Chapter 3
Yiddish Glossary
‘Goy’ – someone who isn’t a Jew.
‘Farmach dos moyl!’ – ‘Shut up! Be quiet!’
‘Gai in drerd arein!’ – ‘Go to Hell!’
‘Schtetl’ – a village or small town.
The hunt for Koenig is based very loosely on Vassili Zaitsev’s own account of what happened on that cold October day in 1942. The rest is purely fictional.
Stalingrad, 23rd October 1942. 10.14 pm.
The night was chilly as Nikolai stepped out into the snow. He lowered the trapdoor, and muttering alternately about ‘stubborn women’ and ‘idiotic Majors’ he headed up the ruined street to the water pump, berating himself for his lapse of concentration.
He hadn’t brought any form of lighting, but the barrage of ack-ack and flares from across the city lit his way well enough, the occasional mortar lobbed aimlessly by some trigger-happy German artillery man sending flame momentarily into the night sky and creating deep shadows in the ruined street.
A soft laugh came from his right, and then a hollow sound like a bucket being thrown against a wall. A whimper came next, followed by another laugh, this time deeper, more raucous. Then came something that sounded suspiciously like a slap. A voice spat hurt epithets.
“I’ll beat the blazes out of you for that, you scrawny bitch - ”
Nikolai didn’t need to hear any more.
Barrelling through the wrecked doorways of what had been a tailor’s shop he emerged into the rubble-filled yard that held the water pump, growling in fury at the scene before him.
Two Russian soldiers were busy trying to keep hold of a terrified Rivka Velonina, one clutching her arm and rubbing his face from what had clearly been a hefty slap, the other with his hand under her skirts and trying to pull down her underwear. His intent was obvious.
The one holding her arm caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a bear with metal teeth looming over him but had no time to react before a big fist hit him like an express train, breaking most of his front teeth and fracturing his jaw.
The soldier collapsed on the ground moaning, blood spurting from his shattered mouth. Nikolai turned to the other soldier, the would-be rapist, and caught him around the throat with a powerful hand slamming him against the crumbling wall. Rivka stumbled away in terror. A face like nothing he had ever seen or would wish to see again came close to the terrified man. Steel teeth glinted in the night, and hard eyes, deep as the very pits of hell bored into his soul.
“I ought to kill you right where you stand.”
The deep voice was almost feral as the big hand tightened on the soldier’s larynx.
“We … didn’t mean anything …” the words came out in a strangled whisper, rotten teeth showing as the soldier tried to bluff his way out of the situation. “We … we could share … she’s a Jew … no-one would care …”
Nikolai’s temper snapped. He lifted the man bodily with one hand and flung him onto a pile of rubble, the man screaming as ribs broke under the impact.
Turning to see a terrified Rivka standing shaking by the ruined doorway, Nikolai caught her in his gaze.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a shaky whisper.
“Go home. I’ll be back soon.” The soft baritone belied the big sniper’s anger.
Within seconds Rivka was gone, and Nikolai turned back to the two soldiers, both now groaning in agony. He decided to deal with the one with the broken ribs – the other was too busy spitting out broken splinters of teeth.
Nikolai hauled him upright and held him tight by his hair, pushing his face close to the terrified man once again. He could smell the rancid odour of alcohol on the man’s breath.
“Listen carefully, my friend. If I ever see you around here again I’ll do more than crack a few ribs for you – I’ll break your neck, my lad, and I’ll enjoy doing it, too.” Frightened eyes widened at the threat as Nikolai continued. “Do you know who I am?” He was answered with a painful shake of the head. “The name’s Koulikov. Major Nikolai Koulikov of the Two-Hundred and Eighty-Fourth Sniper Division, and I’ve killed one hundred and fifty-six men. In cold blood. Do you understand me?” He saw eyes become round in shocked recognition followed by a vigorous nod. “If you ever … EVER … come near Rivka Velonina again, I’ll kill you. I’m letting both of you go so you can put the word about – no-one goes near her, or you’ll deal with me. And I can get very nasty when I’m really upset. So I’ll ask you again – do you understand???”
Without waiting for an answer he dropped the now petrified soldier, who scrambled away whimpering in pain. Nikolai watched as the two battered men staggered out of the building and headed back towards their camp, probably thinking how they were going to explain to both their commanding officer and the overworked, exhausted doctor in the field hospital how they came by their injuries.
Nikolai couldn’t care less. All he was concerned about was that Rivka was safe and well and back in her cellar. Nothing else mattered.
He made his way back to the underground room where only thirty minutes earlier he thought he was in heaven, luxuriating in the delight of a hot bath. Now everything was ruined. He had driven Rivka out into the night where she had been in mortal danger, and he couldn’t forgive himself. His own stupidity made him angry as he headed into the warmth and comfort of Rivka Velonina’s spartan home.
Rivka was emptying the tub into buckets, ready to carry them outside and dump the water. She didn’t look up as Nikolai closed the door quietly behind him.
“Leave it, Missus, I’ll do that.” Nikolai tried to keep the ire out of his voice.
She ignored him and carried on filling another bucket, giving no sign that she had even heard him.
“I said I’d do that, Rivka - ”
Her reaction shocked him.
“Farmach dos moyl! Who gave you the right to use my first name???
And what makes you think I should rely on you???” Rivka threw the bucket
down on the floor, water spilling over the old tiles.
Nikolai blinked at the fury sparking in the brown eyes, but Rivka ranted on, now unable - or unwilling – to stop the anger spilling from somewhere deep, deep inside her. She marched forward until she was standing a couple of inches away from Nikolai, glaring up at him, her hand poised to poke him hard in the chest.
“You waltz into my home, get your feet under the table and think you can tell me … ME! … what to do! How do you think I managed before you arrived, Major?? I’ve been on my own for five years now, and I’ve supported myself without any man here to tell me how to run my life! You … you … Goy! Gai in drerd arein!”
Nikolai looked down at this firebrand of a woman standing before him, her anger spilling out of her, but he also noticed she was shaking. Something more than the after-effect of the attack was ripping through her he realised. But he couldn’t now keep his own frustration and guilt under control.
“Damnation, woman!! I’m only trying to keep you safe - ” The words came out in an angry growl.
Her finger finally poked him hard in the chest.
“I don’t need you telling me what to do, Major high-and-mighty Nikolai Koulikov!!! I had a husband once – he thought he could rule me, tell me how my life should be! How I should submit …”
Rivka’s voice hitched, and Nikolai was suddenly aware of how close to tears she was. When he answered the anger was gone from his voice and was replaced by subdued compassion.
“But he’s gone now … dead …”
“Dead??” Rivka almost spat the word. “I’d be happy if he were dead. But he’s not, Major. As far as I know he’s alive and kicking, damn him!!” The brown eyes glared with internal hatred, but then the anger went from her in a gusty sigh and she sank down into the chair beside the old table, her hands dropping into her lap to twist fingers into her apron.
All of Nikolai’s anger dissolved in a moment. He quite simply couldn’t bear seeing her so upset. Shrugging out of his jacket he draped it over a chair back and placed his hat on top. Pulling up another chair he sat beside her, hoping his calm presence would help her recover a little from her distress.
“Missus - ”
Rivka pulled the kerchief off her head and ran her hands through her hair. Then she took a deep breath and said, “He abandoned me, Major.”
There. It was out. The secret she had bottled up inside her for five years and thought she had managed to control.
Nikolai didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say. So he sat there, still and comforting with his broad frame and gentle eyes, his big hands wanting to take hers and hold them until the pain went away. But Nikolai Koulikov was not a hasty man, and he knew she would run like a startled deer if he touched her, so he stayed silent and waited.
Rivka took another deep breath and continued.
“He left me a week after our marriage. He took my dowry money, and he took my pride.” She looked over into Nikolai’s deep blue eyes. “I nursed my parents until they died. I was their only child, it was my duty … and my joy.” She smiled a little at the memory of them. “I had no wish to marry. You see, Major, I lived in a small schtetl about a day’s journey from here, and it was a tight, very knowing community. I worked with the local doctor and cared for my parents. That was all I had, but I was happy. But when they died …” Her face became lined with grief. She took a deep breath and continued, unable to finish until she had told him everything. The burden of it all was too much to bear any more, and it would be such a relief to be rid of it. “The village shadchen – matchmaker – decided I should marry. I had money, a home. I didn’t need to marry, but my father’s family convinced me. I was too old really to be marrying, I was over thirty. But then Gavri came along. He seemed personable, hard-working. He owned a Draper’s shop here in Stalingrad, and was apparently dependable. So we married.”
Rivka and Nikolai sat quietly until she was ready to carry on.
“The day we were married, we travelled here, to Stalingrad. It was such a beautiful city, Major. Vibrant, full of the laughter of children and good neighbours. But when I arrived I discovered Gavri was in debt – he needed my dowry to pay his debtors.” She sighed. “Still, I thought, he would be out of debt and life would improve. But that night … our wedding night …”
Her voice faltered.
Nikolai could see the pain in her, he saw the hunch of her shoulders and the fear in her face.
“Missus … you don’t have to - ”
“Yes I do, Major Koulikov. I have to tell you, because if I don’t it will never stop eating away at me until I have no soul left.” Rivka saw the slight nod as Nikolai urged her to continue. She realised, with great clarity, that he was a good, gentle man who would treat her with respect, whatever she told him. She decided to continue. “Gavri was a rough man. I knew nothing about … well, that side of marriage. He …”
A look of fear lined her features, but then she straightened in her chair, chin tilted in the same defiant gesture she had given Nikolai on his first night here in her home.
“He tried to force me. There was no kindness, no understanding. Only pain. Lots and lots of pain. He wouldn’t stop, and he hurt me, and …” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He … finished, before he could …” She sighed. “He told me afterwards he would take my … I was still b'suleh … a … a virgin … the next night when I had calmed down. But the next night was no better, Major. I screamed and screamed until he left me in disgust. On the third night I had a knife under my pillow – when he came to me I told him if he touched me I would kill him. Within a week he was gone. He took my dowry, my jewellery given to me by my mother before she died, and everything of value in the house. I’ve lived alone ever since, making a little money here and there sewing and cleaning houses.” She smiled bitterly. “Now I only do sewing and a little washing. There are no houses left to clean …”
Nikolai was stunned at her admission.
“But why don’t you go back to the … the schtetl, I think you called it? Go home to your family?”
Rivka’s face became grim.
“So you think I would be any safer there? I am an abandoned woman, Major. A woman with no status, no legal rights in Jewish law. I can’t even divorce Gavri because he is gone. I have no home there, and I would have to stay with relatives who are already finding it hard to survive. There is no work, and I would just be another mouth to feed. At least I am my own woman here in Stalingrad.” Her voice softened. “Here, I am free …”
They both sat silently, each contemplating what Rivka had said. It was she who broke the silence, placing her hands on her thighs with determination.
“That tub won’t empty itself. I’d best be getting on with it …”
Nikolai stood, trying to take his mind from Rivka’s story of hurt and betrayal. But he said nothing. He knew if he mentioned it he would break the trust she had placed in him, and he could not bear the thought of doing such a thing.
“If you’ll pass me the mop …” Rivka busied herself with the spilled water.
“Missus …” She paused for a moment, looking up into his blue gaze. “Go to bed and get some sleep. I’ll do this.” She was about to angrily protest at his demand, but he held up a hand. “Nothing to do with me trying to order you about, woman – you heated the water and filled the tub, and I used it. It’s up to me to do my share. Is that all right with you?” His eyebrows raised quizzically, daring her to object. Wordlessly, she handed him the mop.
She headed for her curtained bed as Nikolai bent to his task, and but paused as she drew back the curtain.
“Major?”
He looked up from his chore and waited for her to continue.
“Are you like him?” Rivka’s face was stony. “Are you the same, just taking what you want from a woman? Are all men like that, Major? Not caring how it hurts a woman that first time, and just taking your pleasure how you wish?”
But before a shocked Nikolai could answer, she was gone into her inner sanctum, safe and hidden from the world.
Nikolai stood for long moments, watching as water oozed from the mop on the tiles. He was stunned by her parting statement. Yes, there had been women in his life. Not as many as some men he knew, but he thought back on how he had treated them. He had never been one for casual relationships, and even the most fleeting of liaisons had been for several weeks. He cared for them all, and took great pride in pleasing them as well as he could, both as a friend and as a lover. Well, he couldn’t remember any complaints. But he hadn’t been the first man for any of them. The responsibility of that scenario had never rested on his broad shoulders, thank goodness.
So why would she assume he would be like this boor of a husband … what was his name? Gavri. That was it. Then he remembered why she had left the cellar in the first place, and groaned in despair. So she HAD seen him! Seen his lust and desire, and then … his chest hurt just thinking about it … he had called out her name at the end!! What had he done?
Turning back to his mopping, he worked quickly and efficiently, muttering with ill-concealed anger as he finished. Then he spent twenty minutes dumping the dirty water outside and cleaning the tub.
Finally, tired, confused and very angry with himself, he laid out his bed and prepared to sleep. As he tossed and turned in his worn blankets his mind returned to what she has said. Gavri had hurt her.
He had no idea, the fool. If only he had taken his time … Nikolai pulled the blankets tighter around his restless body, curling on his side as the brazier glowed dully in the dark. If it had been me with you for your first time, my lady Rivka, I would have treated you the way you deserve. I would have treated you like a princess …
He watched the flickering flames in the fire for a long time, as sleep slowly but reluctantly sent him into restless and fevered dreams.
****************
Stalingrad, 24th October 1942
Major Nikolai Koulikov woke up to a cold and miserable dawn. He was cold, because his restless stirrings through the night had thrown off his blankets, and miserable because of the revelations of the previous evening. He felt guilty and unhappy. He had caused her great distress one way or another, and he wondered if he should just go and sleep in the bomb shelters like everyone else.
Stretching aching muscles he rubbed his eyes and finally decided to get up. Once dressed, he stowed his bedding and slouched outside with one of the remaining buckets and fetched water, averting his eyes from the splashes of blood beside the pump. His knuckles were stiff and sore from connecting with the young soldier’s jaw and teeth and he flexed his hand, trying to work the stiffness from the joints.
When he returned and shut the heavy door against the cold, he made himself a strong cup of tea. He had not slept well, his eyes were gritty and he felt lethargic and over-tired. He had to admit he was not at his best – and today he was going to help Vassili Zaitsev kill Major Koenig of the Wehrmacht. He needed his wits about him, so he threw caution to the wind and made more tea, gulping down another scalding cupful, hoping the boost it gave his weary body would help keep him alive until the end of the day.
Tired and alone, he put on his heavy jacket and forage cap, checked his rifle and pulled on fingerless gloves. He was ready. He looked around this strange, comforting place where he had been welcomed … well, perhaps not with open arms, but with quiet kindness and a safe place to lay his head. It had been less than two days since he arrived in Stalingrad … but for those few hours he had felt for the first time how it must be to have a home.
He caught a glimpse of Rivka’s sewing box sitting on the dresser in the corner and smiled. It was time to go. He opened the door and turned for one last look.
“Goodbye, my lady Rivka.”
His voice rang softly in the silence. There was no reply. His smile softened for a moment, and then he was gone.
Rivka Velonina lay alone in her big, warm bed and listened to his whispered farewell, and a tear welled in her eye as she realised she would probably never see him again.
*******************
They had spent the morning and part of the afternoon hunting through the rubble and smoking buildings, working their way back to the ruined department building where Volodya had disappeared the day before. Both Vassili and Nikolai knew in their hearts that Koenig had already chosen the arena for the duel. He had taken Volodya for information on how the two snipers worked, and Nikolai knew Koenig was thorough.
It was a sunny, clear day, the sort of day a man should spend with his children in the country, not lurking in the shadows of bombed-out buildings riddled with snipers, prime targets for the Stukas that screamed overhead.
They settled down in the remnants of an office, the typewriters piled in the corner shattered beyond repair by the continuous bombing.
Nikolai rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb, trying to rid himself of the grit that lingered after his restless night.
Vassili was instantly concerned.
“Are you all right, Com … Nikolai?” He corrected himself just in time.
Nikolai looked at the young Siberian and saw nothing but worry in the grey eyes.
“I’m fine, boy. Don’t you worry about old ‘Papa’ Koulikov – I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Maybe I’m getting too old for all this … well I’ll be damned!”
“What is it?” Vassili was instantly alert.
Nikolai grinned a toothy, steely grin.
“That’s what I like about the Germans – they’re stubborn buggers! They’ve sent some other poor fool out to replace the line!”
Vassili peered through his scope at a figure crawling frantically along the ground, line unravelling from the reel on his back. He watched as Nikolai rested his rifle on an old ironing board and took aim. Once more there was the moment of stillness, then the hard crack of a single shot. The line-man slumped to the side, a hole through his helmet.
Vassili checked the surrounding rubble, curious as to why the Germans would waste a soldier like that. It didn’t follow. Something was wrong.
“Nikolai … he’s out there. I can feel it. He’s just waiting for us to relocate. I think he sent that line-man out so he could pin-point where we are, and then he’ll figure out which direction we’ll go. He knows we’ll either have to jump the gap into the other part of the building or head downward to the lower levels. Either way, he has us nailed.”
Nikolai was thoughtful.
“The sun’s behind us, right?” Vassili nodded. “Well, young Vassili Zaitsev, have a look through the scope and tell me what you see. Remember, Koenig doesn’t seem to relocate. He stays put, we’ve learned that much.”
Puzzled, Vassili took the spotter’s scope and studied the rubble-filled square beneath him. He soon centred on a disabled tank to his left and a pillbox to the right. He checked out the tank. No, an experienced sniper wouldn’t use such an exposed target. He moved on to the pillbox. That was no good, the slits had been sealed up. Where the hell was he? Then he noticed the pile of crumpled concrete between the tank and the pillbox, covered with a few sheets of iron.
He took off his glove and fitted it over the end of a stick, and handed to scope to Nikolai.
“The sheet of iron between the tank and pillbox …”
Nikolai’s eyebrows raised. The lad was good.
Vassili crouched under the shattered window and waited until Nikolai was in position, then he slowly raised the glove over the window ledge. The sudden crack of a shot made him jump, and the stick was nearly torn from his grasp by the bullet punching a hole through the centre of the glove.
He heard Nikolai grunt with satisfaction.
“There’s our viper …”
“Right. Let’s relocate.” Vassili grinned. “Maybe … just maybe, Nikolai …”
The two men packed up their gear and crawled out of the room into the corridor. They could see the huge hole blown into the side of the building further down the corridor; the floor had gone, leaving a gaping space that would normally have entailed both snipers taking their life in their hands and jumping the gap. This time, however, they stopped at a broken window just before the hole.
Settling down, Nikolai lifted his helmet and found a piece of piping.
Then he tied a piece of string to a slightly smaller, longer piece of piping
which he slipped into the first string-side down, and balanced the helmet
on top. When he pulled the string the inside pipe slid upwards, lifting
the helmet above the edge of the window. Pleased with his little invention,
he sat down with his 
back
to the wall, foot braced on the pipe to stop any movement.
“You ready, boy?”
Vassili cradled his rifle in the hollow of his shoulder and settled the cross-hairs on the small hole beneath the sheets of iron.
“Ready.”
Very carefully Nikolai pulled the string. Slowly the helmet began to rise, inching ever upwards, until it began to show itself above the ledge. Nikolai kept up a steady pressure on the string, the helmet lifting higher and higher. Why the hell didn’t Koenig shoot?
“C’mon, c’mon …” Nikolai was getting uncharacteristically impatient.
Just when he thought Koenig had gone … a shot rang out.
The helmet jerked under the impact, and Nikolai let out a yell of agony.
Startled, Vassili wanted nothing more than to check on his friend, but he knew he had to stay where he was. He continued watching the hole under the sheet iron, knowing Koenig was there because he had seen the puff of smoke from the shot. Long seconds passed, with not a sound from Nikolai, and Vassili didn’t dare take his eye from the scope.
Then he saw a glint of sun on glass. Koenig’s scope. He was raising his head to check his kill. Shifting his sights a fraction to the left to aim for a head shot, Vassili squeezed the trigger.
The flat bark of the rifle brought a tell-tale spray of blood from the hole, and the light winked out on the scope. It was done.
Vassili watched for a second, wondering if he should go and collect Koenig’s dog-tags, but then he remembered Nikolai. Dropping the rifle he scrambled over to the limp body of the big sniper huddled against the wall. Nikolai lay with his eyes closed. He looked dead. Vassili reached out to touch his cheek when blue eyes opened.
“Well, young Vassili Zaitsev – did you get the bastard?”
Vassili let out a gusty breath of relief.
“Damn you, Nikolai!!! I thought you were dead!”
Nikolai grinned.
“Nah. Takes a lot to kill me, lad.” Hoisting himself to his feet, Nikolai lifted his rifle and mourned over his helmet. Tossing it to one side, he pulled Vassili into a bear hug, then slapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, Vassili. Come on then – let’s go get the bugger’s dog tags. You’ll have to have something to show to all those blasted Commissars!”
They made their way down to the rubble-filled square and inched over to where Koenig lay, and Vassili was surprised to find a handsome middle-aged man with lean features and blue-grey eyes lying with a bullet-hole neatly placed in his forehead.
For some reason Vassili felt saddened by this man’s death. But he shook off the feeling as he lifted the bloody head and removed the tags. Nikolai had crawled over to collect the tags on the dead line-man, and Vassili was surprised to hear Nikolai suddenly shout with anger.
“Shit!! Damn!!”
Vassili scrambled over to him, and saw Nikolai slumped beside the body of the German soldier. Haggard blue eyes turned to the young Siberian.
“It’s Volodya. The bastards sent out Volodya to lay that line. Didn’t have to risk one of their own, y’see. And I shot him.”
Vassili glanced down at the corpse, and Volodya’s sharp features looked back at him through a mask of blood. Nikolai leaned down and closed the sightless eyes, and turned to Vassili. He sighed.
“Well, boy – I think it’s time we got out of here, don’t you? Sounds like we have company coming.”
Vassili looked into the blue sky and saw a formation of Stukas heading their way. As Nikolai spoke they broke formation and one of the sturdy dive-bombers angled downwards towards them, the sound of the wind screaming through the sirens fitted to the wheel-covers sent out an eerie howl as the plane levelled out to drop its fifty-kilo bombs.
Vassili and Nikolai scrabbled over the rubble to find shelter behind a wall, old and crumbing after the onslaught of the Luftwaffe. The first bomb landed well short of them, sending up a huge eruption of earth and setting fire to an already destroyed shop-front. The Stuka swung away into the sky and turned, ready to make another run.
Nikolai shoved Vassili forward.
“Go on lad!!! Head for the building over there, it looks solid enough!”
Vassili started out of his sheltered spot behind the wall, but hesitated.
“What about you, Nikolai?” He had to shout over the noise of the Stuka as it began its descent once more.
“I’ll be right behind you – I’ll just wait until this one’s dropped and I’ll join you. Will you get a move on???” Nikolai frowned in annoyance. The lad should have known by now that Nikolai Koulikov could take care of himself. Vassili decided to run for it. He leaped forward and pelted over the rubble, but stumbled in his eagerness to get into the safety of the building twenty metres away. He collapsed in an untidy heap, his ankle twisting uncomfortably beneath him and the scream of the Stuka came nearer and nearer.
He was a dead man. But then a big hand grabbed hold of his collar, lifted
him to his feet and shoved. Vassili Zaitsev headed determinedly towards
the building and safety, but he knew Nikolai wasn’t behind him – he had
returned to his place beside the old wall, knowing that both of them couldn’t
make it to the building in time. There quite simply wasn’t enough cover.
He landed breathlessly in the trench beside the sturdy building and turned to see Nikolai making his way back to the wall, seeing him for a split second silhouetted against the smoke-filled blue of the afternoon sky, forage cap perched jauntily as ever on the short curls.
“Get down, Nikolai, dammit – GET DOWN!!” Vassili’s voice was lost in the deafening noise.
And then the world fell apart. The Stuka dropped its three remaining bombs in quick succession, the earth shuddering with the impact and the sky disappearing in flames and shrapnel. Vassili crouched down and covered his head with his arms, hanging on for grim death as the building around him shook and rumbled … but it didn’t collapse. For long moments the air was full of clods of earth and brick, clattering and clunking into the walls of the building behind him … and then quiet reigned.
Vassili cautiously uncovered his head and peered out of the trench, trying to make out shapes within the black smoke and clouds of dust. Huge gouges had been taken out of the ground, and nothing was left of the abandoned tank, Volodya or the great German sniper Koenig. He hurredly looked over to the wall where Nikolai had taken shelter … and gasped.
The wall was completely destroyed. It lay in a jumbled pile of broken and shattered bricks surrounded by a pall of dust. And Nikolai Koulikov was nowhere to be seen.
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