so did they come to the end of the delectable soup. Alain took up a small bell at hand and rang it once, and attendants appeared to whisk away the bowls and used utensils, and to serve the next course.

So that’s what the bell is for. Lessons Mistress Agnes neglected to teach: the gesture and the bell.

Artichoke hearts came next, and Camille watched Alain down the full length of the table to see how, in sweet Mithras’s name, this yellow-green thing could possibly be eaten. She managed to muddle through the consumption of the artichoke, though she felt she did it quite badly. That dish was followed by honeyed pheasant, with a fine sauce over a vegetable Camille did not recognize. Served with the course was a dry white wine, the first wine Camille had ever tasted, and it made a frisson run up her spine, and Alain smiled at her shiver.

Lastly, they were served a cherry tart, accompanied by a small glass of sherry, amber and sweet to offset the tart’s sharp tang. And even though Camille was quite stuffed, she did manage a bite or two, as well as several sips.

And all through the meal, and after, they did talk-about her journey and the wondrous beings she saw: the Unicorn, the Lynx Riders, the meals waiting in camps, the Waterfolk, though here Camille omitted the telling of her encounter with the shapeshifting male Waterfolk otters. She spoke of the Bear and of finding him just this day in the maze. Through it all, Alain offered comments on the Springwood, Winterwood, Autumnwood, and the Summerwood, and he spoke of other parts of Faery, telling of various creatures dwelling therein: of Ice Sprites and Twig Men, of Spriggens and Cluricauns and Pwca and Pysks, of Bogles and Selkies, and of many more, some gentle, some harmless, some vile, some dangerous, some deadly, some ready to lend a hand, but all quite amazing to Camille.

It was quite late when they stood up at last, well past the mid of night. Even so, Camille was filled with excitement, with energy, though she had risen at dawn.

It was not until Alain came to her end of the table to escort her to her chamber, that she again became aware of the mask, and how tall he was-a full head above her own five-foot-three.

As they strolled along the corridors, he said, “On the morrow, what would you do, my lady? With me, that is.”

Camille smiled. “My lord, the morrow is already here.”

Alain laughed. “True. Even so, would you-? Ah, I have it, I will play the harpsichord and I would have you sing.”

“Oh, my lord, I would not ruin your playing with-”

“Tush. Recall, I have heard you sing.”

“You have?”

“Did I not say so in my letter?”

“Oh, but I thought that someone had simply told you I sang in the field.”

Alain stopped and she as well, and he faced her. “My lady, you may think this forward of me but…”

Camille waited, yet the prince said no more. “My lord?”

Alain took a deep breath. “ ’Twas in the twilight I first saw you, gathering the last of the harvest from a meager field. I sat in the wood at the edge of Faery and watched and listened to you sing; I was thunderstruck. And that day afield your brother fell ill, and you were the first to his side, and you aided him to breathe, and you wept over his distress. And then I knew that not only had you golden hair and a golden voice and beauty of face and form, but that you had a golden heart as well. And when I came back to Summerwood Manor, I could not think of aught but you.”

Camille’s heart raced at these words, and yet by no outward sign did she betray the inner chaos hammering at her emotions.

“I sat in my chambers for days,” said Alain, “and you occupied my every thought. I wrote a paean to you, one I had not the daring to deliver, though I did spend more days at the edge of Faery hoping for a glimpse. Finally, Lanval told me that I was neglecting the demesne, and that I had better propose to you ere all fell to ruin. Yet it took me until the wintertime to gain the courage to ask for your hand.”

Camille’s emotions roiled, and she felt her blood rush to her face. To cover her confusion, she said, “You wrote an ode to me?”

Alain’s fists clenched, and then opened, and he softly said:

“I ne’er was struck before that day,

With love so sudden, so rare.

How it happened, I cannot say.

… Ah, golden was her hair.

“My heart did pound, my blood did thunder,

My stunning so complete.

What spell was this I’d fallen under?

… Her face and form so sweet.

“I heard her sing, and then I knew

I would ne’er be the same,

A voice so pure, a song so true,

She put the larks to shame.

“Oh, my love, but I will die

If you come not with me,

For to my heart, you surely know,

You have the only key.”

Alain fell silent.

Her face flush, blood pounding in her ears, Camille knew not what to say. Neither, it seemed, did Alain, and once again he took her arm and they went onward toward her chambers. As they reached her door, she softly said, “My lord, the ode was lovely.”

Alain turned her toward him and said, “My lady, it pales to mere doggerel when compared to the truth of you, and I-”

Camille’s gaze dropped from him, for she was unable to peer into such intensity.

He backed away a step. “My lady, I did not intend to alarm.”

“I am not alarmed, my lord,” she quietly replied. “I am instead nonplused, at a loss to know what to say, think, or do, for you are a noble prince, whereas I am but a mere farm girl, and-”

“Oh, Lady, it is not our station that makes who we are, but rather what we hold in our hearts.”

“My lord, thou art truly a noble prince.”

Alain quietly said, “This moment it is I nonplused, and knowing nought else to do…” He opened the door. As candlelight spilled outward, he bowed. “My lady. Your quarters. Sleep well.”

Camille curtseyed. “My lord.” She stepped into the chamber and closed the door after, and sighed and leaned back against the panel.

“There you are,” said Blanche, rising up from one of the silken couches.

“Oh, Blanche,” said Camille, pushing away from the door and twirling ’round and ’round the room, stopping occasionally to curtsey to the chairs and the love seat and couches, “I am quite giddy, for I had the most marvelous time.” Then she rushed to the handmaid and embraced her.

Blanche grinned and returned the embrace, but then said matter-of-factly, “Come, come. We must get you ready for bed.”

Camille frowned, for shouldn’t everyone be swept away by her giddiness? “Bed? But, oh, I will never sleep.”

Yet in spite of these words, a short while later Blanche tucked her in, and ere the handmaid could reach the door and ease out, Camille was fast asleep.

Midmorn was on the Summerwood when Camille at last awakened. And she sang as she bathed, then dressed for the day-a pale blue gown with pale blue organdy trim.

The sun was nigh the zenith when she took her breakfast of blackberry crepes in her now-favorite gazebo, the Bear snuffling through a somewhat heavier fare of syrup-doused pancakes and biscuits with butter. All through the meal, she told the Bear of the wondrous time she had had last eve, telling of the menu, of the splendid converse, and going so far as to recite as much of the paean as she could remember, inserting tum-d’lums where she knew not the words.

She spoke little of the mask, saying only that she wondered why the prince wore such, briefly speculating that mayhap he was disfigured in some manner, or perhaps he had a birthmark he did not wish for anyone to see. “Ah, but Bear, mask or no, birthmark or no, disfigurement or no, he was wonderful, and it was a marvelous eve.”

All through her commentary, the Bear made no ursine remarks, but he did pause now and again over his breakfast to listen to her words. Finally, the meal was done, and as the Bear padded to a nearby stream to wash it all down with water, Camille sipped her tea and gazed about the estate and wondered where Prince Alain was.

Perhaps conducting the affairs of the demesne in that great room where sits nought but a wooden desk and chairs. Mayhap I should-Ah, fie, I would not intrude.

As the Bear came back from the rill, water adrip from his muzzle, so too did Blanche come across the sward. The handmaid waited for the Bear to arrive, then curtseyed and said, “My lady, Andre says that he is planting along the sun-ward wall, and though I think it is somehow not seemly for a lady of your standing to grub in the soil, he says if you would care to join him…”

“Oh, Blanche, much as I would like to, I would rather wait for Prince Alain.”

“My lady, I think you’ll not see the prince until late in the day

… this eve, mayhap.”

“Oh.” Camille’s face fell. But then-“Very well. Please inform Andre I shall join him as soon as I change.”

Blanche sighed. “If you must.”

“Bear, will you like to grub in the soil with me?” asked Camille.

“Rrrumm,” rumbled the Bear.

“Ah, feh. I take that as a no. Oh, well.”

It was again in the twilight that Camille took herself once more to the lanternlit bridge, and there it was that Prince Alain found her. This eve he wore satins of pale jade green, his silk mask green as well, all in subtle complement to Camille’s cerulean gown.

“My lady, would you care to sing for your supper? I will play for you.”

A panic struck Camille, and she flushed. Sing for the prince when he no doubt has heard bards and minstrels? How can I contend with such?

“My lord, in a chamber, the one with the portraits of your pere and mere, I saw sets for playing echecs. It is a pastime of mine. Is it one of yours?”

Pleasure sprang into Alain’s eyes, and he grinned. “Indeed, ma’mselle, yet I must warn you, I am no rank beginner.”

“Well, then, sieur, I must warn you also: neither am I.”

Arm in arm they entered the mansion, where Alain called on a servant to run ahead and prepare the game room. And soon they came to the chamber wherein sat the echecs sets, the lanterns now lit.

“Choose a table,” said Alain.

“This one?” said Camille, pointing to the board midway between the portraits, the board with the carven jade sets, one side translucent green, the other pale yellow.

Sadness filled Alain’s grey eyes. “Oh, Camille, I did not think…”

Camille flushed. He called me by my name!

“… That table is reserved for my sire and dam. Here it was they oft vied with one another, using echecs to settle disputes between, or to contest for a prize of some sort.”

Gaining control of her breathing, Camille glanced at the portraits and said, “Who had the upper hand?”

Alain laughed. “Neither, I think.”

“Then, my lord, what say ye to this table here?”

“Ah, a splendid choice, my lady: onyx and marble.” Alain took up a white and a black spearman, and held them behind his back, then thrust his clenched hands forward. “Choose.”

Camille grinned. “I choose sinister,” she said, tapping his left fist.

“Then I move first,” said Alain, returning her smile and opening his hands: white in the right, black in the left.

As they sat down, Alain said, “And what shall we play for? What prize?”

“Name the stakes, my lord,” said Camille.

“Ah, a dangerous request, that.”

Camille blushed, though she knew not why. But Alain said, “Should I win, you will sing for me.”

Oh, no! “And should I win?”

“Well, my lady, since you have asked me to name the terms, I could say, that should you win, again you will sing for me, yet I won’t. Instead, I shall play the harpsichord and sing for you. In either case, the prize is a song.”

“Then I shall just have to win,” said Camille, “for I would have that song.”

“As would I, my lady. As would I.” Alain reached out and pushed a piece forward two squares. “White king’s spearman advances,” he said, and so the game began.

The prince seemed to play quite recklessly, his moves coming swift upon hers; Camille’s play was more deliberate, as she studied any new alternatives following each of his moves. Yet Alain’s play was anything but reckless, as Camille came to understand, for, as did she, he also studied the board assiduously between each of his moves.

They became completely absorbed in the game, and time passed, while moves were made and countered, with pieces captured, warriors falling, and queens slain in spite of heroic efforts of the spearmen. Kings fled, and towers toppled, and heirophants fell, doomed regardless of their diagonal flight. But at last Camille said, “I shall mate in three moves.”

Alain pursed his lips and studied the board. Finally he said, “Ah, the spearman. I see.” And he reached out and laid his king on its side. “And thus I fall, crushed.”

Camille giggled and then sobered. “Well, now, sieur, you owe me a song.”

“Indeed, ma’mselle, I do. But first, shall we dine? I am certain that Cook and Chef have our meal ready. We could eat it here and play a second game, for I would win a song from you.”

Camille looked about the chamber. It would certainly be better to eat in this cozy room than at opposite ends of a very long table.

“Very well, my lord.”

Alain stood and stepped to the pull cord, and moments later a youth appeared. “We would eat in here, Jules.”

“Yes, my lord, my lady,” said the lad, bowing, then fleeing.

“Ere they arrive with the food, Camille,” said Alain, “let us play a second game.”

He called me by my name again.

“My lord, how can we? Our first game was quite long.”

“Ah, there is the beauty of it. We each must move within ten heartbeats, following the other’s move.”

“Ten heartbeats? But what if my heart beats faster than yours?”

“Ah, then, I shall count”-Alain laughed-“though perhaps faster for you than for me.”

“Well, then, sirrah,” said Camille, grinning, “it is I who shall keep the count for you, and you who shall count for me.”

They rearranged the board, Camille now playing the white pieces.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Camille pushed out a spearman. “One, two th-”

Alain’s move answered. “One, two, three, four, fi-”

Now Camille counted. “One, two-”

But a mere handful of moves later, Alain said, “Fool’s mate!” and laughed.

They set up the board again, moving swiftly, counting, laughing at blunders and coups, and even coups d’etat as one or the other moved his own king very badly.

Before the servants came with the food, they managed to get in five games altogether-three of which Alain won, two going to Camille, but it counted not a whit to either just who won, for only the laughter mattered.

This evening in addition to the various courses-celery soup; goose-liver pate on thin, crisp wafers; beef ragout; strawberries on a sweet biscuit with cream poured over-Camille drank a very fine dark red wine, the first of her life.

And the meal was so very intimate, she sitting knee to knee across a small table from him. And now and again Camille looked at the portraits on each wall, wondering which parent Alain favored, under that pale green mask. He had his pere’s grey eyes, rather than his mere’s very dark ones, nearly black, or so the portrait would indicate. It was his mother’s black hair he had, his own dark locks falling to his shoulders. As to his mouth, it seemed to take on the characteristic of his pere, though his lips were a bit fuller, like those of his mere. But nought else could Camille discern, other than there was no obvious malformation of his face, or so the fitted mask would seem to indicate.

After dinner, they were served a small glass of a very dark, nearly purple, fortified wine-port, Alain called it-somewhat fruity in its taste.

Ah, now I remember. Port-wine stain, Agnes had named it, the reddish-purple birthmark the child bore. Mayhap Alain has such on his face.

After dinner they returned to gaming, resuming echecs, playing a few more of the heartbeat games, laughter filling the room. But then they settled down to two more serious sets: Alain winning one, the other a stalemate.

Alain showed Camille the rudiments of taroc, and they laughed together at her attempts to shuffle the deck. But they did not play, for more than just two people were needed for the game, five or six being the best.

And all the while they talked: of music, of books, of Camille’s learning to read and write, of Fra Galanni and Sister Agnes, and of many other things.

Again, it was well past mid of night when Alain delivered Camille to the door of her chambers, and there they lingered awhile, yet talking. But finally they parted, and once more she fell into her bed, her glad heart quite afloat.

The days blended together in a wondrous blur, Camille spending the noontime with the Bear, telling him of her evenings with the prince, confiding her most secret thoughts and hopes and dreams, as well as her deepest fears.

A bit later in the day, the afternoons found her with Andre the gardener, planting some new bush or flower, at times in the courtyards between the wings, or in the gardens beyond; or she spent the time with Blanche, learning more details of the great house, as well as becoming acquainted with the quite extensive staff, Blanche slowly introducing her to a few more each day, so as not to overwhelm her all at once with too many faces and names.

From dusk until just beyond mid of night she spent with Prince Alain: dining on fine meals with red and white wines, playing echecs and dames, visiting the great library and quietly reading poetry to one another. One evening he taught her to dance-a slow stately dance, with much pacing and pausing and turning and bowing and curtseying and touching of hands, several servants playing harps and drums and horns.

“Oh, Bear, I do love him so, and I do think he feels the same.”

The Bear looked up from his great bowl of custard, pale yellow spread round nose and jaw and chin, and he cocked his head and rumbled low, as if to ask How could he not?

“Does rrrumm mean you think it so?”

“Whuff,” said the Bear, and then stuck his nose back into the bowl and began lapping up more sweet custard.

“Well, then, it must be true,” said Camille, spreading butter on toast.

That evening, as they stood up from the dining table, Alain said, “Lady, you have put me off long enough.”

Camille drew in a sharp breath, but managed to say, “How so, my lord?”

“A nine-day past you lost a wager, and I would have you sing for me.”

Camille’s shoulders relaxed. “I seem to recall, my lord, you lost the wager to me.”

“True, I lost the first game, yet you lost the second, and the third was a draw; hence, I owe you a song, you owe me one, and mayhap we will sing a duet.”

Feeling trapped, Camille looked about the dining chamber, where they stood at opposite ends of a long table. “My lord, you surely have heard bards sing, and I am but-”

“No more excuses, Lady, for I would collect my debt.”

Camille sighed. “Very well, my lord, yet I would not have just anyone hear.”

Alain pursed his lips. “I have a harpsichord in a chamber next to my quarters, where none regularly come but Lanval.”

Clutching the flowing skirt of her white gown to lift the hem a fraction, Camille curtseyed. “As you wish, my lord.”

Alain bowed, and then paced to her end of the board and crooked his arm. She slipped her arm in his, and out into the hallways and to his wing and then to his floor they went, a place Camille had not yet been. Down a long oak-panelled hallway they strode, all the doors marked with the Summerwood sigil. Into a chamber he led her, much like her own sitting room, yet therein and just beyond the silken couches and chairs sat a cherry-wood harpsichord.

Alain sat on the bench and ran his fingers along the keyboard, plucked strings sounding in response.

“Now, my lady, what would you have me play for you, and you can sing for me.”

Camille sighed. “Do you know ‘The Sparrow in the Tree’?”

Alain laughed and clapped his hands. “Indeed I do, Camille. A splendid choice. How came you to know it, for it is quite obscure?”

“A votary of Mithras taught it to me. She said she learned it at court.”

Alain grinned. “I think I recall from your singing in the field, but is this a proper pitch for you?” He struck a single key, sounding a note.

Camille nodded, and Alain played an introductory phrase, and when he looked to Camille, she began to sing:

“Tiny brown sparrow, sitting in the tree,

Scruffy little soul, just like me,

Would you be an eagle, would you be a hawk,

Or would you wish instead to sing like a lark?

Or would you have plumage bright and gay,

Or would you wish…”

Camille sang verse upon verse, chorus after chorus, the song telling of a maiden who wished a different lot in life, yet who found comfort in familiar things, and she finally discovered love, which set her free to fly as the transformed sparrow she then was. And all throughout the aria, Camille’s voice soared to unrestrained heights and dropped to whispering depths, with tones so pure, so clear, so true, that tears ran down Alain’s face from the sheer perfection and joy of it.

And as the song came toward an end, Alain’s clear tenor voice joined with hers, and he caroled in flawless harmony and in melodic counterpoint to her ascendant soprano tones, he singing of the sparrow, she singing of the girl.

At last the song ended, and Alain sat long moments in silence, Camille not daring to say even a single word. Finally he looked up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “My lady, you take my breath away.”

All the tension fled from Camille, and she expelled a trembling sigh and said, “My lord, I am giddy with relief that you find my singing to your like. Even so, now it is your turn to sing unto me.”

Alain wiped his eyes with his fingers and then said, “Giddy? You are giddy?” He grinned, then sobered and struck a chord and said, “ ‘The Giddy Sea.’ ” He then played an introductory phrase, and lifted his clear tenor in song, all the while looking at Camille:

“What is this thunderbolt stop’d my heart

And shook the breath from me

And set my soul a-sailing

’Pon a giddy sea?

“What is this pounding in my chest

When you come into seeing,

This wondrous surge from head to toe

That floods my entire being?

“What is this burning in my blood

That spins my head around

And stuns me trembling helplessly

As in your eyes I drown?

“Oh, should I ask the answer

From all the gods above,

When every eye can see

That I’ve been whelmed by love?

“ ’Tis you, my heart, my dearest heart,

To me this thing hast done,

And left me yearning for the days

Our two hearts become but one.

“Oh, leave me not alone, my love,

Upon this giddy sea.

Instead let’s make it giddier:

Come sail away with me.

“Leave me not alone, my love,

Come sail away with me.

Oh, my love, my sweet, sweet love,

Let us sail the giddy sea.”

As the notes faded into silence, Alain looked into Camille’s eyes and whispered, “Leave me not alone, my love, come sail away with me.”

Camille slid onto the bench and said, “I think I shall go entirely mad if you do not kiss me now.”

Alain took her in his arms and gently kissed her, and she answered with an urgency. Pent need broke free, his fire matching hers. Yet kissing, they stood, the bench toppling over, but they paid it no heed, so hot now the flames of desire. And then Alain swept her up and bore her through a doorway and into his bedchamber as Camille kissed his neck, his shoulder, his ear, as well as his cheek, silk caressing her lips.

He set Camille to her feet, and then slowly undressed her, kissing her mouth, her shoulders, her hands, her breasts.

He threw back the covers and lifted her up and laid her on silken sheets, and she watched as he undressed, all but the mask, and Camille’s breath shuddered with confusion and desire, for his slender body was beautiful, and his need was plain to see. At this last she was somewhat frightened, yet wanting.

Then he blew out the candle, saying, “I’ll not make love wearing this.”

In the darkness, he lay down beside her, his hands caressing as she clasped him to her, her lips clinging to his, their tongues exploring. And though she didn’t quite know what to do, she opened her legs when he gently moved between. There was but an instant of pain as he entered into her. And then for a moment he remained quite still, and she did not understand, but then he began slowly moving, slowly, slowly, gently. Joy, delight, desire, love: all thrilled through Camille, and she embraced Alain and began responding, her own tentative movements meeting his.

And still he moved slowly, ever so.

A joyous tension began to build, Camille’s breath coming in gasps, though Alain remained silent.

And gradually, ever so gradually, the pace of his thrusts increased, hers matching, Camille completely lost in a closeness so total, a commitment absolute, in the wonder of two being one, and the joy of being complete.

And then-“Oh, my. I never. Oh, Alain. Oh, Love. I… I…”

Moaning, gasping, wild with desire, she wrapped her legs ’round and began kissing him frantically, finding no mask to interfere, her responses frenzied, urgent, needing, wanting, matching. “Oh, Mithras.

… Oh, sweet Mithras… Oh… Oh… Oh…”