Tuane Gorgonsen - Metempsychosis: Part Six

Part Six

A year later, after Tuane secured a position as Dean of Min-Chuan Girls’ High school, Linda was summoned back to Taiwan. There, while Tuane built his career, Linda took care of Tuane’s mom, which is what wives are supposed to do. When Sasha was born, it was a home birth to save hospital and ambulatory costs. The wet nurse was an ah-ma who lived across the road. Baby Sasha ate ground-up leftover vegetables and meat, hand turned by Linda to save money on electric bills. Before too long, Basia and Marsha joined the Gorgonsen clan.  

The glorious expansion of Tuane's 'world familiarization' was achieved through his pedagogical channels. After all, one could not represent the world to natives unless one was an intellectually accredited personage. Tuane took advantage of his relationship with Mr. Millender by being at the right place at the right time as Mr. Millender expanded his bushiban and his legitimate credential in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages) into the international school boom that was just starting in Taipei. Every Taiwanese native wanted their children to be familiar with English and Western society; it was considered modernization and the road to wealth.

 Tuane, by virtue of having an Alien Resident Card, being married to Linda, was able to stay in Taiwan permanently while other foreign teachers were fly-by-nighters who had to renew their visas every two months and leave the island after two extensions so as to obtain another tourist entry visa. Tuane parlayed his permanence into an administrative career as the dean of an all-girl junior college called in Taipei. The college didn't so much need his diploma as they did his 'green card' but diploma he produced and presented when it was, by rote, called for. Tuane had barely finished high school in Tetonia, Idaho and the first college campus he stepped onto was Brigham Young University for a day when he applied to become a Mormon Missionary. In Taiwan, he was highly qualified thanks to his confident air and blond hair.

    For fifteen years, Tuane was the Dean of English Studies at Min-Chuan College. His job? Get foreign teachers with green cards for the English program. His checked their credentials, certified diplomas, or verified their experience, and Tuane took some of it for his own. The administration never bothered to ask. He sat in his nice sunny office on most days, read the USA Today, walked out only to verify that students were in their proper assigned seats in the cavernous classrooms, and met with students, as required, to advise them on prerequisite classes and TOEFL exams which had to be passed for students to study overseas in America. Tuane was indeed bringing 'world familiarization' to Taiwan, but no one recognized that Tuane's world was bogus.

     For fifteen fruitful years, Tuane pocketed every New Taiwan Dollar he received while Linda brought home the cash from her executive position in her family's stationary export business. Later, when the "Three No’s" of Taiwan relations with China became the Three "Maybe’s." she even oversaw outsourced production from Chinese factories to suppliers in the American western states.

Tuane Gorgonsen-Metempsychosis: Part Five

Part Five

           When they got off the bus near their apartment, the bus had emptied out, mostly. People went out of their way to stay away from the inter-racial couple, especially the big tall wai-guo ren. Before they went up the quiet street to their home, they could already hear Tuane's golden retriever barking loudly and constantly a block away. Could it smell Tuane's presence or hadn't it stopped barking since they left home four hours earlier? Only the neighbors knew for sure. Tuane and Linda ducked into a mom and pop grocery store on the corner so Tuane could buy his daily USA Today before heading home. Linda bought one onion.

     Stepping outside, they began to cross the street when they heard a terrible screeching sound. Tuane looked up from his headlines to see a taxi with an incised driver yelling at him. The cab shook a few inches from Linda and Tuane's feet. The driver opened the door and stood up yelling at Tuane who, apparently, had crossed the street in front of the taxi which almost hit him. How dare the driver to yell at Tuane? The cab had almost hit them and the cab driver was angry? Tuane should have been the one that was angry, and sure enough, he was. This was another lesson in 'world familiarization.'

Tuane's fist came squarely down on the hood of the taxi, like an ax splitting a tree stump, and promptly and deeply dented the damage. The driver, not believing his eyes, reached into his open taxi door and came out wielding a wooden bat. They were back at the ballpark playing by Tuane's rules. The driver raised the bat with one hand and started shaking it at Tuane as he came ever closer. When he was a few feet away, Tuane grabbed the waving bat from the driver, both men, big and small, red with rage, Linda pleading, bilingually, for them to stop, and begging anyone within earshot to call the police. Everyone just stood where they were and watched the show in the intersection. They had never seen a foreigner fight with a Taiwanese taxi driver before. Tuane took out the souvenir ball he had stashed in his pocket.

     "Okay, so you want a little horse play?" With all his might, he wound up and threw the ball at the poor driver’s chest. The man doubled over and grabbed himself. Tuane scampered to grab the ball which was rolling toward a wet sewer, picked it up and threw it at the man again this time missing him and striking a large plastic sign on the grocery store front shattering it into shards. The taxi driver, scared for his life, ran around toward the open taxi door, sat down, put the car into reverse, jerked the car forward, and started edging towards Tuane. Tuane lifted the bat and smashed it down on the windshield making a thud as the window disintegrated into a million glued pieced. The driver, knowing he had met his match, screamed something in Mandarin outside his open window and drove away, madly, down the street.

     "Tuane, we better go away from here! He's getting his friends to help him," Linda said desperately. She knew what a gang of Taiwanese taxi drivers could do after they called each other on their CB radios.

     "The heck he is," replied Tuane belligerently, hands folded across his heaving chest in defiance.

     "Tuane, please, now! Let us go now! Please, please," Linda cried out. She had had enough 'world familiarization' for one day. She grabbed Tuane by his plaid collar shirt and pulled him up the block towards the source of the barking dog, the barking dog on his apartment's balcony.

     The taxi driver did come back, with his colleagues, after Tuane and Linda had gone. They were asking the locals where the tall blond foreign man lived.

     Around 3 am, Tuane and Linda were awakened by the sound of a siren and the smell of smoke. They looked outside to see a fire engine putting out a blaze coming from two motorcycles parked a few doors down. No one knew how it happened. Tuane stood on the balcony with the dog, mug of coffee in his hand, and watched as the last splash of water was applied, watching two women talking with a fire officer. He felt a little badly for them but was sure glad they weren't his motorcycles. He would have killed whoever did that to him. He went back inside leaving the dog outside to bark and pee. He returned to put the empty coffee mug in the sink and headed back to bed. Linda pretended she was sleeping.

     In the morning, Tuane woke up to another commotion. The Mormon missionary who lived across the street from him was on the ground in front of his home near his bicycle being pummeled by six men, two with bats, two with bottles, and two with their fists and boots.

     “Well would you look at that,” said Tuane, the lab barking like crazy.

Tuane Gorgonsen - Metempsychosis: Part Four

Part Four

At the last bushiban Tuane had taught at, he had met his future wife. She was his student there, improving her business English. She fell into Tuane’s tractor-beam. It wasn’t long before she was inviting him to meet her parents who were in the business of paper supply for stationary store. And trying to crack open the market in America. Tuane saw the potential of a family connection. He married Linda in a court ceremony, just in case her family wouldn't approve. After she was pregnant, they saw thing her way and offered an elaborate wedding party to save their faces. Tuane, despite being asked, couldn't afford to have his mom or sisters come from Tetonia and Idaho Falls but he promised them in letters that he would bring Linda and their first child, Sasha, to Idaho to meet them one day as soon as he could. 

Neither Tuane nor Linda spent any money on anything unnecessary. Their apartment, a four floor walk up with one fan moved from room to room where needed. Any money Linda received from her parents, Tuane took it away to save. Any money Tuane got from being at a workplace, whether working or not, he squirreled away. The only luxury he afforded them was a small used color TV and a daily USA Today newspaper; he needed the newspaper to keep up with the world. The USA Today was his bible; every word in every article was precious and a chapter that must be read to get the whole picture least any money be wasted. Their meals were simple and home-cooked by Linda; that’s what wives are supposed to do. Baby Sasha ate ground-up leftover vegetables and meat, hand turned by Linda to save money on electric bills. They never ate out. Every New Taiwan Dollar was needed for airfare back to Idaho. Like a vacuum, every speck of gold dust was sucked up, never to see the light of day again until the time came to send Linda to Idaho, alone, to meet and take care of Tuane’s mom.

Tuane Gorgonsen took Linda to a baseball game. It was part of the 'world familiarization' program that he was embarking her on. It was the same program he had put himself on that fateful night near Craters of the Moon on State Route 20. Surely, every citizen of the world must know about the game of baseball.                                                   

"How many spikes are there?" Linda said as she looked out over the green lawn from her concrete bench up the third base line.

     "That word is 'strikes', Linda. There are three. Every batter gets three," said Tuane raising his hand to show three well chewed off finger nails. "And the batter gets four balls."

     "Four balls. Four balls," said Linda re-memorizing what she had been drilled on the night before.

     "Shen(Shen) tsai(tsai) tou(tou) shou(shou) Lin(Lin) Xu(Xu) Ming- (Ming,” the PA announcer said, the sound echoing off the walls between two ten-story office buildings the stadium was sandwiched by.

     "What did he say?" asked Tuane, not because he couldn't hear but because he didn't understand a word of Mandarin.

     "He said the next hit-man was the thrower."

     "You mean the next batter is the ‘pitcher’? Linda, pay attention to what I told you!" Tuane shook his head and wrote down “pitcher” on his make-shift score card; he really didn't care what the players names were, anyway but he feigned interest.

"Who's on second?" Tuane asked testing her baseball knowledge.

     "No, Hu's on first!" said Linda and pointed to number 44 taking a lead off first. “His number is bad luck; means ‘die twice.’ Where's his glove?" she wanted to know.

     "He doesn't need a glove; he's a runner," said Tuane a little annoyed.

    There was a PA announcement.

     “He said there’s no Wei,” Linda said. “Wei is not playing today,” she translated from the announcement.

     “Who?” Tuane urgently asked again.

     “No, Wei,” Linda corrected Tuane.

     "What do you mean, ‘No way today!’” asked Tuane.

     “Who?” asked Linda.

     "The batter," said Tuane.

     "I thought Hu was the first base man," stressed Linda, totally confused. No, Wei Jose.” Just then, the batter, who was the pitcher, hit the ball thrown by the thrower. It was coming backwards towards Tuane who yelled "watch out" and pushed Linda out of the balls path just in time before it hit her. The ball was caught cleanly by Tuane who, proud of his foul ball catch held it high above his head for the crowd and cameras to see. For some reason, no one was whooping and applauding. The ball girl, a pretty young Taiwanese woman in pin-striped shorts and cap, ran up the third base line near the stands waving to the crowd near Tuane.

     "Give her the ball."

     "What's that?"

     "She wants the ball."

     "She wants what?"

     "The ball! Throw it to her!"

     "I most certainly will not. I caught it fair and square!"

     Just then the third base umpire walked up the field to near the ball girl. He too started waving to Tuane. "Huan gai wo-men, hao-ma!?" he shouted.

     "He said to give him ball to him," Linda said, nervously.

     "This is my souvenir, Linda. That's what we do in America."

     "But here isn't Merica," said Linda, mortified as the crowd around her started smirking and shaking their heads. "They can't play no ball."

     "Then let them get another ball. This ball is mine, dear," and he put the ball between his legs on the seat smiling broadly, waving, and daring anyone to reach down between his legs to get it. Linda held her head down and squeezed her eyes tightly to shut out the world. Tuane was ‘familiarizing’ her, again.

     Tuane cried out, “Come on Linda, they're playing again," as the game resumed, the umpire begrudgingly used a new ball carried from the dugout. They just couldn't afford to give them away like they did in the Major Leagues.

     Just then, two police officers approached Tuane and Linda from behind. One was pointing and waving his finger at them. Linda took her hands off her eyes and looked up at them as they spoke to her in Mandarin.

     "Tuane, they want us to leave," said Linda as she stood to leave. Tuane remained seated. "My my, never gonna let you go," he said to the ball as he grabbed it between his legs, lifted it and kissed it before standing up. For them, the game was over. They were escorted to the exit, Tuane smiling all the way, Linda almost in tears. Her 'world familiarization' was over for the day, or was it?

They walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus back home so Linda could make dinner. When the bus came, it pulled up ten feet from the curb. Two dozen people rushed to the front and rear doors as another dozen passengers tried to make their way off. Tuane grabbed Linda's hand and shoved through them all pushing an old man almost on to the street. "Out of our way, we're getting on," he said and squeezed into the crowded bus as high school students stared at him, his wavy reddish blond hair almost touching the ceiling of the bus. He had to stand in a recessed air-duct not to hit his head. "These people don't know how to wait on a line, do they?"

Tuane Gorgonsen - Metempsychosis: Part Three

Part Three

Tuane had stepped out to get dog food for his golden retriever. A fifty-pound bag balanced on his shoulder as he held back the large hot dog on a leash as he headed back to his rental in Taipei. He had a long, slow gait that could have challenged John Wayne to a duel. Someone from behind was calling out in a familiar language.

   “Hello, excuse me?” An English voice on a Taipei street? Strange.

   Tuane stopped and turned to look. There, in sunglasses and L.A. Dodger cap stood a middle-aged white man, not as tall as but chubbier than Tuane with ear-length brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was approaching Tuane where he stood.

  “I saw you from behind, your blond hair, and knew you might be American.” He got close to hand Tuane a business card. “I’m Stuart Millender from Chicago. Glad to meet you,” he said and extended his hand for Tuane to shake. Tuane was still using the hand to carry the dog food. He didn’t reply.

“”What do you want? I’m very busy,” Tuane said without glancing at the business card. The sack of dog food still balanced on his shoulder. The golden retriever sniffed at Mr. Millender’s pant leg.

   “Well,” he said retreating slightly from the dog. “I have a bushiban up the road here and we need new teachers. Do you teach?”

   “Yes, I do,” said Tuane dryly squinting at Mr. Millender who stood before the west setting sun.

“If you need a job, I have one for you.” Tuane shook his head and turned to leave. “I have a job already and you’re making me late for it, but thank you for asking.”

“Wait!” You live in the neighborhood, right?”

“Around the corner I do.”

“My school’s right here, too. You can basically roll out of bed and be home from work in a minute; no buses to take, no hassles.”

“You have a point there,” said Tuane stopping to listen and looking at the card. “My name is Tuane, Tuane Gorgonsen. Alright, I’ll think about it.”

“The salary won’t disappoint you either, Tuane. There’s no Chinese co-teacher to get in your face telling you how to teach, and I’ll show you how to use the textbooks; it’ll be a cinch!”

“Now that’s a horse of a different color.” The dog tugged at Tuane and pulled him toward a skinny tree near the curb. “I have to be going now.” He put down the sack of dog food for a moment to shake Mr. Millender’s hand. “Thanks for the tip. Come-on girl,” he said to the eager panting dog and turned around to walk away, his ground down heels making him seem like he was limping.

   Mr. Millender called out as Tuane was twenty feet away. “My number’s on the card, and if you decide to come, could you introduce us to some foreign friends of yours?  Actually we need two teachers.”

“I sure will,” said Tuane as he let the retriever pull him around the corner and off the noisy main drag up the quieter street where he lived.

The next day, Tuane called Mr. Millender back. The other school Tuane worked at was far away from home and too demanding, always adding new responsibilities onto Tuane’s nerve and cramping his style. They wanted him to follow their curriculum but Tuane didn’t like those restrictions. He took the job at Mr. Millender’s bushiban and quit his old school just like that. His old boss was too afraid to argue with him when Tuane demanded his final salary envelope immediately. In fact, this old boss was happy to get rid of Tuane; he was afraid Tuane would never go away. He thought there’d be trouble. The students didn’t like him; Tuane never followed the program or marked papers. He talked over the students’ heads and was usually late or slow to class.

   Tuane had a way of talking to people that scared them, especially people of gentle Taiwanese nature. His cold large blue eyes, eye-lids folded under his brow, cut into you like a knife without a sheath. His straight neck-length dirty blond hair, pushed to the side by an ever-present hand, racked your brain with his presence. The pores on his cheeks and forehead and temple, so large and prominent, like looking at his face through a magnifying lens. One could count the sweat ducts as sure as one could feel the pain doing him wrong would bring. His smile, insincere and cold, was a grimace away from a death threat. His teeth, behind muscular turquoise lips, loomed large and wide and ready to rip into raw steak. His face was large and ruddy-red like a northwestern lumberjack’s. Tuane was the man you stayed away from after you became friendly; you stayed away for fear what he’d do to you if you stayed too long. Yes, you were glad when Tuane chose to leave and wondered why you’d asked him to stay in the first place.

Tuane Gorgonsen - Metempsychosis: Part Two

Part Two

Provo is the third largest city in the U.S. state of Utah, located about 43 miles (69 km) south of Salt Lake City along the Wasatch Front, 320 miles from Tetonia. The city is home to the largest Missionary Training center for the LDS Church. That’s where Tuane drove the day he returned from his trip with his mother to Idaho Falls to visit his sister.

“Why have you decided to come here, my son?” said the elder.

“I was fortunate enough to be born into this gospel,” said Tuane in quiet repose. “I've always known it's the only true church. That doesn't mean that I've always lived my faith the way I should have. Through my experiences I've come to know that Heavenly Father truly loves me and this is the way I need to live my life. God continually tells me that this is where I need to be and what I need to be doing.”

“We will let you know, my son. If it is God’s will, his will be done.”

After his interview, Tuane went downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch. He sat down to eat with a USA Today on the table before him. Before long, a young man his age approached.

“May I join you, brother?” said he as he introduced himself.” Tuane returned to his newspaper.

“I saw you upstairs coming out of the office with the elder. Do you wish to join us on our glorious mission?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure if I’m ready,” Tuane mumbled and turned a page.

“I believe it is your calling, my friend. My calling was to invite others to come unto Christ, too. Good news! I am here to tell you your time has come!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Brother, I was in your shoes a few years ago before I went on my mission to Taiwan.” It was the first time Tuane had heard of that place on the earth.

“I search my scriptures every day, I ponder while riding my bike, and I pray on my knees,” the young man went on, taking a sip of the soda pop he had brought to the table. “I first went to Taiwan as a Mormon missionary. I was an active member of the LDS church until about six years ago, when, after a year of soul-searching, I decided to leave.”

“You decided to leave?

“Well, yes. When I served my mission, I was sent to Taiwan. Some of the best looking fellows on my dorm floor at Brigham Young Univ. were sent to missions in the U.S. My younger brother, who is tall, handsome, and fit, was sent to Missouri, where he was sorely abused by Baptists wielding frying pans.”

“Wielding frying pans?”

“That’s why I was glad to be with the gentle people of Taiwan.”

“You don’t say?”

“If you serve in Taiwan, you learn a lot about rejection. The average number of converts brought into the church per missionary when I served in Taiwan was one. Two years of labor for one member. Some did better than that, but many saw no success at all. That’s one reason why I left.”
    “I am curious about Mormon or missionary life,” said Tuane.

“Ask away.”

“I heard that if I join, I have to wear special underwear.”             

“Yes, the church does require that members wear Mormon-style underwear. They're called garments, and they're supposed to protect you from evil and physical harm.” Tuane shook his head and smiled in disbelief.

“The temple ceremony is top-secret and full of interesting rituals,” he continued, smilingly. “There's not mixed-gender nudity, but there is a sort of non-sexual, locker-room style ritual for both men and women. It all freaked me out the first time I went.”

“A locker room ritual?”

The whole thing was freaking Tuane out. He was quickly losing interest in becoming a missionary.

Missionaries only spend 1-2 months training before they begin work, which suited Tuane just fine. But they could not choose the country they were sent to. Tuane wanted to go to Taiwan. He had looked it up in the library and liked what he saw.

Missionaries did not get any salary; instead, they used personal savings and money from their family to pay for their travel and daily living expenses. He was hoping to at least get paid airfare and living expenses and have a choice of destination. He would get the money somewhere, probably from his mom.

Newly called missionaries bound for foreign-language missions spend eight to thirteen weeks at an MTC, depending on the language to be learned. During this period, they are encouraged not to speak in their native tongue but rather to immerse themselves in the new language. Tuane didn’t think learning Mandarin or Taiwanese was necessary. English was enough.

In cases where an immediate family member dies, the missionary is strongly encouraged to stay on the mission. The vast majority of missionaries serve the whole two-year (men) or eighteen-month (women) terms. Tuane had no plans to return to Idaho. He was not going to get stuck nursing his mom; let his married sisters do it. Now he had a good excuse, in the name of Jesus.   

All missionaries must meet certain minimum standards of worthiness. Among the standards that a prospective missionary must demonstrate adherence to are: regular attendance at church meetings, regular personal prayer, regular study of the scriptures, adherence to the law of chastity (sexual purity), adherence to the Word of Wisdom (code of health and nutrition), payment of tithing, spiritual diligence and testimony of God. In his heart, Tuane would have none of that.        

In addition to spiritual preparedness, church bishops are instructed to ensure that prospective missionaries are physically, mentally, and emotionally capable of full-time missionary work. The Elder who interviewed Tuane had said, "We realize that while all men definitely should, all men are not prepared to teach the gospel abroad.
     “All in all, I'm glad I was a missionary, and a Mormon. My missionary experience gave me a chance to learn about organizational culture, to learn to speak Mandarin fluently, to learn about my own character weaknesses, and to learn how to be disciplined in going after a goal. I doubt I would be enjoying the life I enjoy right now if I had not been a Mormon missionary.”

“You do like chomping on the bit! What’s the main reason you left the church?” Tuane was getting impatient.

“I left the Mormon church because I couldn't live up to the standards and I was offended by some member of the church.” Duane took the straw out of his mouth and slowly glanced at his guest.

“I left because it no longer made sense to belong to something I didn't believe in,” he said as he placed his hand on Tuane’s shoulder for emphasis. “I've managed to maintain friendships with some members of the church, and about half of my family members are still active. I respect these people, even though I disagree with many of their beliefs.” 

“Like what?”                                                            

“Well, I was strolling through a park in Taichung, Taiwan one day with my missionary companion at the time, Brother Shi. Although he was Chinese and I American, we both were 22-year-old men serving as missionaries for the Church. Our stroll wasn’t recreational.”

Tuane sipped the straw in his Coke.

“We were looking for people to chat up, hoping to persuade them to accept a pamphlet and invite us to their homes for an in-depth discussion of the church.”

“Uh-huh,” said Tuane, shrugging the hand off his shoulder.

“We hadn't met with much success, so partly for mutual support, partly because we liked each other well enough and partly because it was a perfectly acceptable thing for men to do in Taiwan, we went arm in arm. Before long, we came upon a teenage girl and boy who, like us, were walking arm in arm.”

“‘Will you look at that?’ Brother Shi said in Mandarin, turning slightly to watch them walk away. ‘That’s disgusting.’ ‘Why?’ I countered. ‘They’re just doing what we’re doing.’”

“‘But anyone can look at us and see there’s nothing going on,’” he said. ‘If you look at them, you know something is definitely going on.’ I was devastated!”

“Why? Are you gay?” said Tuane slowly without looking.

“I believe the Lord knows no distinction in love,” said the visitor.

“Really?”

Sweat beads glistened purple and red. His breath grew deeper, lips swelled, taut and curled. Long strands of red-blond hair arched above his scalp like a cat whose hair had seen a ghost. Air turned cold rushing through the gauntlet around his earlobes. Hard cartilage nostrils letting go smoking gray soot from the Caverns of the Moon. Half-chewed nails exposing raw waves of top-skin finger-tips like rounded blood worms squeezed to their max with the last glob of ointment. His chest heaving, heaving, ever faster, ever deeper heaving, cold blue eyes stretched to tear-duct space ready to explode in gruesome expansion, his Adam’s apple ready to erupt from the nest in his neck like a phoenix egg hatching. The open mouth, and the sound, the horrible monster sound – hash, hash, hash – aboriginal throbbing words of other- world – deep – black- razor-sharp coral disgust – black rusted words, up and up through a mouth of anal agony, hemorrhoids popping; he spoke:

“The hell he does,” said Tuane. “Get away from me right now,” “Or you’ll become the next horse that was foaled of an acorn!”

 Everyone in the cafeteria turned around to hear and see a slender young man with Tuane get up abruptly and scamper away.

Calmer now, on his way home, passing by the eastern banks of the Great Salt Lake, just near the exit ramp to the international airport, Tuane saw a large billboard for China Airlines. The pretty, well-tailored flight attendant, smiling and bowing in courtesy, was inviting him to come to Taiwan. To Taiwan he would go. On the six-hour interstate drive back to Tetonia, Idaho, he was on a tropical island. The putrid, fishy, salty air blew through the window of the old sedan like a hammer as he passed north.

After application to the church and the requisite approval, prospective missionaries receive a “call to serve”—an official notification of their location assignment—through the mail from the President of the church. The mission call also informs the prospective missionary what language he/she will be expected to use during his/her mission.

The next week, Tuane received the letter; his application had been rejected. He would go to Taiwan, anyway.