Chronicle
of a
Betrayal

Leo Augliera

Tektime

Copyright © 2025 Letterio Augliera

All rights reserved

Translator from italian: Phil Stanway

Betrayal. A big word. What does betrayal mean? It is said of a man that he has betrayed his country, his friends, his love. In reality the only thing a man can betray is his own conscience.

Joseph Conrad

1

We fondly believe that bygones are bygones. The past has become so hazy that we hope to have forgotten our mistakes. Tenaciously we refuse to keep our minds clear so as not to have second thoughts. We prefer to believe that our early years are no longer ours, that the past is over and done with. But it takes little to bring back, one after the other, the ghosts deemed to have vanished or even denied by our conscience.

Giuseppe was a decidedly insignificant man, belonging to that species of humanity unable to look ahead without glimpsing the final day of doom, imagined to be even more miserable and squalid than all those leading up to it. He now lived holed up within the walls of his home, convinced that it was the only way to shield himself from everything outside.

He waited, motionless and hopeful, for the day just beginning to be the same in every way as the days gone by.

That morning in the fall of 1984 there was nothing to foreshadow the upheaval of his habits: the walls, the newspaper and even the solitude were the same as always. The leaden atmosphere of Brooklyn, which heralded an especially harsh winter, beat insistently on his window. But Giuseppe seemed not to notice, in focusing on building the model of the Santa Maria, the caravel used by Christopher Columbus to discover the New World. That was the only event of the day to remind him of being Italian.

He had disembarked from the ship at Ellis Island, fleeing the rubble of Europe, as one of many desperate people, just after the Second World War: finally he had landed in a place still able to welcome people in need of help and protection. Fleeing the horrors and destruction which had razed all Europe and torn his country apart in a civil war, he sought, in the promised land, the light needed to crush the darkness he bore within. He looked proudly at the Santa Maria, which he was building with dedication and painstaking patience, while his eyes moistened. Was this great welcoming country not born thanks to an Italian? Yes, an Italian like him.

The radio, as always, continued to broadcast old and new songs; every hour a speaker with a warm and serious voice reeled off news, more or less good, creating an atmosphere weird and rather suspenseful.

“It’s 9:30 a.m.... Daily news... The meeting between the unions and General Motors has ended. Such intervention, requested by both parties, may guarantee the renewal of the contract of workers in the car industry... Foreign policy. The American Secretary of State, on his tour of consultations with leaders of Mediterranean countries, met the Israeli Prime Minister today; the talks, likely to focus on the situation in the Middle East, are still ongoing... News... A news agency flash informs us that a few minutes ago, a lone man tried to rob a bank in Brooklyn. On the timely intervention of a plainclothes policeman, who happened to be present, the robber did not hesitate to open fire, wounding the policeman and a customer, who was likewise in the office at the time. The lone man managed to escape on foot but is being sought by the police, who have set roadblocks up in the area... More news. Six twins have seen the light of day in a hospital in…”

The ringing of the telephone drowned the litany. Giuseppe rose slowly from his seat, turned the radio off and picked the receiver up.

“Hello Giuseppe, how are you feeling today?”

Even before replying, Giuseppe guessed who was at the other end of the line: it was George, a lifelong friend, the former office colleague with whom he had created a strange, almost morbid complicity, consolidated over more than thirty years spent face to face behind desks in a cramped office. He had not seen him since his day of retirement, but their friendship was ongoing thanks to that phone call, punctually recurring every morning. By now, both had become convinced that their exchange of news, often banal and meaningless, was the one way to start the day well. After all these years, Giuseppe had become his colleague's privileged confidant, even if the talk often ended as gossip. The daily appointment was not in the least vexing; on the contrary, the phone call was one more reason to appreciate his lifestyle, to remind himself every day that he had spent his life well; so well that his friends, his true friends, had not neglected to give him the consideration he deserved.

He answered the question: "Better. The soreness in my throat has almost gone."

“Thank goodness, at least you are well. I, on the other hand, am in a terrible state... You can't imagine what happened to me; the very thought of it makes me cringe!”

Giuseppe was not impressed by his friend's tone; he knew him well and was aware of his tendency to make mountains out of molehills. “Really! What is the great misfortune?” He sounded bemused.

George seemed not to notice his friend's irony and went on in the same vein. “What happened? If you are sitting, hold on tight to your chair, because I'm going to tell you something incredible, beyond all logic... This morning I left home early. You know, I had not been able to sleep a wink all night, and the moment the sky brightened, I felt so uneasy that I jumped out of bed and went for a walk... The sense of freedom you feel on strolling through the streets at the crack of dawn is unbelievable. I was practically alone, happy with the stillness soothing my agitation. Even the biting cold made me feel more alive with every step. While enjoying the pervasive peace, I suddenly happened to meet... Just guess who it was.” George always recounted his daily trivialities, adding silly riddles here and there.

“How could I possibly guess!” A riddle may have been the one thing able to vex Giuseppe.

“It's easier than you think.”

“I'm telling you, I don't know.”

“Very well, then I'll tell you... Do you remember Marzio, the colleague from the design office? Of course you do. He was as thin as a rake and had a big nose. He looked like a crow of ill omen, and we teased him for having a shrill spinsterish voice... Listen! He hasn't changed a bit.… Well, at that time of morning, when not even a dog is on the alert, I failed to see him rushing towards me, as if late for a key appointment! Just imagine my surprise, when he stopped only inches ahead of me and looked me in the eyes, as if about to grab me... I admit I was taken aback... We stood there, too amazed to move, then slowly he lifted his right arm and pointed his forefinger at me: ‘Aren't you George Pollock?’ he asked. Taken aback, I wanted to counter with equal confidence: ‘And you are Marzio, Andrew Marzio!’... Do you know how it ended? It ended with us hugging, after the fit of embarrassment... There were the usual pleasantries, then he asked me point-blank... Guess what?”

“Please, I have no idea!” Giuseppe felt that his confidant was going rather too far that morning and that it might be better to end the call soon.

“So I'll tell you what that idiot wanted… In a voice increasingly shrill, he said to me: ‘Excuse me for asking, I feel rather embarrassed to do so, but I really have to… Can I have the ten dollars back which I lent you five years ago?’ Do you understand?! He wanted ten dollars, which he claimed to have lent me at least five years ago… I was flabbergasted. How could I possibly remember? Good grief! After years of not seeing a colleague, the first thing he has to say is: ‘Hand me at least ten dollars!’ Well, trying to sound impartial, I said to him: ‘What are you talking about? I've never asked anyone for anything. And besides, with all the friends I have, why should I ask you for a loan.’ And I left him in the lurch… What do you think? Was this the way to react?”

“Maybe you could have…”

“I'll tell you what I think. He does this with every ex-colleague he meets, and among them, he always finds someone silly enough to indulge him. But it doesn't work with me; I can stand up to him!... Well, that being said and done, I feel better. Please, say hello to your wife. Today seems like the perfect day to take things easy.”

“Goodbye!” Giuseppe hung up. He sometimes found it hard to understand his friend’s aplomb, as there were a cruelty lurking within and just waiting to pounce.

This time too, he had sensed, at the other end of the line, the sadistic pleasure seeping from the pedantic account of the humiliations inflicted on Marzio; he sensed it so clearly that he was tempted to voice his outrage and perhaps even to urge him not to turn to him again with his petty cruelties. He wanted to do so but finally refrained. He shrugged it off and slipped back into his natural apathy; he told himself that, after all, it was none of his business, and went back to his desk. He looked at the Santa Maria, which took up nearly the whole shelf, smiled with satisfaction, and sat down to go on building the sailing ship which, once finished, would surely bear him away on an endless voyage.

His wife came into the room, as Giuseppe was putting yet another piece of the model into place, as shown by the guide. He looked up and gazed intently at the woman: he thought with regret and a hint of nostalgia of her lost beauty. She was wearing a coat too big and, while walking,

was fumbling with her gnarled hands for something in a battered handbag. Intrigued by the scene unfolding as if in his absence, he was unable to take his eyes off the person whom he had lived with, under one roof, for over thirty years. Almost playfully, he wanted to revisit the first moments, the advances which had convinced him to choose her as his wife. To his amazement he failed to recall the moment or the place of their first meeting and even the words he had said to win her over. He wondered if he truly loved her, or if their living together was simply the logical consequence of something long forgotten. The doubt teased him for so many minutes that he finally accepted his wife's nervous voice as a relief.

“Damn, when I look for my keys, I can never find them!... I bet you were talking to the same idiot.”

He was unwilling to be needled by that irritating tone, as it was not worth it. He sought refuge in his ship and nodded, trying to appear as engrossed as possible. “You are right.”

“And what did he tell you this time?” She paused, undeterred by her husband's indifference.

“Nonsense.”

“But has he really nothing to do?”

“I doubt it... By the way, he told me to say hello.”

He had given up. He looked up and stared straight into his wife's eyes, enjoying the subtle pleasure he felt in teasing her. He was delighted to see a flash pass through her eyes and thought with satisfaction that, in a moment or two, she would surely give way to one of her tantrums.

She caught on to her husband's deviousness in time and countered with an irony out of character.

“Your friend is really nice. We have never met, but he always sends me a greeting.”

With a curt gesture, Giuseppe turned back to the model, disappointed by his wife's reaction and tiring of the banter. “Of course you know him. I introduced you to him at his retirement celebration. He was the one sitting next to Callagan and vexed everyone during dinner with his idiotic toasts. By the end, he was too drunk to find the money to pay his share.”

“That evening, as I remember, there were plenty of idiots wanting to let steam off at all costs.”

“You are right, we all had a few drinks too many that night.”

“He should at least pay us a visit, since you talk on the phone every day.”

“One of these days, I shall invite him round for coffee.”

“Why not? You haven’t seen him since that memorable night.”

Giuseppe looked at his wife or rather through her. “You’re right, I haven’t seen him for six months, yet he insists on calling me every day. I think he lives near here, but I’m not sure. I don’t even know his phone number.” He spoke softly, surprised by that reflection.

“Why should you? He is always the one calling.”

He neglected to listen. His mind continued to churn through his memories, hoping for a clue to where his friend lived or what his phone number was. He soon gave up and spoke out loud, almost without realizing it. “Next time I shall have to ask him.”

“Maybe he has already died and through force of habit is calling you from hell.”

He flinched and was tempted to reply in the same vein, but something held him back. His anger turned into a banal shrug, while the stinging rebuke he wanted to give her turned into a harmless: “Don't be silly!”

“I'm going out, I have to go to Giulia's.” His wife had suddenly noticed the time.

“Are you going to be late?”

“I don't know; that depends on your daughter. She is enough to drive me crazy.”

“Problems with Paul?” The arguments between his daughter and her husband had become too frequent to be glossed over.

“As usual. They do nothing but argue, and then it's up to me to smooth things over. Those two are just unable to relish life. But this time, I want to be clear: I have had enough of going to go to and from between my house and theirs. If only it achieved something, it would be worth it, but a couple of days later we are back to square one.”

“Maybe we should do something about…”

“We’ve done everything we could do.” His wife interrupted. “Now they have to understand their mistakes and find a solution. Good God, after all, they are both grown up!”

“I was sure the baby would somehow solve their problems.”

“He may have made them worse; they’re even edgier than before.”

“And yet there is a need…”

“Why try, if you never find a solution.” A glance at the clock made her move toward the door. “I have to go. There’s something ready in the fridge, just warm it up.”

“Give Giulia and the little one a kiss from me.”

“Please, if you go out, make sure all the lights are switched off.”

“Of course.”

His last words went unheard. The thud of the door let Giuseppe know that his wife had already left.

“The search for the lone man who tried to rob a Brooklyn bank this morning has so far been unsuccessful. When an off-duty police officer intervened, the robber opened fire, wounding the guard and a customer inside the office, though not badly. The robber fled on foot and is still being sought by the police... More news...”

The ringing of the phone made Giuseppe get up from his seat again: he turned the radio off and picked the receiver up. “Hello!” he said gravely.

“Hello, Giuseppe, it’s me again. As the saying goes, it never rains but it pours.”

“What else is wrong?” His friend had never called twice in a day, and this piqued his curiosity.

“I know, I'm bothering you too much for one day, but if I don't talk to someone, I'll burst. You remember I told you about Marzio? He is making my life hell. He phoned me up less than ten minutes ago. Just imagine! What impertinence! I can’t imagine who could have given him my number… You remember Marzio, right?”

“Yes, I seem to remember.”

“And you don't know who could have given him my number?”

“How should I know!” Giuseppe began to suspect that his friend was trying to provoke him.

“Very well, I'll find out eventually... So, as I was saying, that wretch had the nerve to phone me up. He almost wept! He insisted that he had lent me that money and that, ‘In the name of our old friendship’, I had to pay it back. Do you understand? He actually said to me: In the name of our old friendship... Barely able to contain my anger, I finally shouted at him: ‘But who has ever considered you a friend’... For a few seconds, I heard not a sound and thought he had hung up. Suddenly I heard a hissing; you know, one of those sounds you make when you try to speak but can't because of nerves or whatever? Great! I realized he was about to have a hysterical attack, and to be honest, this was amusing.”

“The poor man’s embarrassment was amusing?” The phone call was taking a surreal turn.

“Come on, Giuseppe, you’re not going to be shocked by the nonsense I’m telling you about! What could I do? It was hard enough trying to control myself. Well, at least he didn’t bring up a sick wife in need of the best treatment! At this point, look, I couldn’t hold back any longer and burst out laughing. You know, one of those laughs which come from deep inside and can’t be contained. I could hear him sobbing, but I couldn’t stop; my sides were beginning to ache. When I managed to calm down a little, I asked him, ‘What are you doing? Sobbing?’ And do you know what he said? ‘Yes.’ Do you understand? He answered with a curt ‘Yes’, without adding anything else. Then I said to him seriously, ‘Aren't you ashamed, sobbing at your age for ten dollars?’ And he, his voice breaking with sobs, ‘Of course I'm ashamed, but I can't help it.’ He told me he really couldn't help it. A sixty-year-old man who can't help sobbing for ten measly dollars!”

“Maybe he really needed them.”

“Come off it! How could anyone need ten dollars? I told you, he wants to make easy money. Plainly he lacks even a shred of dignity, sheds tears at the drop of a hat and tells everyone whom he meets the story of his sick wife, tailor-made for the fools who want to believe it.”

“How can you be so suspicious? The poor man’s wife may indeed be seriously ill and short of money.”

“I didn't know you had such a soft heart!”

Giuseppe realized that Georgio’s theatrical surprise was only meant to veil his true assessment. Discouraged from pressing his point, he replied with resignation. “You don’t understand, I’m worried about the principle.”

“What principle? You don't expect me to give money to every stranger who asks for it!”

His friend's angry voice made Giuseppe pull the receiver away from his ear. “Stranger? What does that have to do with it? Didn't you say that the man worked with us for thirty years?”

“No, I am not going to yield! Why should I give money to a man who has never given me anything.”

“Is this a key point?”

“But where are you living, Giuseppe?!” For a moment, George said no more, as if trying to pull his thoughts together. Finally, he went on more lightly. “Come on, you're just saying this for the sake of contradiction. You would sometimes vex me in the office through your mania for going against me. Now that I think about it, why am I being so open to you?”

Giuseppe felt his stomach churn. “Enough said. If you're offended, I apologize.” He regretted defending a stranger he could hardly remember.

“I'm not offended, but being contradicted gets on my nerves.”

“All right, then do as you please.”

“Of course I shall. Did you really hope to persuade me to do the contrary?”

The sound of the doorbell came to Giuseppe as a relief. “I have to leave you; there's someone at the door.”

“Doesn't your wife have a key?”

“Of course she does... It must be some nuisance.”

“Today seems like a really bad day for both of us.” Giuseppe hung the phone up, while the doorbell carried on ringing.

“I'm coming! I'm coming!” He thought nothing of it as he opened the door then was taken aback by the sight of a stocky youth in a jacket and jeans, much the same as thousands of others, except for the tense look on his face. He was panting so hard that his lungs seemed about to burst, and his eyes were like those of a hunted hare. The youth’s terror was infectious. “Who are you? What do you want?!”

“Just let me in.” The youth tried in vain to stop panting.

“But I have never seen you before!” Giuseppe tried to resist, but by then he had lost: he realized that this meeting would be the final blow to an already crazy day and that he had no defense.

“Hurry up, or I’ll kill you!” The tone had become menacing, but Giuseppe was less intimidated by the tone than by the pistol pointing towards him.

They stepped into the living room briskly, and as if by magic, this seemed to reassure the intruder. His panting eased off and he looked less scared, maybe for the first time in hours. “You did well to let me in; I was starting to get nervous.” He sounded conciliatory, as if trying to apologize for the intrusion.

Giuseppe's gaze fell on the pistol: it was still there, pointing at him in the youth's trembling hands. “Put it away, please!”

The youth obliged by slipping it into his jacket pocket, his eyes insistently scanning every corner of the room. “Are you alone in the apartment?”

“Yes, I am alone.”

“And the others? Who lives with you?” The tone was inquisitorial, as if he had to try hard to believe what he was about to hear.

“My wife.”

“Where is she?” He seemed to believe that the old fool was trying to trick him.

“She is visiting our daughter.”

“Oh really, she is out visiting?” He sounded incredulous. “And how long will she be gone?”

“I don’t know. She may be back this evening.”

“Are you sure?”

The intruder’s suspicious tone made Giuseppe even more nervous. “No, but it’s likely.”

“Doesn’t anyone else live with you?”

“No, we live alone, my wife and I.”

“I would like to believe you.” The youth sat down in an armchair in the living room and gestured to the one still vacant, while his thin lips curled up a little as if in a smile. “Take a seat!” The old man obeyed, then then his guest asked, “Do you have a cigarette?”

“No, the doctor has told me not to smoke.”

“Christ, what a day! Nothing is working out for me today.” He shook his head, annoyed by the news.

“I’m sorry I didn’t…”

“Shut up, you have to shut up!” The youth’s tone had become angry again.

“All right, all right.” A tremor of fear ran down Giuseppe’s spine, while drops of sweat beaded his forehead.

The intruder was beginning to behave like a caged beast. After a few long minutes of absolute inertia, as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes open and fixed on the man hosting him, he jumped up from his chair and strode over to the window. Fearfully, he looked out at the street, but noticing nothing suspicious, he heaved a deep sigh of relief and came back. Quickly, he walked round the living room, neared the entrance and scanned the corridor: everything seemed calm. Pulling a face, he stepped up to the desk and silently gazed at the caravel proudly displayed.

“What’s your name?” Giuseppe asked. With that question, he wanted to draw his attention from the model he was painstakingly putting together.

The ruse worked. The youth moved away from the desk, but his voice became menacing again. “Who cares what I’m called?” Giuseppe’s curiosity had put him on edge.

“If you stay here, I’ll have to call you something.”

“Libero, my name is Libero... Are you satisfied?”

“Libero? It’s a nice name.”

“Are you pulling my leg?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Giuseppe felt frail again, at the mercy of the delinquent.

“I hate it!” The room echoed to hysterical laughter. “Can you imagine anyone called Libero in jail? Whenever I’m sent to jail, I become the laughing stock of all the bastards there! My father had a sense of humor.” His tone became ironic. “What a great man he was!”

“Fathers can't foresee how their children will end up... But every father should do everything possible to…”

“Hey, don't get any strange ideas in your head! My father was a decent person.” The youth gave Giuseppe a strange look. “Do you know why I rang your doorbell? Because I saw you have a tough Italian name. Yes, Italian like my father's.”

“Is your father Italian?” He was surprised by the revelation.

“He came here when the war ended, after freeing his country from the fascists. The idiot was so proud of the carnage he had wrought as a partisan that he never missed a chance to show his fellow countrymen the wounds inflicted on him by the nazis. He showed them like relics, convinced that people were indebted to him and that everyone owed him something. Poor bastard, he didn't understand that no one felt indebted to him and that no one cared about what he had done. Maybe in preaching to deaf ears, he was trying mainly to convince himself. In the end, disappointed by the indifference, he opted for a change of air and came to America.”

“Did your father join the resistance?”

“Yes, and he was rewarded by having to live like a wretch.”

“I was a partisan too, and, like your father, I came to the United States after the war.”

2

The walls of the house had absorbed all the horrors of an absurd war. The end of a seemingly endless massacre was in sight. The young woman living in the apartment with peeling walls, made even more squalid by the spirit of the times, was dismayed, though she knew that she could hardly opt out, just when she and her boyfriend were needed. They had to complete the task assigned to them, whatever their doubts and fears. But why worry? Anxiety was unable to hold them back, as they were destined to win through having chosen to be on the right side.

“The Americans are said to have landed at Anzio.” The news brightened the room, which till then had been dark and gloomy. “They will soon be in Rome... My comrades and I have planned some harassment actions; these will be very useful, to disorient the Nazis.”

Even as a thrill of joy ran down the girl's spine, anguish returned. “Wouldn't it be better to wait for the Americans to enter the city and take care of it themselves?” Terror clouded her vision. After all, she was too young for the game of war, so cruel that it crushed her frail shoulders. Just then, she realized that she had agreed to take part for the sake of love, for the sake of being beside her boyfriend; she wanted to protect him from the insidious cruelty of an inhuman conflict, to prevent him from making rash moves endangering his life; to convince him, why not, that this was no time for bravura, when everything was finally due to end.

The youth only glared back. “We have to lend a hand too.” He felt offended by her reluctance. “None of our comrades will back down, we will finally kick those wretches in the backside and chase them out of the city.”

Her boyfriend's naive enthusiasm should have convinced her to give up, but she insisted, reminding herself of what was at stake, which was the most precious thing for her and for all youngsters everywhere, but which no longer seemed to have any value in their now crumbling world. “Many will lose their lives for no reason.”

“There's always a reason.” The youth loved his girlfriend dearly and understood her fears, but he was unable give the game up, especially since all the cards were now in their favor. A glimmer of lucidity opened his eyes for a moment, lending him the courage to joke. “Don't be afraid, you'll see, the Germans won't put up any resistance. With the Americans just a few miles away, they'll be only too keen to escape without firing a shot.” A surge of tenderness led him to hug the girl. “Just a few more days then the nightmare will be over!... I have to stop by the printers to pick up the flyers. What an effort, to print them! We need to leave them in suitable places, to let as many Romans as possible read them. You'll see, many of them will join us.” He seemed to be galvanized by the atmosphere, saturated with reckless optimism, permeating the very air he breathed.

“I'm nervous.” She replied. “I think I'm being watched. Even when I'm locked in the house, I have the odd feeling of always having two eyes on me, as if they had the power to spy on me through the walls.”

“Try to stay calm and not to make any slips: Just wait and we'll soon get out of this hell.”

“I'm telling you.” She went on. “They're still too strong! On every street corner there are at least two or three of them, eyeing me when I pass, as if they knew everything about me, who I am and what I am planning.”

“It's only a matter of days now. The Allies are on their way, and once they are here, everything will be different.”

“Do you really think things will change?”

She wanted to caution him but knew how useless insistence was; everything had been spelled out and she could do little to change it.

“You can bet on it, my love, so many things will change, and we’ll finally be free.” The youth hoped that the girl was caressed by hope, a hope able to convince her that, after all, it was the only credible outcome. “Those damned people have to realize that the game is up. Everyone has to realize that.”

***

We were nearing the end. The fire, mercilessly raging on the rubble left by bombing, had engulfed whole cities. Desperate volunteers were doing their utmost to help, by quenching flames left with nothing to burn. Bereft of reason, people were running in search of relatives or friends, who might still be alive. How much anguish there was in wandering through the rubble, searching for something to be saved! Had we no inkling that our fight for survival was futile? Could we not guess that we were fated to vanish amid the rubble? The misery and inhumanity of the war had overcome us. Death’s embrace had deadened our understanding and made us only increase the absurdity.

3

Giuseppe suddenly found himself trapped in an avalanche of memories, absurd memories of an absurd time. “We wanted to gain freedom at all costs; that was what kept us going. We chased it madly. We had to prove to our tormentors that it was real, not a figment of ours. We wanted to yell into their faces: In the world in store for us, you have no reason to exist! We wanted to see their amazement, so accustomed as they were to the sight of pain that they could not imagine life without it.” He felt his past weigh down on him like a millstone, an ignoble past able to crush him. “Yes, the sight of pain!” He understood that he had reached the end but was unwilling to back down. He welcomed the ghosts of the past almost with joy, accepting the consequences as a liberation.

The ringing of the phone threw him back into the four walls of his living room. He looked around, bewildered, as if fearing something or someone might threaten him, but nothing was out of place. Even Libero, who kept on staring at him with obvious displeasure at the insistent ringing, was the same as before and so his wild eyes were almost reassuring.

The youth seemed unable to think promptly of what to do: it was clear that if he stopped Giuseppe from answering, though he spent his days glued to the chair, he would surely arouse suspicion. He raised a finger, pointing to the phone, and began to